Windows on the World (OLD VERSION) [BEING REWRITTEN]

[¹³] ᵗʰᵉ ᵖʳᵉᶜᵉᵈᵉⁿᵗ

"Dad?"

Walter's caution kicked in with the despondent way she said that word. It gave him the terrible feeling that he was at last face to face with the precedent. And he was unprepared. He'd never heard a peep from her about her father, and now they were staring straight at each other all of a sudden. It couldn't go well. The expression on the man's face only accentuated the eery suspense. There was an unmatched contempt in it, and it spoke for itself.

The yellow shade of his skin, likely from so many cigarettes, didn't help his case. He hadn't lost any weight from smoking, though. His beer belly was fuller, barely disguised behind a worn out bomber jacket. Jeff Bradley had never been an obese man, and he still wasn't, but his body clearly stated 'I've given up', now more than ever. His dark hair was so shiny, it looked like it was covered in molasses. He was a lot worse off than when they'd left him.

"After everything, after the shit we went through, you just leave and to top it off this is where I have to find ya?"

That croaky voice again. Her ears had almost forgotten it already. But the shrill noise was back, entering her head uninvited.

"How—" There was no point in questioning how he'd found her. If he remembered where Carlo and Julia's townhouse, where he'd only been once before, was, he could've easily began to trail her. "You've been following me?"

He took one step closer, bringing with him the unwanted and still too recent memories.

"You mean trying to get you back home? Of course I have."

"I am home," she dared to respond.

The sarcasm in his assessment of their surroundings was painfully obnoxious. "Sure doesn't look anything like it." His head nudged forward, flaring his narrow nostrils "Who's the kike?"

"Don't call him that." Her retort was immediate, and though she was trying her best to confront him, it was obvious she dared not to speak up. The attempt to defend Walter was barely heard by the man himself, so it was questionable if Jeff even picked up on it at all.

"We're getting outta here." With an abrupt motion, Jeff yanked the sleeve of Phoebe's sweater to pull her forward and away from Walter. "And get that shit off your head." He ripped the kippah from her head, taking some hairs along with the clip attached to it and threw it. Phoebe protested at the sudden stinging on her scalp.

"Hey!" Walter shouted at him, in shock at the man's rough treatment of his daughter.

Some unbelieving gasps came from behind. Onlookers, from both people on the street, and the ones still leaving the synagogue.

Phoebe tried to resist, but Jeff kept a firm grip on her. In a reflex she timidly called out the name of the only one she trusted.

"Walter." Get me out of this, said worry the on her face.

"Let go of her," he snarled with anger and impatience that were only fueled by the hunger. All Walter wanted was to get home and fill his stomach. Having to deal with this was not at all what he had in mind.

"You don't tell me what to do with my own daughter."

Mr Rosenthal was one of the onlookers, but unlike them, he didn't remain just standing by. He tried to take action.

"I would leave her alone if I were you, mister. She clearly doesn't want to go with you." The voice wasn't wrinkly any longer. He sounded like someone not to be reckoned with.

Jeff maintained his hand around Phoebe's wrist, turning the skin beneath his fingers ghostly white. "Mind your fucking business, old man."

"This is my business," he snapped. It seemed Mr Rosenthal was just as cranky as Walter and couldn't wait to get to his 'break-fast' dinner. "This is where I pray and where I seek God's shelter. I will not let you disrupt that for me, for us," he made a generalized gesture at the others, then managed with a shocking amount of strength to snatch Phoebe from Jeff's grasp. "or for her."