Sins of the Father

10 | Dinner

The house is dim. Every window is blocked by heavy curtains. The wall clock says that it's six-thirty. There are no phones, cell or landlines or otherwise. I see the local newspaper with both mine and Charlie's names on it; we are still in Old Mills. I can't tell if he's placed it there on purpose to taunt us. I wouldn't put it past him.

As he's closing the basement door, I glance at it. There's a single lock on the door, but no deadbolt or chain. He notices me watching him and chuckles, but he doesn't lock it. At the moment, there's no reason to.

He walks us through the hallway. On our way to the dining room, we pass two rooms: the kitchen and the living room. The living room is where the front door is, and I subtly point it out to Charlie so she takes note of it.

The dining room contains a dining table with six seats; one on each short end, and two along each side. In the center sits a heavy glass vase filled with marbles and fake flowers. The plates are fine china, and the silverware is real metal, not cardboard. I should be ecstatic that there are so many things to attack him with, but it only makes me nauseous. He's been very careful so far, so why would he do this now?

"Sit," he commands.

He sits at the head of the table, and Charlie and I sit across from each other at his sides. I stare down at my reflection on my plate, trying to make out my own features. Have my eyes gone puffy? Are my cheeks hollow?

"It's been forever since I've had dinner with family," he says, tearing up a little. "Thank you for this moment of joy."

He puts a hand on each of our shoulders affectionately. Charlie smiles, and it's cute and sweet, but I see the daggers behind it. The living room is visible from here, and besides an ottoman in the way, it's a straight shot to the door. We're both itching for it to happen.

"The food is too hot," he says, pointing at the foil-covered tray next to the vase. "We'll wait for a few minutes. In the meantime, tell me about your day. Son, how was school?"

He turns to me with an earnest smile. I find it ironic that he's dressed Charlie and me up like his dolls, but he himself wears something you'd wear to a grocery store.

"School was great," I say quietly.

"And your grades are up?"

I nod.

"And you, sweetheart? Did you enjoy the field trip today?"

"Yes," Charlie says tightly. "It was fun—"

I grab the vase and throw it at the man's head. Charlie bolts out of her seat and runs for the door. The man dodges the vase and throws his plate at me, and I respond by throwing mine.

"Run Charlie!" I scream, grabbing my chair and throwing at him too.

He starts grabbing silverware and pelting me with it. I flinch away, returning fire with Charlie's plate. I know I won't be making it out the door now, I only need to distract him long enough for Charlie to make it out and call for help, and then I'll be saved—

"I can't open it!" Charlie screams.

Horrified, I look over at her. She's unlocked the front door, but it won't open all the way because of the chain. She closes the door and jumps up to undo the chain, but her fingers barely graze it. It's too high, and she's too short. Without me to undo it, she won't be able to open the door.

It's too late. When I've run out of things to hit him with, I start throwing my fists instead. I miss twice, and he lands once, knocking my head to the side. Instead of making me fall over, it only makes me angrier, and I run at him, trying to push him into the wall.

He responds by grabbing both of my wrists and stopping me easily.

"I think," he says, "that you took it too well when I called you a healthy young man. Healthy you are...but you're still just a stupid child."

He pins my arms in an x on my chest like I'm being baptized, and then he pins me to the floor with a loud slam. Charlie screams, and it snaps him out of his frothing anger.

The man turns his head toward her. "Sweetheart," he says coldly, "please go to your room and let me deal with your brother."

Charlie looks at me, tears in her eyes, and does as she's told, inching toward the basement. "Please don't hurt him," she whispers, and she repeats it a few more times before closing the door on herself.

I try to sit up, but he keeps pushing me down. His face is only inches above mine, and I squeeze my eyes shut as he screams at me.

"All I wanted," he snaps, "was a nice family dinner! Was that too much to ask?" He shakes me. "Was it?"

My hands are going numb as his grip on my wrists tightens, and I turn my head to the side as spit flies onto my face.

"I'm willing to let this slide," he says, "if you promise to never do anything like this again. Do you promise?"

"I promise," I squeak.

"Good. Now, tell me that you love me."

I open my eyes and look at him, his psychotic patheticness. "I love you," I say through gritted teeth.

"I love you, who? Who are you talking to?"

I take a shaky breath. "I love you, Father."

He smiles. "I love you too, son. Don't forget that. Now, let's get you home."

He suddenly stands and start dragging me. I scramble to my feat, stumbling forward, but before I can yank my arms out of his grip, he throws me down the stairs. I scream, curling into a ball and trying to protect my head as I tumble down and hit the concrete floor. Charlie screams, too, and the basement door slams.

"Are you alright? Andy?" She carefully puts a hand on my ankle. "Andy?"

I unwrap my arms from around my head. I've protected myself from brain damage, but every other part of me is in pain. "I'm okay," I say quietly. "I'm alive."

"Good." There's a pause, and then I hear a jingle.

I lift my head to look at Charlie. She's holding up a key ring, and my face pales.

"Oh, no, Charlie," I say, panicked. "He's going to notice—"

"No, he won't. This isn't his key ring, not the one we've seen clipped to his pocket. This is a spare. I found it in a kitchen drawer."

I blink. "When did you go into the kitchen?"

"After I realized I couldn't open the door. He was so busy hitting you that he didn't notice. I went in there looking for a knife to stab him with, but the first drawer I tried had oven mitts, and the second one had these keys, and that's all the time I had."

I take the ring from her. There's seven keys on it.

"I don't know if any of these are for the basement door," she says quietly.

"It's fine," I say, wincing as I stand up. "We can try."

She snatches the keys from me. "Not now. We'll do it when you're feeling better."

"That could take days," I counter. "He might notice he's missing his spare keys by then, and who knows what he'll do."

Charlie considers this with a deep breath, nostrils flaring. "Fine. We'll wait until after one of his visits, and then we'll try. Deal?"

His visits are frequent. Since he'll want us to get out of the fancy clothes, I assume he'll be back in a few hours. I'd much rather escape right now, but Charlie's right—I'm in no shape to run right now, or to attack him again.

"Okay," I say. "Deal."