Page 10 of Dangerous Silence
And then there was silence. Cold, dreadful silence.
I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to feel, so I decided that I would pretend like everything was fine. Because the idea that Dad had waited until I was legally an adult to die, made me angry, and I knew that wasn’t right. Why did he wait until his last words to tell me that he was proud of me? Why couldn’t our last few years have been spent with joy instead of the lack of emotion, the strict discipline, hisneedfor me to get As so that I could go to college ‘and get a good life’ for myself, like he loved to remind me?
Why couldn’t I be a butcher, like he wanted so badly for Axe?
My muscles quivered. Dad’s monitor buzzed in a long, dim sound. The nurse opened her mouth, and I knew the words she was going to say, but I couldn’t bear to hear it right then.
I walked down the hall, finding Axe lying on my bed.Mybed. The behemoth was sprawled out, reading a crime novel I had gotten from the free books section from my private grade school’s library.The Beginning of the Endwas written on the weathered spine. What a gloriously ironic title.
“That’s my book,” I said.
Axe glanced up, those narrowed eyes pointed at me. But he didn’t say a word.
“So I’m supposed to stay with you?” I asked. He didn’t move. Kept those eyes trained on me. “Hey ogre, I asked you a quest—”
He leaped forward, pinning me against the wall, his hands on my shoulders. The movement was so sudden that I sucked in a breath, unsure of what to do. He smelled like rubbing alcohol, like Dad, but more metallic and musky. Maybe Axe did end butchering meat for a living, but not with Dad. Either way, he needed a shower.
His eyes bore into me, black and vacant. As if he could see what I was hiding.
But what was I hiding?
“‘I’m supposed to stay with you,’ isn’t a question,” he said. “It’s a statement.”
“But—”
“Don’t call me ‘ogre’ unless you can handle the consequences.” He sounded like Dad too:handling the consequences. I wanted to scream that Axe wasn’t my dad, that he wouldnevercome close to being my dad, but I knew that would make me look like a bratty teenager. And I would just start crying.
And I wasn’t going to cry in front of an ogre.
He let go of me. A tear dropped on my hand and I quickly rubbed it into my sweatshirt. I hadn’t realized I was already crying. That sour scent wafted up to my nose, hidden in my clothes. Dad. But not in the way that felt like him.
“I’ll call the funeral home,” Axe said.
I nodded. I was grateful, but I didn’t have the energy to say it.
Axe said something about an uncle coming to wait for the funeral home to pick up Dad. My backpack and duffel bag were already packed, so Axe grabbed them off of the floor, carrying them for me. I ran into Dad’s room and grabbed the folded blanket off of the foot of the bed. I took a deep breath in: lavender detergent and a hint of ash. Dad’s real scent.
I found another duffel bag in my closet and stuffed the blanket inside, afraid that if I took it unprotected through the front room, the sour smell would get on the blanket somehow. Axe opened the door for me, and we walked to a white cargo van, an older one with no windows in the back.
If it had been any other time, I would have commented that he was driving a kidnapper’s van, but I didn’t have it in me to fight right then. I guess I expected him to have a nicer car. The whole ‘provide for you’ thing made me expect luxury, I guess. But I was sort of glad his car was more lowkey than that. I don’t know that I would have been able to put up with the class-differences-anxiety like I had attending a private school growing up.
Again, Axe opened the car door for me, which hinted atwhyDad liked him. Even if he did push me against the wall and threaten me, it was as if he had only done it because I had earned the discipline. Otherwise, he was a perfect gentleman. His dark brown hair was short on the sides, but shaggy on top like he cared enough to cut it, but not enough to style it. Trimmed facial hair spread over his jaw and neck. His dark black, soulless eyes peered at the road as he started the car. The engine rumbled, but the radio stayed silent. What kind of person didn’t listen to the radio?
Once we were on the freeway, I turned toward him.
“This is temporary,” I said. Axe didn’t say a word. Did I need to ask a deliberate question for him to make a single sound? “I’m a first-year at Pebble Garden University. I don’t have time to stay here and pretend to get married.”
I waited for him to flinch at the word, to show his commitment-phobe streak, but he didn’t even blink. He kept his eyes on the road.
“Did he give you the marriage talk too?” I asked.
Finally, Axe gave a curt nod, showing that hewaslistening. How nice for me. A police car drove by the side, the sirens blaring. Axe changed lanes, getting out of the way.
“You know, I’m going to be a detective one day,” I said. “Homicide.” A half-smile crooked over his lips and I wanted to punch it right off of him. “You don’t think I can?” The half-smile dropped, replaced by that dry stoicism on those butt-shaped lips. It looked like a chunk had been cut out of his bottom lip. Was it a scar, or had he been born that way?
“Oh, that’s right. It needs to be a question-question,” I muttered. “All right, Mr. Axe. How’s this? Do you think I don’t stand a chance at becoming a homicide detective? Because I can tell you right now, I have better grades than all of the students in my program.”
He merged onto the off-ramp. Right before I was going to open my mouth to start ranting again, he said, “Why would I doubt your abilities?”
