Bad Sons

by Isla Cristeon

  And suddenly, I’ve lost my appetite.

  After pushing my plate away, I lean back in my seat. “I don’t want to talk about that, Fernando.”

  “Can you tell me how your mother died?”

  Hot tears fill my eyes. “I’m not doing this.”

  Turning in my seat, I stand from the table and walk through the archway to enter the hallway leading to the Prospero and Navarre suites. I need to turn right for my side, but Fernando grips me by the arm and shoulders me bodily down the hall to his side.

  “Please,” I say, throat thick with tears.

  I try to wrench my arm from his grasp, but he holds tight, even as he digs his brass key from his pocket and gets the door open. My hand curls into a fist, and I put all my strength into hammering it into his ribcage.

  He only grunts then hisses, “Damnit, Aida.”

  Once we’re on the other side of the door, he kicks it shut and releases his hold on me.

  “Talk,” he commands.

  Drawing in a shuddering breath, I shake my head. “No. He already told you.”

  Fernando presses his lips together and raises his eyebrows. “Your dad didn’t tell me anything. He said I need to hear it from you.” His expression softens. “Please.”

  I wrap my arms around myself, dropping my head back to stare at the ceiling, exhaling a ragged breath. Of course my father said Fernando needs to hear it from me. God forbid my father even speak my mother’s name or mention anything in her memory.

  Growing up, I ached to talk about her, to keep her alive in my life even if it was only through repeating old stories. Those memories were like a trickling stream near the roots of a withering tree, but my father refused to contribute. Over time, he sunk deeper in his mire of alcoholism, fueling more fights with my brother. And yes, of course I blame myself for much of that.

  If there’s anything my life has taught me, it’s that trauma and loss are only the beginning of the hurt. The emptiness that lingers pushes pain even deeper. Sweet moments become bitter when they’re eclipsed by feelings of guilt for merely being happy.

  I bring my hands to my face and shove my palms against my eyes, creating a dam against the threatening flood. I refuse to cry in front of him.

  Fernando gently wraps his hand around my wrist and leads me to the sofa, and I let him. I lower my hands and stare without focus as he moves to the small kitchen and opens a cabinet.

  I’ve been witness to the growing anger in my father for the past year and a half we’ve been reunited. Darkness billows around him like a cloud, and I can’t seem to pull him from the prevailing wind of fury propelling him.

  Around the same time my dad was released from prison, I’d succeeded in gathering victim statements from two other girls who also attended my school. Both had been molested by my neighbor, Steve.

  I sat on that information for nearly a month, until I finally gathered enough courage to walk into a police station and state my case. My voice trembled and my hands shook, but I imagined Fernando sitting with me.

  You need to do this, imaginary Fernando had said, interlacing his fingers with mine. Think of all the other girls you’re saving.

  The detective had taken down my statement, and then typed Steve’s name into his computer. An odd look had come across his face, his brow furrowing as he read the screen.

  He folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. “Ms. Prospero, I want to thank you for coming here today. The man who molested you was found dead in his home a week ago. He left a letter of confession detailing every girl he molested. There were a total of five over the years, including you.”

  Bile rose in my throat as he kept speaking.

  “The suicide letter he left made it a closed case. But I was on that call.” The detective’s kind brown eyes met mine. “It was the oddest thing,” he murmured, almost to himself.

  “What was it?”

  He shook his head and blinked. “It was … graphic. I’d rather not share the details with you.”

  My hand tightened into a fist as I locked eyes with the man. “Please. I need you to tell me everything.”

  His warm brown eyes had moved to his computer screen, and he sighed softly before returning his attention to me. “Are you sure?”

  Swallowing, I gave a sharp nod of my head. “Yes. I need to know.”

  The detective folded his hands. “He was found in a chair in front of the desk where the suicide letter was. He put a knife through his, um, genitals, pinning himself to the chair before he put a gun to his head. You have your justice, Ms. Prospero. I’m sorry for everything that happened to you.”

