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I meet Jenny's gaze, my own eyes firm. "I'm not being insensitive to your wishes, Jenny. I'm curious as to what he wants . . . what he paid so much money for, to get off his chest. Liam is guilty of killing our father. We all know that. I want to know how that came to happen. Wouldn’t you want to know?Haven’t you ever wondered what our father’s last moments were? Did Liam try to help? Were there any last words before the fire erupted? Haven’t you ever wondered why our father had to die?"I cry.
Dick's fury is now palpable, ferocity twisting his features out of proportion. His eyes are ablaze with a restrained fire, his forehead furrowed with a clenched jaw as if he is desperately trying not to hit something or me. There’s a volatile storm brewing within him, waiting to erupt with the slightest provocation. He screams, "And what will that do, Tony? What will knowing do?"
Quite without intending to, I have managed to take all my siblings back in time to the day the cops came knocking at our door, hats in hand, a harbinger of bad news.
Lola shakes her head, her expression incredulous. "You are putting all of us through hell, all in the misguided sense of looking for answers. Do you really think they're just going to spill the truth? They're manipulative, Tony."
"I'm not naive, Lola. I know who they are, but I need this for me . . . for my own healing. Dad's death has haunted me for too long. It's time I face it."
The room falls into a heavy silence, each of my siblings wearing a scowl, displeasure etched across every face. I can see the conflict in their eyes—concern for me, anger at the situation, and the weight of our family's history.
Finally, I break the silence. "I'm not asking any of you to agree with me, but I need to know how my father died. I will NEVER reach out to a Dexter, but if any one of them reaches out to me, giving me an opening to ask a question, I will take it. You do what you want. I am doing this for me.”
I stand my ground, and I can sense the battle lines being drawn. The tension in the room becomes surreal, setting the stage for more conflicts to come.
Chapter twelve
FATHER O’MALLEY.
LIAM
The heavens are falling, and only a fool would think that my father is going to leave things as they are, with no repercussions. There will be punishment alright for my indiscretions; it’s just a matter of time. Finally, I see firsthand the scrutiny Hollywood celebrities go through . . . having no privacy whatsoever. I have just gained notoriety these last two months, and already, I am worn to the bone. How on earth do they do it?
I need to talk to someone, but I'm under a gag order by my father for talking about what happened on the day of the accident that killed Tony's dad. The subject is not one for discussion in the Dexter household or anywhere else. Where am I supposed to bare my soul?
It is heart wrenching seeing the Ricardos around town and not being allowed to speak with them. An injustice was perpetrated upon them, and no compensation was ever paid. My fatheroffered, but Abigail, fraught with grief, had torn the check and threw the shards on my father’s face as my father retells it.
She had called it “blood money” and didn’t want anything to do with it. There is certainly a lot of that going around in my family . . . accusations of “Blood Money” attached to our family name.
I cannot talk to anyone for fear of my confession leaking out and burning our empire to the ground. I understand that. There is only one entity I know that would never divulge whatever I say to them— a Catholic priest. I reached out to Father O’Malley the minute I got out of prison . . . the minute I learned of Abigail tearing up the check.
I seek him out again today, even though I'm not Catholic. If there's one person who can keep confidence, it's him. Seeing him last time brought me much peace. I need that peace again today—my soul in torment, even though I could think of a million people who might think I am soulless.
Being in prison, away from the Ricardos, made it easy for me to forget, even though I was incarceratedbecauseI killed Ricky Ricardo, Tony’s dad.
It's Monday afternoon, and so I figure it is safe for me to go see the priest without the paparazzi catching me in the act. I take a deep breath and slip on a plain baseball cap and sunglasses as a simple disguise. Ensuring no one is watching, I take the back door of my office and move stealthily through the alley, avoiding busy streets, then jump in a cab a little down the street. I have heard stories of people who crossed my father, who ended up dead. I know one of them. This elaborate measure to be cautious is not me being overly dramatic. I don't want to bring that same fate onto myself.
I step out of the cab and approach the church, scanning the area, making sure no one is following me or taking pictures. Satisfied that I'm alone, I quickly enter the church, feeling thecool air enveloping me. I spot Father O'Malley already in the confessional, waiting for me.
"Father, thank you for meeting me on such short notice," I whisper, trying to keep my voice steady. "I carry the burden and guilt of the Ricardos' loss, and all I want to do is find out if they have a need that money can help alleviate. I keep trying to make contact, but it is not going too well."
“My son. This burden still tortures you. You cannot get peace. What is it you truly seek?”
“Forgiveness, Father. Those who should aren't asking for it.”
“I have seen the papers. I have seen the lengths you have gone to to right a wrong and the outcome of your attempts. Why not give it a short break? You have given it a good go. Why not give her some breathing room?”
“Time is the one thing I don’t have, Father. I am working on a project that might take me away from here for a while. I wanted to do this before I leave. Something tells me that once I leave if all goes well, I will not come back. I don’t have a home here; I don’t have a family here. I need to go out there and chart my own path. This is the one thing I need to see resolved before I leave.”
"Ah, Liam," Father O'Malley breathes gently. "Forgiveness is not something you can put a timer on. If Tony is reacting this way, it shows that maybe she is not ready. Give her time. My suggestion would be to communicate to her that you would like a chat, then lethercome to you.
“Communication, nowadays, is not limited to a location. Wherever you are, she will be able to reach you, or alternatively, you could make the trip to come back once you get the green light from her just to make that appointment. You already parted with a million dollars for this mission. What’s a couple of thousand more? There are alternatives if you are open to them."
I nod, grateful for his wisdom and understanding. "Thank you, Father," I say quietly. With a heavy heart, I leave theconfessional and make my way out of the church, feeling a little more grounded amidst the turmoil.
Chapter thirteen
WHISPERS FROM THE GRAVE.
