“Don’t.” Her voice was a strong pop of sound. She held up her hand, halting whatever he’d been about to say, then wiped the wetness from her face. “I didn’t come here to have a conversation with you. I came here to make you listen.” Her tone was unyielding, the words themselves offering her power. “You’ve taken from me, but that stops right now. It doesn’t matter if Gran condoned our treatment at Queen’s hand. What matters is that I know Gran loved me. And I won’t let you steal that from me.
“You will never be anything to me other than the man who kidnapped me and commanded Queen to torture me all those years. You are a coward for not saving your wife from that box, and something lower than a coward for not saving your daughter. Forever you will just be someone who hurt me. Never my father. After I walk out that door, don’t ever try to contact me. I want you to forget that I exist because that’s what I’m going to do. Forget you.”
She stood up. Stared down at him. His chin trembled—just like hers always did. Tears slicked his cheeks, but he didn’t say anything. Silence was his only gift to her.
As satisfying as it had been to speak her words, there was one last thing she needed to say to him—the entire reason for her visit. “You decided to believe Gran and I were evil because of our abilities. You are wrong. Last night I had a dream. This afternoon, an inmate will be placed in the cell next to yours. He’s going to have red hair and an eye tattooed on his cheek. He’s going to ask you to come closer to the bars to pray with him, and then he’s going to stab you in the neck with a sharpened plastic knife. You’ll die. That was my dream. So you see, this thing you always thought was so evil about me… I use it to save lives. Even yours.”
His face morphed through a menagerie of emotions, stopping finally when his features crumpled and he began sobbing. He looked directly at her while he cried, not even bothering with the dignity of trying to hide his emotions.
She turned and walked from the room.
Epilogue
It probably made her a bad person, but Isleen couldn’t help it—she didn’t want to go to her own mother’s funeral. In so many ways it would be like attending the funeral of a stranger. The sun dipped behind the tree line, kissing the forest with a warm golden glow as she and Xander made their way up Cemetery Hill. Xander squeezed her hand, the simple gesture conveying so many emotions—strength and reassurance and concern. He worried too much about her. Not that she blamed him. After everything they’d been through, it was understandable. Only time would ease his mind.
The graveyard was old, the stones mere white slabs, names long ago worn off by wind and weather. The clearing where it rested was peaceful and quiet and filled with a serenity she hadn’t noticed the last time she’d been here, but then she hadn’t exactly been in a sane frame of mind.
Her gaze found Gran’s grave. Isleen braced for an emotional blow at being in this place again, being reminded of everything that came before, but only soft sorrow caressed her.
A new mound of fresh dirt resided next to Gran’s grave. Her mother’s grave had already been filled in. No empty hole. No coffin. No glaring reminder of death.
Next to the two fresh graves, a large red-and-white-checked blanket was spread on the ground. Row, Alex, and Matt all casually sat there as if getting ready for a family picnic instead of a funeral.
“I don’t understand what’s going on.” Isleen’s legs stopped moving, her mind unable to assimilate the graveyard and the cheerful picnic blanket.
Xander put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “This isn’t going to be like last time.” His arm around her nudged her forward.
Row glanced up as they approached. In the late day’s sun, her hair seemed darker—almost eggplant in color, while her tattoos seemed bolder. “They’re here.” She announced as if Isleen and Xander were special guests. “I’m in charge of this here party. And that’s what it’s going to be. A party.” She threw her hands out theatrically as if introducing the stage production of My Mother’s Funeral. “This is going to be a celebration of life—your mom’s and yours—instead of a damned melancholy rehashing of all the fucking losses.” She held out a fat square book to Isleen. On the cover in bold letters: PHOTOS. “You sit down and look through these pictures before you lose too much of the light. And we’ll tell you about your mother.”
Isleen’s body reacted before her mind fully plugged in to Row’s words. She took the album and sat on the blanket like a kid waiting for story time. Finally, she was going to learn about her mother. She had so many questions—a lifetime of questions that she’d stored up—but in this moment, she couldn’t remember any of them.
Xander sat behind her, spreading his legs out on either side of her. Even though she was among friends, she felt as if he was protecting her, blocking her from any potential threat and buffering her from pain. He looked over her shoulder at the album in her hands.
“Go ahead. Open it.” His breath was warm and sweet against her temple.