The Ordeal

Chapter Six

I stand outside our store, still sweating and heart beating against my chest, and look up at the rusty, dim letters blinking "Hill's Antiques" to the world. Two of the letters are out, the 'i' and the 'n'. I never noticed that before. I wonder how long it will be until the other ones go dark as well.

My dad stands beside me for a moment, also catching his breath. I still can't bring myself to look at him. I don't remember a time before we had this store. It never did huge business but there were a few good years, looking back. My dad has a knack for finding relics of the old world, and when people need a reminder bad enough they are willing to pay quite a lot. But it's been quite a while since the last whale. And now with the fine and the license suspension, the store may sink past the point of recovery. Broken letters in the sign will be the least of our worries.

I walk up, open the door and step inside. Amazingly, nothing broke during the robbery, everything's right where we left it, but it still seems like an alien, hostile place now. I look around at the shelves filled to bursting with carefully organized and labeled knick-knacks, cutlery, ancient electronics (including a one of a kind iPhone 7 Plus), furniture and clothes. The absurd thought that they might come to life and start attacking me bubbles up from my frazzled unconscious. Will I ever feel safe in here again?

My dad enters behind me and for the first time since the verdict I look at him. Bile rises in my throat as I take in his pale, sweaty, chubby face. I still see the pain and the anger, but I also see...satisfaction? As if he's at peace with what happened?

I know I shouldn't but the anger in me bursts out.

"Dad, what the hell!"

He looks at me, startled. I didn't mean it to come out that loud. Or did I?

"Why didn't you at least try?" I demand this from him, tears beginning to well up.

My dad looks at me closely. I start to squirm under his gaze. It's the look he always has when he's trying to teach me something, when I need something drilled into my thick skull and he wants to be sure I'll never forget it. I want to look away but I'm not letting him off the hook. He needs to know how I feel.

"I know you're disappointed, son," he says, speaking slowly, taking full advantage of his deep voice, a baritone that makes you want to believe everything he says. The same baritone that always made me think everything would be alright. But it sounds weaker now, more hollow.

"There was no chance I would have won that fight. That was Thorne. You've seen his moves. I might have just gotten hurt and then what would have happened to us?"

Of course it sounds reasonable. Of course you'd have to be crazy to take on Thorne. Why do I have this feeling then that my dad could have taken him? My dad trains me every day in self-defense. He's taught me moves I know you couldn't learn at a strip-mall dojo. Imagine if my dad had actually won. What a glorious moment that would have been!

"At least I'd know you were willing to stand up for something!"

Oh, what I'd give to take those words back. The instant they leave my lips I see them land on my dad's face, and they sting worse than the robbery, worse than the forfeit. I see his face drop and his soul wither.

"Son, I-" His voice is squeaky now, pleading. Let anything else happen, I cannot hear another word in that tone.

I rush past him and sprint out the door.

I can barely see anything around me as I run, but part of me knows exactly where my feet are taking me: Kris's stall. I know the route by heart.

I am momentarily puzzled when I picture my mother waiting at the stall rather than Kris. But she's long gone. I remember the months my father and I spent searching, fearing the worst. The Basin is a quicksand that swallows everything and everyone up. Eventually we had to accept reality: she was not coming back.