Paz
5:28 p.m.
My old building is like a haunted house. I’m scared to go in, like I’m gonna walk into spiderwebs and trip over skeletons
and have ghosts pop out, but the only jump scare is the leasing agent stepping out onto the curb to invite us in. She instantly
recognizes the Death-Cast heir but not me. I’m not mad at that, but it does mean she’s chatting up Alano and Dane about Death-Cast
while leaving me alone with my thoughts as I take the first step inside; I wish Alano were holding my hand, or even Mom.
The building hasn’t undergone any real renovations, just some paint jobs; the ugly yellow walls are now white, and the brown trim is black. I hate to say it, but this place had more character when Dad was the super. I’m sure the residents will happily trade color for the functioning elevator, something Dad kept claiming he would get around to; who knows if he would’ve ever made good on that. The elevator is a tight squeeze, so I let Alano, Dane, and the leasing agent ride up. I’m super anxious anyway and one of those DBT modules said that exercise is a good way to blow off some steam. I hobble up the stairs, trying to remember which ones would creak, something Alano would easily know if he lived here, or even visited once. By the time I reach the second floor, I can hear Alano and the others exiting the elevator. Their voices travel down as I keep going up.
I stop at the fifth-floor landing.
“Out of breath?” Alano asks one flight up. I don’t respond. He rushes down the stairs. “Are you okay? Do you want to turn
around and leave?”
I’m shaking, but not because I’m scared to go up. It’s because I’m remembering what—who—went down here. “This is where Valentino...,”
I say.
I can’t bring myself to say it, but Alano takes everything in himself. My dad knocked Valentino down those stairs, and Valentino
landed right where we’re standing. He may have technically died at the hospital, but his life ended here. It’s been ten years,
but it’s weird that there isn’t anything here that memorializes Valentino Prince, the first Decker, the boy who heard me cry
out for help and fought off my dad long enough for me to get the gun and—
“You’re okay,” Alano says, pulling me into his chest.
I bite down on my lip, not wanting to cry.
“Is everything all right?” the leasing agent asks.
“Give them a moment,” Dane says. Even he knows what’s up.
I gotta get it together.
There’s no plaque here for Valentino, but that doesn’t mean he’s forgotten, and he never will be, thanks to Orion’s 912-page
book as well as that movie I won’t be in.
“Okay, let’s go.”
This last flight of stairs feels like I’m climbing a mountain, but I get to the top.
The leasing agent opens my door—I mean, my old door—and welcomes me inside what used to be my home for nine years, but I don’t go in. She must be so confused why a wannabe renter is taking so damn long to check out the apartment. She stands in the doorway, telling me about the appliances as if I’m gonna run in because of the new washer and dryer.
“Can I just take a look around?” I ask even though I’m not actually sure I can get myself to step forward.
“Sure,” the leasing agent says, staying at the door.
Alano crosses the threshold and holds out his hand. I take it and go in.
This is it.
My old home. The scene of the crime.
The apartment is smaller than I remember, but I don’t know if that’s because I live in a house now or because I just got bigger.
Everything else is basically the same except for new kitchen counters, new window frames, and what has to be new floorboards
because there’s no way in hell they got the blood out of that wood. I step around the spot where Dad died as if his corpse
is still lying there, and I show Alano the closet where Dad hid his gun, Mom and Dad’s bedroom, and mine. It’s not much, but
I got to play with my trains and magic wands in here. It’s also where I hid when things got bad.
“How’s it looking?” the leasing agent asks.
Alano walks over and says, “Still giving it some thought. We’re going to speak privately if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.”
Alano closes the door and quietly says, “Take your time.”
I don’t wanna take my time, I wanna get out of here.
I pull the letter out of my pocket, smoothing it out. If the Begin Days contract was my promise to keep surviving, this letter
was my promise to die at any cost on the anniversary.
My hands start shaking as if Dad is in here right now. I can picture him drinking beer and watching TV, his feet kicked up
on the hamper like it’s an ottoman. I used to talk to him about what I learned at school and acting class, and he wasn’t really
listening then, and I don’t know if he’s listening now, but it’s all about me getting this off my chest.
I start reading the letter: “?‘Hey Dad, today is my nineteenth birthday. It’s also Father’s Day. I’ve never tried talking
to you before, not because I don’t know if you can even hear me, but because I figured you wouldn’t wanna. Why would you?
I killed you. Don’t fucking worry, I’m gonna die soon too.’?” I stop to catch my breath as everything I felt writing this
letter crawls back to the top. I was so sad but so confident. “?‘I went for a hike after Mom and Rolando gave me my presents,
but all I could think about was how the only thing I wanted was to die. Then I saw the Hollywood Sign and thought I could
give myself that gift. There was no way I would survive jumping off the sign, but I couldn’t even get up there before falling
down. And I got scared to die wrong and decided to make a plan to die right. That’s gonna be a gift for both of us when I
kill your killer on the anniversary of your death.’?” I stare at the last two words, not wanting to read it, like it’s gonna
undo everything, but I can’t stop myself and say, “?‘I promise.’?”
Teardrops fall onto the letter.
“Are you okay?” Alano asks.
This was supposed to give me closure, but this wound hasn’t closed. It’s like all I did was rip into my wound, using my fingernails
as knives. And now I’m digging up all the words that I never thought to put down in writing, to say, or even think. “I hate
you.”
“What?” Alano says.
I stare down at the letter like Dad is there. “I hate you for making me violent. I would’ve never picked up a gun or raised
a hand at anyone if you weren’t in my life.” If only I was raised by Mom, someone who’s always shown her strength without
putting her hands on another person. “Dads are supposed to be role models, but you’re the role model of who I don’t wanna
be.” I cry as I rip up the letter, this letter that puts all this guilt on me as if I was wrong to save my mom’s life, as
if I was supposed to watch her die, as if I had some other power at nine years old to stop my dad from killing her. I wish
there had been some other way. I wish he had made better choices. I wish he had just been my dad. “I somehow still love and
miss you even though you ruined my life. But I’m also happy you’re not alive to screw me up anymore because I’m gonna keep
living whether you like it or not!”
I collapse onto the floor, hard, crying as I slam my fist on the pieces of paper, screaming.
The door opens, and Dane rushes in, surprised that Alano is safe.
Alano helps me up, wrapping my arm around his shoulder. “Do you need anything?”
“I wanna go,” I cry.
“What’s going on?” the leasing agent asks.
“We’re going to keep looking,” Alano says. “I’m sorry to waste your time.”
Every step down the stairs is another step away from the scene of the crime, from the promise I made to myself and Dad to
go die. And when we get into the car and start driving away, I’m leaving behind that haunted house and Dad’s ghost and my
guilt.
I killed Dad to save Mom’s life, but saying goodbye is helping save mine.