Liberated

by Abi Ketner

  “I’m hallucinating,” I whisper. “I do that sometimes. I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not.”

  But the eyes staring back at me … are unmistakably turquoise. I’m not imagining it. He shakes his head, and his grip on my hands feels very, very real. I’m breathless, and my heart’s racing. If this is how Wilson plans to torture me, it’s having the opposite effect.

  I inhale and exhale through my nose. “Your daughter … What’s her name?”

  He answers without breaking eye contact. “Lexi.”

  A gasp tears out of me, my head shaking in disbelief. “Daddy,” I beg desperately, “please get out of my head.” His eyes widen, and a smile stretches across his entire face. But it isn’t possible. How could he possibly be alive, after all this time? I’ve seen him many times since his death, in my dreams, in my hallucinations. I’ve even talked to him—in my prayers. I know my father is dead. “I wish this was real,” I moan, “I wish you were really here with me, because I need you now more than ever.”

  “Lexi,” he gasps, “oh, my dear sweet girl.”

  “No ...” I hiccup. “You died.”

  “No, darling, I didn’t. They lied.” He licks his cracked lips. “I swear, sweetheart, you’re not dreaming. It’s me. Your father.” He squeezes my hands so tight my knuckles are crushed together, but I don’t care. His face is so earnest, his stare so piercing, that it hits me like a train. This is definitely my father. His eyes don’t lie, they never have. I have to gulp back my emotions which pile up so fast I’m not sure how to express myself. My mouth goes instantly dry. I begin to speak and then press my lips together. My hands feel clammy in his grasp.

  I shake my head. “Why? How did this happen?”

  “The Commander wanted the entire world to believe I was dead. He faked my death.”

  “Why y-you? What d-did you do to d-deserve this?” I stutter, and my legs begin wobbling. “Why didn’t they tell us the truth? They didn’t have to say you died!”

  “I know, I know,” he says earnestly. “But we can’t change what they did. What matters now is you’re here, and we’re together again.”

  “All this time,” I whisper. “Were you here? Locked up in this wretched place?”

  “Yes. But I’ve managed to keep going because of my love for you and our family.”

  My stomach contracts, and I chew the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. How could he have endured this long—and for what? To find out his son and wife are both dead, and I’m stuck in here with him? Telling him about Mom and Keegan is going to be like plunging a knife through his heart. My emotions threaten to drown me in a succession of waves. I tell myself to keep him talking about something other than our family, but his words keep spilling out. The words he’s been holding in for years.

  “Look at you,” he says. “You’ve grown into the strong, beautiful woman I knew you’d become. The guards talk and I’ve heard parts of what you’ve overcome and some of your accomplishments. I am so proud of you. Your compassion and heart of gold makes me love you that much more.”

  “I learned from the best,” I say through tears. I can’t tell if they’re tears of joy or sadness. “I always dreamed of being as good as you.”

  Seeing my father in this condition is tearing me into shreds. He’s fragile, so fragile it looks as if a simple breeze might snap his neck. The skin hangs from his face, and his once vibrant eyes are sunken, surrounded by black circles. His shoulders are bony, emaciated, and his posture deformed. His curved legs and crooked fingers and nose make him look more like a ghost than a human. Without the color of his eyes, there’s no way I’d recognize him. He’s clearly been the victim of endless abuse and the refusal of medical attention. I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. I can’t tell him the truth about our family. Not now. He’s too fragile.

  “You’re wearing the ring I gave you,” he says, looking at my finger.

  “Of course, Dad.” I swallow back tears. “I never take it off. It’s where I draw my strength from.”

  “I want nothing more”—he chokes, his nostrils flaring—“than to hold you in my arms right now.”

  “You have no idea how much I need it.” I reach through the bars and touch his face. He turns his head, leaning into my palm. “Dad,” I say softly, “Wilson’s going to kill me. He wants me for some reason, and once he’s gotten whatever he needs, that’s it for me.”

  “He’s not taking you away from me. Not this time.”

