Page 11 of Beast

Who knows?

I knew one thing for sure: if I had the opportunity, I would never ask him. I would fear he would confirm what I’d already suspected. He was a monster.

I headed back to the house and up the stairs, no more thinking, as I moved robotically until I reached the bedroom. And it was then that it hit me.

No phones.

No television either, which was the first thing that came to my mind when I went to the living room. Even when we went on holiday to the Seychelles there was a television, but then I was being stupid. I was kidnapped, and even if the surroundings didn’t feel like it, I had to put my perspectives in place.

Not that anyone really used home phones anymore, but there was no trace of one, nor a router, nor anything else to connect me to the outside world.

No clock.

No calendar.

Things that I’d always taken for granted were missing from this place in this IT world, as Uncle Maxim used to tell me all the time.

Tomas walked in, dripping with blood and holding his hands. He looked like a lost boy, unclear about what to do next as his eyes met mine.

“Do you have a first aid kit?” I asked him, thinking that seeing as I had nothing better to do, I would make myself useful. Even if it did mean looking after my kidnapper.

He motioned for the kitchen and I pointed to the sofa. “Sit.”

Then I rushed through the kitchen cupboards, thinking that it must be near the sink. I didn’t know this place, but no matter how many kitchens I’d been in, they all had the same organizational structure. Kitchen cleaning materials, a first aid kit, and drugs were always near the sink. I found it in no time, then I sat next to him on the sofa.

My abruptness took him by surprise as he moved away from me. Seeing him injured and knowing he could have done the same to me, put my mind at ease about him. It should have made me keep away, but it didn’t. I just wanted to help him.

I took out a bandage, then took his hands in mine. I got to work cleaning them up and then I headed to the bathroom to get a couple of towels. The space in the house was so open, it didn’t take long to figure out the rooms. When I came back to him, he was looking at me, indifferent without even a smile or thanks. I wiped the blood away before applying the antiseptic and he grimaced. When I looked up at him through my lashes, his eyes softened as he stared at me and butterflies fluttered in my chest.

“Why do you look at me that way?” I asked him.

“I’m wondering if what you said is true. If college did change you.”

I cleared my throat, thinking that he knew my dad after I’d applied an antiseptic to his hand. He didn’t hiss like he’d done when I first applied it, and I figured he was used to it by now. The injury wasn’t as bad as I had thought, but I bandaged up his knuckles anyway.

“When I first learned about my dad’s role in the mafia, I realized he’d killed people, he’d harmed others physically and mentally. I knew serial killers existed and I began to wonder ifmy dad could be classified as one. A monster. I wanted to know what it was like. If he wasn’t a monster…”

“Then there was something mentally wrong with him?”

I nodded but continued to explain to him.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not stupid. I knew he wasn’t a business manager like Noah Hart’s dad from when I was about twelve. Noah was a boy I was friends with back in middle school. His dad had taken us to lunch once at his advertising company. This was when it hit me, my dad never introduced me to his colleagues, let alone had I ever visited him in the office. All of Dad’s associates looked like thugs, and at times he came home really late at night, drunk. It was only later, as I got older, I realized why he’d get drunk.”

“Why?”

I’d never told a soul about any of this because no one asked. When it was clear the only friends I was allowed to have were other mafia kids that was when I started to be a loner, hanging on my visits from Uncle Maxim until they stopped. By then the only thing I could think about was going to college and having a new start.

“He’d killed someone.”

“How did you know?”

A tear streamed down my cheek as I remembered.

“My uncle Maxim. He was my favorite of them all because he treated me with respect and talked to me like I was a human being and not an idiot.”

His hand was bandaged up, so I rested it on his leg and carried on talking.

“Dad killed him.”

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