My father pulled the torn, hyper realistic prosthetic mask from his face. The prosthetics even reached over his shoulders and down his torso, revealing wrinkled and sagging breasts. This was a disguise of hyperrealism.
My memory raced back and images of our meetings with Granny Grace returned. It occurred to me that we only ever saw her in short bursts, and any time we spent longer with her were in places with low level lighting, like the caff. I also recalled with a thumping clarity, that she always showed up whenever Josh or I were in danger: like my guardian angel, like my dad.
His head remained bowed in shame, but I instinctively felt an urge to reassure him, "So you killed the man on the estate to protect me and Dylan, and the man in here to protect me and Josh. Grace, the serial killing Granny was the woman you hid behind to protect me," I said.
"Yes, daughter," he said, the sound of my father's South London accent returned.
Josh joined me, "I won't lie, my mind is bombed right now." He paused to reflect sliding his arm around my waist, "You arranged our meeting, didn't you?" He asked.
"Of course I did, I've had my eye on you for a long time young man, I want the best for my girl; and we knew Dylan was being won over by the dark side," he said, his head still hanging in what seemed like shame.
Still my mind kept reeling back: the dexterity and strength with which she killed the thug, the speed she employed in rescuing us from the warehouse men – in retrospect, we should have guessed that these weren't the actions of an elderly old lady, but I suppose circumstance and his performance meant we never questioned Granny Grace's authenticity.
Josh looked around, "Where's the girls?"
Dad's head kept dropping lower, "They're in another part of the warehouse, safe. We've saved them from the life these low life's had in store for them," he said, his hand rubbing the top of his head, which I suddenly noticed was bald.
"Why didn't you just go to the feds, why all this subterfuge?" Asked Josh, without sounding judgmental.
Dad didn't hesitate, "Get real Josh, I'm a murderer, Donal's a murderer and escaped high risk security patient, we're both highly sought after fugitives – taking the law into our own hands was our only way to save these innocents," he said.
I could feel my heart start to bleed for everything my dad had been through, alone, "But Dad, you could have just told Josh and Me, and we would have went to the police," I said.
"No – Donal and I thought we could handle it ourselves, we didn't think you three would get so deeply involved." He stopped for breath, "Besides, I wanted you and your mum to still think I was dead, I didn't want you ever seeing me like this – and I still don't want your mum to see me, Benita," he said.
I chuckled, "Dad, you can take your Granny Grace mask off in our company," I said.
A soft sob shuddered through his body and his head bobbed lower on his chest.
I reacted with equal upset, "Dad, seriously, mum will understand, it'll be a shock, but you know mum..."
..."Benita, it's my pride and dignity, I want mum to remember me the way I was, please respect that," he said, cutting me off.
Josh pulled me into him, his strong arms held me tight as though he instinctively knew what was coming and wanted to protect me from an imminent shock.
Dad began to slowly raise his head.
His brown eyes stared at me, their whites as bright as I always recalled them. But his eyes were all that were left of the face I remember – my dad had been horrifically disfigured.
