We grabbed a room at a Super 8 just outside of town. I work IT all day and fight crime all night; I can’t afford to stay anywhere else. Bionic was antsy, we both were. It’s not every day you decide to break into a federally run prison. I lay on the hard mattress, on top of the ugly flower patterned comforter, trying to clear my head, trying to sleep.
My phone rang, caller ID said it was my wife, ex-wife. I answered.
“Daddy?” It was my son’s voice. Unexpected guilt slammed my stomach.
“Uh. Hey buddy.”
“Um, Daddy, when are we going to the park? You said we could go to the park and we didn’t.”
“I know.” Broken promises, one after another. Hadn’t seen my kids in weeks, hadn’t missed them. Out of sight, out of mind.
I heard my ex-wife’s voice in the background, “Put the phone down. Who are you talking to? Give me that phone.”
“Okay Daddy, bye.”
She took the phone from him. “Hello?”
“Hey.”
“Don’t call here unless you are going to talk to me.”
“Sorry, he called me.”
“Whatever, listen, unless you are going to be a real father and be around your kids, don’t talk to them.”
Click. She hung up the phone.
Reflex kicked in, “I love you.”
Bionic looked over at me, his face puzzled. I shrugged and tossed the phone down on the bed.
I closed my eyes and let the black shadow of relaxation wash over my body.
I woke up to Bionic standing over me, shaking me gently. I sat up, rubbed the sleep from my eyes and looked outside. Night had come, it was time.
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