“Daddy…” His voice was barely audible. “Daddy, I can’t…”
“It’s okay, son.” Demetrius’s voice had changed. The desperation was fading, replaced by something softer. Something resigned. “It’s okay.”
“I CAN’T!”
“Yes you can.” Demetrius took a shaky breath. “Look at me, Yusef. Look at me.”
The boy raised his eyes to meet his father’s.
“I love you.” Demetrius’s voice cracked but held steady. “I love you so much. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I wasn’t the father you deserved. I’m sorry for all of it.”
“Daddy, please?—”
“But you gotta do this, son. You hear me? You gotta survive. Whatever it takes. Whatever he makes you do. You survive. And when you get out of here—and you WILL get out—you find your Auntie Zai. You find Prime. You let them take care of you. You live a good life. You be better than me.”
“I don’t want to?—”
“I know, baby. I know.” Tears were streaming down Demetrius’s face, but his voice was calm. Peaceful, almost. “But it’s okay. I forgive you. You hear me? I forgive you. This ain’t your fault. None of this is your fault.”
I was growing impatient. “Enough. Shoot him. NOW.”
“I love you, son.” Demetrius closed his eyes. “I love you. Remember that. No matter what happens. I love you.”
I pressed the gun harder into Yusef’s hands. Moved my finger over his on the trigger.
“Three.”
Yusef sobbed.
“Two.”
Demetrius whispered something. A prayer, perhaps. Or a final goodbye.
“One.”
I squeezed Yusef’s finger.
BANG.
The shot echoed through the basement like thunder. Demetrius jerked once, a red bloom spreading across his chest, and then he slumped against the wall. The chain went taut, holding his body upright, his head lolling forward.
Dead.
Yusef didn’t scream.
That was what surprised me. I had expected wailing. Hysterics. The theatrical grief of a child who had just killed his own father.
Instead, there was silence.
The boy stood frozen. The gun still raised. His eyes fixed on his father’s body with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
Then he moved.
Fast. Faster than I anticipated.
He spun around, the gun swinging toward my face, and pulled the trigger.
Click.
