Page 52 of Silent Is The Heart

Something shifts in the shadows of the stairwell enclosure. If the freaking alley cats are pissing in there again, I’m going to be livid. We should really get a door on this thing.

The darkened shape takes more form as I approach hugging my jacket to keep out the night’s chill. It’s too big to be a cat. Way too big.

My heart thumps as the form of a man manifests in the darkness. Shit. Am I about to be jumped? There’s something leaning against the stairs near his feet, though. A bag? Maybe he’s homeless and just looking for shelter from the wind.

“Can I help you, buddy?” I call out as best I can, hoping my cordiality is returned in kind.

He steps out of the enclosure entrance and the parking lot flood light illuminates his features. If I got hit by a truck right now, I’d be less shocked. Every muscle in my body is painfully seized by what feels a lot like fear.

“I wondered if you’d ever show up,” he drawls, eyeing me up and down. “It’s good to see you,son.”

Son…

No…

I was right. I shouldn’t have left Aaron’s. Thereisa murderer on the loose.

The next thing I know, I’m nearly on top of him, my fist slamming into his face. Some unholy broken sound comes out of my throat, feeling like it tore it open. I slam him into the frame of the enclosure, rearing my arm back, knowing I’m going to kill him.

I’m going to…killhim.

Fuck.

What am I doing?

Gulping, I let go of my hold like he burned me. My legs are like rubber, backpedaling away from the devil reincarnated at my doorstep. My God. If I touch him, Iwillkill him. I don’t want to be a killer. I don’t want to be anything like him. Mom wouldn’t want me to be anything like him. And Aaron…I don’t want Aaron to think I’m anything like him. Who could love a guy who kills his own father?

Heartbeat pounding in my head, my back hits something solid. I’ve retreated so far I ran into the back of the shop without even realizing.

That face—the fucking face I dreamt about pulverizing so many times—it’s staring back at me, calm as a tomb.He spits out a mouthful of blood, dabbing at his lip with a knobby knuckle.

“I deserved that,” he pants.

My entire body is vibrating, at war with the urge to give him more of what he deserves and trying to talk myself down. I’m basically just standing here having a panic attack. It feels like I’m a kid.Again. I fucking grew up and got stronger. I forgot all about him and wrote him out of my life, but being stuck standing a few feet away from him, I can see it was all wishfulthinking. I can say a thousand times that he’s not my father, but nothing will change that. He’ll always be the man who made me. My kin. And the difference between us is that I won’t kill my kin. It’s not fair. It’s like he has some power over me just by birth right. Why else can’t I move?

“Is there somewhere we can talk?”

Talk?Even if I could speak right now, I have nothing to say to Leonard Bennick. There’s nothing he could possibly have to say that I want to hear.

He killed her. Not directly. I’ve beat myself up enough times knowing I had a part in Mom’s death because of the car accident. Maybe they would have been able to save her if we hadn’t crashed. I’ll never know, but we wouldn’t have been in that car in the middle of a blizzard if it wasn’t for the man in front of me.

I don’t know whether I shake my head or if it’s my silence, but he must realize my answer is no. His bottom lip presses into his top one, accentuating the new age lines on his face. When is he going to start yelling and raging at me? That was always his thing. No doubt he probably blames me for him going to prison. That can be the only reason he turned up here—payback.

“All right,” he says softly. “I can respect that.”

Cursing myself for not opening any of those damn parole letters, I gape at him. Since when does Leonard respect anyone or anything?

“I know you don’t want to see me, but I’ve got nowhere to go. There’s a halfway house over in Dixon County, but the work there is slim for parolees. I think I can get a job at the pallet factory in Siever. I just need somewhere to stay for a few weeks until I can get a place. A guy you did ink on came in a whileback.” Smiling like he’s proud of me or something, he glances at the building. “Told me what a talented tattoo artist you are. I put your address down with the parole board, hoping…”

Hearing him use words likeparoleandhalfway houseis like hearing a foreign language. They’re not words I ever heard him use when I was younger, and he was, for all intents and purposes, what appeared to be a steady working man who held his truck-driving job. The thought of him living and working in Siever, just one town over, is unsettling. It’s too close to the life I’ve built here. A life I want him nowhere near.

Why did he have to come here? He had the entire rest of the state to choose from.

Something about him looks… weaker and not just because his lip is split. I don’t know if it’s the lines in his face, the gray at the temples of his brown hair, or his unassuming posture, which is so vastly different from the man I once knew. The most startling change, though, is that he’s clearly sober. His skin, although more weathered, looks healthier. His broad shoulders and arms have more build to them, telling me how he spent his time in prison, but he’s aged.

I don’t care how much of his miserable life is left; I’m not letting him spend it one town over. I have too much of mine left to share geography with him since murdering him clearly isn’t an option. Siever is too close to me. Too close to Aaron. I need some law of Congress to get him farther away. Either that or…

It’s an awful idea. A stupid, terrible, awful idea.

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