“I guess, but I can’t imagine the numbers he’d use.” I lift my arms up, allowing them to crash back down on the dusty couch.
I look around the basement.
Stupid question marks. They are seriously pissing me off now that they are taunting me. I count them again.
Fourteen.
Not saying anything, I walk to Dad’s office. He has five question mark pictures.
What the hell?
I walk back out, and count the figurines sitting around the basement. Four.
Fourteen, Five, Four.
Maybe….?
I rush to the safe and lock in the numbers, the whole time Duane watches me as I work.
Shit, it still doesn’t work. I try it in another sequence.
Five right, fourteen left, four right.
Click.
The freaking safe opens. It opens!
I could do a backflip right now. I won’t, because, well—I’d probably break something, but you know what I mean.
Duane is somewhere behind me, turned away. I gesture for him, not taking my eyes away from the safe. For all I know, I could look away and it’ll be closed again.
“Duane!” I shout. “Cowboy!”
Duane rushes to my side. “Holy shit, Red, you did it. How did you figure it out?”
I grab the red question mark USB that’s been locked away all this time, and close the safe.
“I think it’s a very good possibility Dad was crazy. I counted the pictures in this room, his office, and the figurines. I tried those numbers until they worked. I honestly have no idea how I did it, but it worked. Holy shit, Duane. It worked.”
“I’m so proud of you, Red. So, now what?” He questions with eager wonder, eyeing the USB in my hand.
Last night’s dream comes to mind and I think I finally know what Dad wanted me to figure out.
“You know how I told how I’ve been dreaming about my dad?”
Duane nods in agreement.
“This morning, I dreamt about Dad, again.” I gulp passed the knot in my throat. “In the dream, I found a red question mark program on his computer. I tried to access it, but I couldn’t get in. I think this,” I hold up the red USB, “might be the key.”
We walk into Dad’s office, and, unlike my dream, the computer is off. I hit the button and wait for it to power up.
As soon as the machine lets me, I dive into its contents. It takes me a few minutes to look around his computer, but I find the program in a hidden corner. If the computer were a room, the program would have been lost earrings hidden in the dark corner behind furniture. It was stored well, and most people wouldn’t have been able to find it, but I know how Dad’s mind works—worked. You know what I mean.
I click on the icon, and it refuses to open. I click it over and over again, thinking if I piss it off enough, it’ll open.
With his hands on my shoulders, Duane laughs. “Maybe you want to try the USB now, Red?”
I look over at him, and smile. He gives me a gentle nudge.
I plug the USB into the tower of the computer and watch the program come to life.
Dad was a sneaky, sneaky bastard.
Files upon files load on the screen in front of my eyes. There are far too many to figure out what each of them does, so I click on the first one my mouse hits as they layer themselves on the monitor.
The screen turns black.
I turn to look at Duane, but he’s staring at the screen with a creased brow. My head turns back and a video plays.
My seventeen-year-old self walks in the front door, and I head to my room. All the way, cameras follow me.
Holy shit.
Security cameras were in the house.
“There aren’t any cameras in your room are there?” Duane asks, sounding a little pissed.
I cover my mouth with my hand in surprise, and shake my head. “I don’t know.”
The camera follows me to my door, and then cuts back to the front door. That must be a no. Thank goodness.
I fast forward.
Two hours later, I leave my room, and head to the kitchen.
I sit for a while.
Fast forward.
Jason comes through the front door. It seems like any kind of movement triggers a camera.
I keep watching.
Nothing exciting happens. Jason and I sit at the island in the kitchen, eat and talk.
Fast forward.
Kyle walks in and meets us in the living room to watch TV. An unexpected cry bursts from my body at the sight of him.
Duane wraps his arms around my neck, and kisses the side of my head.
I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and take in his gesture—so full of love and comfort.
Fast forward. I can’t watch anymore.
I end the video and am brought back to the screen full of files. As I study the numbers more closely, I figure something out.