  The feeling of elation evaporates as we talk about Wilson. Fear plants a seed in me, and it begins sprouting. “You can’t stop him,” I say. “No one can. Wilson does what he wants, when he wants, and he doesn’t care how many people die in the process.”

  “Lexi, stop,” Dad interrupts. “I know a lot about the man … Trust me, I do. But please don’t speak his name, all right?” He looks me in the eye for a moment. His words remind me hauntingly of Sutton’s. Trust me, they both keep saying, but nothing seems to be real, and I have little energy left for faith. “Let’s not waste any more time on him,” Dad continues resolutely. “Instead, tell me all that I’ve missed.”

  Dread fills me, and I want to redirect him, but his eyes bore into mine, and it’s hard to hide the truth. He was always the one who could read me best. “You’re right, as always,” I say, but it comes out flat.

  He smirks. “I’m your father, of course I’m always right. I love you, Lexi nugget.” I lean my head against the bars, and he manages to kiss my forehead.

  “I used to hate when you called me that.” I laugh through my tears. “And now I kind of love it.”

  “The name was fitting.”

  “I was a newborn.”

  “Yes, and my, were you jaundiced.”

  “Just because I had golden-yellow skin for a few days of my life, you felt the need to carry the name on for years?”

  “That, and you’ve always been my ray of sunshine. No matter how dark the day, you managed to shine through.”

  “Okay, I’m your nugget.”

  “You look so much like your mother. It’s amazing.”

  The smile freezes on my face, and I have to work to hold it there. “Yeah, I guess we resemble each other … sort of. But lucky for me, I have your beautiful eyes and loving heart.” He looks at me strangely, and I turn my head away to stare at something on the wall that isn’t there. “I’m biased,” I murmur. “What can I say? I’m a Daddy’s girl.”

  Dad shakes his head. “Your mother—how is she? Where is she?” His words pour out, his tears unsuppressed. He holds my hands so tight, like he’s afraid I’m going to leave him. I don’t want to tell him the truth, any of it. Because that makes it all real, and I don’t want it to be. But staring into his searching eyes, which look so much like my own, I can’t hide from him.

  It hits me. My father is actually standing before me, grasping my hands, speaking to me. I don’t want this to be our reality, his reality. All these years, he’s been here when we thought he was dead. All this time, he was living and breathing—and alone. He mentioned hearing things I’ve done, but does he even know all that’s happened in the outside world while he’s been in here? I can’t bring myself to talk about all the pain and misery Mom’s put me through, and I don’t want to break my father any more than he’s already been broken.

  “Lexi?”

  “I can’t,” I whisper, dropping my stare to the floor, where a cockroach skitters around my foot. “I can’t hurt you.”

  “So it’s true,” he says, “she’s gone.” He collapses forward, his head pressing against the bars as tears pour down his face.

  “You knew?”

  “Wilson used her to get information out of her. When his sick tactics didn’t work, he injected her with the virus.” His voice turns bitter. “I thought he was bluffing, but I should’ve known …” His back heaves as he cries angry tears. “My wife, who believed in me and protected me, is dead.”

  “Dad.” I pull his chin up with my hand. “You can’t blam
e yourself. She loved you and made those choices because she loved you.”

  “But because of my actions, my family was dragged into this mess.” His regret is written all over his face.

  “No, we made our own decisions,” I say, for my benefit as much as his. “There’s no room for regrets.”

  “What about Keegan? Did he decide? Or did he feel pressured?”

  “He wanted to honor you. He left, and I know he never second-guessed it.”

  “I wrote you both letters, which I debated for years after. I don’t know what I was thinking, asking you to follow through for me. You both were too young.” His eyes remain guarded but hopeful. My stomach drops. He really has no idea what’s transpired in the years since he was swallowed up in this dungeon.

  I have to break it to him. I swallow the lump in my throat and prepare to shatter his heart.

  “Keegan loved you, and what he accomplished in your name should only bring you pride and joy,” I begin. “I am so proud of him, and you will be too, Dad. He fought so hard, but at the very end of the revolt, he was shot. We couldn’t save him.”

