At the far end of town I was about to turn around when I saw one last large building, a professional center, well landscaped and manicured. It too seemed strangely familiar. I stepped in the door and sat in a corner of the waiting room, pretending to read a magazine, certain I had been there and not that long ago. I could almost remember. The office smelled mediciny, like it’d been swabbed with a ball of camphor.

In the front door walked a middle-aged man in a sharp business suit, escorting a white-haired man who seemed anxious and confused. My jaw dropped as I watched them. I recognized the old man immediately—my father. But the face of the middle-aged man was so hard, his eyes seemed so gray and cold … like shark eyes. I’d seen that face in the mirror for many years—but I’d never realized it looked like this.

I stood up and watched through the receptionist’s window as they sat down and spoke with a woman in a white coat. Whitecoat explained things to the son, and the son explained things to the father. The father nodded, eyes wet. They filled out some white forms on clipboards. I put my fingers to my twitching face, grieving at the sight of Whitehair, sickened by the sight of Whitecoat, and enraged and frightened at the self-made man in the business suit.

Whitecoat escorted Whitehair to another room, while the businessman paid at the front desk, then walked out the door, talking on a cell phone. I got a clear look at his face. I saw it twitch. I felt for the knife in my belt. Part of me wanted to kill him. He didn’t deserve to live.

I followed him out the front door then went around to the back of the building and heard a cry, a resigned whimper from inside. It haunted me. A few minutes later the back door opened and someone pushed out a gurney covered with a white sheet. A young man with big biceps picked up Whitesheet and threw him like a sack of concrete into a hole in the ground.

That was something I hadn’t seen—it wasn’t how it had happened, not exactly. Yet it was what happened, the details had changed somewhat but were accurate in all the essentials.

I ran away from the building, tears flowing. I ran all the way through town, past people giving me strange looks, but I didn’t care.

I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry, my child … I don’t even have a name to call you. I’m sorry, Marci, so sorry. Brian, Amy, forgive me.