Henry Williams' voice booms as he demands information from the night nurse. "Where is she? Is she alive? How could you let this happen?" All of the questions hold an air of accusation, like it is the nurse's fault that his daughter ended up in the hospital.
If anything, it's Henry's fault Emma is in here.
I should be the bigger person. I should walk away. Her father still hasn't noticed me. My clenched fists shake at my sides, and I'm not sure what I'm capable of in this moment.
Henry's face grows so red as he continues to spew malicious questions that the color of his skin dips into shades of purple. His left eye twitches, and if I didn't know what kind of person he could be, I would suspect something medically wrong with him. But the tension he carries is coiled tight, wrapped through each bulging vein and waiting for an excuse—any excuse—to strike.
I probably should not be that excuse, but I want to tell him exactly where he should shove his mock concern.
Mrs. Williams catches me staring at them from my spot a few feet away. She pulls on Henry's jacket, but he shrugs her off. She glares at him from behind his back and steps toward me. Her high heels echo hollowly off the hospital floor.
"Are you him?"
She says 'him' like I have somehow ruined her daughter, like I caused this whole mess. I am already full of enough guilt to last a lifetime, because Emma would have been closer to the hospital had it not been for me. But I didn't cause this. I didn't do anything wrong. Maybe my family has, but I haven't.
I am not the history that other people have bestowed upon me. I am not my father, I am not a tragedy, and I am not trouble.
"Yes," I growl the word at her, anger bubbling to the surface without my permission. My eyes flick to Henry's back. "But you know it wasn't me who caused this."
Her eyes narrow, and she runs her tongue along her teeth, as if mixing together my words in her mouth. "You made her stray from her path. That is your fault."
"I made her or you've been forcing her into being someone she isn't?" I flex my fingers, slowly unfurling them and curling them back in again. My hands are full of energy. My nails bite into my palms, and my heart slams against my chest. Despite the edginess, I stand tall. I won't be intimidated by these people that drove Emma away.
"How dare you. Who do you think you are? We know our daughter. We know what's best for her."
"Do you see where she is right now?" I gesture to the double emergency room doors. "This is on you. On him." I cut my glance over at Henry again, and I see his ears visibly prick. A hollow feeling stretches out inside me, running up the base on my spine and settling into my neck.
"Hold on a second." He puts his hand up to the night nurse and turns toward me. His nostrils flare wide. His eyes are wild, red, like someone who has been hitting the bottle a little too hard. And it suddenly falls into place, snaps into a full picture. Henry Williams has one too many secrets he's trying to hide.
"Who are you?" Henry asks, but he doesn't wait for a response before closing the gap between us. "I'll tell you. You are nothing. Inconsequential. A blip on the otherwise perfect record of our daughter."
"Perfect record." I nod, as if understanding. "Just like the bruises on her skin? They don't seem to mix with the perfection you're talking about."
"Bruises?" Mrs. Williams pipes up.
If it were possible for Henry's skin to get darker, it does. "You know nothing about our family." His voice is low, trembling with warning.
Thing is, I've been scared of turning out like my dad my entire life. I've been too scared to live, too scared of dying young. And this is exactly why Henry Williams does not scare me.
"I know more than you think."
His breath is stale, laced with woodsy alcohol. Not the cheap wine my mom sometimes brings home. This smells expensive, strong. He clenches his jaw. "You need to step back, boy."
"Or what?" Something deep inside me wants to see what he'll do next. People like Henry are used to being the aggressor, the ruler, the dictator of their small kingdoms. What happens when someone stages a coup?
"Or you and your pathetic mother will regret it." He flashes his teeth.
I swallow, and it takes everything inside me not to punch him in the face. His shiny, gleaming, perfect white teeth hang in front of me, asking me to knock one of them loose. I will not take the bait.
His gnarled smirk grows wider. "You see, I own this town, and as much as you think you've gotten to me with my daughter, you can't and you won't win. You never will, because I'm the one that holds all the power." He steps back, as if to prove his point. "And those who are powerless never seem to accept it."
"I'm not trying to get to you through Emma. I care about her. I—" My voice cuts out at the part I want to admit, because Henry Williams doesn't deserve this truth. Emma should hear my true feelings first.
"You think you care. This is all petty high school stuff. You will be nothing and mean nothing in one year. Give it time, Carter. You'll see."
"Bruises?" Mrs. Williams asks again, rounding on Henry. "What was he talking about?"
"Emma almost fell over the banister today in her panic to get out of the house. I caught her." Henry slices a gaze to me.
