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“Why not?”
He’s silent.
“Tell me.”
Still, Forwal doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move. He just watches me, waiting. When he came for me, I was terrified, horrified. When I crawled under the bed to hide, I was so scared I thought my world was ending, but now I know there is more to life than the people who raise you.
“The man my father paid off. What did he see?”
Forwal told me my father had been caught. Someone saw something they weren’t supposed to, and my father went to Forwal for a loan. Who had seen him doing something? What had he done that was so terrible?
“Your father’s job,” Forwal says. “What is it?”
The sound of yelling from outside fades as I concentrate on what Forwal is asking me. It’s a strange question and I’m not sure why he’s bringing this up now. Why would he care what my father’s position in the village might be? What does that have to do with the men trying to break into the building?
I’m sure the employees have barred the front door. The staff is likely arming themselves, ready to go to fight for Forwal. They all seem to like him. At the very least, they respect him.
“He’s a butcher.”
“A good one, I’m told.”
“The best in the village. No one can compete with his hams.”
Forwal nods and turns, leaning back against the wall. He crosses his ankles. This gives him a casual, relaxed look. He doesn’t seem nervous or bothered by these questions or by my answers. Then again, I suspect he already knows what my answers are going to be before I offer them, so I’m not sure why he’s even going through the trouble of asking me.
Maybe he just wants to see if I’ll lie.
Forwal is clever, though, and he’s sneaky. He’s always two steps ahead of other people. Perhaps he’s trying to get me to truly think about my childhood, about what I thought I knew, but he doesn’t realize that I don’t want to.
Or he simply doesn’t care.
“And your father spends quite a bit of time at his shop, doesn’t he?”
“You know he does.”
“And he doesn’t have any other employees.”
This one isn’t a question.
“No, he doesn’t. Johnny-boy worked there for a bit, but he left to go live with his aunt.”
“And who told you that?”
“Johnny-boy told my father the day he quit, and my father told me.”
“There is no aunt,” Forwal says. “Johnny-boy is dead, and your father is the one who killed him.”
I’m silent for a minute because I can’t quite believe what he’s suggesting, what he’s saying. This can’t be true. It simply cannot be true. My father would never do this to me. He would never hurt anyone, much less his favorite employee.
“No,” I shake my head, finally speaking. “This is a mistake.”
“It’s not a mistake,” Forwal says. He’s silent, still. He seems much too calm for this news he’s delivering, and I instantly wonder what else he’s going to tell me tonight.
“My father doesn’t hurt people.”
“On the contrary, my love,” Forwal’s eyes are heavy as he lowers his voice and tells me the words I never thought I’d hear. “Your father is very, very good at hurting people, and he’s gotten into trouble for it before.”
I let the words sink in.