  I left the precinct on shaky legs, knowing without a shadow of doubt that my father had something to do with it.

  The worst part? I felt relieved.

  But what happened to me as a kid was nothing compared to the violent way my mother died.

  Fernando sets a glass of ice water on the wrought iron and glass coffee table in front of the couch then sits beside me. After taking a sip of the cold water, I pull my feet onto the sofa, tucking them under my bottom.

  “I was supposed to be at school,” I begin.

  Mammina reads to me in a soft voice. “And Little Sal and her mother went down the other side of Blueberry Hill, picking berries all the way, and drove home with food to can for next winter—a whole pail of blueberries and three more besides.”

  After setting my favorite book on her bedside table, she lays her cool hand on my feverish forehead. “You’re still really warm, Aida. Close your eyes and rest.”

  “Stay with me, Mammina,” I plead.

  Her light brown eyes crinkle as she smiles. “I’m tired myself. We’ll nap together, okay?”

  Smiling, I snuggle into my mother’s warmth. Now that I’m older, I never get to cuddle with her in bed anymore. My parent’s bedroom door is always closed at night. I understand they need alone time, but the older I get, my cuddle time decreases.

  We fall fast asleep, me tangled in fevered dreams of a dark-haired prince rescuing me from a monster with the body of a beast and the head of a man.

  A loud bang comes from our front door. My mother jerks awake. I’m vaguely aware of the noise, but sleep holds me in its embrace.

  “Aida,” she whispers, fear in her voice. “Wake up, baby.”

  The front door splinters under a mighty kick. I crack open my eyes and groan. Who is trying to get into our apartment?

  Quickly, my mother cradles me in her arms, looking around the room in panic. She heads to the closet first, but then turns and moves to her wide dresser. The bottom drawer holds extra blankets, and she pulls them out, tossing them under her bed. After laying me flat inside the emptied drawer, she holds my gaze for a moment, her eyes wide and filled with tears.

  “No matter what you hear, baby, stay quiet. Don’t move. Don’t make a sound. I love you.”

  Darkness encloses me as the drawer slides shut. I’ve been in here before when me and my brother used to play hide and seek. He’s too old to play with me now, but maybe Mammina wants to play with me.

  I frown. It’s not really fair now, because she knows where I’m hiding.

  Heavy footsteps move through the living room. Doors open and close, furniture gets knocked around. The door to my parents’ bedroom creaks open.

  “She’s not in here,” a man says in a low, harsh voice.

  “He said she’d be home,” another man’s replies. “Go check the other rooms. Under the beds, in the closets. I’ll search this room.”

  A single pair of booted feet move away, but I can sense the other man waiting. I know how to make myself quiet as a mouse.

  The man strides across the room and opens the closet door.

  “Please,” I hear my mother gasp. “You don’t have to do this.”

  There’s a slight sound of struggle, and then the man yells, “Got her!”

  My mother makes no sound as a slap rings in the air. I wince in my hiding spot. These men want to hurt her.

 
Something slams into the wall and my mother’s bare feet thud across the floor.

  “Oh no you don’t,” the man with the low, harsh voice says.

  I turn my head toward the sliver of light seeping in from the top of the drawer. A very tall man stands at the door, my mother crushed against his chest. The other man stands behind her, wiping blood from his nose.

  “Bitch kicked me in the face.”

  The man in the doorway chuckles. “She’s a pretty bitch, though.” He shoves my mother backward and lowers his hands to his waistband. “You stop that bleeding, I’m gonna have fun before we finish this.”

  A shriek comes from my mother, and she tries to dart through the gap in the doorway. He wraps his arms around her and slams her onto the bed. She struggles and arches her back, but her arms are pinned under his.

  “You wanna die today, Mira?” he asks in a menacing tone.

  How does he know her name?

  My mother shakes her head violently.

  “Then stay still.”

