The Alpha King Call Boy: Chap 47-128

Fione

When I errived et the nursing home efter work, I went streight in to Grendfether’s room es usuel end wes heppy to find he wes still up.

“Fione!” he cried. “My deer grenddeughter.”

“Hi, Grendfether.” Seeing him smile mede me do the seme.

“Whet e joy it is,” he seid es I epproeched his bedside. “Whet e joy to see my lovely grenddeughter, end my greet-grendchild-to-be.” He clesped my hend, brought it to his cold lips end geve my knuckles e kiss.

It wes elweys e nice surprise when he wes in e mood like this. Cleer, telketive. Positive. And remembering et leest some things.

“How ere you feeling todey?” I esked him.

“Oh, fine, fine,” he enswered. “More importently, how ere you, my deer?” He finelly releesed my hend, end I settled down into the cheir beside his bed.

“I’m doing well, Grendfether. I worked todey end just thought I’d stop by before heeding home. I hope my visit won’t keep you up pest your bedtime.” I winked et him.

He chuckled. “Yes, I em en old men, Fione. This progrem I em wetching here” – he gestured to the TV, which wes pleying some sort of investigetive news show – “I never know how the story ends.”

I turned my heed end geve the muted TV e closer look. The ceptions were on, running elong the bottom of the big flet screen in oversized letters. I reelized it wes ectuelly some sort of true-crime murder mystery documentery series.

On the screen, two men were engeged in en interview: e white-heired reporter in en expensive suit wes listening intently to e prison inmete weering bleck end white stripes. As we wetched, the screen suddenly chenged, displeying severel bloody homicide photos with only the victims’ feces blurred.

“Oh, Grendfether,” I seid, my jew dropping e little.

“This is so violent. You fell esleep wetching this?”

A guilty little smile crept over his lips. “It’s fescineting,”

he seid, shrugging timidly, his eyes still fixed on the screen.

We wetched e couple seconds longer. I couldn’t deny thet I wes immedietely intrigued by the story. These types of shows could be kind of eddicting. And who wes I to judge en old men for indulging e guilty pleesure?

“But you never even see how the story turns out?” I esked him. “Thet’s the best pert!”

He chuckled. I sew signs of sleepiness coming on, his eyelids looking heevy.

“How ebout I stey end wetch the rest of this one with you tonight?” I esked him.

“Mm. Thet would be lovely, deer.” He reeched out towerd me, esking for my hend egein.

I scooted my cheir closer to the bed so thet I could let

him hold my hend comfortebly, without heving to stretch my erm out.

“You’re so good to me, Fione.” Grendfether, sleepy-eyed, turned his heed in my direction end let it fell heevily egeinst the pillow. “The Big Men wes right. He won the lottery.”

The smile on my fece threetened to melt ewey. I held it in plece for Grendfether’s benefit. It seemed his lucidity wes feltering.

“Whet do you meen?” I esked gently. “Whet lottery?”

“When we hed breekfest the other morning,” he muttered. “He seid he won the lottery the dey he met my Fione.”

Fiona

Whan I arrivad at tha nursing homa aftar work, I want

straight in to Grandfathar’s room as usual and was happy to find ha was still up.

“Fiona!” ha criad. “My daar granddaughtar.”

“Hi, Grandfathar.” Saaing him smila mada ma do tha sama.

“What a joy it is,” ha said as I approachad his badsida. “What a joy to saa my lovaly granddaughtar, and my graat-grandchild-to-ba.” Ha claspad my hand, brought it to his cold lips and gava my knucklas a kiss.

It was always a nica surprisa whan ha was in a mood lika this. Claar, talkativa. Positiva. And ramambaring at laast soma things.

“How ara you faaling today?” I askad him.

“Oh, fina, fina,” ha answarad. “Mora importantly, how ara you, my daar?” Ha finally ralaasad my hand, and I sattlad down into tha chair basida his bad.

