Concrete Castle

-Devon-

I woke up, feeling nervous. I was going to see my father today. Combined with the fact that I hadn't heard a single word from John, I was feeling rather sick. I took a shower and dressed, feeling like I was going to puke. A raging nervousness was inside my stomach.

I had planned everything I was going to asked him, several possible outcomes and answers, and even what he would look like. It's amazing that I couldn't think of a single thing that would have changed with him. In my mind, his hair was still combed and parted perfectly, he still wore a suit, and he was still clean shaven. He was still young.

Even his sick, twisted smile was the same.

I snapped myself out of the daydream of horror as I got in my car. I only had a morning class, and then I was free to go see my father. Suddenly, I wished the class could last forever. And usually, I hated the math class I was forced to take even though I had taken college math courses in high school. I felt rather gypped in the respect.

And since math was my worst subject, it made it even worse. I figured since I took all those college maths in high school, I would have to take any in college. Wishful thinking, I guess.

It was good to have something else to think about other than my father for the moment. Even though the sick feeling didn't go away. In fact, it seemed to get worse the longer I sat in my seat, trying to work out problems.

I had to arrange this appointment with the jail authority people, and even then all we could do was sit across from each other, separated by plexiglass, and talk through a telephone. Not that I thought I'd get any more than that—not that I wanted it.

My nervousness and sick stomach reach its peak as I sat down in front of the man who was my father. It was much different than I thought it would be.

There were now deep set wrinkles on his forehead, his hair was uncombed and unruly. It had grown longer, and apparently, he decided a beard would look good on him.

It didn't. Nothing about this man was handsome anymore.

His eyes were the same gray color as mine, but looked as if they had seen a million lifetimes. His nose, in my mind had been straight and narrow, now looked crooked and thick.

Prison life had not been good to him. I felt a spark of pity in my chest. And all I could do was stare at him.

He picked up the phone on his side of the glass and shook it, indicating that I should do the same thing. My hand shook as I reached out and grabbed it.

“Devon, how are you?” His oily voice met my ears, and the demented smile twisted his features. The pity was gone, replaced by fear and loathing.

“Fine.” I nodded curtly, “How are you, Dirk?” He didn't deserve to be called my father anymore, now that I was sure nothing had changed.

“Don't be like that, baby girl, I'm your father, remember?” His sweet voice made me want to puke. I kept getting a sicker and sicker feeling in my stomach.

“I remember perfectly well who you are.” I glared. But, this isn't how our conversation was supposed to go. He was supposed to be apologetic, and I was supposed to be civil. “You kill my mother, a monster like that doesn't get to be acknowledged as anything more.”

“You've grown up so much since I last saw you, Dev.” He cooed.

“You mean since I was writhing in pain on your bedroom floor?” I snarled. I then closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Look, I came here to ask a few questions, not fight.”

“You're the only one getting angry, Devon.” His voice...it was too sweet and...slimy.

I sucked in a deep breath, “First I want to know why. Why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Don't toy with me, you know exactly what I'm talking about.”

“Why did I kill your mother?” He sounded innocent. It was a lie, he was trying to get me angry. I wouldn't fall for it. “I did it because she deserved it. She was a terrible wife.”

“She was not!” I exclaimed, “She did everything you told her to with a smile! You told her not to work, she didn't work. You told her to be a good housewife, and she did the best she could!” I was losing it slowly.

Okay, maybe not so slowly.

“It's not what she did, Devon. There are somethings that a wife should do that she didn't.” He hinted, and now I really felt like barfing.

“She didn't have to play into your sick fantasies.” I said, my stomach churned caustic fluid around, causing my mouth to taste like acid.

Suddenly, everything I wanted to say fled my mind. Funny how all my preplanned effort came to naught. I groped for something to say to fill the silence that was growing between us. I couldn't look at him, his smarmy and sickly sweet face.

“Why didn't you kill me?” I asked quietly.

“By all rights, you should have died. I wanted you to.” He said politely. Like he was telling me the sky was blue. Like it wouldn't hurt.

“Why did you want to kill us?”

“I couldn't stand you anymore.” His eyes darkened and my stomach lurched painfully. “You we're anything that I wanted. I only ever wanted a son. Your mother couldn't give me any more children, and I was stuck with a useless daughter.”

“So you killed her—tried to kill me?” I asked, furious.

“How else was a supposed to get rid of you?”

Then, I couldn't handle it anymore. Everything about him was making me sick. I thought that maybe I could understand if I talked to him, but he was just talking me around in circles, leading me nowhere.

I just wanted answers, but this man was truly psychotic, and I wasn't going to get any real ones. I shouldn't have expected them.

I put the phone back harder than I meant to, and stood up from the bench, feeling my heart pound in anger and a little bit of sadness. I walked through the security, to my car, and as soon as I sat down, I gripped the wheel so hard my knuckles turned white.

