Chapter Six
Elvira
My phone rang suddenly, the shrill sound jarring in the peaceful garden. I pulled it from my pocket, frowning at the unknown number on the screen. “Probably a spam call,” I said, but something made me answer anyway. “Hello?”
The voice on the other end sent ice through my veins, familiar despite the years of silence. Cultured, smooth, with that slightly condescending tone I’d know anywhere. “Elvira? My little witch? It’s your father.”
The phone nearly slipped from my suddenly trembling fingers. Chains must have felt me stiffen, because his arms tightened around me in silent question.
“Dad?” I whispered, my voice sounding strange to my own ears. All the peace of the garden shattered in an instant, replaced by a roaring in my ears and a sickness in my stomach. Across from me, a carved pumpkin grinned mockingly, its jagged smile a reminder of all I’d tried to escape.
“I should give you some privacy,” Chains said, his voice cutting through the shock that had frozen me in place.
“Need a drink? Apple cider?” I nodded numbly, barely registering as he squeezed my shoulder and stood.
I wanted to tell him not to leave, but I couldn’t seem to voice the request for the daze I was in from the mental throat punch I’d just received.
The crunch of his boots on fallen leaves faded as he walked away, leaving me alone with the ghost from my past breathing on the other end of the line.
“Elvira? Are you still there?” My father’s voice carried that familiar lilt, the cultured tone that had charmed patients, colleagues, and juries alike.
And so Goddamned smug. Funny. I guess I’d been too young to recognize it before, but I could hear the condescending note in his voice now.
Hell, I’d heard it as a child too. I just didn’t understand.
“I’m here,” I managed, rising from the bench on unsteady legs. “I just… I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”
“Of course not,” he said, a touch of gentle reproach warming his words. “It’s been quite some time, hasn’t it? Too long, really. A father shouldn’t lose touch with his daughter.”
I began pacing between the mums and gourds, dead leaves crunching beneath my shoes. My free hand twisted in the hem of my sweater, a nervous habit I thought I’d outgrown.
“How did you get this number?” I asked.
“Oh, your grandmother kept me updated before she passed.” The easy lie slid from him like silk. Grandma would have sooner swallowed glass than speak to him. “I’ve been following your life from afar, my little witch. I’ve always been thinking of you.”
Little witch. The childhood nickname struck me like a physical blow. He’d called me that when I was small, before everything fell apart, when I’d follow him around the house in makeshift costumes pretending to cast spells.
“What do you want, Dad?” My voice sounded steadier than I felt.
“Can’t a father simply want to reconnect with his daughter?” A pause, perfectly timed. “I’ve been released early. Good behavior.”
My stomach dropped. “Released? But you had at least four more years on your sentence.”
“The system rewards rehabilitation, Elvira.” His tone shifted to something more serious, more sincere. “I’ve changed. Done a lot of soul searching. The man who made those terrible mistakes isn’t who I am anymore.”
I stopped pacing, pressing my fingertips against my closed eyelids. How many times had I imagined this conversation? In some versions, I screamed at him. In others, I hung up without a word. In none of them did I feel this uncomfortable mixture of anger, longing, and suspicion.
“I’m not sure what you want me to say,” I told him honestly.
“Nothing at all,” he assured me. “Just listen. I’ve been thinking about our last days together, before… well, before everything went wrong. Remember those Halloween parties we used to throw? How you’d help me carve the pumpkins?”
Despite myself, I smiled at the memory. My father’s hands guiding mine, teaching me to follow the patterns. “I remember.”
“I saw a news article about you, you know. The Halloween festival at the park. Your booth was mentioned specifically. ‘Enchanting,’ they called it. I knew that was my little witch.”
My chest tightened. I hadn’t known about any article. Had he been keeping tabs on me all this time? “Dad, why are you calling me?”
“Now that I’m out, I’d like to have a relationship with you. You’re my daughter.”
“You destroyed our family.” My voice shook with emotion. Anger. Sadness. Grief. Everything was so heavy it was overwhelming.
“I did what I had to do to provide for you.”
“You could have more than provided for me as a surgeon, Dad. You didn’t need to” -- I swallowed, unable to even voice his crimes --”do what you did.”
“At least you had my mother and father. They took care of you when I couldn’t.”
