Finding Eden (A Sign of Love Novel)(115)

"Always wondered if you'd ever find me," came a deep, smooth voice from the bed. Calder and I both startled. We glanced at each other and moved forward.
"Dad?" Calder said haltingly, his voice cracking. "Do you know who I am?" My heart squeezed.
The man in the bed came into view slowly, the small bedside lamp illuminating him just enough to make out his features as we got closer. I sucked in a rancid breath of air, nausea hitting me in the stomach almost immediately. He was bloated, his skin bruised and mottled, peeling in areas, with an underlying yellow tinge. He was clearly extremely ill. In fact, I had a brief flash of the dead bodies I'd seen before escaping the flooded cellar at Acadia. But the part that made me gasp in horror was that underneath the distortion of the sickness, I could see Calder. Underneath the disease and the ugliness, there was beauty. It made my gut churn and I latched onto his arm and forced my gaze away from the man up into Calder's strong, healthy face. I closed my eyes briefly, feeling a measure of calm and looked back at the man. He was dying. He couldn't help the way he looked.
"Well come closer so I can get a look at you, Kieran," the man, Morris, said.
"Kieran?" Calder asked, his head flinching back slightly. We both took another step forward until we were standing near the end of the bed.
"Name I gave you. Kieran Reed."
"Kieran Reed," Calder repeated, a note of wonder in his voice.
Morris suddenly laughed and like his voice, the sound was deep and melodious, in complete and utter contrast to the look of him. I unconsciously took another step closer at the sound of it, but Calder pulled me back. The man's swollen looking lips turned up into what I assumed was supposed to be a smile.
"He wanted to name you something different. Fine by me, I said. He's yours now." He stared at us and a shiver went down my spine as I attempted not to look away in disgust.
"He?" Calder whispered. "Hector?"
Morris looked surprised for a second. "No, Thomas."
"Thomas, yes," Calder said, his voice even, but laced with confusion. "You knew he took me? I don't . . . You let him take me?"
"Take you?" Morris leered, "I sold you to him."
No one said a word for several horror-filled moments as we digested that information. The steady beep of some kind of machine to the right of Morris was the only sound filling the thick, stale air. Morris picked up an oxygen mask next to him and took several long inhales.
"Sold me?" Calder finally breathed out.
Morris leaned back on his pillow, contemplating Calder, his eyes bright with. . . something. "Said he needed you to balance out his whackadoo community." He let out another musical laugh. "Not that I cared . . . much. You were a little thorn in my side anyway—always following me around everywhere, wanting something."
"How  old was I?" Calder croaked.
My body had begun shaking and I couldn't seem to get it to stop. Oh, Calder. I could practically feel the grief emanating off of him. My heart squeezed tightly.
"Three."
"Gods above," Calder choked out, letting go of my hand and grabbing the hair at his temples.
"How'd you know Thomas?" I asked, trying not to tear up.
Morris's eyes swung toward me. "Look at you, pretty thing." He sat forward. "Used to have little girls like you between my legs all the time," he said, his eyes drooping slightly.
"Don't look at her!" Calder yelled, breaking the quiet of the room and startling me. He grabbed me and moved me halfway behind his own body. "Keep your eyes on me, you sick, disgusting old man."
As I peeked out from behind Calder, Morris's eyes filled with amusement. He was enjoying this. Who was this person? The whole situation felt unreal—a grotesque nightmare—something you tried to describe to someone else later and couldn't find the words because there were none.