1994: A Glass Half Empty [Part 3]

The memory of the café lingered in the back of Duncan’s mind, a dull ache that never quite left him. He stared into the bottom of his empty glass, the whiskey long gone but the weight of the past still there, pressing down on him. Across from him, Liam sat in silence, his presence heavy and unavoidable.

For a moment, the two men said nothing, the tension between them thick enough to choke on. Duncan’s hand rested on the bar, fingers twitching slightly, as though he was itching for something—another drink, maybe, or just a way to escape the growing pressure of the conversation.

Liam’s gaze bore into him, but there was something off about it. His eyes, though sharp and intense, seemed distant, as if they weren’t quite focusing on anything real. Duncan didn’t notice at first, not with the fog of whiskey and memory clouding his thoughts. But as the silence stretched on, he found himself glancing at his son, searching for... something.

Liam hadn’t touched his drink. It sat untouched on the bar in front of him, the condensation pooling around the base of the glass. Duncan frowned, the small detail tugging at the edge of his awareness. He hadn’t seen Liam take a sip, hadn’t even seen him order anything. And yet the glass was there, filled with some dark, indistinct liquid that seemed oddly still, as though the air around it had gone stagnant.

Duncan’s eyes flickered over to the bartender, who was wiping down glasses at the far end of the bar. The man hadn’t acknowledged Liam once, not even when he sat down. It wasn’t unusual for the bartender to keep his distance, especially when Duncan was in one of his moods. But this felt different. The bartender’s gaze slid right past Liam, as if he didn’t even see him.

A chill ran down Duncan’s spine, but he shook it off, refusing to let the strange feeling take hold. He was tired. His mind was still trapped in the past, caught up in the memory of the café, of that moment when the mask had slipped and he had seen his son’s face. He didn’t have time to question the small details.

But there was something else. The air around them felt different now—colder, thicker. The dim light of the pub seemed to grow even dimmer, the shadows lengthening and deepening around the edges of the room. Duncan could feel the stillness pressing in, suffocating, like the air itself had stopped moving. He glanced at Liam again, and for a brief moment, it was as if his son’s face had flickered, like a distorted reflection in a cracked mirror.

Duncan’s breath hitched in his throat, but he said nothing. Liam was there, right in front of him. He had to be. The conversation, the anger—it had all been too real.

“You know, Dad,” Liam said quietly, breaking the silence, his voice carrying a strange weight. “I’m still waiting.”

“For what?” Duncan’s voice was hoarse, as though it had been scraped raw by the conversation. He shifted in his seat, the familiar discomfort settling back into his bones.

Liam didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stared at Duncan with those intense, unreadable eyes. There was something unsettling in his stillness, in the way he sat perfectly motionless, as if he were holding his breath. The pub around them seemed frozen in time, the distant murmur of the other patrons fading to a dull hum.

“I’m still waiting for you to admit it,” Liam said, his voice low but firm. “That you knew. That you recognized me.”

Duncan’s stomach tightened, the chill spreading from his spine to his chest. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. His throat felt dry, the weight of his son’s accusation hanging heavily in the air.

For a moment, Duncan’s eyes flicked to the glass again, still untouched. The liquid inside hadn’t moved, hadn’t so much as rippled, as if the very laws of reality were suspended around it. He frowned again, his fingers tapping restlessly against the bar. It didn’t make sense, none of it did, but he couldn’t quite grasp why.

The bartender walked by, collecting empty glasses from a nearby table, and still—nothing. He didn’t look at Liam. Didn’t speak to him. Didn’t even seem to notice he was there. Duncan watched him go, a strange unease settling in his gut. His thoughts were slow, sluggish, like he was wading through thick fog, trying to make sense of something that hovered just beyond his reach.

Liam leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Do you even see me, Dad? Or am I just another ghost to you?”

The words hit Duncan like a punch to the gut, but still, he said nothing. He couldn’t. His mind was spiraling, grasping at the edges of reality, trying to pull it back together. He wanted to believe that Liam was sitting there beside him, flesh and blood, real and tangible. But the longer he stared at his son, the more the edges blurred.

A flicker of movement caught his eye—the mirror behind the bar, reflecting the room back at them in muted colors and distorted shapes. Duncan glanced at it, searching for something familiar, something to ground him in the moment. But the reflection was wrong. He was there, sitting at the bar, his worn features and empty glass clear as day.

Liam wasn’t.

Duncan blinked, his heart pounding in his chest. He stared harder at the mirror, but no matter how long he looked, Liam wasn’t there. The seat beside him was empty.

His breath came out in a shaky exhale, but he forced himself to look away from the mirror, back to his son. Liam was still sitting there, his eyes dark and filled with something Duncan couldn’t quite name. Resentment? Sorrow? Or was it something else entirely? Something otherworldly, something that had slipped between the cracks of reality without him noticing.

“Liam…” Duncan started, his voice faltering. The question hung in the air, unspoken but heavy. Are you even here?

But he couldn’t bring himself to ask it, couldn’t bring himself to admit that maybe—just maybe—the son sitting in front of him wasn’t really there at all.

Liam tilted his head slightly, a faint smile curling the edges of his lips. “It’s okay, Dad,” he said, his tone soft, almost understanding. “You never really saw me anyway.”

The air between them thickened, the stillness growing oppressive. Liam’s face darkened, his eyes narrowing as the unspoken bitterness finally surfaced. He had held back until now, letting the weight of the past hover between them, but there was no more patience in his voice, no more restraint. The time for subtlety had passed.

