Beneath the Gilded

Chapter 6

I decided to skip the daily study session with Evan and Emily at the Coffee Bean today and went straight to the Kingston City Prison. I have to admit I was a bit paranoid and decided to pack some pepper spray in my satchel, but the prison guard immediately searched my satchel and my fifteen-dollar pepper spray was confiscated. I thought the United States was all about the right to arm yourself and whatnot. I debated arguing with the guard, but decided against it. This was all Obama's fault.
The Kingston City Prison was a medium-sized grey slate building with a fence all around it (I learned that the fence was electric through a Google search a few days later) and no windows, and in all radiated an unpleasant and hostile aura. Following the directions the lumberjack-sized prison guard grunted at me, I pushed open the heavy metal door and another guard, this one female and even buffer than the one outside, gave me a form to fill out. I checked family in the relationship with the inmate section.
The giant female guard led me to the cell and told me I had "twenty minutes and not a second more" in a voice deeper than Dean's, which was saying something because Dean's voice was... well..
Concentrate! I need to concentrate! I thought, effectively slapping myself out of a stupor, preventing me from melting into a puddle on the cement floor. The guard shut the door and I was left alone with my father on the other side of the clear wall between us. I could see he was restrained to the chair he was sitting on with cuffs over his forearms. Like he could ever break through the indestructive glass between us.
He spoke first, talking into the little microphone.
"Irene," he said softly, and his eyes were running all over my face like he was memorizing it. Like it was the last time he'd see it again.
"Hello, Robert."
He winced at my use of his first name, but didn't comment.
"Did you... Did you really do it?" Those were the only words I could think of to say. To be honest, even though I never by any means romanticized my father nor did I forgive him, I didn't believe that the kind face with the laugh wrinkles in front of me could be capable of murder. But then, Ted Bundy was charming as well.
"I didn't. I know what they're all going to tell you, but I swear I didn't. Even after all she did to me I'd never⇁"
He stopped himself, looking twenty years older than he was.
"Who did what to you?" I enquired breathlessly. It was a fair question. It was obvious that he didn't mean for that tidbit to come out.
"No one did anything to me," he said quickly. I didn't believe him as far as I could throw him (perhaps a feet on my best day). But I could see that pushing him wouldn't do a thing, and I really did only have twenty minutes.
"Can you trust me, Irene? Just this once, I swear I didn't. Even if I am found guilty, it would mean the world if you believed me," he begged.
"I can't trust you," I told him, being honest. I really couldn't. He was practically a stranger to me, and the evidence pointing against him was too strong. "But I don't believe wholly that you did it either. Call it instinct."
It was true. Every cell in my body was screaming that he was innocent.
"Well, that's something, at least," he weakly smiled.
"The question wasn't the only reason I visited you," I stated, referring to the enquiry in which I asked if he did it. "I wanted to apologize."
"You apologize?" he asked, looking bewildered. "What in the world for? I am the one that should be apologizing a thousand times over for being such a bad parent."
Very inappropriately, I smothered a giggle. He really was the epitome of a bad parent, wasn't he? MIA for fifteen years.
Maybe I was going mad from all the trauma. If that was the case, I was quite disappointed in my strength, or lack of thereof, of mind.
"Yes, but it was still wrong of me for not hearing you out because I was too stubborn and scared to. Just because you wronged me doesn't give me an excuse to wrong you."
His eyes filled with tears. Oh, don't tell me he was the sentimental sort that would cry over a cat poster. How the heck did he survive as a gangster? I definitely got my personality from my mother.
"My daughter grew into such a beautiful wise young lady," he choked.
Now, I felt bad for still suspecting him, but I repressed it. For all I know, he just could be a very good actor. An Oscar-winning one.
"Thank you," I said uncomfortably, trying to fill the awkward silence. Well, awkward for me, anyway. My father seemed quite busy just staring at me.
"Twenty minutes up!" yelled the woman guard, her voice sounding even deeper and more manly than before. Suddenly, there seemed to be a million more things for me to say.
"I love you, Irene! Everything I did, it was because I love you and your mother!"
He got the last words. My throat clogged up, and I struggled to swallow.
All I knew for certain was that I was definitely visiting my father again.

My mind refused to focus as I worked on the third AP Calculus problem set that was assigned today. You would think that going through all I was doing would get you out of doing math, but no. Of course not. There wasn't an I saw the dead body of a debutante in a cellar and met my long-lost father check box in the 'reason for absence' sheet. Even if there was, my mother would still make me go. Hold you head high like a soldier and you know what you're doing! she'd say. Then maybe others will believe it. And really, I couldn't risk my scholarship.
Four x cubed then sin 30...
I started staring at the wall. Even the wall was so much more interesting than Calculus. Painted a soft yellow with small ridges on it, cement and beyond that wood...
Beyond that wall laid Sophia in a coffin. Who the police believes was murdered by my father. A father that is actually beginning to seem like my father.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the key turning and the door being pushed open a room away. Mom was home.
As of looks, we were the complete opposite. Marie Sullivan was blonde and blue-eyed, short and curvy. I was Asian, tall and willowy. But she was my best friend other than Evan, no matter how dorky that sounds. She went through a complete mess after my father left, and she was more than half the reason I still haven't forgiven my father.
"Mom!" I yelled and launched myself in her arms.
"Sweetie!" she hugged me tight. I could tell she was exhausted after her ten hours of filing papers and fetching coffee, but as always she stayed strong.
"How was work?" I asked.
"Oh, nothing out of the ordinary. Wait, there was something. You see, Matt the brat actually had the gall to..."
She then continued to tell the story of one of the most powerful men in the world asking for an Americano, then changing his mind and asking for a latte, then asking again for a mocha. The latter he had spilled on his pants and he blamed Mom for it.
After providing appropriate sympathetic comments and chuckling, I got down to business.
"I saw him again today."
I didn't have to provide more details, as Robert was Voldemort-status in my house. We never actually said his name.
"What? Sweetie, why?"
She looked absolutely horrified, and a little betrayed as well.
"Well, you see..."
Then I told her everything; about Robert being accused and our conversation.
My mother's lips drew to a tight line, and this highlighted the bitter wrinkles around her mouth.
"You talked to him alone after knowing that he murdered an innocent girl? That man is nothing but a mess, Irene. I honestly am not surprised that he screwed up this big. I always knew there was something wrong with him. He's not right in the head. Nothing good will come out of seeing him, sweetheart."
She didn't always "know there was something wrong with him", she'd loved him once upon a time. That was why she still got that bitter look whenever he came up. She was heartbroken when she left. But I decided not to mention this to get because I was sure she'd go berserk. Nonetheless, I felt I had to defend Robert. His tender expression when he saw me enter the room came to mind.
"Mom, I am not sure if he did it. Actually, I am pretty sure he didn't."
She gasped.
"Are you defending him? After all he did to us? I thought you were smarter than that, Irene Rose! You told me yourself how much evidence there was!"
While I had expected her anger and even anticipated her wide-eyed look of betrayal, I still felt sick to my stomach. And a part of me thought she was right. But I had to get away, suddenly. Away from her bitterness, her trying to find one more reason to blame my father for everything.
"I'm sorry, Mom. Of course I know he did it."
Her face immediately softened.
"I'm sorry too, sweetie. I didn't mean to snap at you like that. I know this is hard on you; knowing what a horrible man your father is. I'm sure he'll finally be brought to justice."
I gave her a tight smile and returned to my room. I felt like I had no one in the world.

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