Chapter 30 #2
I’m not going to let him do that. I make up my mind to keep putting one foot in front of the other until I’m physically stopped.
No more of this second-guessing myself and holding my breath all the time.
If Frankie wants to kill me, fine. There’s nothing I can do to stop him.
But until then, I’m going to live my life on my terms.
That doesn’t mean I’m going to stick around and pretend that I don’t have a target on my back.
I’m leaving today as soon as I grab my things.
But I’m not going to look over my shoulder or leave the car door open every time I start the engine.
I have to keep some semblance of a normal life, or I’m going to burn out.
Having decided, I feel a sense of peace come over me. In that moment, I realize I’m sad my relationship with Frankie is over. He seems like a good person, if you forget about his family for the moment. But then I remember he stole all my research, and I scowl.
“Good riddance,” I snap to the four walls.
They don’t answer me, which is good. I don’t need to add a psychotic break on top of everything else I’m dealing with.
I go to the bedroom and pack a large suitcase, putting in everything I might need to last me a week or two.
Then I walk down to the rental office and pay the next month’s rent.
I’m not sure if I’ll be back, but this way I can buy myself some time.
I haul the suitcase out to my car and stick it in the trunk. Climbing into the driver’s seat, I purposefully close the door as if to prove to myself that I’m not afraid. I start driving, knowing exactly where I’m going and how long it will take to get there.
I didn’t throw away my phone, but I turned it off. I’m hoping that whoever is after me can’t trace it when there’s no power. But I realize I’m not an expert on espionage technology. This whole escape plan has some major holes in it, but I’m doing my best.
The first thing I want to do is touch base with my parents. If I have to go on the run, I want them to know that I’m okay. They’ve already lost one child to the mafia, though they think it was a suicide. The thought of them losing another child is heartbreaking, but I’m not sure how to avoid it.
They live about four hours away by car. I don’t usually drive without stopping, but this time is different.
I don’t even pull over for gas, and by the end of the journey, I’m watching my meter carefully.
It says I only have twenty-five miles left before the tank is empty by the time I arrive at my destination.
I get out of the car, feeling marginally better.
I’m back at my old stomping grounds, just a few miles away from the high school I attended.
This is a safe place for me. I know Frankie and his family can reach me no matter where I am, but for a moment, I allow myself to think that I’ve put it all behind me.
“Sofia!” my mom shouts. She comes out to meet me in the driveway, her hair still in curlers.
“Mom!” I say with relief, throwing my arms around her.
“Sofia?” my dad says from the doorway. He’s wearing his bathrobe and has slippers on his feet.
“What are you guys doing?” I ask, unable to stop myself from smiling. “It’s past noon, and you look like you’re just waking up.”
Dad steps out onto the porch to help me with my bag. “We had a long night, and we’re taking the day off.”
“What did you do?” I wonder, following them both inside.
“There was a gala at the art museum,” Dad says.
“You crazy kids,” I tease.
“It’s so good to see you,” Mom says, “How have you been? Why didn’t you call?”
“I turned my phone off,” I answer.
They exchange a look which I pretend to ignore. I want this visit to seem as normal as possible. I know I have to tell them everything, but I’m not ready to do that yet. My mom leads me to the kitchen, where she starts making coffee. I sit down at the island, exhausted already.
“You look horrible,” Mom observes.
“Thanks,” I say with a frown.
“Karen,” Dad warns.
“I’m just concerned,” Mom explains.
“It’s good to see you,” Dad says, setting my bag down in the living room. “It looks like you came to stay.”
“Maybe for a few days,” I respond.
“Is anything wrong?” Dad asks, worried.
“I’ll tell you all about it,” I promise. “But right now I’d love something to eat and a shower.”
Mom pokes her head into the refrigerator to check out the leftover situation. “There’s half a lasagna and some potato salad.”
“I’ll take both,” I say.
“You really are hungry,” Mom exclaims.
“You have no idea,” I reply. It seems like all the anxiety that left my body in the past ten minutes has been replaced by hunger. I’m suddenly ravenous, and I think I can polish off the leftovers, no problem.