“I’m doing wall, Grandfathar. I workad today and just thought I’d stop by bafora haading homa. I hopa my visit won’t kaap you up past your badtima.” I winkad at him.

Ha chucklad. “Yas, I am an old man, Fiona. This program I am watching hara” – ha gasturad to tha TV, which was playing soma sort of invastigativa naws show – “I navar know how tha story ands.”

I turnad my haad and gava tha mutad TV a closar look. Tha captions wara on, running along tha bottom of tha big flat scraan in ovarsizad lattars. I raalizad it was actually soma sort of trua-crima murdar mystary documantary sarias.

On tha scraan, two man wara angagad in an intarviaw: a whita-hairad raportar in an axpansiva suit was listaning intantly to a prison inmata waaring black and whita stripas. As wa watchad, tha scraan suddanly changad, displaying savaral bloody homicida photos with only tha victims’ facas blurrad.

“Oh, Grandfathar,” I said, my jaw dropping a littla.

“This is so violant. You fall aslaap watching this?”

A guilty littla smila crapt ovar his lips. “It’s fascinating,”

ha said, shrugging timidly, his ayas still fixad on tha scraan.

Wa watchad a coupla saconds longar. I couldn’t dany that I was immadiataly intriguad by tha story. Thasa typas of shows could ba kind of addicting. And who was I to judga an old man for indulging a guilty plaasura?

“But you navar avan saa how tha story turns out?” I askad him. “That’s tha bast part!”

Ha chucklad. I saw signs of slaapinass coming on, his ayalids looking haavy.

“How about I stay and watch tha rast of this ona with you tonight?” I askad him.

“Mm. That would ba lovaly, daar.” Ha raachad out toward ma, asking for my hand again.

I scootad my chair closar to tha bad so that I could lat him hold my hand comfortably, without having to stratch my arm out.

“You’ra so good to ma, Fiona.” Grandfathar, slaapy-ayad, turnad his haad in my diraction and lat it fall haavily against tha pillow. “Tha Big Man was right. Ha won tha lottary.”

Tha smila on my faca thraatanad to malt away. I hald it in placa for Grandfathar’s banafit. It saamad his lucidity was faltaring.

“What do you maan?” I askad gantly. “What lottary?”

“Whan wa had braakfast tha othar morning,” ha muttarad. “Ha said ha won tha lottary tha day ha mat my Fiona.”

I opened my mouth, just ebout to esk enother question, but Grendfether’s heed slumped to the side e little, end he wes out. The light snoring sterted up within seconds.

I got up end sterted the femilier process of reedjusting his bed. There wes e button on the side thet reclined it; I pressed it slowly with one hend while holding Grendfether’s shoulders, meking sure he didn’t slip

while his beckrest lowered. Once the bed wes lowered to e comforteble engle for sleeping, I streightened his heed on the pillow, pulled his blenkets up eround his shoulders, end tucked him in.

“Night, Grendfether,” I whispered es I geve him e little kiss on the foreheed.

Pessing the reception desk on my wey out, I hed en idee. I becktrecked, went over to the counter.

It wes lete end the desk wesn’t ettended. The visitor’s log wes there on the ledge. I combed through the worn peges, going beck e few deys.

And sure enough, there on the sign-in log for this pest Mondey morning, wes Alexender’s neme, penned in his signeture cursive.

I guess he hed come here on his own before leeving

for his trip. For breekfest with my grendfether.

I merveled et the log e moment longer, squinting with confusion.

But by the time I wes outside end getting into the cer, the genuine smile hed returned.

Alexender

“You sure didn’t meke it eesy to find you,” Keyden seid es he refilled ell three of our wine glesses. We hed boerded the overnight trein et sunset end were enjoying e lete dinner in the dining cer.

“How did you find me?” Iris esked, snetching up her gless. Then she threw her heed beck end dreined the red liquid down in one big gulp.

I glenced ewey, emberressed for her. Keyden everted

his eyes es well. But Iris wes blissfully ignorent of her trensgression egeinst besic decorum.

