Valdemar stares at the floor, and I see what he must be going through, the realisation of just how many people were affected when he pulled that trigger.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“I think you should leave,”I tell Valdemar.
He lifts his gaze as if ready to argue, and I’m not sure whether it’s the look on my face or the lingering resonance of my dad’s story, but he holds his tongue.
As I watch him head for the door, I see he’s not the criminal I met seven weeks ago. He’s a man who has too much to carry, a burden so large, it’s pushed him further into the soil, where he’s decaying amongst the rotting leaves.
As he reaches the door, he stops. “I know none of this is conventional, that I shouldn’t even be here right now, but I am, and I’m not going to hide away from that. I am here, and I will always be here for you. And if you change your mind about anything?—”
I cut him off. “Change my mind?”
“Last night, I gave you the choice of ending my life. You made your choice, but I’ll understand if that decision changes.”
“You’re right,” I sigh. “None of this is conventional.”
“I will stay out of your dreams tonight,” he says.
“Thank you.” I’m relieved he’s at least giving me this.
“But you need to stay out of mine too.”
“I don’t know how to,” I say.
He opens the door, his bulky frame barely fitting in the doorway.
“Call me anytime.” And he leaves.
My first thought is that I’m alone, but I know this is a lie. I’m never alone, because even when I can’t see my mother, she is always here.
The hoursbefore bedtime are a blur. I try to nap, do some yoga, even read, but nothing can stop the whirling of my brain. The rational side of me is trying to convince myself that there is nothing I can do about the revelation that William is not my father and that I am the daughter of Ellison Rue. William brought me up as his own, his intentions were honourable, and I will never forget that. But the lies hurt. The deception. Living a life that was never real. And that changes everything.
I’m relieved when it’s time for bed, but getting ready is a laborious affair. I’m trying to drag it out, knowing I have no idea what will await me in my sleep. Valdemar promised to stay out of my dreams, but I have no way of controlling my own.
I hold the mouthwash in my puffed-out cheeks until it burns my gums. Finally, I spit and watch the dark blue liquid slide down the sink, pondering the thought that today has now been marked with such significance, it will never be forgotten.
William is not my real father.
I let the words play around in my head, wondering if they’ll feel different if rearranged, said in a different order. But instead, they just hang there, losing their impact every time I repeat them.
My biological father was a man I never met, a man my mother fell in love with, a man who couldn’t live without her, butit doesn’t change the fact that William chose to save us from a very different upbringing and raised two children as his own.
He chose us.
He was the one who taught me how to tie my shoelaces. The one who clapped the loudest when I played Mary in the school nativity. The one who took the abuse when my hormones were raging and I hated the world and everyone in it. He was the one, and that will always make him my dad.
When I slip under the sheets, they feel strange, like I’m not sure what’s going to be under them. I wonder if sleep will evade me, the revelations of the day keeping me awake until daylight arrives, but as my eyes flutter, I feel the pull of slumber, the dull heaviness of sleep, and whatever awaits me in the dark.
My toes sink into the mud, the blood-red carpet still visible beneath the murky slime. Ed is in front of me, being held by invisible hands and bound by thick rope.
It’s heavy—the gun. Heavy to hold, heavy to look at.
Ed’s face contorts, his mouth a gaping hole, the blackness infinite.
“Do it. Do it now.”
My hand is steady this time as I raise the gun, aiming it at his chest, but my heart is pounding, and it thunders in my ears like the hooves of an army of horses.
