Iron House

Iron House Read Online Free PDF Page A

Book: Iron House Read Online Free PDF
Author: John Hart
Tags: thriller, Suspense, Crime, Mystery, Adult
the old man could find it, then stood and walked to the wall of books on the north side. The shelves ran the length of the room and held a collection the man had been working on for over thirty years. They shared a love of the classics, and many of the books were first editions, including several by Hemingway, Faulkner, and Fitzgerald. Michael removed
The Old Man and the Sea
, then sat back down.
    Through the window, he saw the river and then Queens. The old man had been born there to a prostitute with no interest beyond folding money and the next bottle it could buy. Shut up for years in a basement tenement, he’d been left alone for days at a time, unwashed and half-starved until he was orphaned at age seven. He told Michael once that he’d never known a childhood harder than his until their paths crossed. That fact made them family, he said. Because no one else could understand the loneliness they’d known, the fear. He said it gave them clarity, made them strong. And Stevan hated Michael for that, for having that bond with his father.
    But Michael cherished it, not just because he was so otherwise alone in the world, but because the similarities
did
make a difference; because not even Stevan grasped the scope of deprivation that defined his father’s early days. He did not know that the scars on the old man’s feet came from rat bites in the crib, or that his missing fingers came from frostbite in the days before his mother died. The old man spoke of those things only to Michael, because only Michael could understand. He was the only one who knew the full story, the only person aware that the old man had chosen this room for the view, so that his last earthly sight would be the place from which he’d dragged himself one brutal day at a time. Michael found an undeniable elegance in this. The tenement house that almost killed the man was a river’s breadth away, and a lifetime apart.
    The sun moved higher and light slipped from the old man’s face. So sunken were his eyes that Michael missed the moment they opened. One instant they were hidden, and the next they were simply there, pinched and deep and shot with red. “Stevan?”
    “It’s Michael.”
    The frail chest rose and fell in small, desperate pants and Michael saw pain bite deeper. Skin gathered at the corners of the old man’s eyes and his brows compressed at the center. “Michael…” His mouth worked. Something glinted in the sun that still touched his neck, and Michael realized that he was crying. “Please…”
    Michael turned his face away from the thing he was being asked to do. For months, now, the old man had begged to die, so eager was the pain. But Stevan had refused. Stevan. His son. So the old man had suffered as Michael watched the illness take him down. Weeks stretched to months, and the old man had begged.
    God, how he had begged.
    Then, eight days ago, Michael had told him about Elena. He explained that life had become more than the job, that he wanted out, a normal life. And listening, his pain-filled eyes so very intent, the old man had nodded as hard as such a sick man could. He said he understood just how precious life should be.
Precious.
Fingers clawed into Michael’s arm.
Short!
And with those words still in the air above his lips, he’d told Michael that he loved him.
    Like a son.
    His fingers had tightened as he pulled Michael closer.
    You understand?
    A coughing fit took him then, and when he could speak again, he released Michael to live life as he wished, then asked him to take his own life in return. There was no irony in his request, just hurt; now he was asking again.
    “I can’t.”
    Michael’s neck bent because the words were insufficient. He’d killed so many times that this should be the simplest of things. A gentle pressure. A few seconds. But he remembered the day the old man found him, cut a dozen times and fighting for his life under a bridge in Spanish Harlem. He said he’d heard of this wild boy who lived
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