  The man moves his hands between my mother’s legs. When he pulls off her undies, I turn my head away. Tears drip from the corners of my eyes. The bed springs squeak rhythmically but my mother stays quiet. I’ve heard the bed make the same noises some nights, but usually it’s accompanied by strange sounds from my parents.

  This is different. The man is forcing her to do what she and my father do.

  Fabric tears and a soft sob comes from my mother’s throat. After what feels like forever, the man finally groans several times. I turn my head and see my mother’s fists clenched in the sheets, her head turned away.

  “Where is the ring?” the man says softly.

  “I-I …” she stammers. “I don’t know.”

  Slap!

  “You’re really pretty with these red cheeks, you know that? I’m gonna ask you again, and if you don’t answer me, my friend is going to come in here and have his fun with you. He’s not as gentle as me. Where’s the ring, Mira?”

  He wraps his fingers around her throat. Her hands fly up and claw at his wrists. After a minute, he releases his hold. My mother chokes in a deep breath then starts coughing.

  “Where is it?” he shouts.

  “The closet,” she croaks. “Top shelf. In the safe.”

  “Paco!” he yells. “Get in here.”

  The bloody nosed guy’s boots clomp back into the room.

  “Check the closet, top shelf. She says there’s a safe.”

  I hear the slide of heavy metal, and then a thud as it’s settled on the bedside table. The man on top of my mother moves off and buttons his pants. She pulls her torn shirt over herself, then draws her legs together before curling her knees into her chest.

  “Combination,” Paco orders, crouched in front of the safe.

  My mother rattles off the numbers, and I breathe a sigh of relief as the big metal door pops open. They’ll leave now that they got what they came for.

  Both men’s dark heads lower and focus on the contents of the safe. Paco hands over money and my mother’s jewelry to his friend, who pockets everything, then he raises to standing and runs his eyes over my mother.

  He shrugs and reaches for the button on his pants. “Eh, why not?”

  “No,” my mother whispers. “He said—”

  “Flip over so I don’t have to look at your snot stained face.”

  He doesn’t wait for her to comply and bodily forces her onto her stomach. I turn my head away as he begins moving against her. Small whimpers come from my mother under the never-ending assault.

  I’m not sure what happens, but a bloodcurdling scream tears from my mother’s throat, a vicious, violent, inhumane sound I’ve never heard from her. I bite through the skin on the inside of my cheek as she wails and shrieks.

  “Man, why you gotta do her like that? They never stay quiet when you do that. Shut her up,” the first guy says.

  Her cries grow muffled and choked, and I turn my head in concern. The man who’s hurting her has his hand around her throat even as he slams himself against her. His body freezes, then jerks silently. He leans over and says low in her ear, “Alfonso Navarre said he’ll see you in hell.”

  She kicks and claws as her face grows reddened, but Paco doesn’t release his hold until long after she stops fighting and goes still.

  A hand tightens in my hair. Somehow, my face is pressed against Fernando’s chest and his other arm crushes me against him. I can’t seem to pull enough air in my lungs, and my hands shake where they’re clenched into fists against his abdomen.

  “I should have helped her,” I whisper. “I just watched her die.”

  Fernando sniffles and raises his arm to wipe under his nose. “God, no, Aida. You were a child. They probably would have done the same to you.”

  My fingers open then tighten on his shirt. A fine trembling runs through Fernando’s body, and I sense the boiling rage. His own father sent those men for the ring and to kill my mother.

  My father had rejected his inheritance in order to marry my mother, so he toiled in tobacco fields for most of his life, until Alfonso Navarre encouraged him to pursue law, even hiring my father at his office. Much of the money my parents had saved was funneled into my dad’s schooling. He’d spend half his day at school, and the rest of his day was spent working hard for Alfonso.

  On this day he came home defeated. He’d called out for my mother as he walked through the house. I heard him let out a small sob, then he said, “Baby, he fired me. I don’t know what we’re gonna do.”

