Face Your Fears

Chapter 17

"This is something I have to do," I said slowly, deliberating. "I just...I can't have this hanging over my head anymore. I have to do this."

"Archer..." Mom sucked in a breath and covered her face with her hands, collecting herself. It was several moments before she spoke again. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" 

No. Absolutely not.

"Yes, Mom, I do. Trust me."

"Okay." She dropped her hands from her face and heaved a heavy sigh, looked up at me with shimmering eyes. "Okay. If you're positive, Archer."

"I'm positive."

I reached out and pulled Mom into my arms, hugged her tightly for a few moments. When I pulled away, she gave me a small smile and patted my cheek in a maternal sort of way.

"Be safe, okay, moroso? Don't let whatever he says worm its way into your mind, alright? He's not worth it and you're better than that."

Mom was right. I just had to convince myself that I would be able to do that. Words had been affecting me more than I would've liked lately. 

"Thanks, Mom," I murmured. "A lot."

"Keys are on the counter upstairs. And, Archer? Let me know what happens."

"I will."

I left the coffee house half an hour later, armed with a bag of fresh pastries and other goodies and a mind slightly more at ease. Sort of. I was glad that Mom hadn't gotten hysterical when I told her I was visiting St. Pierre. But she might be hysterical if I tell her the pleasant conversation bound to happen between St. Pierre and I. 

I tossed the food into the passenger seat as I clambered in the SUV and took a moment to collect myself. 

Was I doing the right thing?

Probably.

Was it going to turn out in my favor?

Definitely not. 

I blew out a sigh and turned over the engine, pulled out of the alleyway and slipped into traffic. I had a long, long trip ahead of me. It was going to be a God given miracle if I managed to make it out of this alive. 

I found myself slipping into an apathetic mood as I drove. It was hard to keep my attention on the road. My thoughts kept drifting to the last time I'd seen St. Pierre. 

 It had been at his trial fifteen years ago, right after I'd been forced to take the stand to testify. It had been a miracle in itself that I'd even managed to speak with the way he had stared at me with those soulless black eyes.

Oh, I really hoped I was going to be able to handle this. 

It was nearing two in the afternoon by the time I reached USP Canaan. I was ordered to show my ID at the station at the front gates, announcing that I was here to visit my father, and that yes, I was on St. Pierre's list of approved visitors.

I parked as far away as possible from the main facility and walked up to the front doors, hands shoved in my pockets, head bowed. 

My heart was pounding erratically against my chest as I stepped through the main doors. I thought I was going to break out in a nervous sweat at any moment. 

Was I absolutely positive I could do this?

No. No, I wasn't. But I didn't really have a choice, did I?

I could feel the hardened stares of every guard on duty watching me as I walked up to the service desk, like I was some sort of criminal myself. 

The woman in uniform behind the front desk looked up from her computer as I approached and gave me a bland look.