Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 122609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
“Then, with the phone ringing, neighbors all in our yard, the police still there askin’ my grandparent’s questions, a news crew showed up. My grandfather was on the phone. My grandmother was talking to the cop, giving him information after she came to, and an ambulance came for her to make sure she was okay. Irish was crying. I couldn’t get her to stop. I stepped outside to look at the ambulance. To look at everyone. To see their faces. People stared at me like I was the most misfortunate motherfucker in the world. An old lady from next door walked up to me and held me in her arms. I remember the papery thin feeling of the saggy skin of her arms pressed against my face. She smelled like peppers and baby powder. I just stood there. Frozen. Then, this guy… this reporter, shoved a microphone in my face, and there was this bright light from a camera. He says to me, ‘Son, did you know that your father was part of a ring of home burglars?’ He kept rattling off these shocking questions. Things I never knew about my dad. Too much to process for my eleven-year-old mind. Now, the money in the shoebox made sense…
“I couldn’t get the thoughts of what I saw covered on the news out of my head. They haunted me. His eyes were open. That sight imprinted on my brain. My father had light gray eyes, like mine. He had dark hair. We favored a lot, actually. But on the television, it was kinda like seeing myself dead, too. After a while, you get comfortable with the thought. The image of it. You try to own it, take control of it. You feel like you’ve already seen it, so it’s not so scary anymore. It didn’t match what I knew him to be. It proved to me though, no matter how much we think we know someone, we don’t really know them at all.”
He paused and worked on his food. She watched his chest rising and falling, almost on beat with the soft, sad music. And then, he placed his chopsticks down and continued right where he left off.
“To me, my father was always peaceful and calm. I rarely heard him yelling. He showed me and Irish a lot of love, and even after the stuff my mother did, he only bad-mouthed her one time. He was drunk the night that happened.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Then, if that wasn’t enough, my face was plastered in the paper the next day with a headline that read, ‘Ring robber leaves two children behind, and a life of crime,’ It changed me. There I was, Honey. In black and white. Front page. On everyone’s lawn. My grandfather was so angry. He went running in all of the yards trying to snatch up the papers. He was cursing and crying… mourning his son. Mourning the life he had before my old man died. My entire life had been turned upside down. Everyone’s had. The once fairly stable parent and home that I had was gone. So, that’s why I hate the press, Honey… that’s why.”
He reached for his chopsticks and started eating his sushi in silence. He took his energy away from her, leaving a vacuum. A deathly sick stillness ensued. She’d lost her appetite. What a strange change of events. A killer apologizes to his victim. A killer takes her to dinner. A killer explains another ‘Why’ to someone he hates…
“I’m sorry, Archer. I’m sorry for you. Your grandparents. Your sister. That was reckless and cruel, what happened, and how it happened. You were a child already dealing with a tough time. Most children don’t want to be separated from their mothers, and then this occurred. I know it’s messed up. I get it now, but I want to remind you that we’re not all the same.”
“I know that,” he stated curtly as he rammed a piece of sushi in his mouth.
“Did you take me out in order to discuss this?”
He slowly met eyes with her. Her blood ran cold. He looked so cruel. Callous. Hateful. And then, just like that, his expression softened. For a split second, his inner child shone through.
“No. I wasn’t planning on discussing it at all, actually. I took you out because I wanted you to feel normal for a change. Normal people go out to dinner.” He shrugged. “They’re not locked in bunkers. Cooped up in rooms in strange houses. You deserve at least that much.”
She nodded in understanding and picked at her food, sipping her wine here and there.
It wasn’t long before Archer was paying the bill, and they were outside waiting for his Lambo to be pulled up front by the valet. Moments later, she was in the passenger’s seat. Riding shotgun to more silence. Archer never spoke much unless he really had something important to say. She understood that now. He turned on some music: HYBS’ ‘Prettiest To Me.’ The light from the streets and businesses bathed him in shades of blue. He was gorgeous—not just physically, but something inside of him, something he rarely showed anyone, was relieved. She could feel it. He looked like a weight was off his broad shoulders.