I point to the screen. “Duane, look. Those numbers make up a date. See that?”
He bends down with his hands still on my shoulders and studies the numbers. “I’ll be damned, they do. It’s out of order, but it’s a date for sure.”
Shit.
I scour the files, looking for that dreaded date.
When I finally find what I’m looking for, the mouse pointer hovers over it, and I can’t seem to click the file.
“You don’t have to do this. I can watch it,” he sweetly offers, worry etching his every word.
I know if I don’t see it, whatever it is, I’ll never be able to let it go. Tears spring from my eyes again and I wipe my nose. “No, I need to watch it.”
Duane’s mouth forms a straight line, indicating he doesn’t like the idea, but nods anyway.
I force my finger to open the file, and the screen goes black.
Five fifteen, on the dot, Dad walks in the door. With his business suit on and briefcase in hand, he opens the door and enters, but not before looking over both shoulders.
It strikes me odd that he actually dressed up to go to the office. I don’t remember him ever taking a trip to the office in anything but jeans and a t-shirt.
The cameras follow him to the kitchen. He sets his briefcase on the island and takes a shot of some sort of brown liquid. Probably bourbon. He picks up his briefcase after leaning on the counter for a moment, as if he was thinking, and walks to the basement. Again, he checks over his shoulder. He walks down the stairs, straight to the safe and opens the lock, confirming the red USB is indeed there.
Once he closes the safe’s door, he heads to his office. He sits at his desk, and brings his hands to his face. He begins to sob into his hands, shaking uncontrollably.
I look away. I can’t stand to see my strong dad look like a broken man. When I hear him sniffle one last time, I chance a look back to the screen.
He’s stopped crying, but his shoulders are sagged and he looks beaten down. I hadn’t noticed it before. I had lost Kyle and I was totally introverted. I couldn’t come out of my sadness enough to see that my dad was in serious hurt.
Geeze, I’m a shitty daughter.
Dad stands up, takes his sport coat off, and hangs it on the back of the door. Then he checks outside the door. Waiting for someone, maybe?
He visibly breathes a huge sigh of relief and sits back at his desk.
Picking up the phone, he hits the speaker button and dials.
“Hey, Dad,” My eighteen-year-old self answers.
I can hear the sadness seeping through the speaker. Chills run through my blood at the memory. I can’t believe I didn’t remember talking to him that night.
Dad smiles at my voice. “Hi, sweet pea. What are you doing?”
“I’m at Jason’s. We have auditions tomorrow, is it alright if I stay here tonight?”
Dad’s smile falters and he crinkles his forehead. “Sure. Be safe, okay? And break a leg tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Dad. Love you.”
“Love you, too. Bye.” Another tear falls from his cheek, and he ha
ngs up the receiver.
“Well, wasn’t that sweet,” someone says from the door.
I can’t see him, but the look on Dad’s face tells me all I need to know. Whoever the intruder is, he isn’t someone Dad wants to see. The color drains from his face and he sits up straighter, trying to make himself appear bigger.
“You need to go. Now. I’ll have the police here in two minutes,” Dad says as his voice waivers, hand already hovering over the phone.
The man at the door laughs a malevolent sneer and ultimately steps into view.
With dark, slicked-back hair, a trench coat and boots, the man looks threatening, even from behind. Yet, very familiar. His head ticks a bit, and he turns around to close the door. The tick gives him away, but I need to see his face. I already know who it is, but dammit, I want to be wrong. When his face is in plain view, I bolt to the computer screen.
“Shit. It’s him,” I stammer.
“Who is it?” Duane asks from behind me, gripping my chair tightly.
“Brent’s dad. That’s—oh my God. That’s Allan Fairfield.” I can barely get the words out. Goose bumps cover every inch of my skin, and my insides feel like they’re jumping with the adrenaline.
Not taking my eyes off of the screen, I watch Allan walk toward Dad’s desk and sit down across from him.
