“I’ll just go with you.” She starts down the staircase in her black leggings and red tank, without a bra or any shoes.

“The hell you will. You know that’s not an option. Stay here and I’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t open your mouth, don’t say another word, I don’t want to hear it. Keep yourself and our kid safe.” I shut our front door behind me and hear it open immediately.

“Cove, if it’s so dangerous, why the fuck are you going down there... hey! I see that gun! Cove, come back here. At least get your father!”

I wait for the elevator as she catches up and stands next to me, pissed and with a face full of fright.

“I’m not letting you in this elevator, Sophia. Just wait here with the check and I’ll be right back. Then you can sign it, I’ll take it back down to him, and it’s over. Capiche?”

“It doesn’t make me feel any better that you’re using a gangster term as you walk away from me, and the gun, Cove? Who is it? Is he big? Should we call Haverty?”

The door opens and I give her a kiss before I step inside. “Right back, Dove. I promise.”

“Leondra!” she runs down the hall toward my parent’s place. Damn it, I knew she was scared, but I didn’t think she’d turn to my mother for backup. I’ve got to get this taken care of as quickly as possible before the two of them show up in the lobby.

The cold gun rests against my back. It doesn’t matter that it’s visible; our building’s deserted right now anyway, and Marcus won’t see it unless I turn around. I don’t even know what I’d do with it if I felt threatened. Point it at him? Wave it in the air like a madman? I’m not much of a badass when it comes to weapons.

And, I guess I won’t find out tonight. The lobby’s empty. Dead silent. “Marcus,” I yell, while checking the front of the building. Damn him. Gone.

An email comes through on my phone as I walk back inside, and sure enough, it’s him. He sent a message to my business email address.

Cove,

You and I probably have the same thoughts about that rabbit, Woundwort. He was full of himself, like Paul and David. I never could connect with him; but all the secondary characters in that story... they were crucial, don’t you think? Who needs a main antagonist anyway? Get rid of ‘em early, clear the way for something better. Endless disputes, my friend... hold onto your freedom... watch out for the enemy... surround yourself in a safe and loving environment. That’s what that story, and what life is all about.

I’ll find you, soon. Look for me. But for now, let me leave you with a small section of Richard Adams brilliant tale of those savage rabbits. A bedtime story.

Rabbits do not weep, as men do, but they sometimes cry in their own way, when met with extreme emotional trauma or fear. Avens began to do so, trembling against the ground in shame, and for a moment Blackavar thought the poor fellow might go tharn. He leaned against the Efrafan gently, giving comfort, thinking only to stop him before he brought all manner of Elil down upon them. A long moment passed, and then Avens snuffled, nuzzling Blackavar's mutilated ears, as if by doing so he might put them to rights again.

"Wish I could have done something," he murmured. "I should have done something."

Before long, Marcus

“Don’t you think you’re the antagonist now, Marcus?” I whisper. “Should I get rid of you and clear the way so you do no harm to anyone while running that company? I’m not ready for another struggle in life, just my freedom from here on out.”

Is he referring to my wife with that part about Avens? How would he know I opened up to her about Paul? Is that what it means? Maybe I’m reading too much into his words.

My father walks through the front door and I put my phone away. “How the hell do you know Marcus?” I explode.

“I don’t, and stop bitchin’ at me, I left the hospital to make sure you were okay.”

“Yeah, well don’t do me any favors. You’ve been lying as much as all the other fucks who’re part of that sick company, and you better start telling me what you know or we’re through. I don’t care if you’re my father; I’m not taking shit from anyone any longer. Where the fuck were you when Paul had his hands on me? Did you know what he was doing to me? What do you know about David’s death? And how the fuck do you have Marcus Wild’s number?”

“What are you accusing me of, son? Just say it!” he shouts. “You think I was part of Paul’s child porn business? Is that what you believe? That maybe I made some money off of you, sold you to him?”

Without any further thought, my fist makes contact with my father’s nose in an unspeakable act of aggression. Blood sprays out as his head’s jolted back. I’ve never committed such violence toward him, and seeing the expression on his face change from concern, to being repulsed by me is unbearable. For fuck’s sake, I just struck a man who gave up years of his life to keep me safe. And now, the manner in which he stands before me; his mouth dropped open, eyes laden with tears, and horrorstricken by my attack is finally enough for me to process the extreme error I’ve made. Not only have I scarred our relationship, probably for life, I’m also entirely in the wrong.

“That was out of line.” His response is a whisper with blood trickling from his nose. “Marcus called me today and wanted to know if I had any interest in working for him. His number was in my cell’s history, and that’s how I was able to call him back. I don’t know him, Cove, and I’d never do anything to cause you bodily harm, or anyone else for that matter, including David Rosen.” He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye and pats his nose with the collar of his shirt. The bloodstains from his nostrils appear in the shape of a broken heart on his clothing.

I take one step forward and inhale, about to apologize, only to see his hand rise as he takes one step back. “Let me finish,” he says in a strangely calm voice. “Your mother and I spent the morning together during the time that David died, and after I left our loft, I walked over to the Gateway Trail, and along the Mississippi to try to clear my head. You should know I’m just as stressed as you are, son. Then, when it was time, I waited for him in the park, but he never showed. I left and stopped back at our building to see if Sophia had returned, and then I headed out to meet Kaitlyn and Ivy.”

I’m such an immature bastard, forcing him into a position where he feels a need to explain himself as if he’s on trial. “I should’ve trusted...”

His hand goes up and I’m silent as he answers my final question. “I’m sorry I didn’t save you from Paul. I’ve said it a million times, and I’ll continue to repeat those words for the rest of my life. It’s the first thought that enters my mind when I wake up each day, and the last thing I think about before I fall asleep.” The tears from his eyes match the blood that streams out of his nose, both pooling on his chin and dripping onto his chest. “Please, don’t ever think I didn’t try to help you,” he slips off his shoes and socks as he speaks. Four of his toes are missing, the two smallest on each foot. “Don’t think I didn’t fight for you. I just wasn’t strong enough to win.” He takes his wallet out of his back pocket and searches through the slots. His hand trembles as he hands me a folded sheet of paper. It’s worn, as if it’s been opened and refolded hundreds of times.

It’s a pencil drawing of a boy, faceless, dismembered, being placed into blocks of cement by an unidentifiable man. A chill passes through my body as I look back at my father.

“Paul said each toe he took from me represented one of your limbs, and as long as I was okay with him keeping a part of me, you could stay whole. He was a psychopath, we all know that now, but I knew it long before anyone else. He forced me to listen to a recording of him raping you, and while I listened, he drew your death on that sheet of paper. He said, keep it close; don’t lose it, because if you lose it you might forget what I’ll do to your son. Yes... I knew. So, you want to know what I was doing during those times? Praying, for one. And staring at that drawing, trying to convince myself that what you were going through was better than being severed to pieces.” He cleans up the mix of tears and blood with his shirt and continues. “I’d never hand you willingly over to Paul, and I wasn’t part of Jameson Industries in the way that you believe, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t fucked up my life in other ways. I expect to feel hatred from your mother, for my lies and the affair, but I get just the opposite from her. But you, I did everything for, and you’re repulsed by my very presence. Your mother is the one I misled for our entire marriage, and she’s willing to continue on,” he says, still in a calm voice, while concealing his feet inside his shoes. He knows my next question and answers it before I have to ask. “I told her it was an accident from the motor on Paul’s speed boat, said one side of my foot got sliced, and I quickly turned to get away and caught the other foot in its path. The lies to her were non-stop and the less she knew the better. Besides, one of us had to be able to sleep at night.”