Page 72 of Dark Knight

"I remember very well the night he left." She pauses, and her pale blue eyes stare out at the street. "I remember the fighting. So much of it. Pounding and banging and screaming. All through the night. My heart broke for her. I called the police, but they never came. It could be they'd gotten sick of taking the call when nothing ever came of it. There was nobody to help her. Until the car came."

"What car?"

"A fancy-looking car—I was never good at those car brands. A dark-haired man climbed out of it. He was dressed so well. His shoes were shiny. He wore a fancy watch. I'd never seen anyone like that around here before. Not in all the years I shared this house with my husband. I knew he had to be somebody important. And when he came back out, Romero was with him."

Dad. That was the night Dad came and got him. I was asleep in my bed, probably. I had just graduated middle school and was dreaming of a long summer. Romero had just witnessed a screaming, banging fight between his parents and was being taken away.

"There were other men after that," she continues. "I fell asleep in my armchair since it had gotten very late by then. I never saw them leave. And a few days later, there was a small article in the newspaper about a body found at the dump."

I would swear she punched me in the stomach. All the air leaves my lungs. It makes sense. Romero never did say the man was still living. He's never really talked about him at all.

"Nobody knew how Billy ended up dead," she murmurs. "And there were plenty of theories, let me tell you. The man had many more enemies than he did friends—if he had friends at all, the miserable thing. I suppose some of the boys he drank with down at O'Neal's considered him a pal. But there were plenty more who were none too fond of him."

"What's your theory?"

"That he got what he deserved. I never gave it more thought than that. Joy never spoke of it, and I didn't dream of bringing it up."

"Do you think..." I can barely form the words, but I have to. I have to get them out, or else I might never get the courage again. "Do you think it was the man who took Romero away? Do you think he did it?"

There is so much hatred in the way she snorts and rolls her eyes. "If he did, he did the world a favor. Especially Joy."

"Did you ever tell anybody about that man?"

"I never even mentioned him to Joy, much less than anyone else. The way I see it, it's none of my business. The situation was settled, and that's all I need to know."

And I thought I had a lot going on under the surface. This woman just casually tells me a man who happens to be my father swooped in like an avenging angel and probably killed Romero's father, but she sounds like she could be talking about the weather or what she's having for Thanksgiving dinner. I don't know whether I should thank her, pretend I don't know anything, or burst out crying.

All I can think about is Romero. What if he saw it happen? But then, how could he work for my dad all these years? He's always been faithful—to the point where I sometimes want to claw my eyes out. He's such a pathetic lapdog.

Maybe he was grateful to be freed from the hell of his home. Maybe that's what it's all been about.

There's no time to process this before a crash next door makes us both jump. The storm door flew open hard enough to bang against the wall beside it. Now Romero stands on the porch, his breath hanging in a cloud around his head and his fists clenched tight. His gaze sweeps over the street before landing on me.

I already know I'm in trouble before his eyes go narrow.

"I'd better go." My feet are already moving, carrying me down the front steps. I don't want her to see him like this. It's instinct. She's already seen too much as it is and already worries that he turned out like his father. Why I should protect him, I have no idea. I only know I want to.

"What the fuck do I have to say to get it through your skull?" As soon as I'm within reach, he takes hold of my arm and squeezes hard enough to make me wince. For one blood-curdling moment, I'm not sure he's any better than the man Mrs. Cooper described. What if he's just as much of a monster? What if he's better at hiding it?

The first rush of nauseating fear is swept away by something more potent. It's so bitter it might burn a hole through me. I'm sick and tired of being pushed around by loud men who think being the loudest and strongest makes them the biggest deal in the room.

"Get your hand off me," I whisper, teeth clenched. Every breath I take is fuel poured on the fire he started. None of this is my fault. Not his anger, not his frustration, not his weird, controlling bullshit. "Unless you want to explain to the neighbor why you're hurting me."

His growl doesn't scare me—if anything, it intensifies my fury. "Go ahead. Let her call the cops," I whisper. That word shakes him up enough that he lets go.

"In the house." He steps aside so I can brush past him.

I turn on my heel in the center of the living room and wait until he closes the door before speaking in a low, controlled voice. "I'm going to ask you a question, and I want the truth. All these weeks, you've kept me shut in here with you. I wasn't supposed to talk to the neighbor. I wasn't supposed to go out by myself. How much of that was actually for my protection, and how much of it was for yours?"

He was all ready to lay into me, so this turn of events leaves him sputtering. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you being afraid. Scared shitless that I would... what? Find out you had a shitty childhood? Find out how bad it really was? Or maybe you were afraid I would find out what happened the night Dad came and brought you home."

"You don't have a clue what you're talking about, little girl."

The way he tries to make me feel small only makes me stand up taller. "I know your father was found dead days after my father showed up here. Is that what you've been trying to keep from me? Did Dad kill him? Did you see it happen? Did he bring you back with him so you would never tell anybody here what happened? I need to know. Stop with the lies. Just tell me the truth!"

I'd swear his features soften in relief before hardening again. It was so fast, I could've imagined it… but I don't think I did. "Oh, you really don't have any idea. You should stop digging."

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