Beeping again. I stand and look at the machines. His pulse ox is down to eighty. The same nurse scurries in once more.

“Mr. Jolly, you’ve got to keep this on.” She adjusts the cannula. “Are you going to behave yourself now?”

Right, I say to myself.

She looks to me. “Have you finished your business yet? He’s very tired.”

I move to open my mouth, but Floyd speaks first.

“No, he’s not done here.”

The nurse sighs. “Very well, but try to stay still, okay?” She whisks back out the door.

“Get on with it,” I say, not kindly.

“If I could relive the next few moments I’m going to tell you about, I’d never go to my uncle. I’d live on the streets, die on the streets.”

“Maybe it would have helped you,” I say. “I know a young woman who grew up homeless, and she’s bright and hardworking and the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

Floyd turns, finally, meeting my gaze. His green eyes are bloodshot and watery, but still I can see myself in them. I see the man who fathered me. The man who once looked a lot like me. Tall, broad, blond.

And now he’s a shadow of his former self. Booze and pills will do that.

“You’re in love,” he finally says.

I say nothing.

“Don’t try to deny it. I see that look in your eyes when you speak of your young lady. Don’t let her get away, son.”

I widen my eyes at his use of the endearment. I’m no more his son than the guy across the hall. Only genetically.

“My personal life isn’t any of your business,” I say.

“I won’t argue with you on that.” He turns away and resumes staring straight ahead. “I should get on with it, I guess.”

“I really wish you would.”

“My biggest regret is that I went to see Uncle Fred that day.”

“Biggest? Really? Bigger than abandoning your kids and their mother?”

“Yes.”

I shake my head and stand. “Unbelievable. I’m out of here.”

“For God’s sake, Dale, sit down!”

That voice again. So like my own when I’m angry. When I’m trying so hard to be understood.

So again, I sit. I’ll hear him out. He’ll be dead soon anyway.

“You have two more minutes,” I say, “and then I’m going.”

“Good enough.” He coughs and sputters once more but gains control. “I went to Uncle Fred for money. I needed a fresh start. I already found a rehab place that would take me, but of course I couldn’t afford it. I needed five thousand dollars to get in the door. Once there, I could apply for state funding as an indigent.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well, that’s what I was told at the time. I was strung out, ready to go through withdrawal, and I believed what anyone told me. So I went to Uncle Fred.”

“And your rich uncle told you to take a hike?”

He shakes his head. “How I wish he had. No, he said he’d give me the money, but that I needed to do something for him in return.”

“Bartering. Sure. The man wasn’t stupid. What the hell could a strung-out alcoholic and junkie have that your rich uncle wanted?”

He closes his mouth and then his eyes. The beeps on one of his machines increase in speed. His heart is pounding rapidly. Why? I have no idea.

Finally, he opens his eyes and turns to gaze at me. Then, apparently thinking better of it, he cocks his head back and stares straight ahead.

“What did he want from me?” he says.

“Yeah. What the hell could you possibly have that he wanted?”

Another pause that seems to go on for years. Then—

“You. He wanted your brother and you.”

Somewhere in the air, words hang and voices echo.

You. He wanted your brother and you.

“So… You’re telling me…” No. Can’t let the thought form in my mind. Can’t. Just can’t.

“I told you a lot of his investments were illegal,” Floyd finally goes on.

Illegal. Yeah. Immoral. All that shit. But get to the goddamned point!

None of this makes it past my lips. I’m numb. My lips won’t open, and if they don’t open soon, I may explode on the spot and all the vileness will spew out of me.

Still numb.

Fucking numb.

Somewhere outside of the bubble I’m sitting in, Floyd is still speaking.

Illegal. Trafficking. Kids. Boys especially. Young, good-looking boys. I did it. I told him where he could find you. I sold your brother and you to Uncle Fred for five thousand dollars.

Still numb. Still immobile.

But somewhere inside, smoke is rising. Guts are churning. Rage is tornadoing. It all starts low, and then moves slowly, andante, and then begins to crescendo.

Finally, I break free and rise, pulling my arms from the invisible chains binding me.

I’m Frankenstein’s monster. Alive for the first time.

Finally knowing the truth of my life.

Random. Nothing is fucking random.

No. Just a biological father who needed money.

“Why us?” I cry. “Why not sell your soul to the devil himself?”

“Don’t you understand?” he says softly. “I did.”

“Fuck you. Then only you would suffer for your deed. Donny and I suffered. Do you have any idea what those psychopaths did to us?”

He doesn’t speak.

He knows.

He knew then, and he knows now.

“How was fucking rehab, Dad? Was it worth it?”

Still no words from him.

And I know.

I know the truth.

He never went to rehab. He took the money he got for his children and bought more booze and pills.

And he ended up the sorry sight he is now.

“This?” I say. “This is why you dragged me in here on your deathbed?”

“I had to let it go,” he says. “Had to erase my sins before it was too late.”

“What the hell kind of answer is that? You can’t erase a sin, Floyd. The sin already exists. You can ask forgiveness, but you can’t erase it.”

He closes his eyes. “Will you… Can you…forgive me?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I didn’t go to rehab,” he says. “I never got clean. I couldn’t. I had to live with what I did. I never forgave myself.”