Overkill(99)
“That’s right.”
“She won’t ever get better and could continue to deteriorate.” When she hesitated to reply, he said, “I know. You’re not God.” He lowered his head and addressed himself more than he did her. “If she survives this round, there will be another. I’ll be faced with the decision again. And again. And again.”
“Until Rebecca succumbs,” she said softly.
“Or Doug agrees to become her guardian.”
“Which he remains reluctant to do.”
“Because he’s not done punishing me.”
Dr. Gilbreath didn’t say anything, but regarded him with sympathy, then got up and said, “I’ll leave you to think over your options.”
He remained seated, focusing his eyes on nothing, letting his thoughts take him where they would. They tapered into detailed pinpoints. They ventured onto aimless tangents. He considered various actions and the ripple effects of each. He brooded on inaction and its dreary forecast.
Eventually, all his musings crystallized into a solid resolve: He wouldn’t remain fettered by this obligation for one more day.
On the surface, even to his own mind, it seemed so fucking selfish. But he shouldn’t be indefinitely consigned to this heartrending treadmill, and neither should Rebecca’s father.
He got up and opened the door. Dr. Gilbreath was just outside the office, leaning against the hallway wall, arms folded over her midriff, patiently waiting.
Zach said, “Is he here?”
“In the chapel.”
Zach pushed open the door to the dimly lit room. A center aisle divided six rows of cushioned pews. At the front was a small altar, although it wasn’t designated for a particular religion. Above it was a faux stained-glass window, lending the space the reverent atmosphere of any house of worship.
The room must also have been soundproofed, because it was perfectly silent, and empty except for Doug Pratt, who sat in the back row with his head bowed. Carpet absorbed Zach’s footfalls, but when he reached the end of the pew, Doug turned his head toward him. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“I got here as quickly as I could.” Zach sat down in the pew in front of Doug’s, placing himself at an angle so they could talk face-to-face.
“I heard about what happened last night up on your mountain. Eban Clarke is dead?”
“Yes.”
“And one of the other two?”
“Theodore Simpson. Cal Parsons is hanging on by a thread.”
He gave Doug time to comment, but he didn’t.
Zach resumed. “Before Eban shot them, they spoke candidly to Kate and me about the night of the party. They owned up to their complicity.” He spared Doug the description of his daughter’s final minute of sentience.
“They had no part in the asphyxiation except to wait too long to try to stop Eban, and, when they did, their efforts failed. They confessed to perjuring themselves about Rebecca’s attempts to say the safe word. They were genuinely remorseful, I think.”
“Little good their remorse does Rebecca.”
“In so many words, they acknowledged that also. An apology can only go so far. If Cal Parsons lives, he will regret Rebecca’s tragedy until his dying day. I’m certain of that.”
Doug lowered his head, saying under his breath, “No better than he deserves.”
They lapsed into a weighty silence, each realizing that they now had arrived at the crux of the matter. Zach delayed no longer.
“Rebecca is in a bad way, Doug. I know that Dr. Gilbreath has told you how unlikely it is that she’ll improve. I’m no longer comfortable with extending her life only to stand by and watch her steadily decline.”
Doug raised his head and looked at him directly.
“There are two choices open to you,” Zach said. “The first is for you to legally become Rebecca’s guardian and release me from this ill-gotten obligation, which both of us resent.”
“Let you off the hook.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
That was the reaction Zach had anticipated. Nevertheless, he hated hearing it, because it forced his hand. “Then I’m going to exercise the authority Rebecca vested in me, do what I believe with all my heart and soul that she would wish, and request that life-sustaining measures be discontinued.”
Doug stared at him for at least half a minute. Zach didn’t back down, didn’t avert his gaze, just stared back.
After a full thirty seconds, Doug stood up and walked to the end of the pew. Zach expected him to turn out of it and head for the exit. Instead he came even with the pew in which Zach sat and reached into the back pocket of his khakis.
He pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “You don’t have that authority.” Carefully he unfolded the sheet, the creases of which were threadbare and discolored from having been folded and refolded so many times. Doug held the sheet out toward Zach. “I do. I have all along.”
Chapter 40
Zach came to his feet and snatched the sheet of paper from Doug’s hand, demanding, “What is this?”
“Rebecca’s most recent medical directive. It revokes the one that named you as her agent and assigns me instead.”
The typewritten letters on the page seemed to squirm and scramble so that Zach couldn’t arrange them long enough to make sense of the words. But snippets finally coalesced.