No. I internally shake my head. This is one of Dad’s games. He loved those — games, that is. There’s a reason why I never visited him. Aside from the pain and trauma I feel whenever I think about him.
Dad is a master of manipulation, and although I could see through it, I’m not completely immune to it. If I do visit him, I have no clue what type of person I’ll be when I walk out of there.
The day the court sentenced him for life, our eyes met, and I couldn’t stop crying. All the pain and disappointment I experienced back then translated into tears that I couldn’
t hold back.
As the officers were taking him away, Dad stopped in front of me and whispered the words I’ve never been able to forget, “Next time we see each other, either I kill you or you kill me.”
My phone lights up with another text from Stephan and I open it with unsteady fingers.
Unknown Number: You should be receiving a gift from your father.
A knock sounds on the door and I stare up as my assistant, Jessica, walks inside carrying something in her hand. “This came for you, Ms Harper.”
My eyes widen as I make out the wooden box. It’s so similar to the ones I received Alicia’s messages in.
Oh, God.
No.
All this time, I’ve been coming to terms that the entire debacle with the messages was a hallucination. I’ve become paranoid and had to check things twice and even take pictures so that type of incident never happens again.
If there’s another box, then…it’s real. It wasn’t my imagination, after all.
Was this my father’s game all along?
“You saw me with the box, Jessica, okay?” I take it from her fingers, and she nods with a quizzical expression before leaving.
My fingers shake as I unclasp the box, and sure enough, there’s a flash drive. However, what’s different this time is the note neatly folded underneath it.
I open it and read the writing I would recognise even a hundred years from now. The neat writing and his way of curving his S’s and C’s are still the same from when he helped me with my homework.
Dear Claire,
You must’ve received similar packages to these in the past with Alicia’s voice on them. I have, too. Probably at the same time as you. That’s why I’m breaking my silence.
I dislike being shoved in a corner, just like I’m sure you do. Someone is after us, my little muse. If you want evidence, listen to my own recording of that day.
Then we’ll talk.
If I had any doubts, they vanish after reading Dad’s letter. He received Alicia’s messages, too? But why would he? They were directed at me.
It takes me a minute I don’t have to spare to plug the flash drive into my laptop. Soon after I hit Play, there’s a rustle of sounds, like a car revving to life or something. Then there’s the sound of a crash, a loud one that deafens my ears.
“Fuck.”
Dad. That’s Dad’s voice. The sound of a car door opening, then slamming shut echoes in the air. I assume it’s his truck.
The rustle of running and the harsh gliding against a surface is the only thing that can be heard. It’s like he’s sliding down dirt or a harsh surface.
More rustling comes through before Dad’s booming voice fills the air, “Alicia! Give me your hand!”
Alicia? My sister?
“Alicia!”
“N-no…” Her voice is brittle and she sounds far away and in pain. “You’re the reason behind this.”