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Seriously, what’s with the pseudo-father routine?He killed my father.He doesn’t get to swoop in and take up the role this late in the game.
“I trained her,” he says.
I turn my attention back to the angel of death who does a slow turn, showcasing an arsenal of weapons attached to her body in various holsters.
“Okay,” I say.
Brian seems pleased at my easy acceptance.“Good answer, kid.You’re going to be glorious.”
And then, the bomb drops and explodes, and the silent truth that had been clawing to get out of my psyche finally becomes loud enough for me to hear.It’s the way he said ‘kid’.Somehow out of a million almost forgotten memories, I hear that store Santa saying kid in this man’s voice, and the obvious truth reveals itself.
I guess once I’d gotten older and realized she wasn’t magic, I’d thought maybe the store Santa had told her about me calling her an angel, and she’d somehow gotten the drawing to me.He did know my name after all.I reasoned maybe the guy playing Santa knew my family.
But it was my father’s killer the entire time.
I don’t know how long this fucker has kept tabs on me or why, but I’m going to find out.
* * *
