The Night Daniel Sinclair Returned to the World He Had Buried

Daniel slid the phone into his jacket pocket.

“Ask.”

“Were you present when he was injured?”

“No.”

“Who was caring for him?”

“My sister.”

“Your sister says your father picked him up.”

Daniel stared at him.

“You spoke to Celia?”

“She called emergency services. She’s downstairs with another officer.”

Daniel’s anger moved so quickly that he almost mistook it for clarity.

“Why was my father with him?”

“That’s one of the things we’re trying to establish.”

“I told her he was not allowed near Toby.”

Officer Parker’s expression changed by a degree.

“Is there a court order?”

“No.”

“Any documented history of abuse involving your father?”

Daniel could hear the correct answer and the true answer standing on opposite sides of his mouth.

“No documented history.”

“Has he ever threatened your son?”

“Not directly.”

“Has he threatened you?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Most of my life.”

The officer waited for more.

Daniel offered none.

The doctor stepped into the corridor and pulled the glass door nearly closed behind her.

“Mr. Sinclair, I’m Dr. Lena Ortiz. Your son’s scans show no skull fracture or bleeding in the brain. That’s the good news. He does have a concussion, and we want to keep him overnight for observation.”

Daniel’s shoulders lowered a fraction.

“Will he be all right?”

“We expect a full physical recovery. He’ll be sore. He may have headaches, fatigue, nausea, sensitivity to light. Emotionally, it may take longer.”

Daniel nodded.

Dr. Ortiz studied him before continuing.

“Toby told me someone pushed his face against the pavement and held him there. He said he had trouble breathing.”

Officer Parker stopped writing.

Daniel felt the corridor narrow around him.

“How long?” he asked.

“He couldn’t tell me. Children often can’t estimate time accurately during frightening events.”

“Did he lose consciousness?”

“Possibly for a few seconds. He remembers being on the ground, then waking in the back seat of your sister’s car.”

Daniel looked at the floor.

A cleaner pushed a yellow mop bucket past the far end of the corridor. One wheel squeaked with each rotation. A nurse laughed quietly at something behind the station, then covered her mouth when she saw the doctor’s face.

“Can I take him home tomorrow?” Daniel asked.

“If his symptoms remain stable. We’ll also need to coordinate with social work and law enforcement because of the circumstances.”

“Social work?”

Dr. Ortiz did not flinch at his tone.

“It’s standard when a child may have been assaulted by a family member.”

“I’m his father.”

“I know.”

“You think I did this?”

“I think Toby needs to go somewhere safe. We have to establish where that is.”

Daniel took one step closer.

“He goes home with me.”

Officer Parker shifted his weight.

Dr. Ortiz remained still. “That may be exactly what happens. But I need you to understand that your son has described violence by his grandfather, while his aunt was responsible for his care, and you’ve just told the officer there was a history of threats that was never reported. No one here knows the family yet.”

The words struck where they were meant to.

Daniel looked through the glass. Toby had turned his face toward the pillow. His small hand rested on top of the blanket, the hospital band loose around his wrist.

Dr. Ortiz lowered her voice.

“I’m not your enemy, Mr. Sinclair.”

Daniel swallowed.

“No,” he said. “You’re not.”

Officer Parker asked, “When did you last speak to your father?”

“Eleven months ago.”

“What was the conversation about?”

“He wanted to see Toby.”

“And you refused?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Daniel glanced toward the glass again.

“Because my father ruins things he believes belong to him.”

The officer wrote that down.

Celia was seated in a molded plastic chair near the emergency department vending machines. Her blouse was buttoned incorrectly, one side hanging lower than the other. Dried blood stained the cuff of her right sleeve.

Daniel saw the blood before he saw her face.

She stood when he approached.

“Danny.”

He had not allowed anyone to call him that in fifteen years.

“What happened?”

Celia pressed both hands together.

“I’m sorry.”

“What happened?”

“He called me this morning.”

“You let him take Toby.”

“No. I didn’t let him. I mean—I did, but it wasn’t like that.”

Daniel stopped a few feet away. A man in green scrubs sat near the vending machine eating crackers from a plastic package. He looked away, though not before Daniel saw the curiosity on his face.

Celia lowered her voice.

“My car wouldn’t start. I had to take the dog to the emergency vet, and Toby was supposed to be at school, but the school called because he threw up. I couldn’t reach you.”

“I was on a roof.”

“I know.”

“You had the site office number.”

“I called it. They said you were on the east building and nobody could get you down without stopping the crane.”

Daniel remembered the vibration in his pocket at 10:14 that morning. He had ignored it because the steel crew was guiding a rooftop unit into place and one of the rigging lines had started to twist.

“Then you call a cab,” he said. “You call anyone except him.”

“I panicked.”

“You called Victor.”

“He called me. He said he was nearby. I don’t know how he knew.”

“You told him Toby was sick?”

“I told him nothing. He said he’d heard from someone at the school.”