"Caught her?!" I exclaim. "She came to me to get away from you. Someone wouldn't do that if you had just saved their life."
"She's confused," Henry says to his wife, ignoring me. "This boy is twisting the way she thinks. You've seen it yourself."
Mrs. Williams crosses her arms and glances at me. "I don't like this, Henry. Why is she with him?"
I snort out a breath. Wow. These two are the most toxic people I have ever met, feeding off each other's venom like candy.
"Mr. Williams," my mom says, coming up with two coffees in her hand. "I was so sorry to hear about your daughter this evening. Carter called me as soon as he could. We really hope she's okay."
My mom holds out a cup to me, and I reach for it at the same time Henry Williams does. He pulls back at the last second and gives me a small smile. "Sorry about that. Old habits die hard, I suppose." He gives my mother a cold grin, and it makes my skin crawl. His pleasantries snaps into place, the facade sinking down over his features with such perfected smoothness that it's almost robotic.
"I was thinking," he adds, "perhaps we should get a new coffee machine for the office, what with the current one tasting so stale. Can you order that for us on Monday?"
My mother nods. "Of course, Mr. Williams. We'll discuss more during work hours." She puts on a smile, but the emphasis on 'work' lingers as a challenge.
I never knew who my mom worked for, just some prick who made her work into overtime and cut her income as much as he could. It makes sense. It all makes sense. Henry Williams owns this town, and his threat about having all the power is tangible. He's threatening the well being of my family, not just me, all because I like his daughter.
If only he knew her intentions when she had first come to me.
My mom pulls on my elbow. "The coffee isn't bad, if you wanted to get some yourselves. We'll be here if anything is needed."
"I'm sure we won't need anything." Mrs. Williams chimes in, but she turns and starts down the hallway. Henry Williams leans over the counter and whispers something to the night nurse before making his way after his wife. Their footsteps echo off the walls as they head away.
My mom lets out a breath. "He's a peach."
"Why didn't you tell me you worked for Emma's dad?"
My mom shrugs. "He's the CEO. I don't work for him, as he's not my direct supervisor. I'm the assistant to our CFO."
I gape at her.
She laughs. "It's fine. The CFO likes me, but he's never liked me." She nods in the direction where the Williams have disappeared. "Emma's a good girl. Carter, but she falls very far from the tree. Come on."
We go back to the corner, and I cling onto the coffee cup. Settling into the chair is a relief and a despair. The waiting begins again, and my mom tells me about her work, about the hierarchy of jobs. I don't really care, and she knows that, but she's giving me something else to focus on, other than my raging thoughts.
The fact that Henry Williams would threaten me when he's the one that imprinted his hand on his daughter's wrist is absurd. The fact that he's worried about my relationship with Emma at a time like this is worse. He's not a caring father. Emma is a prize to him, one that has gotten tarnished simply by being around me.
I'm not sure I can stand it.
My mom places a hand on my knee, and I stop bouncing it. "Sorry," I mutter.
"Nothing to be sorry about, but tell me, what's going through that head of yours?"
"A lot of things."
My mom nods. "Try me."
"Emma had bruises on her wrist when she came to me." I glance over at my mom, and she keeps her face collected, even. "I think her dad hurt her, and I'm not sure what's happening to her now, but I just ... I don't know. His smugness kills me."
"We'll get our chance to talk to her, and we'll get our chance to talk to someone that could help her if she needs it. Okay? We're going to be here for Emma, even if he's not." She squeezes my knee. "I know you're angry. I know you are hurting, and be as angry as you want. Feel those emotions, but remember to rise above them. You're my son, and I am proud of you and the way you behave. No man can take that away."
She kisses my forehead, and if were any other day in public, I would have shoved it off, but today, I lean on her shoulder and press my eyes shut. She pats my cheek and sips more of her coffee.
The waiting is the worst part, because we can't do anything else. We don't know anything else, and therefore, we are stuck in this in between. When the Williams get back to the waiting room, a doctor finally steps out from behind the doors.
"Henry, good to see you again, though not under the circumstances." The man strides across the room, holding out his hand as the Williams stand to greet him.
"I trust you know what's going on, Kendall."
The doctor's lips part, and he swings his grey eyes back and forth between the two. "She's still critical, and it's ... We're working on it. Henry, I need to ask—" The doctor lowers his voice, and I find myself leaning forward. "—has she had any symptoms before tonight? Anything at all?"
- - - - - - -
More to come soon! Thoughts? Was the confrontation between Carter and Henry Williams enough? Does it make you angry? Too angry? Feedback is always welcome!