Finding Lily

10- Lily

For days, I laid in that bed, drowning in my own agony. I couldn't sleep for fear of nightmares, but I was also living one just the same. The only thing I could think about was what happened; I didn't have the mental capacity to even care where I was. I just wanted my sister back.

From then on, the only interaction between me and my father was when he would bring me food and water. He would set it on my bedside table and I looked at anything besides him until he left the room. Sometimes, he would change my bandage and one day he removed my stitches, but even then we didn't talk. The days ran into each other and I wasn't sure if I'd been in that room for weeks or months. I barely ate and my cheeks were always wet from tears. All I knew was that I'd rather be in Jane's place than lying there in that bed with nothing to do but mourn.

Eventually, I was able to take in the details of where I was. My feelings of anguish had started to fade and I could think again. I heard no sounds besides the occasional bird chirping or my father's movements, so I knew we were somewhere secluded. The log cabin walls were bare and the furniture in my room was simple. There were no outlets or lights of any kind, just candles, and I also knew there was limited running water. I had to use an outhouse for a bathroom, which I didn't appreciate but didn't have the energy to complain about. It seemed that this cabin was completely off the grid, and I was starting to wonder why. I was starting to question a lot of things. And it was about time I got answers.

Finally, weeks after arriving, I stopped Daniel from leaving after he left food on my nightstand.

"Why are you here?" I started with the most important question.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean why the hell did you come back?" I spat. "You left, remember?"

"Yes. I remember."

"So please, tell me why the fuck any of this is happening." I didn't expect to see him again. In fact, I hoped to never see him again. Even when he had been around, he wasn't much of a father.

"I'm an assassin. The men who did this were trying to get back at me."

"So this is your fault."

"Unfortunately, yes."

My mind reeled. Things were starting to make sense but at the same time, I was more confused. I took a deep breath to calm myself down. I had more questions I had to ask before I was allowed to react. "How did you know we were in trouble?"

"I set up cameras in the house."

"Did you tell the police? Did you give them the video footage?"

"No. The police department is corrupt. I prefer to deal with it myself." Dan had his arms crossed in front of his chest as he stood next to my bed. His expression was unreadable. Cold. Distant.

"Cause that worked out so well for you the first time, didn't it?" I demanded. "Why didn't you warn me?"

"I didn't think they'd find you."

"Obviously you were wrong."

"I am sorry, Lily. I never wanted any of this to happen."

"You don't get to fix this with a fucking apology. You're the reason Jane is dead." I growled, voice low.

"I know."

"So instead of being my father, you decided to kill people. And now those people want to kill me." I said. "Father of the year, am I right?"

Daniel let out a sigh and took a step toward the door. "If you're not going to have a mature conversation about this, I'm leaving. Goodnight, Lily."

"Go to hell."

Daniel slammed the door behind him, leaving me alone to process my thoughts.

My father was an assassin. That was perhaps the most striking part of our conversation, though it shouldn't have been very surprising. I was well aware of the darkness that followed my father after my mother was murdered in the streets of Cori. He was angry. I saw it when he started training me in the basement, telling me I needed to know how to protect myself, teaching me to fight since my mother didn't know how to.

I remembered a week after my mother's death, I saw a newspaper article that described a man getting shot on the same strip of pavement that she was. Daniel had left the paper open to that page, getting up with a satisfied grin after reading it. I figured he was just happy my mother's murderer was dead.

Apparently, he was happy cause he was the one who killed him.

And now, years later, his profession was the reason the one person I loved in this life was dead. She was killed, gone, taken from me. And in her place, I got my father back. My cold, distant, murderous father whose face I could barely look at.

I needed to get the hell out of here.