“If you kept tabs on me like you said, you know that Grandpa died two years after you went to prison. Grandma died when I was fourteen. After that, I spent the next two years in foster care. When I turned sixteen, I got emancipated because I hated where I lived and had held down a job and saved and saved until I had enough to get my own place. While wards of the state aren’t usually turned loose that early, no one kicked up any fuss when I showed them copies of my pay stubs and my bank account.
All of it earned by me. Any money the state paid out to my foster families went to them. Not me. Did you know that?”
There was a long sigh on the other end. I wasn’t sure if he was remorseful or impatient. “Yes. I was aware. They tried to get me to relinquish my parental rights altogether, but I didn’t. I wanted to be there for you in whatever way I could. I knew I’d get out someday and you’d need me.”
“Well, I don’t need you. I’m totally good on my own.”
“Look, honey. The truth is I really need somewhere to stay just for a few days, until I get back on my feet. The halfway house is… well, it’s not conducive to proper rehabilitation. Too many temptations, too many people who don’t truly want to change.”
I resumed pacing, faster now. “I’m staying with friends right now. I don’t have my own place.”
“Friends? That’s wonderful.” His voice brightened with what sounded like genuine pleasure. “I’d love to meet them. Perhaps they wouldn’t mind one more temporary guest? Just until I can arrange something more permanent. For both of us, of course.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The words came out before I could consider them fully.
A pause, heavier this time. “I see.” The disappointment in his tone was palpable. “After all I’ve been through, even my own daughter won’t help me? Fifteen years in federal prison, Elvira. Do you have any idea what that’s like?”
Guilt sliced through me like a blade. “That’s not fair. You made your own choices.”
“Fair?” His laugh was soft, sad. “Was it fair that I missed your high school graduation? Your college years? All those milestones fathers are supposed to be present for? I’ve paid my debt to society, Elvira. Can’t I at least have a chance to repair what was broken between us?”
My breath came quicker now, my chest tight with conflicting emotions. Part of me wanted to help him, to believe he’d changed. Another part screamed warnings, reminding me of the gruesome devastation he’d left in his wake.
“I understand your hesitation,” he continued, his voice gentle. “Trust takes time to rebuild. But family is family, Elvira. When everyone else abandons you, blood remains. I never stopped loving you, even when you stopped visiting, stopped writing.”
I closed my eyes, silent tears slipping down my cheeks.
“You broke my heart,” I whispered. “You destroyed our family. It was always the two of us. When Grandma died and I went into the system, I had no one to bring me to see you. The foster parents who took me in all agreed to bring me, but when the time came they never would.” I paused to sniff and swipe at my eyes angrily.
“All that’s on you. Every single bit of it. ”
“And I’ve regretted it every day since,” he replied, sounding genuinely contrite.
Of course he had regrets, and I was a hundred percent certain that those regrets revolved around the mistakes he made that got him caught.
Not for what he’d done in the first place.
“Which is why you should allow me the chance to make amends. I’m not asking for forgiveness, not yet.
Just a place to stay while I get established. A few days, perhaps a week at most.”
I wiped at my cheeks again with trembling fingers. The garden that had felt so peaceful minutes ago now seemed to close in around me, the autumn colors blurring through my tears.
“I don’t know if I can,” I admitted. “Anyway, it’s not just my decision. I’m a guest here myself. I can’t risk displeasing anyone here.”
“Then ask your friends,” he pressed. “Surely they’d understand the importance of family reconciliation. Unless…” his voice cooled slightly, “unless you’re ashamed of me. Is that it, Elvira? Are you too embarrassed to tell them who your father is?”
“That’s not it,” I protested, though part of me knew it was. The thought of explaining to Chains, to Knuckles and the others, who my father was and what he’d done made my stomach churn.
“Then what’s the problem? After all this time, all I’m asking for is a chance and a place to stay. As your father. Is that really too much? If they’re truly your friends, they’ll give you this.”
The crunch of leaves behind me made me turn. Chains stood there, a beer in one hand and a steaming mug of cider in the other. His face darkened as he looked at me. He set the drinks down on the bench and moved toward me.
“I’m sorry, Chains.” I looked up at Chains, pleading with him not to leave again.