Mom makes me a plate and sticks it in the microwave. About a minute later, it comes out, hot and ready to eat. I grab a fork and chow down, soothing myself with carbs. At least my parents are still alive and safe for the time being.
I put the empty plate in the sink and go to take a shower. The beat of hot water against my skin feels good, reviving me somewhat. When I’m done, my parents are gathered in the living room, waiting to hear my story.
I draw a deep breath. This is going to be hard for them to hear. I know there will be tons of questions, and I hope I can answer them all. This discussion is going to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
“Okay,” I begin, settling down in a chair by the fireplace. “I don’t think Danny killed himself.”
“I don’t want to hear this,” Dad says, standing up.
“Please,” I respond, rising to stop him. “Hear me out.”
Dad looks at me like I’ve just killed Danny all over again.
I hate that I have to reach inside his chest and tear his heart out, but that’s exactly what I have to do.
It’s not fair to Danny to have our parents walking around thinking that he killed himself.
If nothing else, convincing my parents that the true culprit is still out there will mean something.
“He was working on a story about the mafia,” I continue.
“Oh, for goodness sake!” Dad erupts, pacing the length of the living room with his back toward me. “Danny wasn’t killed by the mob.”
“Yes, he was!” I shout. “You don’t want to see it because it’s easier to believe what the police say.”
“Isn’t that their job?” Mom asks sweetly.
“Yes and no,” I reply, sitting back down. “Some of the police are working for the mafia.”
“Sofia, this is crazy,” Dad says, turning back to face me.
“No,” I assure him. “It’s not crazy. I’ve been doing a lot of research, and I think I’ve found the family responsible.”
“For what reason would they possibly kill Danny?” Dad asks. His voice chokes on the word ‘kill,’ and I feel the damage it does to him like a dagger to the heart.
“He was working on a story,” I repeat myself. “I don’t have all the specifics, but he was going to shine a spotlight on all the corruption in our city.”
“Don’t you think his boss would have told us?” Dad argues.
“Why won’t you consider the fact that Danny wouldn’t have taken his own life?” I shout, devolving into the angry teenager I once was.
“And why won’t you accept the fact that he did?” Dad questions.
“Because he didn’t!” I scream. This conversation is going worse than I could possibly imagine.
We’re entrenched in our own camps, each one of us acting out of grief.
I can’t believe that Danny would have done something so hurtful, but my father is so overwhelmed by the whole thing that he’s latched on to the simplest story.
I need to calm down if I have any chance of convincing them.
I close my eyes and draw a deep breath, going back to the day I found my brother’s body on the couch. “Danny didn’t have a gun.”
“The police said that he bought one,” Dad reminds me.
“And I’m saying that the police are working for the bad guys,” I counter.
“Do you have any proof?” Mom asks, standing up to put herself between us.
“No,” I admit. “Not directly. But I’ve been investigating this family for months now. I was invited to their home for dinner last night, and I stole a ledger from them.”
“You stole something?” Dad cries, his voice a mixture of shame and disbelief.
“Yes, Dad!” I confirm. “I stole something from them. It was a ledger with names and amounts of money that changed hands.”
My parents are both silent. I’m not sure what’s happening, or if I’ve managed to make any headway. There is a pregnant pause, and then Dad resumes the conversation, almost hopefully.
“And can you take that to the police?” he suggests.
“It’s in code,” I respond. “And they took it back.”
“So, they know that you stole from them?” Mom worries, her voice almost trembling.
“Yes,” I admit. “They know.”
“Oh, Sofia,” Dad says on an exhale, sitting down heavily.
“I can’t let them get away with killing Danny,” I say, trying to explain.
“What have you done?” Dad moans.
“What I had to do,” I insist.
The living room lapses into silence. There’s nothing more I can say without torturing them further. They may or may not believe that Danny was innocent, but they’ve grasped the scope of my problem.
“We have to go to the police,” Dad decides.
“No, Dad,” I say firmly. “We can’t trust the police.”
“Then what are we going to do?” He asks softly.
I close my eyes. This is even more painful than I imagined. I’d hoped to leave this conversation for tomorrow or the next day, but my parents’ curiosity has changed that. Now it’s all out in the open, and I have to make a choice.
