The Fury - Jason Pinter [58]
give you a clue as to what she was afraid of?"
My father raised his head, his eyes red. His breath
ing grew labored. Immediately I recoiled and Amanda
looked at me. I could see my father's teeth, bared
through his lips. I'd seen this before. It was rage boiling
inside him, ready to explode. It was how he would get
when my mother or I upset him. It was how he looked
before a rampage, before he made us too scared to live
in our own home. It was the rage and confusion of a man
who couldn't do anything to stop his world from
spinning on an already tilted axis. So all he could do was
force that energy outward onto the people closest to
him.
I watched this from across the table as he simmered
for several minutes. Then the rage subsided, his breath
ing returning to normal. He realized there was nowhere
for the rage to go here. No outlet for it. He was an
animal surrounded by barbed wire.
I finally realized that what it took to subdue my
father was not him seeing the pain he caused others, but
him seeing the pain he could cause himself.
"There was a notepad," he finally said quietly. "At
one point Helen went to the bathroom. I took a look
around the apartment, just curious. So I see this lined
pad she must have just been writing in."
"What was on it?" I said.
The Fury
171
"First thing she wrote, weird as hell, was 'Mexico'
and 'Europe.'"
"Any specific country in Europe?"
"No, just Europe."
"Maybe those were rehab spots Helen had in mind.
Cheaper ones since she couldn't afford the tony places
in the States. What else?"
"Next she wrote '$50,000,' with a question mark
after it."
"Thirty years' back child support," Amanda said.
"That could add up to fifty grand. Maybe that's what
the number represented."
"The last word she wrote was--" my father thought
for a moment "--fury."
"Fury?"
"It was capitalized, like a name. And she underlined
it. A few times. With another question mark at the end."
"We can guess what the other words represented," I
said. "But what does the 'Fury' mean?" I asked the
question, but a small chime went off in my subcon
scious. Like I'd heard the word before. And not in
relation to its standard usage. Something more specific.
But I couldn't conjure up just what it was.
"What if," Amanda said, "they had nothing do to
with rehab facilities or resorts. What if Stephen and
Helen were trying to get away from something?"
"Like what?" my father asked.
"I don't know, but that kind of money seems kind of
high for a rehab joint, especially when he could
probably just check himself into detox. It would,
though, be just enough money if you wanted to disap
pear."
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Jason Pinter
"Fifty grand might get you somewhere," I said, "but
is it enough to start a new life?"
"Maybe not," she said. "But it might be enough to
survive."
20
We arrived back home feeling like we'd taken a few
too many punches to the head. So many thoughts and
ideas were swimming around in there--mixed in with
the fear and apprehension of what my father was going
through--that I wished we could just curl up in bed, fall
asleep for a month or two and wake up with everything
back to normal.
Even if we did manage to prove that my father didn't
kill Stephen, James Parker would go right back to Bend
where he would reenter that joke of a life. My mother
hadn't even come because he refused to let her. He
wouldn't be seen like this. Chained. Weak. And
knowing my mother, she wouldn't question it.
I wondered if it was worth it. Saving him. Maybe the
universe was a little more right with James Parker in jail.
Maybe I was saving a man who didn't deserve to be
saved.
Yet here I was, doing what needed to be done. Trying
to find the proof that would free him. I wondered if he
would do the same for me. The answer was fairly
obvious.
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Jason Pinter
I thought about the money Helen Gaines had asked
for. Amanda was right. If Stephen's aim was to check
into rehab, fifty grand was overkill. It could have been
for more drugs, I supposed,