The Wailing Woman

47. El Olvidable Pt. 1

He stood wearily wearing a black coat with slouching yet, tense shoulders as if the weight of the world was drowning him. The picture Dilara had shown me of my father barely resembled the man I saw. His hair was no longer dark but was a combination of salt and pepper. He had grown an unkempt beard covering the rest of his face, maybe he had done it on purpose. His skin was brown but he looked pale, sick. My eyes strayed toward his cheekbone—I swallowed—the birthmark that took into a triangle form was there.

Los tres mismos lunares que me dio.

I met his gaze, the dark circles deepened around his brown eyes. Another feature we had in common. They held so much emotion and said so much without saying anything. I'm here, they said. I missed you, they said. I exchanged the same feeling.

My father looks older than his supposed age, although he had a beard covering his entire face; exhaustion had aged him gravely. My seven-year-old self pulled on the sleeve of my coat, impatiently and demandingly. "You better not ruin this." She said with anger and laced desperation.

He takes a step forward, "Do you know who I am?" My father asks nervousness lingers. How could I not know you? A part of you lives on my face. He lifts his hand and stretches one of them out but a hand latches itself onto my arm and pulls me back. I stumble a bit as I blink in surprise when I look over at Dilara, her eyes racing with fear and distrust as stares at my father.

My father makes a face. "I'm not going to hurt you or anyone. I just want to talk." He pleaded.

Dilara shakes her head. "He practices dark magic. Remember what I told you about dark magic? It corrupts your soul. It destroys everything that makes you, you." She curled her fingers around my arm. I understood why she didn't trust my father given his reputation and all but I believe my father should be given the chance to speak his side of the story. And I deserve to hear it. I'm entitled to it because I am his daughter.

"What you say holds some truth." My father spoke up. "But dark magic is rarely practiced here and you do not know the full knowledge of it. You do not know its power or its extent." He sighs heavily. "I promise I'm not here to hurt anyone, I don't want to hurt either of you. I just want to talk to my daughter."

I didn't know what a warlock who is corrupted by dark magic should look like but I only saw a tiresome man who was my father. I couldn't let him walk away without him answering my questions. My poltergeist walked up to him, standing in the middle of us. "I can't believe he is real." She said mournfully and continued to examine him.

I whispered to Dilara. "I need answers and he is the only one who can give them to me." She opened her mouth to protest but I quickly said. "I'm owed this." Her eyes moved back and forth, searching for anything or something to convince me otherwise but I made up my mind. She removed her hand from my arm.

"Fine, but I'm coming with you," Dilara said and I felt a bit of relief.

I looked over at my father, "Let's talk." He nodded his head.

*****

We followed my father into an unfamiliar street. Small and quaint businesses ran down the block with few people walking or entering any of the stores. Only five cars were parked, still, it felt like the street was deserted. Nothing was out of the ordinary but it was quiet, unsettling quiet. My father came to a sudden halt at the end of the street, he stopped in front of a two-story red brick building. Dilara and I stopped a few feet away from my father. I looked up at the white banner that hung above the door.

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