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Jesus. Is he ever going to learn to stay away? I type out a new text to Sin.
Emerson: I’m not interested in a visit.
Alert: Front gate entrance
So he’s going to ignore me, then.
Sin: Good thing I’m out to dinner, then, asshole
Alert: Motion detected front door
A heavy knock echoes up the stairs. Something in the rhythm of it, in the sound, tugs at the oldest parts of my mind. I hold my breath. Stand perfectly still.
If it’s not Sin, then who? Will? He wouldn’t show up unannounced.
Not Daphne. Daphne would never try to beat down the door. Her hands are too small.
It happens again. Harder this time. And though I am within my rights not to open the front door ever again, for anyone, I move toward the noise. I want it to stop.
Alert: Motion detected front door
Yes, I know.
The handle resists me when I try to open it. Or it’s my own body resisting. I don’t know.
I pull harder. Force it.
My father stands on the porch.
He’s dressed like a mid-level businessman. Pressed slacks. A red sweater under a tan overcoat. His hair has gone silver while he was in prison, but it retains a fair amount of its original dark. There’s a vague humming in my ears. I’ve gone numb. My emotions are silent in their frames. Nowhere else to run.
“Hello, Emerson.” He steps forward and puts his hand on my shoulder. “It’s good to see you, son. You’ve done well for yourself. This is an expensive piece of property.”
What a fucking liar. What a fake. I can hear how fake it is in his voice. “You should have said you were planning to visit.”
“Didn’t Sin tell you I was getting out?”
“He mentioned you were up for parole.”
He waves this off and sidesteps me, crossing the threshold. “All done with that nasty business. I came to see you as soon as I could.”
The last thing I want to do is close the door, locking him in with me, but it’s a bitter night. “What do you want?”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“Bullshit.”
He bristles. “I’ve been in fucking prison, Emerson. I can’t pay my own son a visit?”
“Is it money? I might have a twenty in my wallet.”
“I don’t need money, you little prick.”
“Don’t you? You’re wearing the same clothes you wore to your last hearing.”
“That’s right.” His flat, blue eyes take on a threatening glimmer. I never understood how my mother could ever look into those eyes. They’re almost featureless, like a blank wall, like a blank soul. “They’re the same goddamn clothes. None of my sons bothered to bring me anything new to wear after years of being caged like an animal.”
A laugh bursts out of me. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. What must it have been like, trapped behind bars?”
