Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
My father’s expression bodes worry for me, and even more guilt. I can’t tell if I’m glad he feels like shit, or if I’m pissed because he can clearly tell how much of a bullet he dodged when he ditched his queer, Schizophrenic hot mess of a son.
Either way, he follows me and we set out toward the mansion.
Obviously, Kellan isn’t having it.
“Dascha, this isn’t a good idea.” He jogs after me. “I don’t trust this asshole.”
“My son does not need to be babysat,” my dad mutters.
“Zamolchi,” I snap. “Don’t fucking talk to him like that. He has to deal with the mess you left behind.”
“You are not a mess, baby,” Kel says softly. I give him a look, and he’s clearly trying hard not to smirk. “Okay, you’re sort of messy. But I love cleaning up after you. Like at the house when you and Sobaka make breakfast and it looks like a Denny’s exploded in the kitchen.”
Chuckling, I bite my lip, losing a bit of my hostility.
“Kellan, you know I have to do this.” I can tell he’s about to argue, so I stop, taking his hand.
“It’s the best possible distraction. So that you guys can get Lem.
Shit, we don’t even know where Hancock is!
If I’m inside the mansion, I can get to him. ”
He looks like he’s about to fall down at my feet and beg me not to go, and it’s killing me inside.
Of course, the last thing I want is to leave his side, even for a second.
But the unfortunate truth is that we can do more apart.
Normally, it might not work that way, but in this case, with my dad being an apparent friend of The Ivory’s, I seem to have some level of protection.
I’d be stupid not to take advantage of it.
“We came to help, Kel,” I whisper, placing his hand over my heart. “This is how we do it. But I need you to stay with them.” My eyes shift to our friends. “Help them get Lem, and keep yourself hidden at all costs. Do not let The Ivory get you. He’ll use you as leverage, you know that.”
His throat dips. And I know he despises this. Every single breath of it.
But he nods, for me. Because he loves me, and he trusts me.
Not my dad, but me. I’m not sure that I trust my father fully either, but I do know that he wouldn’t allow The Ivory to hurt me in front of him. I know that with absolute certainty.
He might be an abandoning dickwad, but he’s still my father.
“Okay,” Kemper croaks, clearing his throat. It’s the cutest, sexiest, saddest thing ever. He’s on his way to kiss me, but I beat him to the punch. “Be careful please. I love you…”
“I love you,” I hum onto his lips. “I’ll be back with you before you know it.”
“You better be,” he growls, pulling away to pin my dad with a deadly glare. “Make it right. And if anything happens to him, just know I’ll have nothing to lose. That puts you in a real bad position.”
My father nods, eyeing Kemper up and down, as if he’s both impressed and skeptical.
“The gate is at the back of the mansion,” Kemper sighs. “East side.”
Joy nods. “If you guys go east and distract them we can slip all the way around back.”
“Got it.” I pinch Felix’s chin, then high-five Joy and fist-bump Rook. “See you on the other side, Ray.”
“Nice working with you, Dr. Venkman.” Joy winks.
Chuckling, I’m shaking my head as I stalk off into the woods… with my dad, of all people. I wasn’t sure I’d ever see him again, so this is really throwing me for a loop.
On the plus side, it’s distracting me from how concerned I should be about turning myself over to The Ivory.
“Why did she call you doctor…?” My father asks, and I peek at him.
“Dr. Venkman?” I stifle a smirk as he nods. “It’s from Ghostbusters. Remember? We watched it when I was a kid? And then I made you and mom throw me a ghost-themed party for my eleventh birthday.”
His forehead lines as if he’s unsure of what I’m talking about. “Hm… I do not think so.”
“Of course you don’t remember.” I roll my eyes. “Why would you? It didn’t have to do with money or robbing banks, so why would you care enough to remember…”
He shakes his head. “I remember, Dascha. Bill Murray, Dan Aykroyd, Ernie Hudson, and the one with the glasses…”
“Harold Ramis,” I mumble.
“Yes, right. Rick Moranis and Sigourney Weaver… And the big marshmallow creature.”
I huff at that, giving him the side-eye.
“I remember you ran around for a week after, singing the song,” he chuckles.
“I remember that you liked it most because of the ghosts, hence the ghost party. You wanted a collection of ghosts to keep under your bed. That was what you asked for… For your birthday. And it was your tenth, by the way. By your eleventh birthday, you had moved on to cars. You never stopped with them, did you?”
I gawk at him, dumbfounded, while we walk side by side, foot in my damn mouth. But it’s not my fault. He left!
If he really cared about the kid he remembers so much about, then why would he leave me??