“I’m going to run away,” I explain.
“No,” Mom says, heartbroken.
“I don’t have any other choice,” I respond. “I’m afraid that they’ll find me here, that they’ll find you.”
“Can’t you just explain to this family that you’re sorry?” Mom suggests. “You could turn yourself in and settle the matter in court or call the police.”
I glance at her, suddenly overwhelmed with love.
She’s so na?ve to think that my problems with Frankie can be addressed in a legal setting.
That would mean being completely out in the open with everyone about Frankie’s family.
They would never agree to that. If I were to attempt any kind of mediation, they would just stuff me in the trunk of a car and drive me out to an abandoned lot.
I shake my head sadly. “I can’t do that,” I say.
Dad stands up. I half expect him to yell at me, or to fall back on the lie he’s told himself for so long.
Danny’s death was a catalyst for all of this, and if I’ve accomplished nothing else, at least I planted a seed of doubt in my father’s mind.
If he can believe in the innocence of his son, then maybe all is not lost.
“Dad,” I begin.
But he just turns and walks away. I can feel my heart crumbling inside my chest. This is worse than I imagined. I wanted a safe place to return to, but now I’ve ruined that as well. Mom doesn’t move, but she doesn’t look at me either.
My instinct is to just take off, but I’m too tired to do that. In the morning I can leave. But right now, I need to sleep. Without saying another word, I retreat to my childhood bedroom.
Lying down on the twin mattress, I gaze up at the ceiling.
When I lived in this room, Danny was still alive.
I was still a wide-eyed teenager who looked up to him.
I imagined we would do remarkable things together, that we would use some kind of sibling power to make the world a better place. But all that is gone now.
I close my eyes, wishing I could turn back time and make everything all right again.
Blood thunders through my ears, a residual effect of so much stress.
I let it lull me to sleep, knowing this might be the last time I can rest without feeling scared.
Who knows where I’ll be tomorrow around this time.
I don’t have a lot of cash on me, and I’m not sure if I can use credit cards.
I’m ill-equipped to run from the law, much less from a group of criminals who want to track me down.
In the morning, Dad still doesn’t want to talk. I find them in the kitchen, still wearing their pajamas. Without greeting them, I help myself to a bowl from the cabinet and go hunting for the cereal I’m sure is in the pantry.
“Don’t you have any cereal?” I ask when I can’t find it.
“We stopped buying cereal a long time ago,” Mom answers.
“Not even granola?” I wonder.
“Not even,” Mom replies.
I let the pantry door close and pour myself a cup of coffee instead.
“I can make eggs,” Mom offers.
“Sure,” I agree.
She gets up to follow my directive, not seeming happy about it. I feel a rush of guilt at asking her to cook for me. That’s a privilege I don’t deserve now. But since I’ve already ruined their millennium, I keep my mouth shut and wait for the food.
The silence that follows is restrictive. I wish there were something I could say to make them realize how important my work is. I know I messed up, but my intentions were good. I couldn’t let Danny’s murder go unpunished.
Mom slides a plate of eggs in front of me, and I thank her with a smile. I eat slowly, savoring the dish as if it were my last. Dad stares at his coffee cup, consumed with his own thoughts. When I finish, I push the plate aside, trying to think of the best way to approach this new problem.
“I think you should leave,” I say finally.
Dad slams his palm down on the table, causing me to jump. I half expect him to say something, to argue the point, but he doesn’t. Instead, he continues to glare at the coffee cup, letting his foul mood speak for itself.
“I don’t think it’s safe for you here,” I insist.
“I think you should go,” Mom says, returning to the table.
I look up at her. My eyes filled with tears.
This is the worst possible outcome. If I can’t save my family, then what reason do I have to run?
I won’t turn my back on my parents and allow them to suffer the same fate as Danny.
If I can’t convince them of the truth, then I might as well go home to face the music.
“All right,” I agree, rising to my feet. “I’m sorry it happened this way.”
Both of my parents are silent. With a heavy heart, I return to my old room to gather my things.