The Neighbour

EPILOGUE

💖Nicole💖

My stomach churns as we wait, the air thick with tension. Unease pulses through me as I stare at the clock on the wall, watching the hands tick by. Everything is so sterile and clean and unnatural. I'm wedged between Freddie and Jamie, held in place with their huge arms. My leg frantically bounces, expelling the masses of energy I'm accumulating just by being here.

Why the fuck am I here?

I can't even remember. Jamie said something about needing closure and Freddie—I think—is only here to supervise. The pair had approached the matter with caution, asking me if I wanted to join them for today's visit. I hadn't said yes, but I hadn't said no either so here I am, moments away from coming face to face with the man who raised us.

Our fucking dad.

"You okay?" asks Freddie, checking in for the tenth time.

I nod. "You?"

"Fucking peachy," he mumbles, glancing across to Jamie.

He's focused on the table in front of us, gaze vacant. I can tell he's practicing what to say, always so prepared. I personally have no words for the man. Jamie and Freddie had completely different experiences to me. I was ten what he murdered Chloe Morris. I remember not fully understanding the severity of the situation back then. In fact, I was angrier at Freddie for leaving us than I was at our dad. I couldn't comprehend it.

"What's taking so long?" questions Freddie, inpatient.

I'm about to respond when a buzzer sounds, prompting the large electronic door to open. A few men in orange appear, expressions void. Malcolm Hudson emerges, frail and slow. I'm a little stunned to see him like this, unsure what I had been expecting exactly. I last saw him eleven years ago and while under normal circumstances, that wouldn't do a lot to a person's appearance, it seems prison has taken its toll. Not that I have any sympathy for him. He shouldn't be here. He was released two years ago but got sent back when in breech of his parole.

"Fuck me, he looks old," comments Freddie.

Malcolm takes a seat opposite, hands and legs cuffed.

"I was shocked when they told me my children were here to visit," he speaks, voice the texture of gravel. "I haven't seen you in over ten years."

The three of us remain silent, rendered completely speechless.

"Have you come to yell at me?"

Jamie is frozen, incapable to doing what he came here to do. Freddie—much the same—just gawks.

"No," I inform, taking charge. "We've come here to gloat. To tell you how well we're all doing despite your fucked up parenting methods."

Malcolm stares at me, eyes the colour of trees.

"How's prison?" I ask. "You look like shit."

A man sat on the next table along laughs, eyes alive. He's younger than Malcolm, and much prettier. In fact, had he not been in an orange jumpsuit, I wouldn't have believed he was an inmate. Prison has certainly not taken its toll on him, though the longer I stare into his eyes, the more I see. They're hardened. Full of pain. The turquoise colouring almostmasks it, but not enough. He's covered in tattoos, each one telling their own story. A different story.

"I suppose I deserve that," offers Malcolm.

Freddie scoffs. "You deserve a lot more if you ask me."

I pull my focus away from captivating eyes, and stare at Malcolm.