Last Light Read Free

leaving, and could they have his autograph?
    He still looked the same. Well, almost—no one noticed his prosthetic eye; it was a perfect match to his real one. There were no visible scars now that his hair had grown back. The only external clue to his brain injury was his voice: flat, cold, devoid of emotion or humanity.
    Kiss of death for his TV career, but in many ways, maybe the best thing that had ever happened to him.
    Funny how everything you thought was Truth turned out to be a bunch of lies.
    David stood outside the door to his mother’s room, waiting while a nurse finished adjusting the infusion pump that provided Maria’s pain medication. Typical Maria, she had ignored her symptoms, denied that anything could come between her and her son and the life she dreamed for her family until it was too late.
    When he was a kid—after he was old enough to stop believing in Santa Claus, his father’s innocence, and other fairy tales—he’d accuse her of being delusional, living in a fantasy world where she could make dreams come true. Now that he was an adult and had seen more than his fair share of dreams shattered, he wondered if it was more a case of Maria fighting to protect her tiny family from harsh reality.
    “Hi, Mom,” he said as he entered and leaned over the bed to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead. The cancer had infiltrated her bones, creating constant pain at the slightest touch.
    “David, my David,” she murmured, her eyes glazed. He thought she might drift off—she was spending more and more of her time in the netherland between sleep and wakefulness—but she gave herself a shake and pushed the button to bring the head of her bed up so she could face him. “Have you gone yet? Have you seen your father? He needs you, David. And you need the truth.”
    The gush of words left her breathless, gasping. He adjusted her oxygen cannula, noting the bruises left by the tape holding it to her cheeks. The mask would be more comfortable the nurses said, but Maria refused it. She hated anything that might impede her last chances to communicate. Maria had always been a talker, just as her son had always been the one to ask questions.
    He smoothed out her orange and green crocheted afghan before taking the chair beside her, making sure he was at her eye level so she wouldn’t have to strain to see him. She was the one person who didn’t seem to mind his new speech patterns; she understood the emotion behind his words without needing to hear it.
    “You must go to him, David. Before it is too late.”
    The one person alive on this planet who knew him better than he knew himself and she was dying. Yet, she didn’t want him here with her; all she wanted was for him to reconcile with his father. How could he say no to her final request?
    But he was merely going through the motions for her. Lying and trying his best to hide it from her. He’d never reconcile with his father, never forgive.
    “No, I haven’t been to see him yet. The Justice Project attorney is working to get me permission for a special visit this week.” He was glad his voice hid his emotion—it had been eight years since he’d seen his father and he’d be happy to never visit him again.
    As if she read his mind, she stretched a bone-thin hand to cover his on the bed rail. “You need to go. You need the truth. And so does your father.”
    He shook his head. “What truth? He confessed. He took the plea. The prints on the gun were his. We might get him out on a technicality, but that doesn’t make him innocent.”
    Her sigh emerged as a rattling noise that made him wince and look away. He’d heard that noise before in soldiers about to die.
    “When did you lose faith, David? You used to believe.”
    “How can you still?” he argued. “Twenty-nine years you’ve followed him from one prison to the next, dragging me along, fighting a battle even he never asked you to fight. The man’s in prison. Where he belongs. Why can’t you see