No Strings Attached

Chapter 9: Recovery

"But why?" James asked, crawling towards us to join our conversation. "Hope for Humanity is a total Ponzi scheme, but a lot of  people don't see that."

Aria nods again carefully. "It makes it very easy for the clinic to rip those hard-earned people off."

I shake my head. "This is big news, guys. Maybe we could tell the police what happened."

"And mention the fact that we stalked two men into the woods?" Marco grunted, crossing his arms.

"Great idea, Nadine."

I cut Marco a glare but didn't argue with him.

What he said was right: if we tell the police everything then that will put targets on our backs.

Slicking his hair through his fingers, James let out an annoyed sigh.

"What's up, James?" inquired Aria.

"I have just remembered that my parents are going to pick me up soon," he answers sadly.

"That's great, " I smiled.

"But here's the thing: my mom has a double shift at her job, so...my dad might pick me up."

"Your dad, " said Marco carefully. "The racist?"

James dutifully nodded. "If my dad says something offensive, please do not argue with him. It will only make his theories true."

Aria crossed her arms. "We can stand up for ourselves."

"No, we can't," I answer simply.

"Look, James is right: if we pick a fight with his dad, then that will only make us look bad."

Nodding in agreement, he mumbled: "It's my fault for putting every single one of you in danger. He should be angry at me, not you guys."

"Hey, " Marco sighed. "You were trying to do the right thing."

"I did a stupid thing, " James grunted. "And besides, my dad will never—"

He cuts off in the middle of his sentence when a man—in his late thirties or forties—barged through the bleach white curtains.

He has a blonde buzz cut hair, pale blue eyes, and creamy pink skin. The man stood over us like a giant, gazing at James in a gentle manner.

He wears a white polo t-shirt, jeans, gray sweat-dampened socks, and brown men's sneakers.

As I notice light gray sport gloves securing his meaty hands, I have come to realize that he must have been playing golf before he came here.

"Oh my God," the man screeched. "James, I am so glad to hear that you are okay!"

Embarrassed, James muttered, "Hey, Dad. How was golf?"

Mr. Ryder, who hurried over to his son's bedside, held his hands and smiled.

"I am glad to see that you are alive," he said cheerfully.

"I know I have been a horrible father, but I am willing to own my mistakes and be there for you." 

My friends and I dropped our jaws: Mr. Ryder doesn't seem like the hateful man James described.

In fact, Mr. Ryder was more...happy, almost concerned for his well-being more than anything in the world.

He sure convinced me, Marco, and Aria that he is not as threatening as he looks.

But as for James,  an unconvinced smile spread across his lips, feeling unsure whether his father was faking or not.

Regardless, James gives his father a shy nod, then held his hands tightly.

"Okay, " James says calmly. "I believe you."

"Okay, " Mr. Ryder smiled. "Now, start from the beginning: I want you to tell me what you remembered over the past three weeks."

"But Dad, what if—"

"I am not mad at you, son." interrupted Mr. Ryder.

"You can tell me anything."

James carefully examined us from afar, standing close to the beeping monitors.

He didn't trust his dad's good nature, but as James takes a calm deep breath, it seems that he doesn't have much of a choice.

"Okay, " he repeated eventually. "I will tell you everything, but you have to promise not to freak out."

"Alright," said Mr. Ryder kneeling beside him. "You have my word." 

And so, James opened his mouth and told his father the truth.