“You know, it’s funny,” Liam began, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “All those times you promised you’d be there, all the hollow words you threw around like they meant something—‘I’ll make it to your game, Liam,’ ‘I’ll spend time with you this weekend, Liam,’ ‘I’ll be there for you when it matters.’” His lip curled into a bitter smile. “But you were never there, were you? Not once.”

Duncan’s jaw tightened, his hands clenched into fists on the bar. His eyes stayed fixed on the empty glass in front of him, refusing to meet Liam’s accusing stare. “I had a job,” he muttered, the words coming out cold and mechanical. “I was doing what I had to do.”

Liam’s fists slammed against the bar, the sound echoing in the quiet room. “What you had to do? You think that’s an excuse?” His voice cracked with the weight of the years of anger that had built up, the resentment he had carried for so long finally spilling over. “You weren’t there when I needed you. You weren’t there when Mom needed you. Hell, you weren’t even there for yourself.”

Duncan flinched, just slightly, but enough for Liam to see. The words had hit their mark, cutting through Duncan’s cold exterior, but the cracks were small, barely visible beneath the layers of apathy he had built up over the years. His response was slow, measured, and devoid of emotion. “I did what I had to do,” he repeated, his voice flat.

“That’s all you ever say, isn’t it?” Liam’s voice rose, sharp and angry. “That’s your excuse for everything. ‘I had a job. I had responsibilities.’ But where did that leave me? Where did that leave us?” He leaned in closer, his voice now a low, dangerous whisper. “Do you even realize what you did to me? What it was like growing up with a father who was more of a ghost than a real person?”

Duncan’s eyes flickered for just a moment, the smallest sign that Liam’s words were getting to him, but his expression remained hard, unreadable. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The truth was too heavy to acknowledge, and he wasn’t about to give Liam the satisfaction of seeing him break.

But Liam wasn’t done. His anger, once simmering beneath the surface, now erupted into full view. “You never cared,” he spat, the bitterness in his voice unmistakable. “You pretended to, sure, when it was convenient for you. But when it came down to it, you were always too busy. Always too distracted by your precious job, by all the things that didn’t matter. And when I finally needed you the most...”

Liam’s voice trailed off, his face contorting with the pain of the memory. He shook his head, his voice trembling. “When I needed you, you weren’t there. Not as a father. Not even as a cop. You were just... gone.”

Duncan’s heart clenched, but his face remained cold, impassive. His hand drifted to the edge of his glass, fingers running along the rim in a slow, absent motion. The sadness was there, lurking beneath the surface, but he refused to let it show. He couldn’t. His indifference was the only thing keeping him together.

“You think I don’t know that?” Duncan finally said, his voice low and gravelly. There was no anger in his tone, no defensiveness, only a resigned acceptance. “You think I don’t know what I did? What I failed to do?”

Liam’s eyes widened, his fists trembling as he gripped the bar. “Then why didn’t you change? Why didn’t you try to fix it?”

Duncan exhaled slowly, the weight of the years pressing down on his shoulders. “Because it’s too late, Liam. It’s been too late for a long time.”

Liam stared at him, his expression a mix of fury and disbelief. “Too late? That’s your answer? You gave up—just like that? You decided it wasn’t worth it anymore?”

Duncan’s fingers tightened around the glass, the sadness creeping further up from the depths of his soul, but he kept his voice steady. “What do you want me to say, Liam? That I could’ve done better? That I should’ve been there more? Fine. I should have. But I wasn’t. And now... it’s done.”

Liam’s face twisted with rage, the anger burning bright in his eyes. “You don’t get to decide when it’s done!” he shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. “You don’t get to sit there and act like it’s all in the past, like none of it matters anymore. I needed you, Dad. I needed you to be there. And you weren’t. Not once.”

Duncan’s silence in the face of Liam’s outburst only seemed to fuel his son’s rage further. The younger man shook his head, his fists still trembling. “I looked up to you, you know? Even after everything, I still hoped that maybe, just maybe, you’d show up when it mattered. That you’d finally prove that you cared. But you never did. You never even tried.”

Duncan finally looked up, his eyes meeting Liam’s for the first time in what felt like hours. His gaze was cold, but beneath the surface, there was something darker—something broken. He didn’t speak, didn’t defend himself. He just stared, accepting the anger, the blame. He had nothing left to say.

The silence between them stretched, thick and heavy with all the things that had been left unsaid over the years. Duncan could feel the weight of his son’s hatred pressing down on him, but he didn’t react. His coldness was his shield, his armor against the pain. If he let it down, even for a second, he knew he would crumble.

But Liam’s anger wasn’t finished. “You know what the worst part is?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Even after everything... I still wanted your approval. I still wanted to be enough for you. But I never was. And I never will be, will I?”

Duncan’s heart twisted, but his face remained hard, emotionless. He wanted to say something, to offer some kind of reassurance, but the words wouldn’t come. He couldn’t lie, not now. Not after everything. Liam was right. He had failed him, failed as a father, and nothing he could say now would ever change that.

Liam’s face hardened, the anger fading into something colder, more distant. “You’re not even going to deny it, are you?”

Duncan shook his head slowly, the movement barely perceptible. “No,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not.”

Liam let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow and broken. “I should’ve known. I should’ve known a long time ago.”

Duncan didn’t respond. He just sat there, his eyes fixed on the bar, the weight of Liam’s words pressing down on him. His indifference, once a shield, now felt like a prison, trapping him in the cold, empty space between them.

The silence that followed was unbearable, but Duncan accepted it. He had always accepted it. The pain, the guilt, the regret—it was all there, just beneath the surface, but he refused to let it break him. He had built his walls too high, too thick, and now there was no way out.