Father, Midnight

By Roberto Scarlato

Dante Solano and his family are grieving from a major loss. When their father gets struck with a sudden illness and passes away, Dante cannot move on. What follows are tearful memories, unlikely friendships and harsh truths. But slowly, Dante finds that things are not as calm as they appear to be at the cemetery where his father lays buried. There is a vicious madman with a plan that threatens everything we know on Earth. Can our reluctant hero weather the storm and find it within himself to conquer his demons? Or will his supernatural nights land him in a hell of his own making?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roberto Scarlato
• Release date: Sep 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223970217

Roberto Scarlato

Roberto Scarlato is an author, blogger and audiobook narrator. He writes speculative fiction, mystery, suspense, thriller, romance, horror and crime. Scarlato grew up in a small suburb of Chicago, where his love of a good story was cultivated by shows like “Alfred Hitchcock Presents” and “The Twilight Zone.” A bibliomaniac from the moment he learned to read, he began weaving together his own tales at an early age.  In November 2014, Scarlato quit his day job. He now writes and narrates full time. He married his high school sweetheart in 2010 and they have a daughter.

Book preview

For Mama and Papa Bear

Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room...

~ Henry Scott Holland

SEPTEMBER

-1-

Loss, Noon

––––––––

At some point, everyone eventually walks away. Not because they don't care. But only for the mechanical need that the mourners of the deceased have to move forward.

They must.

But at what cost?

Dante Solano had these thoughts right after they put his father in the wall. Standard protocol, really. They wheel the coffin to the spot, press a button, and the contraption elevates slowly. It can extend almost ten feet. But his father always wanted to be close to the ground, just not buried in it.

The weather was fair. A cool September breeze but not freezing. While Dante was craning his neck to see a flock of geese fly by, someone brushed into him. Another person put their hand on his back and patted him. The hand felt feminine and he smelled Chanel number 5. That was most likely his aunt Claire. She was always very bubbly...but not today.

All told, fifty family members came to say their final goodbyes to Carlo Pepe Solano. Just two months ago they had celebrated his 68th birthday. When asked if he wanted anything special he simply said, Good friends, good wine, good family, good laughs, and my good woman.

It was a much used line he started when he turned forty and had used it ever since. After age forty he didn't have a need for anything else except those five things. Besides, he was notoriously hard to shop for.

Dante briefly smiled as he remembered all the times him and his brother and sister gave their father a shaving kit. Not a group gift, mind you, they had all separately went out and privately thought that a shaving kit was the best thing. One was bought from Target, another from Walmart and another from Jewel. By the time he opened the third gift their father had yelped, Another shaving kit!? How much throat do you think I have?

In his heavily accented voice he questioned the logic as he mimed shaving with two razors on either side of his cheeks. All the while his children were laughing around him.

But the laughs really got going when their mother took her gift and chucked it in the garbage. Serena? Why you do that? Carlo had asked.

There was nothing in there that you don't have.

Their sister, Alinea fell to the floor laughing, tears streaming from her eyes. Their brother Paulie spat his wine out over Dante. Dante kept laughing while wiping his face with his brother's shirt.

Their mother threw up her hands. Well, how the hell was I supposed to know all of you bought all these? What are the odds?

Dante remembered his father's face turning red with delight and joy...

...then he got a flash of his father's pale face while he lay in his coffin at the wake...

Clunk!

The sound snapped Dante out of his reverie as he saw they had lifted the coffin exactly four feet off the ground and slid his father into the wall. He could hear and feel his own mother shivering in front of him. But, again, it was not cold out. She was whimpering and Dante could not blame her.

Then two men, with butt cracks showing, slid the apparatus away and climbed in the square hole. They pushed and shoved the casket deeper in which made an ungodly sound as it scraped against cement.

This is it, Dante thought. This is real.

He bowed his head and rubbed his eyes as he heard the men inside the hole arguing over who was doing more work. They went from respectful guardians to vile gremlins in that instant. As the arguing continued, Dante grew more frustrated and he could see the grimace on Aliena's face as well.

Paulie spoke up. One word. But in that moment it conveyed anger, sorrow, hopelessness and fear. Please! He barked.

The two men ceased their bickering and crawled out. Then, more noise. Then sliding the cover home and drilling the bolts at the corners. For some reason, it made Dante think of a pit crew at NASCAR. Some of the older folks covered their ears.

Then it was done...and the silence became more deafening then the sound before.

Dante blinked. His mother placed her hands on the wall...kissing his father's picture.

Dante blinked. People shook his hand and kissed his cheek.

Dante blinked. Then people were moving.

Dante blinked as he heard car doors shutting and engines starting. A dove cooed in the distance. He was enveloped in the shadow of the mausoleum.

Dante blinked...and he was alone.

Alone.

So he backed away from his father's wall and sat on the cold, hard cement bench. One that had roses and pictures on the back. We Miss You and We Love You cards blew passed him as the wind picked up.

Then he placed his face in his hands and wept.

Alone.

-2-

Grief, Evening

Two weeks had passed and Dante was back at the cemetery. It was slightly raining so he brought an umbrella, but by 2pm that shit had dried up when the sun showed its face.