With his legs crossed at the ankles, Allan motions. “Please, sit. Get comfortable.”
Dad hesitates, but after a few seconds, he complies and sits back in his chair. “What do you want, Fairfield? You were supposed to leave me alone, remember? That was the deal.”
“What deal?” Duane asks me.
I shush him, and then realize I’m being a bit of a bitch. “Sorry, honey.”
Duane rubs my back. “It’s alright.”
Turning back to the video, Dad huffs, irritated.
“No, the deal was that you were supposed to go away,” Allan responds, no emotion in his dead voice.
Dad’s face gets red and he shakes his head. “I can’t go anywhere. I have my whole life here. Ann, the business, everything is here. I can’t just up and leave.”
Allan strokes something in his jacket pocket, and then clasps his hands together. “Wrong. I tell you what to do now. You screwed with me and with my family so now you have to do as I say, and I say you need to leave town.”
What?
“Sending me away like you did with your son? It won’t be that easy to get me to comply. I’m not a helpless child.” Dad’s voice is strong and assertive, yet I can see on his face he knows what he said stung Allan.
Allan strikes like a cobra. It looks like a blur. His fist connects with Dad’s face, sending the chair and my dad back against the wall of books.
“Do not talk about Brent ever again, do you hear me?” Allan threatens. “He was a disgrace. Just like you.”
Dad wipes the blood from his split lip, and gives a humorless laugh. “A disgrace? You’re a sick bastard, you know that? He was a helpless boy. You should have been there for him, just like you should have been there for your wife. It’s a good thing she had me.”
I perk up at the mention of Brent’s mom, Nora. I’d always thought her and Dad were best friends. They’d gone to high school together, then college. He always said Nora had a special place in his heart. I guess I never understood how special she was to him.
Holy shit. What the hell was going on?
“She’ll never have you again. You think it’s okay to sleep with a married woman?” Allan accuses.
The shock of his words take all the air out of my lungs. I desperately try to breathe. Dad, had an affair? With Nora? This can’t be right.
“You guys were separated. You know I love her. She’s a good woman,” Dad says to Allan, still nursing his wound.
Allan scoffs. “That woman is a whore.”
Dad shrugs a shoulder and points his finger in Allan’s direction. “That, right there, is why I have to stay. You don’t want to be with her. Get a divorce and let it be done. Why do you have to keep dragging it out?”
Allan’s head ticks again.
“She is mine, Conrad. If she can’t be mine, you sure as hell can’t have her.” Allan’s voice has grown significantly. It rattles the camera.
Dad leans back in his chair. “So, if you can’t have her, no one can?” He scoffs. “What a joke.”
Something clicks, and Dad stands with his hands up in surrender. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Fairfield?”
Allan looks at the revolver in his hand and strokes it.
“What does it look like I’m doing? Leave on your own accord or I’ll be sure you don’t have the option. It’s your choice.” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal, like he isn’t threatening a man’s life.
“This was never my choice, Allan. I can’t take back what happened with Nora. I wouldn’t want to, but you will never be able to get away with killing a man.”
Allan’s head spasms. “Like hell I can. I’m the fucking mayor of this town. I call the shots. I can make this whole thing go away. One twitch of my finger and you’ll be gone. No one will know what happened to you.” He sneers. “Maybe I’ll make it look like a suicide. How do you think that sweet pea of yours would like that?”
Dad charges over the table in a crash, and slams into Allan. The gun is knocked out of his hand, and flies to the corner of the room.
With Dad on top of Allan, he wraps his hands around Allan’s neck. “You leave Ann alone. Do you understand me? She has nothing to do with this.” Dad pulls Allan’s head forward and slams it on the hardwood floor. With a sickening crack, Allan struggles.
SLAM.
Another bone-chilling smack to the floor.
Dad stares knowingly into the camera. He doesn’t look like my sweet, kind-hearted Dad anymore. He looks angry and pissed off. He’s not the same man. He’s different. Scary.
