Page 78 of Ravaged
“I know I wasn’t the best father,” Dad continued, his voice becoming frantic, “But I loved you very much. Please don’t forget me.”
Another voice entered the recording. “Oliver! What a pleasant surprise,” a distinctly male voice said. “Help my friend up, would you?”
“Take care of yourself!” Dad said.
“Last chance, Oliver. Where is the Pink Diamond?” the other voice said.
“I’m not going to tell you any—”
Gunshots sounded, an automatic weapon, blasting into Dad. I dropped the phone, covering my face, as if I could see what was happening before my eyes.
What happened to Dad?
“What was that?” Ethan asked. I picked up the phone again, listening to it.
“—wasn’t going to tell us anyway,” the first voice said. “Who was he calling?”
“I don’t know. It’s not listed,” a second voice said. “He must’ve blocked it somehow.”
“Then stop wasting time. Get rid of it.” Then the line clicked.
Message complete. Press seven to delete the message. Press nine to—
I turned off the phone. Looked out the window. Bit my tongue until it bled.
Dad was gone.
***
By the time I was able to breathe again, we were more than halfway there. It seemed as if Vegas was calling me. A beacon of bright lights and faded dreams. I had to go to it. Dad needed me to.
A bank on West Sahara. A pink building. Across from a museum. I remembered it. Dad used to go there a few times a week to drop off his winnings.
My face was sore from sobbing, my eyes bloodshot, and I was tired, so damn tired, but I couldn’t sleep. I wouldn’t let myself, even when Ethan jokingly suggested tying me up and slinging me in the back with a blindfold on so that Ihadto sleep.
I kept thinking about Dad. No parents are perfect. My dad was a prime example of that. But unlike my mother, he had raised me. He had tried to give me a good life, in his own way. His vices got in the way sometimes, but everyone had their flaws. I couldn’t hold his addiction against him. Not anymore.
I was too numb to think when we entered the city, when the billboards and video screens became larger than life, glowing in the night. We had been driving for hours, sometimes chatting and sometimes listening to music, but most of the time, I stared out the window, tears running down my cheeks.
If Dad was gone, really gone, then what would I do?
Ethan reached over and squeezed my hand. “Wherever you want to go, I’ll be there too,” he said. “I’ll protect you.”
And I realized that I didn’t have to live my life around someone else. I didn’t have to dedicate every cent that I earned to Dad. I could choose my own path.
But what path would I take?
In the morning, right when the bank opened, we were the first ones in line.
“Your name, ma’am?” the teller asked.
“Teagen Knox,” I said.
She typed into the computer. “Do you have your key with you today, ma’am?”
“No.” The teller gave me a funny look, then lifted her chin, her eyes on my necklace. I stroked the metal and looked at Ethan. “I mean, yes?” I corrected.
“Follow me, please.” She led us down a hallway to a locked door. It opened into a large room with hundreds of tiny locked doors. Safe deposit boxes. The teller unlocked one of the small doors, pulled out a long, skinny box, then showed us to a separate room.