I leaned my head on the wheel in front of me, taking a few deep breaths to avoid screaming my head off. “Calm down, Devon.” I chanted to myself. “He's nothing but a cold-blooded murderer, he doesn't mean anything to you.”

So, therefore, he shouldn't do this to me. I shouldn't be getting all bent out of shape just because he thinks what he did was totally normal. He should be put in a psych prison. Or quite possibly solitary confinement. That seemed the best option. Although, more people went mad during solitary than those who were put into it.

Being alone like that would get a little irritating. But, I guess it all depends on how long your in there. My father could rot in there for as much as I cared.

When I got back to my apartment, I still felt sick and restless. And angry. So angry. I decided to call John again. To my astonishment, he answered, “Hey, Daisy.” He sounded. A rush of relief went through me. So, maybe I was just imagining it, and he was just busy all day yesterday.

“Hey, John.” I smiled even though I knew he couldn't see it. “Are you busy now?”

“A little bit, why?”

“I don't know...I just wanted you to come over. But, if you're busy I can wait.”

“I can come over in like an hour or so, is that cool?”

“Yeah.” I was almost giddy with relief.

“Did you want to go out, or just stay in for the night again?”

“I don't really care, I feel a little sick right now, so probably stay in.”

The line went quiet for a moment, “Have you seen your father yet?” He hesitated.

“...Yeah...” I answered vaguely.

“Do you need me over now?” He sounded sad. I guess it could be because he knows how much that man had hurt me.

“No, I can wait.” I answered. “I'll see you when you get here.” I dismissed, he said goodbye and I threw the phone on my couch, my body landing moments later on top. I groaned to fill the silence. I had no idea where Baylee was, but I don't think I really cared at the moment.

I squeaked in surprise as my phone started ringing, vibrating on my stomach. I dug it out, looking at the I.D. It was Garrett.

“Hey, Gary.” I greeted, cheerful. This kid always made me smile. He's so adorable.

“Hey, Dev.” He said breezily. “Are you busy?”

“Not at the moment, but John's coming over in about an hour.”

“Oh.” At the mention of John, his tone changed. Did they get into a fight or something.

“Is there something you wanted?” I asked.

“I needed...to talk to you.” He kept switching from laid back, to bitter, to nervous. What was going on with him?

“Then, talk.”

“I'm heading your way now, can I stop by for a few minutes?” He asked.

“Yeah, it's fine with me.”

“Okay, I'll be there in a few.”

I sighed, closing my phone once again. There was just so much going on right now. And, even though I had calmed down enough from visiting Dirk, my my stomach was still upset. I couldn't help but think maybe it was a bad omen.

Not even five minutes later, Garrett knocked on the door. “Hey, Gary.” I smiled upon opening the door. I ushered him in, “Do you want something to drink, it's hot out today. I mean, for it being November.”

“I'm fine, Dev.” He waved his hand in dismissal, sitting on the couch.

I sat next to him, still feeling rather ill. “Okay, what did you want to tell me?”

“First off, I'm not telling this to hurt you, okay? I just don't think you should be lied to.” He started

Now I was a little worried, what on earth was he going to tell me that?

“You deserve better than John, Devon.” He sighed, running his hands through his hair, “You deserve better because you're being lied to.”

“What?” I let out, incredulously. “What are you talking about?”

“John hasn't been completely honest with you, Devon.” Garrett twisted his hands in his lap, then his blue eyes connected with mine. I didn't believe him, I couldn't.

If I didn't trust John, who could I trust?

“You're the one lying, Garrett.” I called him out.

He looked so pained at those words, that I almost wished I could take them back. “I wish I was Devon, I should have told you sooner. God, I feel like such a dick for not telling you.”

“John's been nothing but truthful to me, Garrett.” I still denied, refusing to believe it. “Why would he lie?”

“Why would I lie?”

“I don't know!” I exclaimed, “But...but...I-I love John.” I said desperately, “And he's told me he loves me. He can't be lying about that, or about anything else.”

“Believe whatever you want, Devon, but I'm only trying to warn you.” Garrett stood up from the couch, taking his leave. I almost wanted to get up and stop him, force him to explain what he was talking about, but I wanted John to do that for me.

So, after Garrett left me in the now eerily silent apartment, I was stuck in this sort of contradiction.

Trust Garrett, how has been my friend longer than John had, and who had no reason to lie to me or trick me like this. Or...

Trust John, who I really loved. I couldn't really imagine him lying to me. Not now anyway. Of course, he could have lied to me when we first started being nice to each other. But, whatever he lied about then didn't really matter now...

Did it?

Having the key to my apartment, John entered without knocking. “Hey, Daisy.” He smiled, sitting next to me on the couch.

“Hey, John.” I smiled, but couldn't stop feeling like maybe I should ask him about it now.