Even with all of my parent’s problems, he didn’t once yell at mom. But, this man looks like someone who’s snapped. That rubber band in his brain has shattered, leaving one afraid man.
“You listen to me, Fairfield. You can go fuck yourself. I am not playing your games. You can go live your life and I’ll go live mine. If Nora wants nothing to do with me, I’ll let her be, but so help me God, if I find out you laid as much as a finger on her in a harmful manner, I’ll rip your spine out. You got me?” Dad’s malice echoes through his voice as he holds Allan down on the ground, hands firmly attached to his throat.
My hand once again goes to my mouth, and I shake my head. I’ve never seen my dad this way. This isn’t him.
This is him. It’s the broken him. Take a good look, Ann.
With one more forceful slam to Allan’s head, Dad tightens his hold on Allan’s throat and struggles with Allan’s flailing body, attempting to get away from his clutches. Allan’s eyes finally close, and he goes limp.
I’m not worried if he’s dead or not. I know the douchebag is alive and well, but my heart pounds, waiting for the inevitable.
Dad takes a lungful of air into his chest, and he closes his eyes, bowing his head. When he slowly opens his eyes, he lets go of Allan and stands. Straightening his tie, he heads for the basement living area.
I can see in another camera that Allan is still lying on his back with his eyes closed. My eyes search for Dad, again. He isn’t in any of the cameras.
“Do you see him?” I ask Duane.
His eyes are scanning all of the cameras, too. With a creased forehead, he curtly shakes his head. “No, I didn’t see him. What the hell?”
Before I can agree, Dad walks into the camera shot with different clothes on. A long sleeved shirt and khaki slacks. He walks to his office and retrieves his cell phone.
Walking back out into the living area, he flips through his contacts. It looks like he is texting someone, not that I can see anything for sure, but that’s what I assume with his fingers quickly moving over the keyboard.
Once he’s done, he angrily pulls at his hair and yells at the t
op of his lungs. “Fuuuuck!”
I wince. He sounds tormented.
Allan begins to stir, and Dad turns to face him. He struggles to get up, so Dad walks to him and kicks his booted foot. “Go home. We’re done here.”
Allan flinches, the threatening man, gone. When Dad turns his back, a frightening deride comes from his mouth and he lunges for the gun.
Before Dad can counter, Allan releases the safety, and takes his stance.
Dad looks like a deer caught in the headlights. He gulps and begins to shake his head, pleading words pouring from his mouth. “Allan, don’t. You don’t want to do this.”
“Shut up! Don’t say another word. The next few seconds are crucial for you. Do you want to live or do you want to die?” Allan staggers in his stance and begins to sway a bit.
Watching him makes me a bit seasick, but the more he starts to sway the closer Dad makes his way to Allan.
Allan flashes in and out of consciousness. One second he looks well, then the next, his eyes close and he staggers to the side, getting ready to fall over at any moment.
“Allan, listen to reason. You kill me and your life is over,” Dad pleads.
Allan violently shakes his head. “No, I’m the mayor. I can do whatever I want.”
Dad rushes Allan with his big body. Allan, attempting to block Dad’s attack, trips over the tip of his boot. A shot fires and Dad falls forward.
I gasp for air when I realize what happened.
Dad falls face first into Allan, and they plummet back in a heap onto the ground.
Duane grasps my shoulders, and I begin to shake.
Allan struggles under Dad’s weight. Mumbling and grunting, he eventually pushes Dad off of his body.
Clear as day, Dad’s face comes into view.
I scream.
I scream so loud that I’m sucked back into that dreadful nightmare. I cover my ears, but can’t stop myself.
Allan Fairfield killed my father. Oh my God, Brent was right.
Duane pulls me into his arms, and guides me upstairs and into the living room. We rock back and forth for hours on the couch while I try to recover my self-control. Duane murmurs loving words in my ear and kisses my face, all in an attempt to help me cope.
Unable to Resist Page 19