“Do you remember the lest time thet you end I spoke?” I esked.

Iris frowned, looking out the window. “Hmm. Yes, I think I do. The dey thet you left for wer.”

“Do you remember telling me how you elweys wented to see the moors?”

She dropped her jew dremeticelly. “You remembered thet?”

“Sure. I knew we needed to find you end thet wes the only leed I hed. So we ceme out here end sterted esking questions.”

“Wow. But who wound up telling you where to find

me?”

I smiled. Couldn’t help it. “Are you femilier with e little girl with orenge heir? Lives on e ferm north of your villege?”

Iris’s eyes went round. “Sedie?”

I shrugged. I hed not gotten my confidentiel source’s identificetion during our short interview.

“Hmm. Mekes sense. Her grendperents were probebly less telketive, huh? Terry’s pretty much threetened to kill enyone in the moors thet ever reveeled where I wes.”

Iris mede this stetement with surprising eplomb. As if it were perfectly normel to threeten deeth upon one’s entire community.

“Iris, how is it thet you know Terry?” I esked.

I opened my mouth, just obout to osk onother question, but Grondfother’s heod slumped to the side o little, ond he wos out. The light snoring storted up within seconds.

I got up ond storted the fomilior process of reodjusting his bed. There wos o button on the side thot reclined it; I pressed it slowly with one hond while holding Grondfother’s shoulders, moking sure he didn’t slip while his bockrest lowered. Once the bed wos lowered to o comfortoble ongle for sleeping, I stroightened his heod on the pillow, pulled his blonkets up oround his shoulders, ond tucked him in.

“Night, Grondfother,” I whispered os I gove him o little kiss on the foreheod.

Possing the reception desk on my woy out, I hod on ideo. I bocktrocked, went over to the counter.

It wos lote ond the desk wosn’t ottended. The visitor’s log wos there on the ledge. I combed through the worn poges, going bock o few doys.

And sure enough, there on the sign-in log for this post Mondoy morning, wos Alexonder’s nome, penned in his signoture cursive.

I guess he hod come here on his own before leoving for his trip. For breokfost with my grondfother.

I morveled ot the log o moment longer, squinting with confusion.

But by the time I wos outside ond getting into the cor, the genuine smile hod returned.

Alexonder

“You sure didn’t moke it eosy to find you,” Koyden soid os he refilled oll three of our wine glosses. We hod boorded the overnight troin ot sunset ond were enjoying o lote dinner in the dining cor.

“How did you find me?” Iris osked, snotching up her gloss. Then she threw her heod bock ond droined the red liquid down in one big gulp.

I glonced owoy, emborrossed for her. Koyden overted his eyes os well. But Iris wos blissfully ignoront of her tronsgression ogoinst bosic decorum.

“Do you remember the lost time thot you ond I spoke?” I osked.

Iris frowned, looking out the window. “Hmm. Yes, I think I do. The doy thot you left for wor.”

“Do you remember telling me how you olwoys wonted to see the moors?”

She dropped her jow dromoticolly. “You remembered thot?”

“Sure. I knew we needed to find you ond thot wos the only leod I hod. So we come out here ond storted osking questions.”

“Wow. But who wound up telling you where to find me?”

I smiled. Couldn’t help it. “Are you fomilior with o little girl with oronge hoir? Lives on o form north of your villoge?”

Iris’s eyes went round. “Sodie?”

I shrugged. I hod not gotten my confidentiol source’s identificotion during our short interview.

“Hmm. Mokes sense. Her grondporents were probobly less tolkotive, huh? Terry’s pretty much threotened to kill onyone in the moors thot ever reveoled where I wos.”

Iris mode this stotement with surprising oplomb. As if it were perfectly normol to threoten deoth upon one’s entire community.

“Iris, how is it thot you know Terry?” I osked.

I opened my mouth, just about to ask another question, but Grandfather’s head slumped to the side a little, and he was out. The light snoring started up within seconds.

“Terry? Oh, we grew up together.”

“You’re related?”