  As much as I’ll never forget the sounds my mother made right before she died, I’ll also never forget my father’s bellowing sobs of grief when he found her. After a while, I called out for him, and he pulled open the drawer, then crushed me in his arms, sobbing. He held me tightly, even though I was soaked through with my own urine.

  “How old were you?” Fernando asks softly.

  “I was eight.”

  He presses his cheek to the top of my head, his heart thudding against my ear. “My father is worse than I thought. I knew before that he’d done some bad things, but this ...” His arms tighten around me before he pulls away and holds me at arm’s length. Tears cloud his eyes and his chin trembles as he stares at me. “I’m so sorry for what he did, Aida. He took so much from you. I wish I could change it.”

  I press myself against him again, tucking my head beneath his chest. He reclines back on the cushions, bringing me with.

  “What did the cops say?”

  “They were weird. The detective quietly asked if there were any witnesses, but he had this odd, shifty look on his face. For some reason, my dad didn’t say I was there. He told me later that he suspected the detective was in cohorts with Alfonso. They reassured us there would be DNA swabs done on my mother, and they’d check the safe and our door knobs for fingerprints, but it never happened. My mother’s body got cremated the same day without our consent.”

  He swallows hard and presses a kiss to my head.

  “We left after that. My dad, my brother, and me. My dad got a job, started drinking heavily. Him and my brother would fight. After my brother ran away, my dad got forced to work third shift. And … you know the rest.”

  His voice trembles. “Your dad is gonna kill my dad. And I don’t think I’ll be able to stop him. After hearing this, I don’t know if I even want to stop him.”

  I raise myself onto my knees. “Can you show me the operation? Where the video surveillance area is? If I can have my eyes on it, I’ll be able to tell if my dad is getting out of control.” Closing my eyes, I give him the reassurance he needs to hear. “I’ll stop it if I can.”

  He looks stunned for a moment, but then seems to regain his composure. “This may or may not be relevant for you, but when this is all over, Jewel and I are getting a divorce. I called her and told her about you. She gave us her blessing and said she’d get the process started. I want us, Aida.”

  I want us, too.

  My passion burns strong with F
ernando, but my loyalty lies deeply entrenched alongside my father with my heart treading the line in the middle. I can’t vow or promise anything beyond fleeting moments.

  So much will probably change from now until this rigged game ends. After finding out Fernando is a Navarre, I’ve come to peace with the fact that perhaps we just aren’t meant to be. What our hearts want doesn’t matter.

  I shift away from him. “Can we not talk about feelings until this is done?”

  A heavy exhale comes from him. “Fine. I just need you to know where I stand.”

  I lift my chin. “Show me where everything is.”

  Chapter 6

  I LEAD AIDA THROUGH the dining room, then deep into the kitchen. We come to a freezer with a Private sign attached to the front. I look at Aida and catch her eye before punching in the code.

  Her eyes watch my every movement as she memorizes the numbers.

  We open the door and step inside the dark space. Once it closes behind us, an electronic panel comes alive. I select Control. A gentle jolt rocks the container, and then it lowers into the ground.

  Aida’s eyes widen as she comes to the realization that this refrigerator is an elevator. “Oh my God, so cool.”

  I chuckle. “I know. Eli wanted this so he can have everything controlled from one secure location.”

  The elevator stops and then I push the door open. Stark blackness lay ahead, but then lights flicker on down both the hallways, to the right and to the left. Doors line each side.

  I turn to Aida. She immediately reaches her hand out, and I extend mine. We fit. The way we connect feels so right.

  “So I haven’t really been down here much. Eli only showed me the control room, because behind all those doors are the second level games. They don’t want me to expect what’s coming.”

  “Second level?”

  I point up. “First level upstairs is easy, fun stuff. Second level down here is the real gritty stuff.”

  We stop at the first door in the hallway. I shouldn’t be showing Aida all this, but if she can help make sure my dad makes it out of here alive, then so be it. Even after she told me the horror that happened to her mother at my father’s command, she still offered to help me. I don’t know if I can ever convey what that means to me.