the series of r/nosleep | volume one: the {smile} series

{A}lzheimer's

"Dad?" I nudge his shoulder, trying to get his attention. "Dad, can you finish what you were saying?"

He turns back from the window, glassy eyed like the fogged up pane of his hospital room. He stares at me for a long second trying to remember who I am then a tiny upturn at the corner of his mouth. "They have good pie here," he says.

His voice breaks my heart. It's the same voice that read to me before bed, casting me off into an ocean of sleep with his thick baritone as my guide. It's the same smooth sound that made breakups and booboos all better as a kid; the same voice that toasted me at my wedding. "I know, dad. They have good pie." The hospital doesn't actually serve pie. I place a hand on his arm; his forearms are still thick ropes of muscle. "Can you remember what you were telling me?"

"Junior?" His eyes light up, like someone deep inside the black pupils lit the faintest of lanterns. "Junior, how long have you –"

"I've been here awhile, dad. We've been talking." I smile. "You were telling me about Uncle Jon."

A shadow shades his eyes as deep wrinkled brows dip downward. "Why are we talking about that bastard?"

"You were telling me what happened. You were telling me why you two don't talk anymore."

He shakes his head. Frustration. I'm losing him again.

"The diner, dad. You were telling me about the diner. Something about –"

"Every one of them," he says. He pulls his arm away and wipes a dry forehead with the back of his hospital gown. The fog is creeping back into his eyes. "Laying brick ain't for the weak." His hand goes to his shoulder massaging muscles that aren't really sore.

He's almost gone, I think. "Dad, the diner?" I try to guide him back.

The thick southern drawl of his youth surfaces as he talks, "12 hour days, e'ryday. You know that?" I nod, not really understanding. "And we only got paid for eight. But it was enough; plenty in fact."

"Did you work with Jon back then?" I ask, steering him back.

"You hear that, Jon? This boy's askin' if you worked with me!" He's talking over his shoulder to an empty hospital corner. "The only thing you ever lifted was a fork to your damn mouth." He laughs then frowns as a memory slips through.

He's almost gone again. "What happened at the diner? Why did you and Uncle Jon stop talking that day?" I try to turn his shoulders back towards me, but he's still so strong.

He finally turns on his own accord, his head lagging a moment behind still staring at something only he can see. "Listen pal," he says in a less than cordial tone. "You might wanna keep them hands off me."

I've lost him. "Dad?"

The lantern is back in his eyes, faint and distant, but then puffed out by the fog. "They got any pie today, Jon?"

He's talking to me, but looking through me at the same time. "No, not today," I say. I reach down and gather my bag and my phone. I've got two missed calls from my wife. I'm already late. "I'm going to go, dad. I've got dinner plans at home." He's looking back out the window ignoring me. I stand, put on my coat, and walk towards the door. "You want me to say anything to Jon? He's visiting. I haven't seen him in years –"

"Why'd you do it?"

I stop, hand on the doorknob. "You want me to ask him –"

He's staring at me, dark lucidity glowing from his brown eyes. "All those people, Jon. Why?"

I take a few steps towards him. "Dad, I'm not –"

"Were you mad 'cause they teased you?" His hands are clenched into fists. "They teased everybody!" He's yelling now, anger in his voice I've never heard before. "Maybe if you didn't make it so easy on them; always eatin' and never workin'. Maybe if you tried to put in one good day of honest work!"

I can hear the nurses hurrying down the hall. "Dad, what happened? What did Uncle Jon do?"

He bares his teeth, spitting the words at me. "But, poison?! You weren't even man enough to stand up up to 'em face to face, you coward!" The nurses are there now, restraining him, pushing him back into his chair. He's still so strong but the memories seem to suck all that energy from him, draining him of life. "You coward," he yells again, but the voice is distant, like he's forgotten why he's saying those words. "Coward," he whispers into the window.

The nurses look at me accusingly as they retreat from the room. "Dad?" I cross the room, kneel down, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Dad, what happened?"

He turns towards me; his eyes are the same clarity as the fogged glass behind him. "They have good pie here," he says. His eyes water and he turns back around. He's gone.

I kiss his forehead and leave the building. As I'm walking to the car I check my voicemail. "You're late," my wife says. "Your uncle's here early. He brought pie."