If I Lie : Book 2

36. He Whom Paints His Nails pt. 3

Noah POV

The walls clustered with cold air, making the very hairs on my limbs all come to a stand, yet I mustered on as my stomach knotted in nausea and the blaring tendrils growing of icy and hot, surely this was anxiety and that was something I've only felt once before. Usually, I was "cool as a serial killer", which is what mamo said, often from observing me and seeing how I reacted to situations around us which when something would rouse her, it wouldn't do the same for me. 

My body couldn't understand me for the life of itself; here I am, trying to stay unnerved but my stomach is doing somersaults. We're meeting our father for the first time. I tell myself. That is why. We didn't grow up around him since we were born, he raped our mothers and robbed them of a certain joy they deserved, and yet he gave us to them and they enjoyed it all they could. This is a natural reaction. 

I look at my aunt who is walking right before Ashley, her heels are clicking the floor, and even though she moves she is frigid. I wonder what did my father rob of my aunt? The fact that her house isn't her own and that she runs a prison? That he stole an important piece of something from her twin sister? Or was it Ashley would never be the same? From my recent observations, my aunt and my mother's ex-wife are like peas in a pod, and my aunt often had a protector role over Ashley. . . Like everyone has around her, uncle Alan, aunt Vera, and her wives and even Francis in her own weird way. Everyone cared about her and I could see why. 

My sister, Dallas, I couldn't read her mind for anything. I've tried looking at her face and she remained impassive at the face. I was holding her hand and I suppose that was all she needed to remain sane. She didn't budge even when we all passed the very intimidating guards; they held what looked to be titanium batons, daggers encased at the hip, and carried pens in their pockets for what I can only assume aren't really pens and they didn't dress anything like guards, really, no they wore all black and the clothing was fitted with a material I couldn't quite understand. They had the look of assassins and faces that resembled stones, they all looked the same. 

We passed another door so this had to be the last as my aunt scanned her way through and the last time was more hesitant than the last time. She sighed and took us through one last dark hall that had only been lit with thin beams of light going through the decorative cracks every five feet. This hall was way light in comparison, the ceiling was glowing white. My aunt stopped as we began to see the top of a glass wall and a shield obscuring the rest of the view but at the top, there were drawing made of rich, textured paper and charcoal hanging above, a closet with blankets folded on top and the walls were painted gray. 

It was truly a jail. 

I wondered what my father looked like. I knew what I looked like, I am handsome, I had loose angel-like curls and a strong physique . . . gray-ish eyes and they weren't from my mother either, her's were more of an amber, orange and green type. They're the most beautiful pair of eyes I've ever seen despite her being an unkind person with her unforgivable acts. 

My aunt used pressed her thumb into a scanning device, it wasn't long before I heard her hiss and pull her thumb back, sucking on it and blood smeared across her bottom lip. "you have to do this every time?" I asked. 

My aunt and Ashley looked back at me and nodded curtly. "we have three other people logged in to do this, we have to feed him throughout the day, watch him bathe and do  . . . his personal bidding-- you have one last chance to leave, you don't have to stay, you can go back home and forget what you've seen." my aunt gave us her final warning. 

I looked to my sister for her clearance and thought to reassure myself as well. I wanted this, I wanted to see this. . . this fucker.  My sister's face had finally changed and she had a look of sheer will and determination. We had the same idea in mind.