Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
My head spins as I feel like the little boy who used to visit his father in jail while he was awaiting trial. Wanting to love someone so desperately, but knowing in your heart of hearts that you couldn’t because he was pure evil.
My mom made me visit him with her, and he’d put me on his lap and say those exact words to me. You’re a chip off the old block.
He didn’t know it then, and I didn’t know it then, but those words have fucking haunted me most of my life.
Am I?
A chip off the old block?
Clearly there’s something wrong with him. I’ve read so much fucking stuff on sociopathy, all of it depressing as hell, as it can’t be fixed. Bluntly explained: the brain circuitry is fucking broken. It’s why I wanted to go to college and get a degree in psychology, so I could possibly analyze why my father did the things he did. And most important, I wanted to try to figure out if there was a chance I would turn out like him in any way, because half of my makeup was from his jizz as he says.
“You got questions for me, boy,” Arco says as he impedes my thoughts.
Not a question.
A statement of fact.
I refuse to give that to him. I might have a million and one fucking questions, but I can’t seem to bring myself to ask them. To do so would give reveal to this foul creature that I’m worried about myself.
I mean…it’s true.
I’m so fucking worried.
I’m withdrawn and can’t make personal connections. I like to fuck women, but that’s all I want from them. I don’t desire intimacy or love.
How much of those things are because I share the DNA of a serial rapist and killer?
“You want to know if you’ll grow up to be like me, don’t you?” he whispers into the phone, and my hair stands up on the back of my neck.
My throat is so dry I can’t answer. Besides, if I opened my mouth, I’m afraid I’ll hurl vomit against the glass.
Arco leans in closer, and I actually lean back. We don’t have to be close to hear one another. He grins at me, and I note his teeth are yellowed with nicotine.
“I’ll tell you a little secret that no one else knows,” he says in a low, promising voice.
I want to hang up the phone. I know I should and get the fuck away from this man. But I can’t move. I want to hear the secret as much as I want to run far away.
“I didn’t kill my first person until after I married your mom,” he murmurs into the phone. “I know I alluded to there being many throughout the years, but truthfully…I didn’t start getting those wild urges until then.”
I can’t fucking help myself as I croak, “Why then?”
Arco shrugs. “Who knows? I know I always wanted to control women. Wanted to do vile things to them. And of course I did. I’m thinking maybe it was just me reaching a certain age. Maybe I had to just grow into the person I was supposed to be.”
Jesus fuck…I’m two years younger than when this sick fuck started raping and killing women. A sludgy, thick swell of self-disgust rises within me and I have to swallow hard against the bile in my throat.
My hand shakes, threatening to drop the receiver. I clamp on tighter and ask him one more question. “Did you ever love her?”
Arco blinks in surprise. “Who? Your mom?”
I just nod at him.
He leers at me through the glass. “Fuck, no. She was a means to an end. A front, so to speak. And she gave me a kid, which made her semiuseful. But let me tell you, my boy…you don’t know how many times when I was fucking that cow I wanted to put my hands around her throat and just squeeze—”
I slam the phone onto the receiver and push up out of my chair. Giving my back to Arco, I head toward the exit. I can hear him banging on the glass and his muffled yells that I can’t quite make out what he’s saying. I’m afraid if I look back at him—eyes all crazy and vile admissions falling out of his twisted mouth—that I just might recognize something of myself in him.
—
I spend the day driving around, ruminating over what I learned. I do this until the late evening hours, wanting to assure myself that Simone has gone to work when I get home. It’s close to midnight when I prowl through our dark house, and I have a small measure of relief when I see light under Lucas’s bedroom door. At least he’s not out fucking some stranger tonight.
Once in my room, I pull the shoebox out from under my bed and take off the top. I put the letter from Warden Glyner on top of the contents and replace the cover. Sliding it back under my bed, I resolve that I’m going to keep Simone far, far away from me.