“It went to the state, filed in their records, and I wonder if that gave these people a current trail to follow on you.”
I nod, absolutely numb to everything.
I always thought if my world ended, it would be fiery, flaming bits of everything I’ve ever loved raining down around me.
Turns out, I feel nothing at all.
“I’m so sorry,” Rory says, face crumpling as her words break.
“I’m gonna go.”
The sound of Rory crying is the last thing I hear before I hang up the phone.
Numbness is weird. I don’t know how time works while I’m like this. I’m not sure if I’ve been sitting, laying, standing, or maybe just floating here.
At some point, I hear my van door try to open itself and that doesn’t seem right.
“Angel,” says the man’s voice on the other side. At least I think it’s a man. My ears are still filled with cotton.
I told Weston to leave me alone until tonight. Is it night already? Light streams in through the front windows that I didn’t bother covering before we left for our ride what feels like a lifetime ago, so it can’t be. Unless it’s tomorrow already?
“I told you I don’t wanna talk right now, Weston,” I say, exasperation leaking through my hollow voice.
Sliding the door open, expecting to see his golden face, I gasp at the face that’s waiting for me instead.
Pallid, scarred by acne and a lifetime of bad choices, a patchy moustache and stringy brown hair. Bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes that used to be blue stare back at me. It’s my father’s face, almost to a T, had my father not known basic hygiene and had a fondness for crystal meth.
Fear shatters the numbness I’ve been hiding in when I take in that face.
“Randall.”
“Angel.”
I back up, one foot up the stairs at a time as I reverse into my van, hands fumbling behind me on the countertops, searching, heart pounding a rhythm my veins can only try to keep up with.
Randall lunges for my phone, finding it before I do, and stuffing it in his back pocket. He doesn’t realize that’s not what I was after.
“I’m just here to talk,” he says, hands up, like he hasn’t been threatening me since I left home.
I always knew this was a likely outcome for me, and even though I’ve spent years preparing for the eventuality, it doesn’t mean I’m not shaking in my literal boots right now.
It’s convenient how loud my breathing is. Hopefully it covers the noises I’m making. My body blocking his view, I feel around in the drawer behind me for one of the six folding knives I keep in the van at different strategic locations in case this day ever came.
Ironic, right? The daughter of the Santa Slayer, crippled by his legacy, yet having so many knives for her own protection?
The nearest can of mace is too far away, but I’ve got what I need right here.
“We don’t need to talk. I have nothing to say to you,” I spit at him.
“Then you’re going to listen to me. It took me long enough to find you, you sneaky little bitch. Thought you could hide from me forever? I’ve been working for years to smoke you out.”
“You’re so clever.” My voice drips with disdain. “Letting a reporter do your dirty work for you. Couldn’t find me yourself?”
“Ididfind you myself.”
“Sure,” I nod at him. “It’s just coincidence that you show up at my door hours after the article comes out doxxing me.”
All he’s had to hold over me all these years is the threat of exposing me, and someone beat him to it. Must suck to be him.