  Dad’s tormented gaze falls to the cold cement as he wails.

  “As he was dying, he-he was talking with you,” I press on, “and that’s when I knew you were dead but still with us.” I pause. “Maybe it’s what he needed to see … He needed to see you, and somehow he did. He went peacefully … I held him in my arms. I was with my brother, I was with your son, as he left this world. I never left his side, and we talked until he stopped breathing.”

  “No! Not Keegan. Not my son, my beautiful son!”

  I grip his hands in mine, trying to give what little warmth I possess to him. “I’m so sorry, Dad. Had I gotten to him sooner …” Now, I’m breaking down, remembering Keegan’s last words. If only he were here to see Dad, alive and talking. Dad brushes my cheek with his fingers, agony crossing his face. “I-I held Mom as she was dying, too,” I whisper. Grief flashes across Dad’s face anew. “And-and Keegan came for her to take her home,” I rush on. “She was thrilled to see him. Without hesitation, she went with him. They’re together now, and we need to find some kind of peace in that. I’ve lost friends along the way, too, and I’m not losing anyone else.”

  I’ve never seen him cry so much, and it makes my vision even more bleary. “It’s just you and me, kiddo,” he whispers.

  “But death is a blessing when you live here,” I say. “I’ve only gotten through knowing they’re in a better place and they’re safe.” I’m reliving Keegan’s death, and it’s time to change the subject before I go off the deep end. “Thank you,” I say, “for my letters.” Wiping away my tears, I try to compose myself for his sake.

  “If I could go back, I wouldn’t have written them,” he says, dropping his head. “Then maybe they would still be alive.”

  “Don’t say that,” I say firmly, “those letters changed everything for me. At that time, I was in such a dark place, but reading your words shined a light so bright that they brought me back to life. You gave me purpose. You gave me the desire to never stop fighting. If it wasn’t for your letters, I wouldn’t be here with you today… And I know Keegan felt the same.” I make him look at me, emphasizing each word so he knows I’m serious. “The Commander and Wilson are evil men who would’ve done this anyway. It’s not your fault. You’re a hero to me. Still.”

  “Why did you ever look up to me?” he whispers.

  “You’re a leader, therefore you gained followers.” I smile. “But not Keegan and not me. We weren’t your followers … You made us want to be leaders, just like you.”

  “But how?”

  “It wasn’t what you did for us when we were children, but what you taught us. We learned by watching, listening to your words, and by your example. You might not have known we were watching you, but we always were. It was your actions, your kind heart, and your determination to do whatever you could to help others. When you told us we could overcome anything short of death, we carried that in our hearts. All these years. I am who I am today because of my father. You … have always been and always will be my hero.” I take a breath. “So please don’t give up now, okay? Because that’ll ruin your image.”

  “Anything for you, nugget.”

  “I’m afraid I’m dreaming,” I say. “And when I open my eyes you’re not going to be here.”

  His eyes glisten from crying. It’s no use fighting them. My own streak down my face. I don’t bother wiping them away or trying to mask my pain. I let the words come out, because I think he needs to hear them. “It was really, really hard for us after you died. And the Commander, what he did—what he did to me—well, it was just awful.” My voice breaks, and I can’t finish my sentence. “But here you are, and I’ve gotten a piece of my life back.”

  “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to stop him,” my father says, his anger evident. He pulls his hands away from mine and pounds on the bars separating our cells. “He made sure to tell me every bloody detail. He knew how much I loved you. How much I wanted to protect you from him, from this world. So he used you, and your life, as a means to try and break me.” He stops, his eyes looking into the distance.

  “It’s okay, Dad. I’m fine now. I’ve moved on.”

  “Still, I blame myself,” he says. “And you’ll never forget what you went through. But I’m relieved you’ve managed to cope somehow.”

  “Blaming, shaming, claiming … whatever, it’s all crap. I don’t blame you, so you shouldn’t either.”

  “You’re my daughter,” he says firmly. “It’s a burden I’ll always carry.”

