“Fuck you, asshole.”
“Ha! I fuckin’ love it. You always did have a fuckin’ mouth on you.” Charlie goes back to watching the screen, as though I don’t even exist. I take a moment to look around. No bodyguards. No Sloane. No Michael. No Lacey. No one. Just him and me in an empty movie theater. It’s an old place, traditional. The kind of place with brocaded curtains that draw apart at the beginning of a feature, unveiling the new, fantastical world you’re about to immerse yourself in. No drink holders or recline features on the seats. From the elaborately scrolled cornicing on the ceiling and the grand arch over the screen, this place was definitely built back in the twenties.
I wrestle myself to my knees, and then throw myself back into a chair to my left. “Where are the others, Charlie? Where the hell is Sloane? What the fuck are you up to?”
Charlie holds up a hand, pointing one finger in the air. The video reel of my mother and me starts all over again. Her laughter. Are you ready, baby? Oh my god, Paul. Watch. Watch. Me taking my bumbling first steps down an uneven pathway.
“I loved your mother from the very moment I set eyes on her. Did you know that?” Charlie says, ignoring my question.
I want to cut out the fucker’s tongue just for talking about her. I will not engage in this with him. I will find my friends, and then I will end this miserable bastard’s life. “Where. The. Fuck. Are. They?”
Charlie looks at me again, a small, amused smile on his face. “They’re watchin’ another movie, I’m afraid. They weren’t too keen on this feature. ’Specially not your sister. She’s had a rough few days.”
“Because you convinced her the Duchess was her mother, when she wasn’t, you fuck. And now the woman’s dead.”
“And now the woman’s dead,” Charlie agrees, slowly nodding his head. He taps his index finger against his chin, appearing to muse over something. “It was pretty shitty of me to do that, I suppose. But this life is a circular thing, if anything at all. The Duchess wanted kids so fuckin’ bad. She couldn’t ’ave ’em, though. And your mother stole Lacey away from me before I even ’ad a chance to get a look at her. So I thought it prudent to take Lacey away from ’er in the end. Give her to the Duchess.”
“The Duchess is dead. My mother’s dead. You can’t seek revenge against the dead, Charlie. You sure as fuck can’t make up for your failures as a human being by giving a dead woman a fake daughter, either.”
“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Zeth, my boy. I firmly believe in an afterlife, and I firmly believe your mother is watching down on ’er kids. So she can definitely hurt over me fucking with what Lacey believes. And she can definitely ’urt because ’er precious boy knows she was a fucking prostitute. I took everything from ’er. I made it so neither of ’em could work. Not a single person your parents knew would ’elp ’em for fear of what would ’appen if I found out, you see. I made it so there was only one option left open to her, and I made fucking sure it ruined your mother’s marriage.” He grins. “Exactly ’ow I wanted it. That was before I knew she was pregnant with my kid, of course, but still. All’s well that ends well, right?”
I have no idea what kind of shape I’m in—I’m assuming bad, since I was thrown so far in that blast—but that doesn’t matter. If I die trying, I’ll make this man pay for the things he’s done. The things he’s said. But first, I need to know the truth.
“You’re not my father, are you?”
Charlie gives me a cold, stony look. He reaches inside the breast pocket of his suit jacket, draws out a small, silver vial, and proceeds to unscrew the cap. I know what’s inside it. He tips some fine white powder out onto the back of his hand, holds it to his nose, and inhales sharply. “I did my first line of coke the day the Duchess came ’ome and told me her best friend was knocked up. I was so fucking angry. That was the first time I gave the silly cow a slap, too. A day of firsts all round.” He grins at me like he’s telling me a funny joke. The drugs do this to him. He acts like he’s happy, like the buzz is still enough to lift him, when all it’s doing is making him angrier. More sour. More aggressive. More vile.