Realizing that Chris won’t let up until I let him in, I open the door then quickly turn to flop back onto my bed. He steps in tentatively, holding a plate holding a sandwich and a pickle, no doubt the work of my mom. The woman swears I’ll starve to death if I go without food for a few hours. He has a bottle of water, which he tosses towards me unexpectedly. I catch it just before it smacks me in the face and see a ghost of a smile on Chris’s lips. What is that all about?
“Geez, Dad, thanks a lot,” I mutter sardonically. I open the plastic bottle and take a large swig, realizing how parched I am. Chris sets the plate on my dresser and takes a seat on my bed.
“Just making sure you’re paying attention,” he chuckles. He’s dressed in blue jeans and a sweater, fitting for the day’s chilly, rainy conditions. “What’s going on, Kid? You’ve been hiding out in here all day.”
“Just not feeling well, that’s all,” I lie, shrugging my shoulders.
Chris looks at me quizzically. “But you’re not sick. You’re never sick. So why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you.”
Huh? Never sick? It’s true, come to think of it. I was never ill as a child, not even as much as a cold. But I just chalked it up as me having a healthy immune system.
I shake my head at Chris. “I don’t know. I can’t involve you and mom any more. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”
“What are you talking about? Who is getting hurt?”
“Those girls!” I shriek.
“That wasn’t your fault, Gabi,” my dad says exasperated. He feels I’m being irrational and he despises self-loathing. Like me, usually, though lately I've been a major hypocrite.
“But what if it was? What if it was me?” I say barely above a whisper. “Dad, I think I’m more Dark than Light.”
Chris lets his head drop, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He looks back up at me with assurance.
“Gabriella, you are not Dark. Yes, your biological father was a Dark One but that means nothing. There is a misconception that all Dark are absolutely evil. And that all Light are completely good. If that were true, how could they murder Natalia, a woman whose only crime was love, and force her to abandon her newborn child?
“There is good and evil in everyone, even we mere mortals,” he winks. “Your father, Alex, was not all evil. He loved your mother. He loved you. They say the Dark are incapable of love. Maybe he was an exception to the rule. Maybe not.”
My dad reaches over and places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You’re good, Kid. Yeah, you’ve been known to crack a few skulls-,” he chuckles.
“Hey!” I protest playfully.
“But you’re good. Don’t forget that. And when you ascend, no matter which side you choose, you’ll still be good.”
Chris leans over to give me a reassuring kiss on my forehead but before he can pull away, I wrap my arms around him. He slowly embraces me into a big bear hug. I feel like a little girl again, afraid of the boogie man. But in this case, I’m afraid of being the boogie man.
We finally pull away from our embrace, both of us feeling renewed. Chris ruffles the top of my head as if I’m an 8 year old boy. I believe he always pictured me as the son he never had. He stands and makes his way towards the door.
“Before you go, can I ask you a question?” I say. It’s always been in the back of my mind but I never thought it was appropriate to ask. But now I’m wondering if it had something to do with me. “Why didn’t you and Mom ever have kids of your own? Was it because you were afraid I’d be a danger to them?”
Chris looks at me sullenly. Oh no, it was just as I thought. He then shakes his head as if reading my mind, dispelling my doubts. “No, of course it wasn’t because of you. You’ve never been a danger.” Chris takes a deep breath and drops his head a bit, unable to make eye contact. His hands turn into hard fists, the stretched skin over his knuckles turning white, almost translucent. “The Warlock, who attacked your mother…did things to her. Horrible, disgusting things. She isn’t able to conceive children. Natalia healed her the best she could but the damage was too severe.”
“Oh,” is all I can choke out.
I can tell the thought of someone so brutally violating his wife still enrages him. He nods just a fraction and exits without saying another word, and I regret conjuring that horrible memory.
I glance over at my haunted cell phone. There’s no point in hiding out in my room. If I am a threat, four walls won’t be able to hold me. I have to believe in what my dad says. He knows me better than some cheap carnival fortune teller with an overactive imagination. I’ve never been a threat to anyone who didn’t deserve it. And even then I was never capable of murder. That whole scene last night must’ve been an orchestrated coincidence. I tentatively pick up my cell and begin to tap rapidly on the keypad.