C100 He's...My Father

The air in the small, dimly lit house felt heavier than usual.

It was like it carried the weight of unspoken words and memories best left untouched. Annabelle’s hand gripped the gun tightly,

Her knuckles were white as she stared at the man before her.

Patrick Shaw.

Her father.

The last time she’d seen him.

His hair was darker, and his posture was straighter.

Now, his hair had thinned and greyed, and there was a pallor to his skin that spoke of illness or hardship.

But his eyes were the same.

A shade of brown that might have been brilliant once but now seemed tired.

“You’re... taller and…more beautiful than I remember,” Patrick said, his voice hesitant, as if unsure how to bridge the years of silence between them.

Annabelle didn’t answer, her lips pressed into a thin line.

The seconds stretched unbearably long, each one amplifying the rush of emotions she fought to suppress.

Anger, hurt and confusion all swirled within her, battling for dominance.

The sound of a door creaking open shattered the silence.

Mauve hobbled out of her bedroom, her face pale and drawn.

What struck Annabelle immediately was her mother’s absence from the wheelchair.

The trembling steps she took toward the living room spoke of desperation more than strength.

“Mom…” Annabelle started, but her mother’s sharp glare froze her.

“What are you doing with that gun?” Mauve’s voice was hoarse but laced with anger. “Put it down, Annabelle! Are you going to shoot your own father now?”

Annabelle blinked, momentarily stunned by the outburst.

She lowered the gun but didn’t let go of it. “Mom, I thought…”

“I know what you thought,” Mauve snapped, cutting her off.

She gestured shakily at Patrick. “Leave him alone. He’s done nothing wrong!”

Annabelle felt the sting of her mother’s words like a slap.

“Nothing wrong?” she repeated, incredulous. “He left us, Mom! He walked out and never came back. Cathy doesn’t even know who he is!”

“That’s enough!” Mauve shouted, her frail body trembling with the effort. “I know what he did, and I know what you will say again. You’ve made it clear you think all my decisions are mistakes. So why stop now? Go ahead, blame this on me too!”

Annabelle stepped back as if she’d been struck.

The gun shook slightly in her grip.

The resentment in her mother’s voice cut deep, especially when all Annabelle had done was worry about her.

She thought it had been Tad who returned, that Mauve might have been in danger.

But now it seemed her mother wanted nothing to do with her.

All because she told her the truth.

Patrick stepped forward, his hand held out in a placating gesture. “Annabelle, I just want to talk,” he said, his voice gentler now. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?” Annabelle snapped, her anger rising. “Protect my family because you couldn’t?”

Patrick flinched, but his eyes lingered on the gun in her hand. “Is it true, what your mother said? That you’re with a gang now? That’s why you’ve got men outside and a weapon of your own?”

The pain that her mother would say something like that behind her back to a man who was nothing more, but a stranger to their lives made Annabelle let out a bitter laugh.

“Oh, yeah? You want to play the concerned father now? You don’t get to ask questions about my life. Not after all this time.”

“I know I don’t deserve your trust, but...”

“Stop.” She stepped forward and snatched the gun from his hand, her movements sharp and decisive. “I don’t have time for this.”

She headed toward the door, the tension in the room suffocating.

She knew she had to get out immediately.

Before her head exploded, or she ended up doing something she would regret.

But just as she reached for the handle, it flew open.

“Annabelle!” Cathy burst inside, her curls wild and her face flushed with confusion.

Behind her, Rio stood in the doorway, his expression apologetic.

Annabelle sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Cathy, I told you to stay in the car.”

Cathy’s gaze darted between Annabelle and the man standing behind her. “Who’s that?” she asked, her voice small.

Annabelle didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she grabbed Cathy’s hand firmly and said, “We’re leaving.”

As they stepped outside, Mauve’s voice followed them, cracked and desperate. “Don’t take her, Annabelle! Give me my daughter back! You can’t take my daugh…”

Annabelle ignored the plea, slamming the door on her mother’s protest.

She was embarrassed that she didn’t have her own money, and she had to beg the men to get her a room to stay in the functioning hotel in Stoneraine.

She had thought of taking Cathy and leaving Stoneraine immediately but night was approaching.

The fear of what had happened the last time she took such a journey was so huge that she decided not to take that journey.

They could leave the next morning.

“If Dante would have you,” her mind whispered sinisterly.

The hotel room smelled faintly of bleach and stale air.

But it was clean and quiet.

Cathy had fallen asleep on the bed almost as soon as they got to the hotel.

Her sister had given up on her question about the man in their home for now.

That was after Annabelle had told her that she would tell her later.

She still had no idea how she was going to do that.

As she sat in the corner chair with her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands, she wistfully hoped that some angel would wipe her sister’s memory of whom she had seen.

An anguished sound escaped her throat as she imagined telling Cathy in the morning, “Guess what, Cathy? That was the man who left before you could say boo.”

Just when she thought she was finally getting a break, the universe always finds another way to mess things up for her.

She doubted she had ever felt this small and powerless recently.

Relying on Dante’s men to pay for the room had been humiliating, even if Rio had been discreet about it.

She vowed silently to never let herself be in this position again.

When she finally forced herself to sleep, it came in restless fits.

Her dreams were filled with shadows and whispered threats.

And she woke before dawn.

With her heart racing and the edges of a nightmare still clinging to her mind.

Needing to clear her head, she dressed quickly and stepped into the hallway.

She found Rio near the door like a sentry.

“I’m going for a run,” she said quietly. “Can you watch her?”

Rio gave her a nod, his expression unreadable.

The morning mist clung to the streets like a veil, softening the world into muted shades of grey and white.

Annabelle jogged along the narrow path behind the hotel, the chill air stinging her lungs.

She hadn’t gone far when she saw him.

Patrick was standing near the edge of the road like a bad dream conjured out of the mist.

His jacket hung loosely on his frame and his hands were stuffed into his pockets.

Annabelle froze with her chest tightening.

Without a word, she turned and ran the other way.

“Annabelle, wait!” he called after her.

But she didn’t stop.

Because she was not really looking where she was going, her foot caught on a crack in the pavement, and she went down hard, the impact jarring her hands and knees.

“Are you okay?” Patrick was beside her in an instant, leaning down to help.

“Leave me alone!” she snapped, struggling against his hands. “I don’t need your help!”

Before she could pull away, Patrick’s head snapped back violently, and he crumpled to the ground.

Annabelle looked up, startled, as Dante emerged from the mist, his dark coat billowing around him like the wings of an avenging angel.

His face was a mask of fury, his dark eyes locked on Patrick as if he were prey.

“Dante, stop!” Annabelle scrambled to her feet, grabbing his arm just as he moved to strike again.

He turned to her, his expression so cold and unforgiving that it made her breath hitch. “He touched you,” Dante said, his voice low and dangerous. “He needs to die for that.”

Annabelle tightened her grip on his arm, her voice shaking as she forced out the words. “You can’t kill him. He’s... my father.”