“You have to listen—” Daddy frowns, tilting in toward me, and so I lean back. For the first time ever, I’m fine with pissing him off. Let him get frustrated. That I can handle. What scares me right now is hearing the utter defeat in his voice.
“And you already have so many people from other countries who write to you here. I know they’re all strangers, and probably more than a few are totally nuts, but they’re fascinated with your story and say they’re on your side. Warden Zonnberg told me.” I lurch forward and wonder if I’m blinking at all because my eyes are starting to burn. “We can get them to write, too, and I think with that many—”
“Enough, Riley!” Daddy barks, and the guard in the hall hammers his fist on the door and looks in the small window to make sure I’m okay.
When I wave him off, the guard relaxes, and I watch my father closely. He has never once raised his voice to me—not once. I don’t know how to respond or even what to say to that, so I cross my arms and wait.
“I don’t think this is good for you anymore … and it’s definitely not healthy for your mother,” he starts.
I can’t stop a scoffing laugh from escaping. “Daddy, this has never been good for us.”
“And I hope someday you can forgive me for that.” His face hardens and I fill with immediate regret.
“I’m sorry, Da—” But he doesn’t give me the chance to take it back.
“I need to say this while I still have the courage to do it, so please let me!” He doesn’t raise his voice again, but instead scoots forward, grips my hand tightly in his, and captures my eyes with a gaze so intense I don’t dare look away. “Your mama is struggling but won’t admit it. And whether we like it or not, I am rapidly running out of time here. You’re stronger, better, and brighter than I ever could’ve hoped for, and as much as I hate it, I am forced to rely on you instead of your mother. For that I’m forever sorry.”
He takes one long, trembling breath without looking away. And then continues in a low enough whisper that I’m the only one who can possibly hear. “Riley, I’ve been lying. It’s time you know the truth. There is no point in fighting this battle anymore. I’m guilty and I’m going to be punished for what I’ve done.”
Time freezes for moments, seconds, maybe minutes. I wait for the punch line of this terrible joke, but it never comes. I can’t make sense of anything he’s saying. I keep shaking my head, hoping something will fall into place, or that I might suddenly understand why he would say something like this. My heart has stopped, and ice replaces the blood in my veins.
Daddy keeps going, like he doesn’t know damn well that my world is crumbling apart. “I’m telling you now so that you can finally let go of this fight and move on with your life. You need to let me go. And you need to decide at what point your mama is ready to know this, too. I’m sorry, Riley, but you may have to be the one to tell her.”
I blink, and blink again. Then the horrific sound of a howling, moaning wind fills my mind, and even though he is still speaking, I can’t hear his words anymore. I’m trying to pull my hand from his, but he won’t release it. I can’t process what he’s saying. It isn’t true. It can’t be true. It can’t.
My heart rips into a dozen partially beating chunks and it shouldn’t surprise me that I can’t seem to catch my breath. The only thing that could make sense here is that he wants me to stop pushing him. Maybe he’s given up, and he is trying to give me permission to give up, too.
But I can’t give up on him. And he can go to hell for even asking me to.
I finally wrench my hand away and get to my feet. My ears are working again, but all I can hear is my own voice shouting the word No! over and over again—no to being here anymore, no to what he’s saying. And no to everything else he is trying to turn into a lie.
The officer opens the door, but he stops in surprise when he sees that it’s me and not Daddy who is causing problems.
“Riley?” Daddy stands up, eyeing me warily like I’m some caged animal—like I’m a monster.
Like the monster he just tried to tell me that he is …
The irony makes me feel nauseous. I take another step backward. The guard looks from my father to me before holding out the stack of letters that my father has written me for the week.
Turning my back on Daddy without a word, I stalk past the officer, deliberately not touching the letters. I don’t know what to think or feel. I just know that I can’t hear any more from him right now. I walk through the doors and out into the yard. My feet carry me all the way to my car in a stunned daze, and then I stand there. I stare at the car door as my mind spins through everything he’s ever said to me, trying desperately to find something real—something true to cling to.
I am not a murderer, Riley. Now, how can I know for sure?