XXXVIII - Curse

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"We're here," Vincent said after a while of silence.

Looking through the window, I realized that we were already in front of Dad's house. Vincent killed the engines and handed me my sling bag containing a few belongings—the Memory Tome from Mei, an old blue and yellow striped scarf, my copy of The Law of Immortals from Archie, a Nysmic frock and the pair of boots that came with it.

I nodded absently as I got out of the Land Cruiser, slowly taking in the whole house. The lawn was more well-kept than I had expected. Through the carefully draped windows, I could see that the lights were turned on in every room. The chorus of Yesterday filled the air as we reached the patio. Dad was such a big Beatles fan. I couldn't help but smile as we paused at the doorstep. To think that I used to hate that song and this house.

After shaking the snow from my sneakers, I hunkered down to fish the spare key which was surprisingly still hidden under the doormat. I opened the door, gesturing Vincent to follow me. He stopped at the doorstep, looking down on his slush-soaked hiking boots as if he wanted to say something but was too disgraced to do so.

"Oh, I forgot," I grumbled in annoyance. "You're invited in, your highness," I waved a hand into the house and did a mock curtsy. Reapers couldn't enter a house without an invitation. Smashing.

The small living room was empty though Dad's laptop was sitting on the table. A fire burned in the brick fireplace, radiating warmth all over the room. With Vincent following me with a smoldering look that burned through my eye sockets, I went straight to the scrupulously clean kitchen. As expected, Dad wasn't there. We went up the stairs next, our steps wary.

"Dad?" I called, hurrying my steps toward his room, only to find it empty.

Finally, we found him in my room—the least possible place I imagined to find him in—curled in my bed, fast asleep.

"I'll wait downstairs," Vincent whispered before draughting away without a sound.

Slowly, I approached Marcel, noting for any change. His curly brown hair was a bit shorter, cleaner on the sides than I last saw him. His face was cleanly shaved, though stubbles already begun growing back. He was wearing that beige button-up shirt Mom gave him on his twenty-ninth birthday. It was as if he had aged years in just a few weeks. And it felt exactly like I hadn't seen him in years. I sat on the side of my four-poster and waited for him to wake up. It took several minutes, but I was satisfied to watch him sleep. When finally, he opened his eyes, he blinked twice as if to make sure that I wasn't a ghost.

"Hi, Dad," I said with a smile.

Appearing too stunned to talk, Dad sat next to me. It took him a little while to compose himself. "Sorry," was the first thing that came out from his lips. I shook my head to let him know that it was alright; that I would still love him no matter what happened in the past. When I took his hand, he gently squeezed it back and like a cipher, I understood what he meant. Between me and my Dad, there was no need for words.

I busied myself in the kitchen while Dad and Vincent watched the American adaptation of The Grudge in HBO. I could hear little of their conversation so I finally gave up and focused on breading the chicken cutlets. They were actually getting along better than I had pictured. Dad never asked me to watch TV with him. Not once. Maybe it was because he knew I hated horror movies. But still, he could've asked me and not that self-absorbed excuse for a master. The marinara sauce was just about done when Dad yelled from the living room.

"Aramis? Make some extra," Dad said, peeking into the kitchen, looking all animated. "Vincent's staying for dinner."

"Why am I not surprised?" I complained, rolling my eyes.  He found a new pet.

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