Page 41 of My Merciless Don

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

AUDRY

It wasn’t that difficult to find Amy Mercer’s last known address. It wasn’t as if they were trying to hide. According to the information I found, they were just an ordinary family. Word on the grapevine was that Marco was looking for me, but even still, I couldn’t be dissuaded from going to check the Mercers out.

“Audry, I’m telling you,” Kylie begged, “You gotta lay low.”

“And I will. I just… want to see.”

Kylie growled in frustration, fisting her hands. “You can see anytime. Right now is not the right time.”

I took her by the shoulders. “I hear you.” I said sincerely. “But it’s my risk to take.”

“Audry!” She wailed but I just ignored her, grabbed my keys and went down to my car. I had on a baseball cap over my blonde wig and was dressed in the most generic outfit I could find. In California that meant stretch pants, a vest and jacket, with sneakers – everything in shades of grey - just another wannabe actress going for a spinning class.

I drove to the address, appreciating the well-tended lawns, residents walking their dogs or going for a jog, children playing on the sidewalk. It was very wholesome yet affluent. I tried to imagine growing up on this block, going to some bougie high school where everyone was in love with the quarterback who was secretly in love with his math teacher.

Would I have been a cheerleader or a nerd?

Somehow, I couldn’t see myself as either.

Maybe I’d have been one of the misfit kids smoking weed under the bleachers and dying their hair blue. Or maybe I would have been someone entirely different, someone that current me wouldn't even recognize. I might have belonged to the AV club and taken videos of everybody like a creeper. Or maybe I’d have been in Advanced Placement - a math genius, computer whiz.

I liked that last one.

I would have left school, dropped out of college in my final year and started a business in my parents’ garage; become the new Bill Gates. That would have been fun. All the adventure, none of the danger.

I parked the car and walked up the driveway to the house where Amy Mercer had allegedly lived with her parents. I climbed the front stairs to the wraparound porch but hesitated to knock on the door. Instead, I took a walk around the porch until I was looking into the living room, through huge bay windows. There were pictures perched on every surface and across from me was a fireplace.

Over the mantle was a huge painting of Amy, beside two older people who must have been her parents. I stared at it, blinking fast to dispel the moisture from my eyes as I imagined myself in the picture. Maybe standing on the other side of the father figure, a little hunched over because I was self-conscious about my boobs at that age. My eyes overdone with kohl. Maybe the mother figure would have made me wear a dress to match Amy’s. Maybe they wouldn’t have cared what I wore as long as I was comfortable.

What kind of people were they?

Curiosity bit at me. I wanted to know if they were my family.

I walked back slowly to the door and lifted my hand to knock. I saw that it was trembling slightly, much to my embarrassment. Slowly, I reached forward, grasped the knocker and slammed it down way too hard. I winced, shaking my head at myself as I heard approaching footsteps.

A man opened the door. He had a salt and pepper beard, grey hair and was slightly stooped. His rheumy grey eyes stared suspiciously at me for a long time. “Amy?” he croaked.

I shook my head regretfully. “I’m sorry, no. I’m not Amy.” I hesitated, wanting to know for sure although he looked like the man in the portrait. “Are you her father?”

He blinked at me, his eyes sharpening. He didn’t say a word which I found strange. I give him a smile trying to look harmless, but his brow furrowed even more when I did that. I noticed his hand was trembling.

Fuck it. I'm just gonna ask.

“Did you ever have another daughter maybe?” I blurted, my heart beating as hard and loud as the talking drums of Africa.

His eyes widened and for a moment, I thought I saw something like fear in his eyes. But then his gaze hardened. “I have only one daughter and that’s Amy.” He snarled. “Whoever you think you are, you need to leave.”

He took a step back and I raised my hand to stop him. “Please. One minute,” I said desperately but he just whirled around and returned to the house, slamming the door behind him. I stared bleakly at the door, feeling weirdly rejected. He could have given me a minute at least. A minute to comment on the resemblance and agree that it was uncanny. To wonder if maybe there was some distant relationship.

Something.

Why’d he have to slam the door in my face like I was a stray dog looking for scraps? Before I knew it, I was reaching for the door and pulling at it, while shouting. I banged on the door, feeling rage course through me like a drug. “Let me in! Let me in!” I shouted.

“Go away before I call the police,” the old man called through the door.

I froze, taking a step back. The mention of the cops had me remembering just where and who I was. I wasn’t entitled to any information from this man and making a scene was only going to get me found by the wrong people.

---