Dante was enveloped by the shade of the tall Mausoleum. Safe from the harsh rays. And yet, he was always in his father's shadow. Always considered it a safe space.

He sat on the same cement bench as before...only this time he brought a friend. A nice thin bottle of Jack Daniels to drown his woes. To dull the ache and senses. To erase the pain.

He pulled it out of its paper bag, crinkling loudly, and then he set the bottle gently onto the flat-level bench. It almost felt like he was doing something wrong.

He crumpled the bag and tossed it behind him into the grass.

Dante was a social drinker when the occasion called for it but he always had a limit he followed: One beer, remain here. He knew that if he consumed anymore he'd begin to float, drift off, and ebb away.

Maybe that's what he was going for.

Before Dante had a chance to screw off the cap, his cell rang. It was an old tune, That's Life by Frank Sinatra. His brother hated it. And, as luck would have it, from the caller ID, that was exactly who was calling.

Paulie.

Dante slid his finger across the round, green answer button and brought the phone to his ear.

Eden's Pizzeria, where the sauce is a sin. How may I help you?

That got a gruff laugh from his brother.

What up, bro?

Not much.

Where are you?

Visiting Papa.

There was a loud crunch on the other end of the line. Paulie must've been eating Barbeque chips. He always had a habit of doing that. It wasn't a huge deal but it irked Dante something awful now.

I see.

I bet you do.

Yeah, well, let me know when you're done. I'll call you back.

No, not at all. I can put you on speaker that way you can say hi.

Don't be a smartass.

Better than a dumbass.

Yeah, that's what Papa would say, Paulie sighed, long and low. Look, Dante, you don't have to punish yourself to this degree. You're not exactly on the hook for penance. I mean, I know we're catholic but you're taking it a bit far.

Paulie, I'm not catholic.

And I'm agnostic. What's your point?

Isn't that my line?

This was a bad idea. I'll call you back.

Dante stood, walked briskly away fifteen steps from his father. Dear Lord, is it three o'clock already? Had I known, I would've settled down at my desk for this lecture.

It's not a lecture.

Yes it is.

You drinking?

No, a half-truth, always a half a step away from the truth.

But you're not far from it either.

It wasn't a question.

Geez, you know what, Dante slapped his forehead, looking across the tombstones at a distant black cross on a hill. I left my protractor at home. I'm sure I'll need it.

This is not a lecture.

Definitely will need some number 2 pencils and a few binders for this one.

What in the fuck is wrong with you? Another loud crunch. Dante half-hoped he'd chip his tooth on those damn things.

What do you think, Paulie? Why don't you pick one? Hmmmm, what happened the last month that put me in a tail spin?

You didn't make him get sick.

That supposed to make me feel better?

It's the way it is.

Beautiful. You're a poet.

And you're a jackass.

Yeah, well you're a pessimist!

There wasn't enough time. Just leave it at that.

Speaking of time. You're gonna make me run out of minutes.

Love you bro. If you ever need anyth...

Dante ended the call, took a deep breath. He put his hands on his knees and cried. The tears came fast and heavy and they burned.

He did blame himself. He had moved four states away. And by the time his family realized what was going on with his father's health, it was too late to take a plane, train or even a fucking canoe at that point.

He had to hear his father dying over the phone.

But he wasn't there.

He should have been there at the hospital. By his side. By all of them.

The crying wouldn't stop. He sank to his knees, then to his butt. The phone left his hand and clattered to the warm asphalt. He crossed his legs and weaved back and forth, unable to slow the pain.

Memories popped up. Board games. His family was big on them. Every Saturday night they would pile into the living room as kids. Papa would get the battle-worn board game boxes from the top of his closet and bring them to the tabletop.

So many good memories. And while it wasn't a family tradition, they had skipped many weekends, it was always a riot to play a game, banter with each other, mess up the rules, and challenge each other.

Of course there were the classics. Operation, Don't wake Daddy and The Game Of Life. (Hey look! I've got a wife! Papa would joke as he put his arm around their mother's shoulders and gave her a big smooch.) Then there was Scrabble, which was about as riveting as watching paint dry. Then they had some brain-teaser games like Scattergories and The Game of Things. That had them in stiches. Making up fake definitions or dissecting a person's motives for a word choice was always a plus. (Dante was once challenged on if the word Haberdashertorium even existed. It didn't. Well, it half didn't but Dante wanted half-credit. That's not the way the game is, his father would say.)

Dante's breathing slowed now, the tears slowing.

Then there was Monopoly. The Atomic Bomb of family-ending games. Dante would joke that Monopoly was invented by J. Robert Oppenheimer. Now I have become the destroyer of worlds.

Of course, Paulie always had to be the banker. Papa always chose the top hat. Their sister, always the dog. And she always wanted to put hotels on her properties even though that was against the rules. That left Dante with either the racecar or cowboy riding a horse. Went the racecar went missing; he’d choose the cowboy every time. And, in true middle-child fashion, he didn't want to own many properties and didn't want to bankrupt anyone.

