He appeared to think that through. The more I stared at him, the more I was pulled back in time, to the life I once I had, the life I never wanted back. I couldn’t quite forgive my father for what he had done – I could, would, never think or act like him. But at the same time, he wasn’t to blame for everything. My mother and Michael, they would have ended up the same, I was sure of it. I would still have seen ghosts. It was just life and the shitty hand she throws you sometime.
But was I ready to have him back in my life, in some form? That remained to be seen. The fact that I could take it or leave it was a fucking good thing.
“I’ll send you an invite,” I told him. “It’s up to you if you want to come. It will be West Coast though, Seattle area.” Perry and I had discussed at least that much.
He seemed to be happy with that, his face relaxing. I gave him a nod, not about to call him dad or be intimate with him in any sort of way, and jogged down the steps to Perry.
“It was nice meeting you,” my father called after us, like an afterthought.
In unison Perry and I raised our hands. I waited until we were out of sight from the house before I let the tears fall from my eyes. I didn’t regret a thing we had done, but all these years of believing you don’t have a father do a number on you. I cried for the loss I had suffered and the falsity that he was still alive and enjoying life, for the anger that propelled me and compelled me day to day. And, truth be told, I’d always wanted my dad to look at me like he was proud of me, and despite seeing him today, that still hadn’t happened.
But I didn’t cry for long. I’m macho like that. A couple of manly tears fell and then Perry snapped me out of it with a wet kiss.
“Donald Trump has a boat named after him?” she asked, trying to lighten the mood.
I shrugged. “I don’t know, he must. The Trump.”
“Maybe it’s You’re Fired.”
“Bad Combover III.”
And we went on our way back to Manhattan, thinking of names for Donald Trump’s non-existent boat.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Perry
“Do you want to take a carriage ride?” Dex asked as we crossed through Central Park. “I could feed the horse a can of beans like in Seinfeld.”
“And why would that be a good idea?”
He shrugged. “It would be funny. Funny is a good idea.”
It seemed that the more Dex could laugh about things, the better he was dealing with Maximus’s death. Of course, it probably helped that the meeting with his father went better than expected. Well, I thought it went better than expected. Curtis O’Shea seemed to be an old man with many regrets and in the end would only benefit from knowing his son. I didn’t expect them to start calling each other or anything like that, but it was a good step and a good start, even if it never went anywhere.
I sighed, suddenly feeling a tightness in my chest.
Dex grabbed my hand, super concerned about everything now. “What’s wrong? What is it?”
I shook my head, not sure why it was so hard to breathe. “I just need to sit down.” I walked over to the nearest tree and slumped down onto the ground, my back against the trunk.
Dex crouched beside me, holding onto my hand still. “Perry. Do I need to get help?”
I shook my head. It felt like a panic attack more than anything but I didn’t really have much to panic about. Perhaps it was grief catching up to me.
“I’m okay,” I said, still gasping. “It’s just a –”
I was about to say panic attack when I screamed. I just screamed. There was a man in a suit standing just a few yards away in the meadow, his back to me. The suit was crisp, dark and his hair darker. His hands were cloven hooves.
My world twisted into tunnel vision and at the end of the tunnel the man turned around. I saw his face, the indescribable face of evil and suddenly sharp black fingers were reaching inside my brain. I felt them behind my eyes, in my lungs, pulling at my veins and arteries. It was in my gut, black, penetrating me with depravity and the cries of the meek and tortured.
I wasn’t alone in my head. I was in a battle for my soul. I would not let it in, I would not let it win.
With what I could, I closed my eyes and concentrated, putting those walls up, imagining barbed wire and shards of broken glass around me, keeping the thing out. I created a Fort Knox inside of me, hard and sharp and unbreakable.
Something softer, the demented, raspy voice said in my head, a voice that burned at me like battery acid.
And then it was gone. I felt it leave my body, as if I had been giving it too much resistance and it finally gave up. Wanting something softer.
