My dreams that night started out gentle enough. I revisited a memory of the first time Ophelia met my father, which reminded me of a strange contradiction that clung to that man. I knew him to be a monster, one I lived in fear of my whole life. When my sister first turned thirteen and started to behave rebelliously, that’s when my father started telling people (including us) that he never wanted kids to begin with. He said he hated kids.

  And yet, when Ophelia came to our house, he played with her, and she had a lot of fun with him. He made her laugh, and she’d swing her stuffed tiger at him and playfully call him “Attitude!”

  This memory, just of the two of them playing, was what looped through my dreams much of the night, as if it were a YouTube reel on repeat, flickering and warped at the edges. Given how hateful he’d been the night he tried to end my life, it felt unreal to be reminded how gentle and fun he could be at times. Like recalling a warm summer day on the coldest of winter nights.

  I suppose he’d have to be gentler when interacting with someone else’s kid.

  In time, my dreams drifted to other memories. Some I could barely piece together or make sense of, as if they were underwater. But there was one that came through clear, sharp as a shard of glass. When my father ran his photo studio (the one where he took pictures of barely-dressed models, humiliating my mother) he had a business partner for a time; a newly-divorced mother named Jael.

  In the dream, I recalled playing with Jael’s daughter, Dakota, a girl of eleven years. It was something I often did in those days, for I’d be asked to babysit while my father and Jael worked on whatever project was on their plate at the time, their flirtatious laughter drifting down the hall like a song I could not tune out.

  Dakota and I played video games together, and she would get excited every time we discovered something new. For me, it was like getting to experience those games again for the first time.

  The moment Dakota left the room for something, my father approached me and said, “Sometimes I feel like I’m living on borrowed time. I figure God put me on this earth to make sure Dakota has a half-way decent father figure.”

  I replied, “Then, maybe after you’ve figured out how to be a decent father figure to Dakota, you could do that for your own kids too.”

  What followed was a violent blow to my head that jerked me awake.

  As I sat up, I collected myself and sorted out what was real from what was an invention of my subconscious mind, the darkness of my room still clinging to me like the dream hadn’t quite let go. My father was, indeed, having an affair with Jael in those days, and trying to get her children to view him as their new dad. My father did, in fact, say that God wanted him to be a good father figure to Jael’s kids, but I did not reply with sarcasm. I knew better. It was fine for him to mock and belittle the rest of the family, but any subtle hint of derision thrown his way would invoke his terrible wrath. In reality, I knew well enough to keep my mouth shut.

  Which was why none of us ever called him out on the obvious evidence of adultery that he flaunted before us. Even as he bragged about the rapport he had with the models. Even as he went on lunch dates with Jael under the guise of “business meetings.” I’m sure my mother’s humiliation crushed her, for he often coerced her into paying for those lunches from what she made in her overtime hours.

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  I’m so glad he’s dead. Previous times that I’d entertained such notions, Thorn would pop into my mind to torment me with it, to question whether the killing was truly in self-defense or if it was pre-meditated murder. This time, my tormentor remained silent. Perhaps because I’d accepted the cold truth of it all.

  That night, my sister had warned me that our father had read her diary, and that he had learned about what happened so long ago. Looking back on it, I could have simply run away. My car was still out front of the house. I could have taken that moment to flee. I was a grown man, and Lilah would have let me stay with her (though, I’m sure the bishop at her church would have had something to say).

  Instead, I chose violence.

  Instead, I chose my father’s gun.

  That bloody heirloom remained in the pocket of my jacket, hung on a hook just above the ladder leading down to the garage. At times, I could almost swear the thing was whispering to me, tempting me to use it again, its weight heavier in my thoughts than it ever was in my hand. One bullet had set me free. The second made me a hero in the eyes of the people who now looked after me. What might a third one do?

  Should I get rid of it?

  Even as I asked that question, I realized that the greater question was how. Derek had refused to take it off my hands. Was it something I could disassemble and then throw away the pieces? Maybe give Lloyd the remaining bullets? Or stash them somewhere? But what if I did that, and then found myself under threat again? It was not at all inconceivable that someone other than my father might want me dead.

  Then there was still the looming question of the car. I’d removed the license plate, but it might still be recognized and would be all the more suspicious because of what it now lacked.

  For the time being, I decided to do nothing about the gun, but at the breakfast table I asked, “Is there a junkyard nearby where I can sell my car for scrap?”

  Lloyd raised an eyebrow at me. “What do you want to sell your car for?”

  “Well, you know…” I scratched the back of my head. “The thing’s been making funny noises for a while now, and sometimes it doesn’t even start.”

  “Derek and I can have a look at the engine,” said Lloyd. “See what’s wrong with it.”

  “I mean… parts alone…” I stammered, trying to offer excuses that I knew would be shot down, my words feeling thin even to me.

  A look of recognition crossed Derek’s face and he said, “Dad, it might be better for him to just sell the thing at this point. The car’s got to be, what, twenty years old by now? I assume you bought it used.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “And I appreciate all it’s done for me, but it’s time.”

  “If it can still run, we should salvage it,” said Lloyd. “You don’t just scrap things because you get tired of ‘em. Imagine if people treated marriages or friendships like that!”

  Carol reached across the table and placed a hand on her husband’s. “Dear, we should let Alex do as he wishes with his own things.”

  “I’m just saying—”

  Carol cut him off, “And I’m just saying that Alex probably has his reasons for not wanting that car anymore.”

  Lloyd’s eyes widened in realization. “I see. Bad memories and all that. Yeah, there’s a junkyard in town, about fifteen miles from the feed store. I can follow you there in the pickup and give you a ride back.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “On another note,” Carol said, “I wanted to tell you all that I received a text message from Katie this morning. She said the semester’s over, and she’s coming home.”

  Both Lloyd and Derek’s faces lit up with smiles.

  “That’s great!” said Lloyd. “Gosh, it’ll be good to have her around again.”

  Derek gave a nod of agreement.

  I wanted to share their joy, and part of me was excited to meet Derek’s older sister. A bigger part of me realized this would complicate things. Another person on the ranch meant one more person to lie to. One more mind to puzzle out who and what I really was.