It didn't help that the game literally had no end. The longest they had gone was a grueling 4 hours in the summer heat and the AC had conked out. Every family member had flipped the board at least once, houses, hotels and figurines flying to the carpeted floor.

Dante relaxed. He calmed a bit. Closed his eyes and listened to birds chirping in the distance.

Papa was always a good sport though. He loved playing games with his family, no matter how tired he was from work. It was almost as if the magic of gaming revived his energy.

But that was then.

Now there was one player missing in the game of life.

Dante's eyes burned and now his grief quickly soured to anger.

One game he absolutely despised was Perfection. It wasn't even a board game. It wasn't even a game in general. It was a psychological trap. A behemoth contraption of red and blue plastic. The blue part caves in, just like people. Slap an egg timer crank on it and somebody thought they had really created something special.

What a ridiculous test, Dante thought to himself. A five by five grid of arbitrary shape meant to perfectly math their counterparts while you’re under duress. The chase for perfection. And what happens when your time runs out? Just like life, the fucking games tosses it all back in your face. Because there is no such thing as perfection. A perfect world would be one in which nobody died. A perfect world would be without pain or grief or sorrow or loss or cruelty or pain or fear or...oh fuck this. Where's that goddamn bottle, I need a dri...

Dante's eyes open as he heard glass shatter.

He turned and saw that the bottle was no longer on the bench.

It was several feet away. His escape juice absorbing into the cement.

Ah shit. He got up and walked over to it. The ants that had come were having a regular pool party in it.

Dante looked up at his father's plaque.

Okay, I get it papa. You don't want me drinking. Loud and clear.

He gave a weak salute and pulled out his phone. He had received a text from his brother and hadn't even realized it.

IT WASN'T YOUR FAULT. LOVE YOU BRO.

Nice.

It was coming close to five o'clock.

Before he left, he dialed his father's number. He could hear its ring behind the plaque. It was amazing the damn thing still had juice left in it. It was Dante's idea to bury him with it.

The voicemail message clicked on; Hello, This is Carlo. I may not be available at the moment...but call back, hey, maybe you'll get lucky. Heh.

Dante heard the beep but ended the call.

Okay, Papa. I'll try you later.

He wiped his tears, leaned in, kissed his father's cheek on the picture and left, slowly taking the long trek to his car. He was a bit weirded out that that bottle had moved that far away from him. And how could the friggin thing roll anyway? It was in a square bottle.

-3-

Bargains, evening

––––––––

Dante decided to stay late that night. It was another week in and this go around he had spent several minutes in his black Dodge Ram, crying up a storm.

Once that was done he turned off the car but his phone started blowing up.

He checked the caller ID as he let the keys dangle from the ignition.

ODESSA.

Dante immediately slid the green circle to answer. First thing he heard was a long relieved sigh and a soft but reassuring voice of his girlfriend. Heeey you, how are you?

I'm fine, he lied, giving himself the stink eye in the rearview mirror. He nudged the thing up so he wouldn't have to look at himself. Visiting Papa again.

Why didn't you ask me to come with?

Didn't want to bother you.

That's not it.

Okay...I didn't want you to see me crying.

You know it’s a normal emotion, right? You’d don't have to hide from me.

She was right. She was the one who recommended the move back to Chicago to be closer to family. Dante's boss at the Industrial Dynamics warehouse was able to transfer him to a Chicago plant nearby, right off I-290. There was no fuss. And that new boss was a better manager all around. Much better than Lou. Less stuffy, more honest. But still, Dante had been taking more sick days to just wander around town, figure out this thing called Life-without-your-father.

Meanwhile, Odessa Dwyer, his girl for close to 7 years, was a sweetheart; willing to move heaven and earth for him. She had moved branches as well with her real estate office and they were now living together. It was a small apartment, less than six hundred square feet.

The only thing that broke Dante's heart was that Odessa's boss would not budge in giving her the day off to attend Carlo's funeral. No can do, he had said, The Texas branch is not doing so well. We all have to tighten our belts.

To which both Odessa and Dante both asked privately, who gave a shit about the Texas branch?

In the end, Dante told her to stay at the office. He didn't want her to lose her job.

When you thinking of coming home?

Late. I have a few more errands to run.

Oh, okay, he could tell she was crestfallen, Well, give me a call when you're close. I'll make your favorite.

You're kidding? Pasta Diablo? My god, I haven't had that since...

July 1st. Our first date.

It was and he remembered it instantly. They had gone to a little Italian place on the north side. Tony's or some such place. But what really stood out was the affluent behemoth of a water fountain they were sat next to. Olive Garden, this place was not. But of course, Dante wanted to go all out because he considered Odessa special. She ordered Calamari and Lasagna and he...was at a complete loss. All he was focused on were the prices.

The Pasta Diablo looks good, she had said. So he went with it. Not only was it Rigatoni tossed with mushrooms and sausage in a creamy vodka sauce but it was also hot as hell. Dante had been so nervous, he'd completely overlooked the fact that his entire plate had a more than generous dusting of red pepper flakes. His mouth felt like sack of hot coals.

But it was