by Sarah Noffke
“How’d you find me?” she says, flipping the sketchpad over at once.
“I’m a fucking genius who works for the most powerful organization on the Earth. How did you not expect me to find you?” I say.
She thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “I suspected you wouldn’t. That you didn’t care.” And the statement carries no pity in it and I know from reading her expression that she means it.
“That drawing isn’t rubbish,” I say, indicating the picture she has overturned.
“I was just about to put horns on you and a funny mustache,” she says.
“No you weren’t,” I say, now spying the lie in her voice.
“If you’ve come to demand I take care of my baby then you’ve wasted your time. I don’t want him because he doesn’t want me,” she says.
“I haven’t,” I say simply. “And I never waste my own time.”
“You haven’t? Then why are you here?”
“To ask you why you left. Why you ran away,” I say.
“You know why. You’re a fucking genius. A master at reading people. Don’t pretend you don’t know what’s going on inside my head,” Adelaide says with her usual sneer.
“I know you’re scared of taking care of a child, who even I admit is going through a bit of rough patch on reentry into this world.”
She laughs coldly. “Reentry, like it isn’t his first time?”
“Well, I don’t think there’s any first-timers anymore, but that’s only a guess judging by the length of time humans have been on this planet,” I say.
“That’s funny. I never took you as a reincarnation kind of person. Thought you believed in hell and all that stuff Granddad always talks about,” she says.
“I was raised religiously, but I tend to think a bit more revolutionary than what the Bible teaches. And I’ve seen things that most haven’t. I know things that most don’t. I’ve seen the framework that’s hidden to most,” I say, realizing I’ve never shared with another human the things my dream travels have shown me. I’ve never shared the extent of my knowledge on the makeup of this world and God, and I happen to know more than ninety-nine percent of the population. However, that’s not saying much since most of the population is ignorant gits.
“What’s bizarre is that I believe you. Believe you might be the only person on this Earth that knows where we go when we die. I bet you really know what’s really behind the curtain.”
“Why is that bizarre?” I say, almost offended.
“Because you’re my father. I always thought he’d be some bloke who works as a clerk in a shop or an accountant who overcharges people for his services. I thought maybe you watched football on the weekends at a pub with your friends. Maybe even played cards or something. I pictured you went to church. You know, that sort of thing,” she says,
“I must be a bloody disappointment since I don’t do any of those things,” I say.
“You’re not in the least. My brain just never had the framework to believe my father could be a man like you. Someone who saves lives working for a secret society. A person who knows the future and who knows every bloody thing. And is also soulless and the meanest person I’ve ever met,” Adelaide says.
“Well, this just proves that having expectations is never a good idea,” I say. There’s a long pause where we hold each other’s gaze until I’m uncomfortable and look away. “I do know most of what’s going on inside your head. I didn’t come to ask you a question or convince you to return and care for your child. I came to tell you something. Then I’ll leave you alone. Let you live your miserable life or make something of it. Whatever you do is your choice.”
“Go on then,” she says.
“You’re angry because you think I don’t care about you—”
“I know you don’t,” she says, cutting me off.
I hold up a hand, pausing her. “You think I don’t like you. That as your father I should be instantly bonded to you. That I should be proud. That I should have affection for you and Lucien. You want me to love you. You want me to care about you.”
“Well yeah, isn’t that what every kid wants from their parent?” Adelaide says.
“No one has a parent like you,” I say, and the words are rough in my throat. “What I’m telling you is that you shouldn’t want those things from me.”
“I thought you were going to tell me a story,” she says.
“When I was a kid, after I came into my abilities, I spent every single day scamming people out of their money,” I begin, realizing again I’m about to divulge something for the first time to someone. “I’m responsible for loads of damages due to my pranks. I was never happy unless I was doing something bad. It was like I got a high. It was like that’s who I was. A person put on this Earth to create havoc. At night before dream travel I was always restless like I was going to tear off my skin. The monster wanted me to be bad. That’s the only thing that ever made him quiet. And later I went on to London and did even worse things. I stole women’s virginity, like your mum. I’m sure you realize that she wasn’t the first. And I broke hearts. Stole money from old women. I’ve killed people, Adelaide. I’ve killed them with my mind and with my bare hands.”
“Why are you telling me this?” she says, not at all disturbed by my admission.
“Because loving someone who doesn’t care about themselves is emotional suicide,” I say.
She seems to consider this and then shrugs like she’s dispelling me entirely.
“And you’re wasting your time pining for the affection of someone who is an extremely bad man. You shouldn’t want my praise. You should want to be as far away from me as possible. And I feel like if you knew who I really was, not a bad-tempered man, but a truly despicable one, then you wouldn’t care so much. You wouldn’t be so disappointed that I’m not the father you wanted,” I say.
“I don’t think it works that way,” she says simply. “I don’t think you just turn love off, like a switch. If I had a choice not to care about you then I would. But I can’t. I’ve tried. That’s why I drank. Well, and also because that’s what kids drive people to do.”
