I take a deep breath and shove away my rage at his worthless mind games. If I’m going to get anything from him, I need to keep calm and stick to the script. I know what I want to ask, and I can’t walk away until I get some answers.
“Why, Tony? Why did you do all of this? The house, the guns, Rodrick and the homeless encampment, the script. What was your end game?”
He tosses more bread and seems to consider for a moment. “It was revenge.”
That startles me. I look at him and try to remember if I’ve ever met Cowan before any of this—maybe back in the early days when I first started with Ansell, back when we were a bit rough around the edges and stepping on a lot of toes as we broke into the industry. It’s possible I did something to him back then, but something so bad to deserve this level of vitriol would stand out in my memory. But no, I’ve never been anywhere near Cowan before, not until I ran into him in the park.
I let out a soft laugh. “That day we met. That wasn’t random, was it?”
“Oh, no, not at all. I made that happen.”
“Just like you made everything happen afterward.”
“Everything but your partner.” He glances over with an almost shy smile. “I had a lot of fun torturing you though.”
“Why? I don’t understand. I never did anything to you. Was it Ansell?”
“No, it wasn’t Ansell. But you’re right, it wasn’t you, either. It was your father.”
That hits me harder than my fist to his nose. I sit there, stunned, and try to think back to everything my father did over his life, but I can’t recall ever hearing Cowan’s name, not even once.
“Now I’m even more lost.”
“I’m sure you are.” He rattles the bag of crumbs. “I knew your father back in the day before you were born. I wasn’t then what I am now, just an up-and-coming scrappy young kid from the area looking to make a movie, and your father promised to help me get some cameras and equipment. I was excited and of course I said yes, but eventually it became clear that your old man wasn’t going to come through, and by then I’d already invested money in paying actors, hiring help, renting space, and building sets. I lost everything because your father went back on his word. That little bullshit move by your father fucked me over and held me back for another few years, all because I’d gambled everything on that damn movie, and it backfired.”
I can hardly believe what I’m hearing. How the hell is this real? My father never mentioned knowing Tony Cowan, much less that he’d entered into some sort of shady deal involving lighting and camera equipment, only to fuck him over somehow. It doesn’t make any sense, but it almosthasto be true—otherwise, Cowan’s torturing me for no reason. This would explain it, or at least it would explain some of it, but the story’s too impossible for me to believe.
“You’re telling me that back when you and my dad were basically still kids, my dad screwed you over, and so you decided to try to ruin my life decades later as revenge?”
“Your father died before I got around to making him pay for it himself, and I figured his son was the next best option. I’ll be honest, Baptist. You made it fuckingeasy.” He laughs and throws more crumbs for the birds.
I sit there seething. I’m trembling with anger, the deep reservoir of rage inside of me beginning to open and spill over. I could kill him right here, murder him in this public place. I almost did it yesterday—why not do it today? Finish the job and be done with this nightmare.
But Blair’s face holds me back.
The pain in her eyes.
She’s not here to get hurt—but I know what’ll happen if I end up going to prison for the rest of my life.
Can I really do that to her?
“I don’t believe you,” I say quietly and he glances over, head tilted to the side. “You’re clever, Cowan. You like to set up your puppets and make them dance, but there’s no way you knew my father that long ago. My father was nothing back then.”
“And he’s still nothing, just like his son.” Cowan sighs and runs a hand through his head as he crosses his legs. “Understand something, Baptist. I’d never work with you, not for real. Why would I, when you’re an emotional loose cannon? You think I’m the crazy one, but you saw the truth about yourself yesterday. You only ever hurt the people in your life.”
“That’s bullshit. You barely know me.”
“I know you well enough. You’re just like your father, one mistake away from losing it completely. That’s what happened to him, isn’t it? He messed up when he sold his theater to the Crawford family and he went completely nuts afterward, right? You’re the same way. You have that same darkness inside of you, and if you’re not careful, it’ll spill out and poison everyone around you.”
“I’m not my father.” I lean forward, sitting on the edge of the bench.
“But you are. You’re going to hurt everyone you love, just like you hurt him. Do you know how I got that script? I spoke with your mother. She told me everything that happened, and I’ll be honest, Baptist. The whole story is disgusting. The way you failed your father and walked away when he needed you the most.” He shakes his head slowly, lip curled. “No, I’d never get involved with someone like you. I have more self-respect than that.”
I try to process but what he’s saying ricochets around my brain, mixing in with images from the past, mangling my memories and mashing them together. I see my father’s look of pure disappointment and pain when I told him his script wasn’t any good, the last time we interacted, and I see Blair’s agony as she cried on the floor of the hotel suite, and I see my mother’s devastation at my father’s funeral, and I see my life ticking past like a movie reel, speeding toward the inevitable conclusion: everyone around me, hurt and ruined and left smoking husks.
All because of me.
“You’re wrong,” I say and there’s no conviction in my voice. I can’t muster the passion hiding inside of me anymore. Cowan’s extinguished it all.