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Dad sighs, “what do you want?”
“New test subjects and a pay raise.” She sings innocently.
“Whatever. Just stay where you belong, and don’t touch my boy without asking me again.” Dad finally looks down to Annabelle, and her smile changes to a stern frown. “Are we clear?”
“Just remember your place, Albert. And I will remember mine.” She walks away and opens the door for us to walk through. Dad’s eyes follow her to the door. For a moment, their eyes are so intently locked on each other that I have to clear my throat to snap them back into reality.
What is going on between them?
Emerson and Aubrey are first to go through the door, with Tyler following suspiciously behind them. I wonder how long it will take for Tyler to realise that he isn’t going to ever see her again after today. Mason goes through the door after, with Crusoe and Hayden coming up the rear.
That leaves just me, Dad and this mysterious woman left in the room. Dad moves out the way to let me go out first but before I have the chance to escape, Annabelle grips my shoulder. “Take care of your mum, won’t you sweetie.” Her voice is so sickly sweet that I can’t help but shiver.
“What do you know about my mum?” First, she has this weird thing going on with my dad, and the next she’s asking about my mum?
What is going on?
“Let’s just say that your mum and I have always been-” she stops like she is selecting the right word. “Close.” She whispers. I am about to ask her what she means when Dad grabs me by the same shoulder as Annabelle, forcing her hand off and putting himself in between Annabelle and I.
“Annabelle,” he nods to her, and scurries away with me tightly in his grasp. As soon as he is out of earshot, Dad says, “Ignore everything that women tells you, okay? All she ever does is lie.”
There is so much that I want to ask him, even though I know he will never tell me. He has never been willing to share information, and I doubt this will be any different. He makes his way through the gang and to the front of the pack.
I don’t want to follow him; I want to head right to the back and think about everything that has just happened. But I am still a Cunningham, and I am still Dad’s son. And as long as I am his son, I will have to walk around in his shadow. So, I follow pathetically behind him, his roaring shadow covering me like a dark veil.
We walk to the elevator, and Dad turns to look at Emerson pointedly. They lock eyes, and I’m not sure what kind of secret argument occurs, but without a word spoken, Dad begins to walk down the stairs.
The stairs are wide enough for a second person to walk along next to him, so I walk up to him and try to match my footsteps in time with his brisk pace.
After a while of only the sound of our footsteps and the murmuring of the gang behind us, my dad breaks the silence. “I’m proud of you, son,” he says quietly, looking directly in front of him. I stumble over the next step in shock. What did he just say? He’s proud of me? I am so confused that I stop completely and Emerson crashes into me from behind.
“What did you just say?” I glare at him questionably. Why, after all of these years of avoiding me, does he suddenly think it’s okay to say something nice to me? I mean, it’s not necessarily a bad thing, but there surely has to be a reason for his consideration.
He would never just compliment me unless he wanted something from me. Now that he thinks that I know everything about a situation that I really know nothing about, he is obviously just trying to play the ‘Good Dad’ card.
“We will meet you two at the car. I remember the way from here. Come on guys,” Emerson gives me a sad look. I mouth her a thank you and she grabs my hand and squeezes it, again, so small and quick so that no one except us would notice.
My anger instantly crumbles, and I don’t have the heart to be mad at anyone anymore. Suddenly it doesn’t matter if my dad is using me, or if Hayden hates me, or whatever is going on between Annabelle, Mum and Dad. For that small moment, it is just Emerson and I, in this strange place that isn’t quite real because everything is perfect and just as it is meant to be. I think she feels it too, because she clears her throat, and walks a little too quickly away from me. I am so distracted that it doesn’t even properly register that I am back in reality until Hayden bumps into my arm.
“I’m watching you, Pretty Boy.” Hayden sneers before taking up the rear of the gang.
“What do you want from me?” I turn to my dad, trying to shake off Hayden’s words.
“Look, son,” Dad starts slowly, “I know that I haven’t been the most present father that I could have been, but I want to make up for lost time.” He looks at me, finally, and instead of seeing the hurt and pain that he has caused me, I can only see a broken man that just wants a relationship with his son. I really, really want to believe him. To believe that he loves me and wants to make it up to me, but I would rather not believe him and not be disappointed, than believe him and be let down.
“Why? Why now? Why at all?” I beg him for answers. Even though we are the same height, his presence is so much more dominating that I can’t help but feel insignificant next to him.
“The world is full of inequality; you understand that, don’t you Jasper.” He begins to walk slowly down the stairs. Great, not stupid CSO brainless society junk again.
“Really?” I scoff and when he looks at me angrily, I back down. “I hear it every day of my life, Dad. I thought for once you might talk about something different.” I look at the floor and pray that he doesn’t kill me. I know that I might be pushing it a bit too far, especially since I’m meant to be proving myself to him and show that I want to help him.
He is silent for an exceptionally long moment, as if thinking about the best way to punish me. “What else do you want to hear about then, Jasper?” he asks slowly, “the world is broken, and I am here to save it. It is my duty to protect the people; I care little for anything else beyond that. But if you must, talk about something else then. Please yourself with shallow pleasantries until I die, and take over me. And then you will understand why I am the way I am.”
I’m not sure what to say, so I stay silent.
“Did you know my father died?” Dad speaks again, breaking the silence. It seems a pointless question, assuming that I probably would have met him if he hadn’t, but I shake my head anyway. “I was just 4 years old,” he clarifies, and I understand the meaning behind his words. I stop walking, enthralled by what he is about to say. Dad has never talked about his life before the CSO before. It has been all business and nothing else.
“The thing is,” he continues, “is that you generally don’t remember things from that age. And yet, I can remember his face as he told me to run, run, run and not look back. My father was a good man, and he died trying to save people from an unexpected bombing on our town in the Great War.” Dad sighs a horrifically long and drawn-out sigh.