I nod, not able to argue with that last statement.
“Why does he like you?” she asks and I don’t have to ask who she means.
“I don’t know,” I say at once, having tried to figure out why Lucien does seem to have a connection with me.
“Well, that’s a first. You know everything,” she says.
“There are things about people that remain a mystery to even me. We are a constantly evolving organism. It’s hard to say for certain,” I say.
“Maybe in a past life you saved his life or something,” Adelaide says, trying to joke.
“Maybe, or maybe he feels the monster inside of him and he feels it inside of me. And unlike you, I’ve embraced the monster that we all have living within us,” I say, all of that reasoning popping into my head at once. And once I’ve said those sentences, they actually feel right to me.
She looks up at me, and her eyes are a bit startled. “That actually makes sense,” she says, sounding suddenly breathless. “I’ve been really struggling with who I am since I met you.”
“I know,” I say, remembering going through what she’s going through. Coming to terms with the power we wield, with the inability to score true satisfaction when life presents itself so easily to my mind. The world could be mine and ironically I don’t want it. Most of the time I just want to be left the fuck alone.
“I realize now, I’ve always been my own worst enemy,” she begins. “I wished for you, someone who would never really love me. And I wished for a life I could love, not realizing I’m incapable of such things. So now I’m cursed with you and this life. Two things that won’t love me, that I can’t love. I’m cursed. But at the end of the day, when sobriety starts to peek at the edges of my vision, I still don’t wish I was different. I am yours and therefore I’m complicated and difficult and completely d
oomed. But still I’m yours, and being connected to you is the only thing I’ve ever been proud of. You may not want me, but for all my life all I’ve wanted is to be a part of you, without even knowing who you are. How fucked up is that?”
I nod. “It’s truly fucked up.”
“So your whole ‘I’m a bad man’ argument hasn’t dissuaded me. I’m still going to pine for your affection,” she says.
“I don’t deserve that kind of attention,” I say.
“But you do. And you don’t see it. You don’t see yourself the way that I do.”
“Ditto, Addy. Ditto.”
She laughs coldly again. “So we’re just two monsters, cursed to never love or be loved. Is that the way this life is going to go?”
“No,” I say simply. “Because we always have tomorrow to change. To evolve.”
“You think one day you might like me, maybe even care about me?” she says, and for once there’s not that hope accompanying the question.
“I think one day we might actually be able to express ourselves and our feelings better than we do now. But you have to come back to find out. You have to give your son a chance to bond with you. We all have to give each other a second chance,” I say, thinking of my mum and her words and how right she always was.
“What if it doesn’t work? What if he doesn’t love me? Resents me?” she says.
I shrug. “That’s life. We screw up. We break each other’s hearts. We break our own hearts. And then we change.”
A small, tender smile forms on her mouth. “I’m glad you’re my dad.”
Chapter Thirty
“Because God hates me I’ve had the displeasure of hiring my replacement as Head Strategist,” I say to the room of agents, all gathered around the large conference room table. “Forty mostly worthless candidates have been wasting my time with insufficient answers during the interview process. They’ve also offered wrong solutions to the hypothetical problems I’ve posed.”
Before, Trey hired the other Head Strategists who tried to replaced me. And that’s exactly why they were all worthless and horrid matches for the position. He had no idea what he was doing, as is usually the case. “Although the person I’ve chosen to replace me has only half of my skills and isn’t nearly as adept at strategy, I still picked them to be my successor,” I say to the blank faces in front of me. “They will probably make a lot of errors and not just in their first year but for the next dozen or so to come. It is not advisable to expect them to lead you in the brilliant way that I have. Nor should you hold them to the standards I’ve set with my success records. I think you’re best to set expectations low as far as department performance goes. However, I admit that out of the pool this person is the best fit and will have mild success.”
A hand at the back of the room rises. It’s the boy with a bad choice in hairstyles and a nose ring. Facial piercings should be outlawed, along with jingle bell earrings, T-shirts, and bumper stickers.
“What is it, Cardinal?” I say.
“My name is Raven, sir,” he says with a smirk. “And I thought I’d ask what everyone wants to know, why are you resigning as Head Strategist, sir?”
“Aside from the fact that looking at all of your dumb faces every day makes me want to travel back in time and off your ugly parents before they created a troll?” I say in one long sentence, no pauses.
“Yeah, besides that reason,” he says with a chuckle.
I let out a tired sigh. I have another clever retort ready but instead I say, “I have other matters that deserve my attention. I’ve been Head Strategist for twenty years now. And it’s a role I never expected to have and have never regretted taking. But it has owned my time. The person who fills my position should realize they’ll have to give up playing board games and knitting,” I say, my eyes connecting with a guy in the middle of the table. “A successful Head Strategist has no life/work balance. That’s not an option. For twenty years I never took a day off. People don’t take a break from trying to screw up this world and neither can this department. The cases never stop rolling in and your leader has to make decisions every day that influence you and therefore our world at large.” I run my hands through my hair, hesitation twisting in my throat.