“Perry, fucking talk to me!” Dex was in my face, slapping my cheek lightly. I blinked, staring up at him, concentrating on a bead of sweat that was threatening to fall from the tip of his nose. “Talk to me!”
“I’m okay,” I managed to say, trying to sit up. He helped me, his grip tight, one hand behind my head, holding me gently. There were people passing by, staring at me in concern. I shot them a quick smile, just in case they called an ambulance.
“Perry,” he murmured, resting his forehead against mine. “I thought I lost you.”
I swallowed, that feeling coming back. The evil. Such evil.
“No,” I said. I pulled back and stared at him. “Did you see him? The beast in the suit?”
“No…” he looked around.
“He came inside my head. Just for a moment. He left, I pushed him out. He’s going after something softer.”
He frowned and placed his palm on his head. “I would know if he got in. Look at me, he hasn’t.”
I was looking at him and I knew he was right. He’d already had Dex and now Dex was tougher than ever before.
But others weren’t as strong as us. Others were softer.
“Ada!” I suddenly yelled, springing to my feet. “My mother!”
Dex nodded, wearing horror on his face. “Call them!” He threw his hands up in the air. “Fuck, we need a phone.”
He spotted a couple walking arm and arm a few yards away and ran over to them. When it looked like they were agreeing, I booked it over to them, shooting them a grateful look.
“Thank you,” I said to them, “it’s a bit of an emergency.” I took the phone and dialed my mom’s phone, knowing she was most likely to answer.
My dad answered instead. “Daniel Palomino,” he said.
“Dad!” I yelled.
“Perry? Whose number is this?”
“Dad where is mom and Ada?”
“They’re with me, why? Do you want to talk to your mother?” His voice began to break up and I heard a loud grinding noise in the background
“Where are you?” I asked, feeling like time was falling through my fingers.
“We’re just about to get on the subway,” he said, the crackles getting louder.
“Where are you going?” There was nothing, then he said something I could barely make out. “Dad!” I yelled. “Where are you going? What station?!”
The static grew stronger but I finally heard him say, “Fifty-Third and fifth.”
“Okay, get off at that station and do not going anywhere. Do you hear me?”
More crackles. I thought my heart was going to explode. “Here, talk to your mom,” he said. And then the phone went dead.
“Mom!” I yelled. “Dad!”
There was nothing. Reception was dropped. Oh god, how I prayed it was just the reception.
I handed the phone back to the bewildered couple without glancing at them. I had to get to my family. I started running across the park, going as fast as my legs would carry me. I heard Dex yell my name, then apologize to the couple and take off after me.
He was fast as anything and when he caught up, he didn’t ask questions. He knew. If the demon was still around, he was weak. That’s what Pippa had said. But he was still a threat. He could take over someone else and never come out again. Someone softer with less defenses. Someone who believed. Someone like us – Ada or my mother.
Dex and I ran through the park. Since we had been at the bottom end, it was faster to run through the streets instead of taking the subway. I don’t think I could have stay still on the subway long enough. I need to move, feel like I getting somewhere, doing something.
Oh, please, please, please, please don’t let them get hurt. Let them stay strong. After everything, I couldn’t handle another blow to my life. More than that, I would never forgive myself.
We ran and ran and ran. We bowled over overladen shoppers, bumped into surly pedestrians. We ran through red lights, cars swerving to avoid us, honking their horns. We passed by restaurants and cafes and souvenir stores and carts full of fake handbags. If there was thing that we were good at, it was running for our lives. This time it was to save lives.
And the entire city of Manhattan carried on, like nothing was at stake.
We finally reached the station at 53rd and 5th, sweaty but not out of breath. I felt like I could have run forever. We scrambled down the stairs, running past artwork in the tiled mezzanine and looked around. They weren’t here. Maybe they were down below.
I fumbled for coins in my pockets, practically throwing them at the ticket booth person and then ran on through the turnstiles. Dex took me by the hand and we flew down the stairs to the upper level platform, going against the river of bodies coming back up.