Don't Open That Door - GoM 1

4

Wanna know what The Guardian questioned me about to put my honesty to the test? It took me a moment to believe he wasn't kidding.

"This morning, you sat under the oak by your family graves," he said. "And the oak felt your sorrow. What made you feel that way?"

I stared at him. I don't know, like expecting him to chuckle and drop the joke. Of course he didn't. He held my eyes without a blink, waiting for my answer. And I knew I had to reply, and I could say nothing but the truth. So I did. I told him about my early visit to the cemetery.

I don't even know why I felt the need to visit their graves. I've always hated going there. But there I was. I brought flowers for the four of them, and lingered pulling some weeds around Rosalind's headstone.

"Your child's more like you every day, y'know?" I said, as if the bones six feet under gave a damn. "She's always been so easy. But she's showing some temper of late. Guess I shouldn't be surprised. When you were her age, you'd already spent two years living on your own in Omaha, and you were back home to give birth to her."

"Alex...?"

Father Jason's voice startled me, and I stood up as if he'd caught me doing some mischief. His smile didn't hide he didn't expect to find me there. I don't blame him. I go to the cemetery only once a year—and that's because Claire drags me along. Father Jason stopped by my side and smiled down at the graves.

"I thought I'd see you here for the anniversary as usual. Then Dave told me what happened at Will's..."

No wonder he knew. Social networks learned the concept of viral from Bold Peak. I just nodded. He invited me to sit with him on the stone bench under the oak.

"You never mentioned you knew what happened to them," he said.

"They're dead, Father. That's what happened. The rest is anecdotic."

"But it's what allowed you to save Claire's life."

I nodded again, awkwardly aware of the way he studied me. He knows me way better than I like to admit.

"And how are you girls doing now?"

Plain to see he wasn't about to drop it.

"We're fine. Claire's wounds were superficial, so she's got no scars left."

"Not visible ones."

Today he was really inspired to corner me and bust all of my gambits. I sighed, eyes down on the grave. He could tell I didn't want to talk about it. Yet, for some reason, he pushed me to do it.

"I think the worst part for her was watching me kill them. She had no idea I'm capable of takin a life, whether human or not. She didn't even know I knew how. And I... Well, they were about to eat'er alive when I got there, so I didn't care about manners." I looked up at him. His dark eyes didn't have their usual spark. "I can still hear her wake up from her nightmares in the middle of the night. You know for her it wasn't only watching..."

"Her empathy must have overwhelmed her."

"Yup."

"And how is she dealing with it?"

"She keeps going through Grandpa's books. And now she wants me to teach'er to fight with blades... She says firearms are not her thing..."

I didn't meant to trail off. His hand on my shoulder didn't exactly helped me to keep it together.

"What's wrong with her wanting to learn to defend herself?"

I rolled my eyes, annoyed. Why is it that nobody gets it?

"She shouldn't need to defend herself from anything! It's all levels of wrong!"

"We all need to defend ourselves from something, Alex. In your case, it's creatures vulnerable to physical action, be it a spell or a punch. When you were Claire's age, you could use any kind of blade, gun or bow. Bootter had seen to it."

"Exactly! And I learned so Claire would never need to! And I failed! She's been at the brink of death twice over the last three months!"

"You saved her every time."

"Of course I did! That's my job!"

His silence was worse than a pity hug. I snorted, looking away.

"I know what you're about to say—I didn't choose any of this."

"And you didn't. But you did choose keeping Claire with you, instead of sending her away with one of your aunts and uncles. You took her in and you did a better work raising her than many mothers I know."

"But—"

"Claire's no longer a child, Alex. You have to face she's a grown-up woman with the right to make her own decisions. And you can only accept and respect them."

"Are you suggesting I should let'er become a witch and a killer?"

Father Jason stiffened as if I had slapped him, and his voice carried the cold rage of the righteous.

"Is that what you think you are, Alexandra?"

Full name. I'd screwed up big time. But I needed him to understand.

"I enjoyed killing them, Father! That night... Had Claire not been there, I think I would've tortured them like they did to my folks."

"But you didn't, and that's what matters." Jeez, he was relentless. "I know you, child. And had Claire not been there, you would've found another reason to keep from doing it. Because that's not who you are. You're not cruel. You don't find pleasure in inflicting pain. Not then, not ever."

No use arguing, so I set my jaw and kept staring at the graves.

"You should teach Claire."

"No, I shouldn't! 'Cause it's Claire, Father! With her cooking and her girly clothes and her pink comforter on her bed! How can I take that away from her to teach her to kill?"

"If you don't, she may try to learn by herself, and she can harm herself."

I faced him, furious. "You want me to do it!"

My accusation slid without trace on his bulletproof good will. Yeah, he was relentless, like Grandpa used to say—actually, Grandpa used to say the damn Irish had his head like a rock and his eyes stitched up with pig-gut thread.

"You're the best teacher she could have, Alex, and... Take it as a selfish request if you want, but all of us would feel better, knowing somebody has your back when you risk your life to protect us."

I was trying to come up with an answer that didn't include cursing or punching him, when I got Claire's text:

"George just had an accident."