Sunshowers

"Die in a fire."

I tell Tasha about the bat, and about Meena's bat experiences. She examines me. "You've got a haunted hospital," she says.

"Only Meena sees them. They don't even show up on security footage. She won't talk about it any more. I told HR."

"Did you." It's only syntactically a question.

"On the D/L. I just wanted to make sure someone knew she was having these experiences."

"Her husband is missing."

"And her job is to save people's lives by making good split-second decisions. They don't care if her husband is missing. What they want is for her not to be distracted by imaginary vermin when she's trying to reinflate a lung."

"Imaginary vermin?" says John, sauntering into the kitchen.

"Drake's friend Meena is seeing imaginary bats," says Tasha. "Apparently."

"Meena?" says John.

"Yes."

"Bats?"

"Yes."

"How's she tolerating them?" says John. "The bats."

"She says cooking with garlic helps," I say. "I can barely stand to go on the ward any more."

"So she's not getting help?"

"I don't know," I say. "I don't think so."

"Her finances aren't too good," John says sagely. "Can't afford to go on leave. What with the house and all."

I look at John with dawning comprehension. He looks back at me with disdain. "I thought you were married to a night nurse," I say, like an idiot.

"So did I," John says. He looks at Tasha, as if I've faded into the air; Tasha looks at me.

"I don't believe this," I say. "Your wife is literally losing her mind because of you, you sick piece of shit."

A sandblast of laughter bursts from John. I feel something hit my left thigh in rhythm with his laughter. I grab my left wrist and it stops. Tasha's eyes are wide. John is almost on the floor.

I try again. "In case you haven't been paying attention, there's a fucking Kevorkian on the ward—"

John finds this even more hilarious than whatever other joke I accidentally told. The kitchen is bone-still except for his laughter, spouting forth in waning pulses. I keep a tight grip on my wrist. Eventually John can meet my eyes again. "And what would you like me to do, sire? Do you think she'd like it if I just came back to her and told her I'd been gone a while for no reason?" He laughs again. "That might do your job for you, at this point."

I don't even want to know what he means by that. "No," I say, cold murder in my throat. "You're not good enough for her. Why don't you fuck yourself and die in a ditch instead?"

"Let me count the reasons—"

"Spare me," I say, and he claps his jaw closed with a click like cracking bone. "Fuck yourself. Die in a fire." I've decided that a ditch gives him too much latitude.

He's no paler than he was, but something about his expression accentuates it. "Drake—"

"Shut up," I say. "I don't ever want to hear you speak again."

"Drake—" Tasha begins, but I cut her off too. "Don't defend him. This conversation is over. Am I the only one in this family with a conscience?"

John and Tasha look at one another with some understanding I don't share, and I start to understand why I'm so angry. Understanding only makes it worse, not better. I turn on my heel and leave the kitchen. Tasha screams "Drake!" but I'm in Dexter's room, where it's dark and comfortable and the words all sound like murmured music, like a lullaby in some language I have the great good fortune not to speak.