He was sleeping now. The doctors had come to the house and said he’d overexerted himself, but really, what had happened was to be expected for someone in his condition.
He was fading fast. He put on a front, a very harsh exterior, and sometimes didn’t look as sick as he was. He looked frail and not like the father I’d known ten years ago but still strong.
Even now as he lay in bed.
He’d come to for a few minutes earlier, and I wanted to see him awake properly before I moved from his side. I couldn’t bear it if I left him and he left me forever.
I didn’t even get involved in the clearing away of those who’d died in our library.Jefferson and Holloway.
I tried not to think about them either. It made me sick that it was them. Better if it had been Roose who’d turned on me because I wasn’t close to him. Not that I wished Roose dead. Never that. But I was having a hard time dealing with the truth.
Dad shuffled, moving his head, drawing my attention back to him.
His eyes fluttered open, and he looked at me. I grabbed a bottle of water and placed a straw in it, so he could sip and stay in the same position.
“Dad,” I breathed.
There was a rasp in my voice, probably from not talking for hours. I hadn’t seen Luc in about two hours. Not since the doctor left.
I held the water for Dad to sip. He took a small sip and a deep breath after, then reached for my hand.
“You look just like her when we first met,” he told me, trying to smile but failing.
He was talking about Mom.
“People said I look more like you.” I was trying for lighthearted but failing.
“When you were little, amore mio. Bella Amelia, my little girl.”
I wish he wouldn’t talk that way because it felt so reflective and final.
I pressed down hard on my lips to keep from crying, but it wasn’t working.
How I hated to cry. I hated it because for me it was always about sadness. I’d never cried tears of joy. I’d never experienced that emotion people talk about when you are so overwhelmed with joy it makes you cry.
“Dad, please, you have to rest. You should have stayed away and not get involved. Luc and I could have handled those guys.”
He gave my hand a gentle squeeze and arched his lip. “Luc, just Luc, not you. This is not you, and when a man sees his child in danger, he’s not going to stand by and watch like a schmuck.”
“Dad you’re… sick.”
“No, I’m past sick. I’ve gone past that stage, and I accept it. Right now, I’m only trying to be useful to you in whatever way I still can.”
My eyes fell to the blue and gray square patterns on his bed sheets, then climbed up to meet his.
“I wish things could have been different.” That he wasn’t dying; like ten years hadn’t gone by without us seeing each other.
“Me too, but that was for me to fix. There was never going to be any other ending for me, Amelia. I’m a bad person. You know that more than most. I’ve killed mindlessly. I shouldn’t have killed Agent Peterson…” he stated with reflection.
Like always, I recalled that incident. Dad shooting Agent Peterson in his arms and legs, the men carrying him off through the door so Dad could finish him off. Although I’d never seen his end, I knew then how it would happen.
Dad would cut off his head, and he did. I remembered the news story. That was what had sent me through those doors ten years ago. It sent me through those doors with the mindset to leave forever.
This story, and any remorse he felt, was almost lost on me because it affected me deeply. I understood why he did it, but my soul couldn’t accept it. I couldn’t accept it.
“We… shouldn’t talk about that now. We shouldn’t.Youshouldn’t.” I nodded.
“I don’t want to die knowing you hate me.” Sadness filled his eyes.
