Me and Oliver, my greatest concern at the moment.
I’ll have to keep an eye on him in the coming week.
The last seven days of his life.
For now, Topher is here.
He’s the one on the stand.
If he tries to hide something—anything—I’ll catch it.
“I drove drunk, and you got angry. You locked me down here as a punishment, and I promise you that I learned my lesson, Father.”
“Which is?”What more aren’t you telling me?
“Never drive under the influence or drink in public.” He rolls his eyes. My line of questioning bores him, meaning he doesn’t think Ophelia is here, in my house. I don’t show him that I breathe easier at that. “Listen to everything you say. Forget about finding Ophelia, torturing her, and turning her into my broken doll.”
My teeth gnash as I consider dousing him in gasoline and setting the cell on fire.
His poor mother. Her love for him had gotten her killed. It would be wrong to end him on a whim.
Then again, there’s no telling if she’d approve of what he’s become.
His grandfather’s grandson.
Last chance, Topher. Last fucking chance.
“Good.”
I let him out of the cell, walking alongside him as we make our way up.
It’s when we climb the stairs that I let him go first.
He steals a glance of distrust at me, for a good reason. I don’t tell him that, though.
What I do is shoot him a scowl.
“What happened to my face anyway?” he asks at the doorway, apparently clueless.
“You tripped and fell on one of the tables in the living room while drunk.” My voice is sardonic, almost bored. “Don’t you dare show up to the office like this. Stay home until there’s no sign of the bruise.”
“I already took the week off after the initiation.” Lines crease his forehead. The dark circles under his eyes pop out in the early morning light. “People will talk.”
“People will talk, that’s for sure. If you step foot in the office, they’ll talk about you showing up to work like some kind of a lowlife. A nobody who gets into bar fights.” Cold breeze filters into my home. I shove Topher’s keys, coat, and the phone he had there into his hands. “Get the fuck out of here. And for God’s sake, quit fucking drinking. It’s obvious you can’t handle it.”
“What about drinking at home?”
“I wouldn’t have a sip if I were you. Ever again.” A cloud of annoyance settles over me. From having him defy me. Fromhaving Ophelia upstairs, naked and unchained and alone. I swallow the urge to punch a hole in the wall. “And for the love of Christ, stop thinking about hurting women.”
“The initiation, though.” Topher won’t let it go. Won’t stop testing me. “The virgins. They’re probably being tortured as we speak. Why aren’t we allowed to do it?”
If his question was,could we set them free?I might’ve had some hope for him.
However.
The more he talks, the less I trust him.
“Because you’re my son. Because we’re above the rest. Tell me you understand. That I can trust you.”