Page 26 of Buried Beneath Sin

My teeth gnash together at my father's voice. God I hate this man. My loathing feels echoed in my chest as the same emotion seems to overpower the rest of what Sagan is feeling. We exchange glances.

Soon, I promise mentally. I'm not sure if he gets it, we're not telepathic, but he must feel the determination because he nods as if he can.

I look over at Knox. He flashes me a wide grin that I can see through the light trickling in from the cracked door that leads to the rest of the house.

“You know what to do?” I ask him, my words barely audible.

“Yup.”

“Remember, no?—”

“No knives, got it,” he waves me off and pushes past the both of us. “I'll join you guys in a bit.”

With that, Knox walks out and strolls down the hallway toward the front of the house as if he's been here a hundred times. Given that he's been studying the blueprints for months as he planned how he would design it, I'm not surprised. Sagan and I follow behind him. None of us bother to soften our footsteps. We don’t need stealth for this mission. Beneath our weight, the wooden floorboards creak and groan.

“Stay upstairs and leave me be, woman!” Dad shouts. It sounds like he's in the kitchen.

“Iamupstairs, you dumb pig!”

Knox grabs the banister at the foot of the steps then swings around it before taking the stairs two at a time. Rather than watch him, Sagan and I stop in the foyer and face the kitchen. Our dad's back is facing us as he rummages through the cabinets. He mutters something under his breath. Beatrix's name is followed by a curse, but I can't tell what her crime is as he continues mumbling.

Sagan leans against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest. I stroll further into the kitchen and pull out a seat at the table. My dad sighs loudly and turns.

“What the fuck did I just tell you?—”

“Your request to stay upstairs was for your wife, not me,” I interrupt just as Dad’s gaze lands on me.

I don't know what I expected. Maybe the towering man from my childhood. The one with a terrifying scowl and meaty fists.But looking at my father now, it seems time has weathered away anything truly menacing about the man. Hard lines have permanently etched themselves on my dad's face, and his nose has grown and has hair springing from the tip. There's a slouch to his shoulders now. I can't tell if it's due to the heavy beer gut or simply from age. Other than his protruding stomach, he looks rather thin.

His eyes bulge from their sockets as he recognizes me. I bask in his shock, chuckling when he begins to sputter. When he doesn't manage to get anything out, I sigh and take a seat in the chair I'd pulled out.

“Hey, Dad, it’s been a long time, hasn’t it? How's life been without us? Fulfilling?” I ask conversationally.

I watch as his gaze tears away from me to search for my brother. His eyes pop out even further when they land on Sagan. The blood visibly drains from his face, leaving him even paler than before.

“W-What are you doing here?” he manages to sputter after a moment. “Get the fuck out of my house!”

I glance at my brother who looks bored. “We don't even get a hello, Sagan. Isn't that rude?”

“It kind of hurts my feelings,” he deadpans.

I snicker. Looking back at Dad, I smile. “We'll let that go for now. Anyway, take a seat. We want to catch up with you.”

“No. You fucking lunatics aren't allowed near me. Get the fuck out or I'll call the cops!” Dad roars, drawing himself up to his full height. Has he shrunk a bit? Maybe he just seemed taller when I was thirteen.

Leaning back in my seat, I twist to brace my forearm on the back of it and then cross my leg over my knee.

“Do you think you'd make it to the phone?” I ask, genuinely curious.

Dad looks at the corded house phone hanging on the wall next to Sagan’s head. I can see when it clicks that, no, he wouldn’t make it. His hand goes to his pocket. Sagan pushes off the wall as Dad pulls out his cellphone. With his trembling hands, he can't even unlock the device. My smile widens as I note how he uses his middle finger.

“Looks like the hospital didn't manage to put your fingers back on,” I say. “I was sure I'd see those things Frankensteined back into place. Since you never came back after the night we cut them off, I've been left to wonder all these years.”

Sagan plucks Dad's phone out his hand and chucks it into the sink. “You don't need that. Sit down.”

Dad looks at him, then back to me again. I grin and wait. He has no choice, and he knows it. Swallowing hard, he shuffles forward and takes the chair opposite me. Sagan comes to stand behind him and places both hands on Dad’s shoulders.

“What do you two want?” he snarls, glaring at me. “Money? I don't got any. What little we make from the funeral home is just enough to keep it up and running. We're practically broke.”

---