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He wasn't a good man. He wasn't even a kind man. But he was my father, and I killed him.
Memories and flits of memories come back to me. Things I’ve learned over the last few weeks that somehow were planted in my brain. Things I wish I would’ve never learned, but they’re memories that I’ll never be able to forget.
What am I supposed to do now?
It's like I spoke my thoughts out loud. "You will finish school and decide whether or not you want to take over his empire. He built it for you, you know."
I shake my head, too many things piling on too quickly. Information overload, and I don't know how to handle it.
"I don't…" I growl, gripping and pulling at my hair, my palm still wet and dripping with blood over the crucifix. "I don't know how this fucking happened. I've been here, then I haven't. I couldn't… how could I kill him? My own father?" My voice cracks on the end, and I feel such a loss and desperation. It's like a part of me has emptied out and now I’m left grasping for the threads. Though, there's nothing to hold on to.
It's gone.
"Malik," Father Moran says, stepping in front of me and halting my steps. He presses a comforting, warm hand on my shoulder. "No one will ever know what happened here tonight. It's just between us, and it will stay that way."
He doesn't get it. I don't care if people know what happened. I've done worse. I am worse.
It's the fact that it's my father, and I didn't… I didn't even get to say anything to him.
Not evengoodbye.
His hand squeezes. "God works in mysterious ways. When the devil comes into play, only God can be the judge of our path. Don't fret about the little things. If this is our life, then we must live it."
I swallow down the boulder-sized lump in my throat, wanting to believe his words, but not knowing how high I can hold them.
I'm bitter, I've always been. I don't believe in much besides the shadows and being a deceptive character. I'm cruel, and I hate, and I don't do much else.
But if this is supposed to be my life, well, then I must live it.
Unfortunately, I know what that means.
37
VERA
"Are you sure you'll be okay?" I ask my mom for the millionth time.
She nods, staring out the window in a daze. This is where she's sat for the past week. She hasn't gone to work. She hasn't even gotten out of bed. The only time she's left is to attend Samuel's funeral yesterday. He was buried in the town's cemetery. Not the creepy one sitting in the backyard. I don't know how many people even know about that one. The one we went to was maintained, beautiful, actually.
So many people went to the funeral. School staff members, some of which I’ve never met, kids and parents, employees from his company. I even met some of Malik's family members.
Though, there was no Malik.
I haven't seen him since that day.
School called the day after the exorcism and told me I could take this time off and that my schoolwork would be arranged so I could do it from home. I'm not sure what that meant, assuming Sister Mary would drop everything off.
Instead, I found my three friends at the door with sympathetic looks on their faces and a pile of textbooks. They wanted to come inside and visit, but with the state my mom has been in, I didn't think it would be good to have visitors.
I've barely spoken to them since. A few texts here and there, but I'm so worried about my mom and Malik that I barely have an ounce of time to think about anything else.
"Please, just go, Vera," my mom whispers, snapping me from my thoughts.
I lean over, pulling the covers up to her shoulders. "I'm not going anywhere."
She shakes her head, her usual perfectly brushed and pinned hair a tangled mess. Her eyes have been without makeup for days, and the bags have started a permanent pit beneath her eyes. Her nails are chipped, worn, and the paint has faded.
She doesn't look like my mom, and that worries me.
