Caught and Collared: Book One of the Larkspur Series

Chapter One

It was raining the afternoon that Gale Brand died. Aden received the call regarding his father's accident after his final class for the day. His phone rang in his back pocket, bringing him to a stop in the hallway connecting Hamilton Hall with the office complex a quick walk from his classroom. It was a car accident, as he was informed by the officer on the other end of the line, and an ugly one. A speeding SUV t-boned Gale's pick-up truck in an intersection, trying to beat a red light and failing. Aden wanted to ask if Gale had been drinking, but he knew his father didn't drink during the day. At least, he didn't the last time Aden saw him.

Aden couldn't know for sure what his father did anymore.

Gale was on life support by the time Aden arrived at the hospital. Aden didn't remember driving there. He didn't remember leaving the campus, either. The fluorescent bulbs were too bright as they hummed overhead, the air too heavy to breathe, like moving through water. His glasses were smudged at their corners from where he fumbled with them, trying to busy his hands in an idle, anxious habit. A doctor explained the grim particulars of organ damage and blood loss. Aden didn't hear it over the dull roar of his own insular thoughts, imagining broken glass and crushed metal. Blood on pavement, on upholstery, on the cracked steering wheel cover.

Then, just as the street lights flickered on outside, Gale Brand slipped away. Aden didn't have the chance to see him. He couldn't have commanded himself through the door if he wanted to. Just the sight of his father through the ajar door, with eyes taped shut and tubes protruding from his bruised body, was too alien a concept to approach.

Aden Brand, at thirty-five, sitting in a lonely hospital corridor in the Intensive Care Ward, found himself orphaned. His mother Sarah might as well as have been dead, for all he knew. She likely was. She dropped him off on Gale's doorstep when Aden was six, with a sob story about a stalled job hunt and a drinking problem, never to be heard from again. Aden barely remembered Sarah. Gale never talked about her. The only person Aden had a number for was his grandmother, Gale's mother, Patricia. He waited for his hands to stop shaking before he called Patricia with the news. The phone rang three times before she answered, counting each tinny chime while he tried to think of something useful to say.

He had never told anyone that their son had died. He never had a reason to. Listening to Patricia's small, raspy voice, Aden regretted how unprepared he was for the telling.

"Hello?" Patricia asked. The edges of her words were thickened by her pack-a-day habit.

"Hey," Aden said. He could imagine her in her rambling old house, with her portraits of a sympathetic-looking Jesus Christ in every room. "It's Aden."

"Oh, Aden, hey. How've you been?"

"I'm fine. I just – something's happened with Dad."

"What?"

Aden imagined her sitting in her favorite recliner. The red leather armchair with the built-in cup-holder, where she kept her cigarettes and lighter. He closed his eyes.

"Dad's dead."

A pause. The sound of shuffling. "What happened?"

"Car accident. He was t-boned coming through an intersection."

"Was he drunk?"

"No. At least, I don't think so. The doctor didn't say anything." Aden recalled the Christ that Patricia had hung up over the kitchenette where they ate dinner. Her youthful, compassionate-looking Christ, with his giant, wet eyes and tightly clasped hands. Aden pushed his drooping glasses back into place. "Have you seen him?"

"Recently? Yeah, a couple weeks ago."

"Had he been okay?"

"Yeah. He seemed fine. You know how your dad is. Even if he wasn't, he wouldn't say so."

"I know."

"I just – you're sure it's him? No, of course you're sure." The sound of crying, then, soft and sniffling. "I'm sorry."

"Me, too," Aden said.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm still at the hospital, finishing up."

"Call me back when you're done."

"Of course."

He couldn't bring himself to keep his word.

There were forms to sign and date, procedures to complete to have Gale's body released. Then Aden returned to his quiet little house. It finished raining by the time he pulled into his driveway, and the air outside was sweet and cool. He let his shaggy sheepdog Baxter outside to run around the backyard for his daily hour. After work, as was his routine, Aden turned on the lights inside, let the dog out, and made dinner for one. He washed the few dishes he dirtied, took a shower, read whatever book or article he had planned to read, then went to bed. Tonight, he sat on the patio and watched Baxter gallop through the wet grass. He didn't want to go inside the darkened house. The house, a compact one-bedroom with a fenced-in yard, felt bigger and emptier than it was. Aden felt emptier, too, numbed by the silence that Gale's absence left behind.

That night, Aden made dinner for one. He didn't do the dishes, read, or take a shower. Instead, he laid down in his bed, and didn't sleep.