  “And you’re my dad, who I’ve loved every day of my life.”

  A moment of silence passes as he ponders that. Then he drops his hands in defeat and slumps against the bars. His body’s so much frailer and more delicate than I remember. He’s survived so much, only to have it come crashing down on top of him. Why do pain and hope always have to go together?

  “Sutton,” I say, remembering his letter, “does he know you’re here?” Maybe that’s what was in the section that was smeared.

  “If he did, I would’ve thought he’d have told you. So my guess would be no. But we agreed, should anything happen to me, he’d stay in touch with your mother, which obviously isn’t possible any longer.”

  “Okay,” I say quickly, “before it’s too late, here’s the plan—”

  “Plan? Nugget, we’re locked behind bars.”

  “Yeah, I’m aware of that, Dad, thanks,” I say. “Look, I have friends out there who are working on a rescue plan.” I wince when I say friends, because it reminds me of Cole, and he was so much more than that. “A-at first it was meant for Sutton, but for obvious reasons, things have changed.” I have to stop and collect myself.

  My dad must notice, because he brings my hand to his lips and kisses it. I can’t tell if he doubts the rescue or not, but I don’t have the strength to ask him because hope and faith are all I’ve got to hang on to. And him. I’ll hold on to him.

  “Are you okay?” he asks gently.

  “No, I’m not.” I shake my head, trying to stem my tears. “Wilson’s hurt me by killing and kidnapping people I love.” My father reaches through the bars and tries to comfort me. It’s awkward, but it’s what I’ve missed and needed for so long.

  “Our family’s given so much to this,” he says. “I’ve asked myself multiple times if I made the right decisions, or if I dragged you into more than you can handle. I’ve gone over it a thousand times in my head, because God knows I’ve had the time. I’m so, so sorry, Lexi, for pulling you in. As your dad, all I wanted was for you and Keegan to have a better life.”

  I reach for him, pulling him as close as the bars allow. “We never doubted your intentions,” I promise him. “We just kept holding on. It wasn’t just about what you wanted, or what we wanted. In the end, it’s about what is best for everyone, to end this mess. And as much as I wanted to die, you’ve given me a reason to live.” I blink. “Thank you fo
r Sutton too, Dad. In a way, he’s been a father to me because he protected me and Keegan as best he could. You chose the right person to watch over us.”

  My dad pulls back, his eyes full of hope instead of the anger I saw moments ago. I smooth a tuft of his hair away from his face and place my hands on his hollow cheekbones. He swallows, struggling to compose himself.

  “I owe Sutton my life,” he finally says. “He’s the most loyal human being there is. He’s been there for me, for you guys, and he loves us like family.” He takes a deep breath. His hands move to my shoulders, and I feel my strength leaving me. “I’m afraid to let you go,” he says.

  I laugh, tears spilling down my cheeks. “That’s exactly what I was just thinking.”

  “But you should lie down,” he says.

  “I’m old enough now to make my own decisions.” I chuckle. “I’m staying right here, with you.”

  “You’re pulling that card with me, huh?”

  I shrug with a smile. “Dad? Why does Wilson want me? Do you know?”

  Just then, the sound of jangling keys interrupts us. Feet stomp down the hallway at a fast pace. They don’t stop until they’re standing in front of my cell. I’m afraid to look, because I can only guess who’ll be standing there, and I just want to hold on to my dad a little longer. The ugly voice reaches my ears before I acknowledge his presence.

  “Getting reacquainted, are we? How touching.” Wilson’s usual evil smile disappears quickly. “Let’s get on with it.” He directs the guard standing next to him to open the door to my cell. After activating the pin code, they push open the door.

  “Leave her alone,” my dad demands. “Do whatever you want with me, but keep my daughter out of this.”

  “Mr. Hamilton, there’s no need for such hostility,” Wilson says. “This won’t hurt a bit. You have my word.”

  “Your words are nothing but lies,” I say, peeling myself away from my dad, who stubbornly hangs on. Wilson holds up an electric razor, and my stomach sinks. “What are you going to do with that?”