Raven raises his hand again.
“What is it, Canary?” I say.
He smiles, showing his crooked teeth. “So you’re going to get a life. That’s what it sounds like, sir.”
“There’s a reason you didn’t get my position and it’s not just because you have bad teeth,” I say to the young agent. “You’re also incredibly illogical. I’ve had a life before and now I want to take a bit of time to try and see if it’s possible to enjoy it.”
“Are you and Dahlia getting married?” he says, sounding amused.
“Fuck no. We like each other,” I say.
“I heard she was pregnant,” Raven says.
“I heard you have STDs,” I say.
“Yeah, rumors are dumb. You shouldn’t believe them,” he says, still laughing.
“If there are no other questions then I’d like to announce—”
Raven’s hand rises again, cutting me off. “I have one more thing to say, sir.”
“Of course you bloody do. Go on then,” I say.
“I just wanted to say what we all are thinking,” he says.
“I didn’t realize you were the voice for all the tiny brains in the room,” I say.
“Well, I am telepathic so…”
“Get on with it, Finch,” I say.
“Well, we respect you,” he begins and then clears his throat, maybe losing a bit of confidence. “I know from sneaking into everyone’s thoughts that there’s no better position in the Institute than being an agent for this department. And working for you we’ve all been humbled. You don’t want to hear this and that’s why I’m absolutely going to say it. You, Ren, are fucking legendary.”
I lower my chin and look at Raven like I’m seriously disappointed in him. “And here I thought you were a) going to string together well-constructed sentences and b) tell me things I didn’t already know.”
“You are welcome,” he chirps and then winks.
“Well, without further ado it is my obligation to announce that your new Head Strategist is the incompetent Trent Reynolds,” I say, holding an arm out to my successor.
The young man who has telekinesis and also aced the interview process stands. I hired him even though he wears his hair in dreadlocks like a buffoon. He’s also Trey’s son-in-law since he and Joseph were married last week. I like creating a bit of rumor around this place. Now everyone will think that it’s nepotism running the Institute. It’s actually true though. Superior genetics is a thing. Greatness runs in families. Because it is bred amongst brilliant minds.
Trent holds his hands up over his head and like the unmannered clown that he is he says, “Fuck yeah, bitches. I’m your new boss.”
I wave my hand at the front. “The department is all yours to run into the bloody ground.” Then I stroll for the empty seat on the other side of the table. I lean back in the chair as Trent takes my former place.
“So what are you going to do now, Ren?” Raven asks.
I thread my hands behind my head and prop my shoes on the table in front of me, putting them on the girl’s notebook beside me.
“I’m going to be a part-time agent working only level-five cases,” I say, enjoying the plan already.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Are you sure about this, Ren?” my pops says, refolding a shirt and laying it in a dresser drawer.
“Of course I am,” I say.
“Well, you can change your mind,” he says.
“Do you want me to change my mind?” I say, a mock heat in my voice.
“No, not at all. I was just surprised by the offer.”
“Well, Pops, I know you prefer not to dream travel and I also know how important it is for you to spend time with Adelaide and Luci
en.”
“I treasure them. I really do. But of all people I love spending my time with most, it’s you, son,” he says, his eyes lighting up as he smiles. “You won’t ever love anyone more than your child.”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice gruff without my permission. “You need any more help unpacking?” I eye the room he’s moved into on the south wing of our house. He organized it pretty quickly. Excitement will do that.
“No, son. I’m good. I might lie down and take a nap, but I’ll see you downstairs for dinner later.”
“You know dream travel is much more restorative than sleep,” I say.
“And you know that I love the beauty and mystery my dreams serve up,” he says.
“I know that you’re a stubborn old man who’s never going to change.”
“Nor would you want me to,” he says and I offer him a slight smile as I leave.
***
I find Dahlia in the den reading a magazine that has her face plastered across the front.
“You really are fucking obsessed with yourself, aren’t you?” I say, taking the seat next to her on the couch and kicking off my loafers.
“Well, there’s not a better person out there so what’s not to be obsessed with?” she says.
“I guess. You’ve got a tight ass. I’ll give you that,” I say, hooking an arm around her shoulder.
“How’s your dad settling in?”
“Like liquid in a glass,” I say.
“Yes, and whatever you said to Adelaide seems to have had a good effect,” she says, pointing to the bank of floor to ceiling windows. Out in the yard Adelaide has an easel set up and is painting on a canvas. Strapped to her front in a carrier is Lucien and he appears to be asleep. Quiet. Content.
“I just told her that being a monster wasn’t such a bad thing,” I say.
“I think you told her more than just that,” Dahlia says.
Adelaide pauses. Tilts her head to regard the painting from another angle. Then she looks down at the baby strapped on her front and tucks her chin and plants a soft kiss on his red head.
