Chapter 8

I was stunned. And instantly, I was incredibly angry.

"Hello, Mark," the man said cautiously.

"Get the fuck out of here!" He instinctively took a step backwards when I screamed at him.

"Mark, listen to me, please..." said Dr. Payton.

"You left us! You don't give a damn about us!" I was going to keep screaming until the son of a bitch was driven out of my sight.

I felt something touch my hand, and my first thought was my wrists were being put in restraints again. But instead, I saw that Debbie had taken my hand in hers. I looked up into her eyes, and my next scream died on my lips.

She looked at me calmly, caringly. My body was still vibrating with the aftershocks of my rage as she raised her other hand to briefly touch my cheek.

"Breathe," she murmured softly. I drew in a rattling breath, my windpipe not committed to the idea, but they got easier, one after the other, until in a few minutes I didn't have to consciously will my body to sustain itself. When I finally became calm enough to be coherent, Dr. Payton began again.

"Mark," Dr. Payton said softly, "we've talked today about how our perceived reality can sometimes be different than what's real; right?"

I glared at her, which she completely ignored, waiting patiently for me to reply. Eventually I gave her a grudging nod.

"Are you willing to listen to your father ... to see if your perceptions and feelings about him are ... what they should be?"

I closed my eyes, trying to fight down the rage that tried to spring up and engulf me again. I heard the heart monitor begin to accelerate, and then I felt Debbie's hand softly rubbing my shoulder. I willed my breathing to slow and then focused on slowing my heart, damping down its pace as it thundered in my chest.

When I'd regained a shaky control over my body, I opened my eyes to look at ... my father. It was something I thought I'd never do.

If I was objective, I'd have to see the resemblance ... I looked a lot like him. Dark hair, glasses, in good shape if not muscular. What struck me first was seeing how he was looking me squarely in the eye, not showing any sign of apology or regret. And besides the family resemblance, he somehow looked ... familiar.

"It's good to see you, Mark," he said slowly. His voice was surprisingly deep in comparison to my own. "I know this has been pretty hard on you; but I understand. I ... I'm sad we lost your mother and your sister too."

I couldn't help myself. "Sure you are," I said sarcastically.

"Mark," Dr Payton interjected, "please try to listen before you judge." I just glared at her again.

"I truly did love your mother, Mark. When she and I divorced, it ... well, it was really ... hard. She felt I was smothering her, keeping her from reaching for her dreams. She dreamed of being an artist, or a playwright, or ... any number of things.

"I ... I knew that she wasn't ... she wasn't ... uh..." He stopped and gave Dr. Payton a pleading look. She nodded to him before speaking.

"Obviously I've never met your mom, Mark. But from what I've heard, your mother was ... she was delusional, to what degree it's hard to say. She needed treatment, which your dad says she adamantly refused to accept voluntarily."

He nodded. "When we were divorced, I didn't think she was a danger to herself or you kids. But medical practice being what it was at the time, I was told if I forced her to get treatment, there was some chance that ... there was a chance she could've been committed."

He sighed sadly. "I tried to support her dreams. I really did. But when she wasn't successful, after a time she came to blame me. Eventually she filed for divorce, and when I finally gave up on changing her mind, I basically let her have everything.

"I had visitation rights to see you kids, but she made my visits ... traumatic. She still saw me as a threat to her dreams, and it became hurtful for you and your sister. You began crying and running away every time I came to pick you up or see you.

"After a year of that, and it didn't show any signs of it getting better, I finally decided it would be better for you if I stopped visiting."

"Then you did walk out on us. You gave up on us," I said accusingly.

He gave me a tight smile. "I did what I could, Son. I saw every one of your baseball games. I talked to your teachers about your grades. I went to PTA meetings. Stuff like that."

My God... That was why he looked so familiar. He paused and shook his head before continuing.

"And I made sure there was enough money so that you and your sister never lacked for anything."

I snorted with disdain again. "Oh, come on! We were always worrying about having enough money. If Mom hadn't sold her paintings we'd have been in real trouble."

"Mark ... who do you think bought her paintings?"

I gasped in shock.