There were no cops at the rehab center. He parked the bike in the lot and walked to the front door. The rehab center was a refurnished small hospital, so he found himself at an information desk.
“Steven Carlin,” he said to the receptionist.
She glanced at her computer. “He is in physical therapy right now. Right down the hall, take your second left.”
“Thanks,” Knight said, and followed the directions. He stopped at the doorway, seeing patients doing various things, such as using a walker to shuffle along the floor, tossing a yoga ball back and forth. He could see a man at the far end of the room, sitting in a wheelchair, lifting a small ball in his hand up to his chin, and slowly bringing it down. Knight walked through the physical therapy room, standing about a foot away from him.
He was a tall man, broad shouldered and would have been a big man, if he had some more weight on him. Knight had last seen him just about four short years ago, and he was much bigger, still intimidating. Something had happened to him in that time.
“Hello, Dad,” Knight said, and the man lifted his head slowly. Knight had the man’s gray eyes and size, so there was no mistaking the resemblance. However, the male therapist asked the obvious question, “You’re his son?”
“Youngest,” Knight said, while his father’s eyes widened in what could have been fear. Knight smiled, his own eyes bright. “Jus’ though’ I’d come by.”
“You can take him back to his room,” said the therapist, getting up, and taking away the ball, turning away from them. His father moved slowly, shaking his head very slowly and grunting.
“Be glad t’. What room?”
“273, please.”
Again, his father shook his head, but the therapist didn’t seem to notice. “Judy will be by for speech therapy in a couple of hours.”
Knight pushed the wheelchair away with the briefest of nods to the therapist. “You still smoke, dad?”
He grunted and tried to move out of the chair. Knight put a hand on his father’s shoulder. “Keep still. Ya don’ wanna dash y’r brains on th’ linoleum.”
He stopped moving. “Tha’s righ, much better now, righ’?” Knight walked slowly, bending his head to his father’s ear. “Y’ could act like y’ was happy t’ see me.”
The grunt turned into something like an open-mouthed moan. Knight again grinned and pushed the chair to the elevator. He brought him into the elevator, and they were joined by some nurses. “Mr. Carlin, who’s this?” one asked, smiling up at Knight.
Again, that open-mouthed moan, that sounded like “Tho” and other nonsensical sounds. Knight waited for the man to struggle and said at the nurse’s questioning look to him, “I’m his youngest son, Leo.”
“It’s good to meet you. Your father is doing so well, considering the stroke could have been so debilitating.”
The elevator doors opened, and the nurse guided them out. She and a couple of others walked with them toward his room, while his father kept making noises. They got to 273, and he saw that there was no way he could get the wheelchair into the small room. Knight locked the wheelchair, bent down and went to lift the man out of the wheelchair.
“Don’ move,” Knight hissed, and easily lifted the man out of the wheelchair. He was so light, so much lighter than Malcolm, it was like picking up a sack of feathers. He traversed the room and set his father in the chair next to the bed.
His father made no noise as he was placed in the chair. Knight looked down at the now frail man, and pity crossed his face. His father turned away, making noises.
The nurse from the elevator came in. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said to Knight.
“I’ve lifted heavier in my job.”
“Still, Leo, we are liable in case you or Mr. Carlin got hurt.”
Knight only shrugged. The nurse took his vitals and then left, closing the curtains and giving then some privacy. Knight could hear the other man in the bed next to them sleeping.
“I wanted t’ come–” He stopped, and took a breath. “I wanted to come and find you to tell you that I’ve met someone else like me.”
The question was in his father’s eyes, so Knight continued. “I found a man – a few in fact – who’re shapeshifters. I found a wereleopard, like me, but he’s from Russia. And he taught me how to shift, how to be proud of what I am. To not hide it.”
The noises began again, and he shook his head, much faster this time.
“You’re the one who was scared, and you made me scared of myself. My Beast, it’s part of me, whether you like it or not. And whether you like it or not, he’s my King, my lover, and my soulmate–and I am his Champion and Consort.”
“Eeee?”
“He. Yeah, dad. He’s a king, dad. A king of beasts.” Knight touched his bracelet for support, then focused on his father again. “I wanted to tell you, to show you, that all the shit you did to me – to mom – it didn’t kill me.”
His father looked in pain for a moment.
“Someday I’ll be back with him, and I’ll show you the man who loves me for what I am, not in spite of it.”
Again, that look of pain, and his father leaned forward quickly. He moaned. Knight jumped up and hit the nurse’s button. It seemed like forever before he heard, “Can I help you?”
“Some’in’s th’ matter–”
Someone came in, parting the curtain. He was still moaning, shaking his head, his body. Knight got out of the way as more nurses came in. One turned to him while helping his father, “I think he’s had enough for today, sir.”
Knight nodded. He supposed he had done enough for one day.