How to Kill a Man in Thirty Seconds

Chapter 7: My Godfather

My heart shrank in fear at the pit of my chest. Bad idea, Charley. It was a bad idea to come here alone.

There was something off about him, something I couldn't quite put a finger on.

"Er..." I stuttered, struggling to keep the fear out of my voice, but the air clung to my throat, ridding me of my ability to speak, "Um..."

"Oh, take a seat," he stated, his smile widening almost eerily, "You... have no idea how glad I am to see you, my child."

My child? That was what he had once called me, but a lot of things had changed since my father's death. He had no right to call me that anymore. Fear, and at the same time, fury overcame me, and I had the sudden urge to shove him against the wall and beat every last bit of life out of him.

Shooting him a tightly lipped smile instead, I took his hand and shook it, "Happy to meet you... after all this time."

His stony eyes met mine as if in surprise. He swallowed hard, and one corner of his lips tipped upwards in reply right before he suddenly pulled me into a hug.

My heart leapt in fear almost instantly. I held my breath, my face pinned against his shoulder, and felt the hairs on my body rise in my discomfort.

"I am too, Charley," Morgan paused, as if my name felt alien on his tongue. I pulled away from him slowly, just in time to see something flicker across his eyes. But he quickly averted his gaze, concealing his expression, "how have you been?"

"Alright," I replied, taking a seat before beginning to spin a web of lies, "We live down in LA now. Mum runs this boutique that's been doing pretty well-"

"Really?" he cut me off in a cool, flat tone, "But I thought Susan hated fashion."

Uh oh. I panicked internally and tried to read his expression, but it was impossible. "Yeah, well, people change," I muttered, with a thin smile.

Morgan smiled thinly after a moment, "Yes, they do." He was staring at me, as if he saw right through my cool facade. My feet tapped nervously against the floor and I hoped he wouldn't notice. "Your mother," Walker continued, "I'm surprised she even let you come here."

I shrugged, "She doesn't hate you," I lied, "At least, not anymore. But time is healing her slowly. She can't bring herself to meet you yet."

For a few seconds, he didn't reply, only watching me in silence. Thinking that he perhaps hadn't caught my words, I was about to repeat myself when he cut me off in a low tone, "That's understandable."

I was done making small talk, "That's enough about me. What about you, Mr. Walker?"

Something darted through his eyes at the sentence and I stopped, masking my confusion.

And then it hit me. Uncle Morgan. That was what I had always called him.

He didn't think I could still call him that, did he?

"How's your brother?" I continued, "Ditched the drugs, I hope?"

Walker's entire body stiffened, and he turned silent. It was a while before he spoke, and when he did, his voice was heavy with regret, "Charley, a couple of months after your family left without a word, there was... a fire at the factory my brother worked at. Some of the chemicals they'd been working with... spilt and everyone managed to get out but Christian. He... didn't know until it was too late." Morgan swallowed hard and when he glanced up, there were tears in his beady eyes. It was the first time I had seen real pain on his face in all the years I had known him, and it was a strange sight to see.

"Charley, my brother died that day." Morgan swallowed, "No burial can make you move on from that."

The new revelation left me shell shocked.

Wasn't it too much of a coincidence for Morgan's only alibi to be wiped clean off the map mere months following the trial? Was it possible that Christian had known something, something more than he let on at the trial, a secret so precious to someone that he was killed to make sure it remained buried?

I stared at Morgan, stunned into speechlessness. His eyes shed tears, but his face gave away no sign of emotion once more. He was unreadable.

"I'm sorry," I managed, finally, "I had no idea."

That was when I sensed sudden movement in the shadows. My heart leapt in my chest, and I squinted at the shadows before I realized I was looking at a girl. She was thin- and to my surprise- seemed to be about my age. She was lingering in the darkness almost as if she were too afraid to step out into the light.

"Hello?" I called, unsure and saw her large blue eyes blink several times in surprise, "Mr. Walker, who is that?"

He glanced back and his gaze froze for a second before he looked at me. Emotion- something like panic- flashed across his eyes but the look had vanished in a split second. "Charley, this is... my daughter Caroline," he finally muttered, appearing distracted.

Wait. Morgan had a daughter? He hadn't the last time I was here.

The girl stepped forward then, out of the shadows; she seemed slightly underweight, with long blonde hair just like mine and doll-like aquamarine eyes which widened just slightly as she stared uneasily at me, fidgeting uncomfortably. I was immediately struck by how awkward her behavior was and how uneasy Morgan seemed in her presence. He was avoiding my gaze and had suddenly become as pale as a sheet.

This was interesting.

I rose to my feet and walked forward before I took her hand, "Hello, Caroline," I introduced myself, "I'm Charley. My dad was... a close friend of your dad's."

I swallowed hard, the words feeling bitter on my tongue.

Caroline smiled then and all her uneasiness seemed to dissipate away as she did so. "Hello," she almost whispered, "Nice to meet you-"

Walker cut her off in a curt tone, "Carol, honey, maybe you should go upstairs to your room."

I stiffened. Caroline too appeared taken aback and just as I thought she was about to argue, she dropped my hand, turned heel and dashed out of the room without so much as a word of disagreement.

Huh.

Dumbstruck, I frowned, "You know, she could've stayed."

Morgan's tone was flat, "She tends to act a bit strange sometimes. I don't want her making you uncomfortable."

One of my eyebrows arched involuntarily, before I shrugged, "Strange is good. I like strange... Mr. Walker, I don't mean to interpose but... she's not your biological daughter, is she?"

He averted his gaze almost instantly and chuckled, "No, Charley, she's not. I adopted her a couple of years back." His eyes met mine, "But I love my little girl. Isn't that all that matters?"

I felt challenged, "Of course, Mr. Walker. Of course."