Distant Shores - Marco Palmieri [60]
Frowning, Mark turned the viewer back around toward the couch so he could see the image.
What he saw scared the living daylights out of him.
Mark didn’t think it was possible for someone to look worse than Davey did on Ktar, but he did. He’d lost even more weight, his eyes had more red than brown, and his hair was longer, uncombed, and looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in weeks.
“Anyhow, I just wanted to let you know that I haven’t given up on Dad yet. Talk to you later.”
Mark frowned. “Computer, return message to Davey Honigsberg.”
The following Saturday, Mark sat in Felinity, a Caitian restaurant in downtown Toronto. It was around the corner from Davey’s home, so Mark figured he’d have an easier time tearing himself away to meet up.
Davey was late, of course, but that didn’t surprise Mark. This was the fifth time they had actually managed to make a lunch date since they met on DS9, and Davey had yet to show up on time for any of them. Mark had hoped that the proximity to his apartment might aid in his punctuality, but that was, he had to admit, a small hope.
While he waited, he rehearsed the speech he was going to give Davey about how he needed to let go of this obsession with finding his father, and how he was killing himself, and how he needed to get on with his life. Basically, the same speech that Dina hit him with in New Orleans.
Right, and then he can look at you with those bloodshot eyes and ask you why the hell you haven’t done the same. And why the hell haven’t I?
He sighed. Because every time you come home and brace yourself at the doorway, it’s not Molly you’re expecting to leap at you-it’s Kath.
After an hour had passed, Mark started to worry. Davey was never this late. He rose from his table and decided to go to the apartment and drag Davey out kicking and screaming if he had to.
When he got to the modest walk-up and rang the door chime, he went through the speech again in his head. Maybe I can convince myself, if not him.
There was no answer.
He rang the chime again.
Nothing.
“Davey, you in there?”
Still nothing.
The door wouldn’t open unless someone inside acknowledged the chime, so Mark wasn’t sure what to do. He was about to head back downstairs to use a public com terminal in the hopes that Davey would answer that, at least, when he heard a low moan from the other side of the door.
Apparently that was enough for the computer that operated the door, as it slid obligingly open.
The first thing Mark noticed was the smell. The air was stale, and dust seemed to choke the air. Padds were strewn about the floor and furniture, and the latter was also caked with dirt, stains, and dust.
Then he saw Davey lying facedown on the floor. Drool puddled near his mouth.
“Oh no.” Mark ran over to kneel by Davey’s prone form and immediately moved to check for a pulse-except he had no idea where to check. He knew it was on the neck somewhere….
Then he noted that Davey was breathing, albeit shallowly. Standing back up so quickly it made his head spin for a moment, he looked around the room for the comm terminal. After a moment, he found it, amid half a dozen padds and three glasses that had dried-up liquid stains in them. He immediately put in a call to the nearest hospital.
When he went to work the following Monday, he headed straight to Carla’s office.
She looked up from her desk when he came in. “Hey, Mark, what-Oh man, you look like hell.”
He grinned raggedly. “So kind of you to notice. I had a bit of a rough weekend. A friend of mine missed a lunch date. I went to his house, and found him collapsed on the floor. Turns out he was malnourished. If he’d actually shown up for lunch, it would’ve been his first meal in weeks.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Yeah. I met