“Why did you leave me with her…?” The words crawl up my throat like vomit. I don’t want to be asking him this, because I don’t want to care. But it just comes out. “You knew…” This time, they get stuck.
I choke it back, and it’s so nasty that I cough.
“Dascha…” He says my name in this patronizing tone, as if I’m still a child.
It’s infuriating. I’m not a child. I’m a fucking man. A man who might’ve had a chance to be even a tiny bit less fucked up if it weren’t for him being such a fucking coward.
“No, seriously.” I stop walking. “I want a fucking answer, asshole.”
“Do not speak to me that way,” he scolds.
A cackle of disbelief bursts out of me. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!
Now you wanna be a father?? You abandoned me!
” I roar, getting up in his face. “You were the only thing standing between me and a goddamn monster, and you left me to be fucking devoured! She was an extremely sick person, and you knew that! You knew about her, and you sure as shit knew about me… So what’s your excuse, Papa?
! Let me hear it, because as it stands, not only are you no fucking father, but you’re a sorry ass excuse for a man! ”
I’m heaving for breath, chest jumping, vision blurring. I hear voices, but I can’t tell if they’re in my head or really coming for us.
You never really escaped, Dascha…
You were here all along.
“Argh!” I bellow, yanking my hair in my fists. “I got out… I found him. Don’t do this to me…”
“Dascha, moy syn, please… You must calm down.” My father grabs me by the shoulders.
“Look at me.” I’m shaking my head on repeat while he rubs my shoulders, attempting to pacify me.
“I am sorry, syn. I have no good excuse to give… That is why I have never reached out to you. I knew nothing I could say would make it better. I fucked up, and you are right. I am a coward.”
My chin lifts slowly, eyes meeting his. The bronze that melts with my mother’s evergreen to make up the hazel in mine.
“I was scared,” he says with profound remorse shining at me. “I was so very afraid, Dascha. Not only that I could not handle her, but that I was not good for you either. I… I wanted to bring you with me, moy syn. I almost did, but I thought you would be better off…”
“Right,” I scoff, exhausted from the metric ton of emotional pressure in my skull. “Fucking schizophrenia, crime, and sexual abuse… I didn’t have a fucking chance in hell.”
My father’s eyes widen, his hands slipping off me. He looks horrified, and I’m confused for a moment. Until I realize what I just said.
Oh… right. He didn’t know.
The look on his face has me cowering inside, and the only possible thing I can use to cover it up is all-encompassing rage.
“Fuck you,” I spit, storming away from him as fast as my legs will carry me.
I’m not going into the mansion with him. I refuse to stroll in by his side like we’re some father-son duo.
“Dascha! Wait,” he hollers, chasing after me.
I run faster.
The mansion is visible up ahead, the long winding driveway lined with large vehicles. Off in the distance, on the east coast, I can see the small dock… The one where Velle’s boat was.
The one I sat in, waiting for my officer Kemper, who some part of my brain knew wasn’t coming. Yet, despite the mental illness, I somehow managed to escape from Alabaster Penitentiary, and this island. I escaped from hell, right over there. All by myself.
Sick or not, wounded, whatever… I made it the fuck out, on my own.
And I found my real Officer Kemper.
Fuck, I miss him already.
He always knows how to make me feel better when I’m spiraling and hating the world.
“Dascha, please,” my father calls after me, but I’m still ignoring him.
Rushing up the driveway, I’m met with a group of cartel men, guns instantly aimed at my head.
“You should know who I am,” I grumble, peering at my dad as he strides up, casually, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.
“Alexander Reznikov for Manuel Blanco,” he says with the cigarette between his teeth, flicking his lighter.
I’m glaring at him, shaking my head.
So he’s really just… pals with The Ivory then?
And he says I’ve met him before…?
But I don’t remember.
What else is new?
“Sir, you can head right inside,” one of the men says to my father as another approaches me, pulling cuffs off his holster.
“You’re high if you think you’re putting those on me,” I grunt at him.
“I will stay here and make sure no harm comes to my son,” Dad says.
I scoff. “I don’t need your protection, pops. Not anymore, but ya know… Thanks for stopping by.”
A man strides down the front steps, heading right for us. He’s not in uniform like the others. Rather, he’s in all black, like he’s head of security for a pop star or something.
“Mr. Reznikov,” the man greets my father stoically. “The Ivory is requesting that you adjourn to the study for a drink. He’ll be with you shortly.”
My dad glances at me, and I look away.
“Dascha, you must talk to me at some point,” he murmurs.
You prick.
I whip a glare his way. “Oh, I must?? For a pussy ass bitch, you’ve got some balls on you…”