Chapter 16
A (Not So) Divine Intervention
Luz
I looked at the military base in the distance, whining internally. Why, oh, why did I agree to this? Why did I agree to visit my ex-family home when I swore to myself that I would never go back again? Because my father said the magic word, the only word in the world that would make me change my mind.
How did it happen? I answered a phone call from an unknown number because I was an idiot. Also, I hoped it was a call from Bazooka.
“Hello?”
A moment of hesitation on the other side told me I was going to regret this.
“Hello, son.”
I was about to hang up when he said the magic word.
“This is about Detective Bradley.”
I returned the phone to my ear.
“You have ten seconds to explain.”
“I would love to, but I can’t do it over the phone. It needs to be done in person. If you care about him, you will listen to what I have to say.”
Goddamn him.
“Is he in trouble?” I said, biting on my nail.
“I hope not. Look, I can send a chauffeur to your place. He will give you a ride here and back, but it needs to happen now.”
“Where is here?”
“Your home.”
“The place where you live is not my home.”
“Please, son. Your mother would like to see you. Do it for her at least.”
“If this is some kind of ploy—” I threatened when he cut in.
“It’s not. If you care about Detective Bradley, please come.”
I didn’t trust a word coming out of his lying mouth, but I had no other choice but to go. It was how I found myself on a dusty road that led to the Zablonsky family house, feeling like a lamb led to the slaughter.
The house was situated on the northern side of the Fort Smitsville military base, surrounded by meadows and lakes. It came with a lovely backyard, a luscious garden, an outdoor pool, and a guest house. It would have been a comfortable place to live if it weren’t for my father. And my brothers. And on occasion, my mother.
As soon as I got out of the car, the front door opened, revealing a man dressed in uniform. I rolled my eyes. Of course, the soldier would be here to welcome me instead of my father. Then I saw my mother hurrying toward me with tears in her eyes.
“Mikolaj,” she said, throwing herself into my arms. “I missed you so much.”
I hugged her, reminding myself that she wasn’t all that bad. She just couldn’t stand up to my father, not that I could blame her for that. Not many people dared to contradict him, unlike yours truly.
“Czesc, mamo,” I murmured as she hugged me tight.
She felt small in my arms, much smaller than I could remember. She still smelled like apple pie, reminding me of my childhood—the happy parts of it that were few and far between.
“Look at you,” she said, pulling away and wiping away her tears. “You grew up. You’re not my little boy anymore.”
