I turned and looked behind us. Two men were standing by the back door of our house, the one that we'd just run out of. One was holding a small pistol by his waist. The other had a rifle cocked up against his shoulder, aimed at the ground in front of us. “I'd suggest not running any farther,” the man with the pistol said. His friendly tone didn't stop me from hating him. “Why don't you come inside with us?” he said. He was an ugly man, short and stocky with a bulbous nose. The other man kept the rifle up near his shoulder, pointing it in our direction and making it impossible for me to see his face. I walked back the ten paces toward the house. I didn't have a choice. Then I walked past the two men and into the house. I tightened my grip on you as we walked past them. I had no idea what they were planning on doing with us but I wasn't about to let you go, not without a fight. I pressed you into my chest, trying to make you feel like you had nothing to be afraid of. The two men followed us inside the house.
It was much cooler inside, out from under the desert sun. Once we got inside the house, I looked around. Everything seemed to be in order. There was no evidence of any fighting or struggle. The scene was eerily calm. Your father was sitting on the couch in the living room. From where I was standing, I could see another man sitting in a chair on the other side of the coffee table, facing your father. Two other men were standing by the front door. I recognized them as the men from behind the stained glass by their shape alone. They both had guns. The two men who followed you and me inside stopped just inside of the back door and stood there. Together, they had all the exits covered.
The man sitting across from your father looked up at me when we walked inside. I felt a chill run down my spine. Then he looked at you. Everything I needed to know, I saw it in that look. I saw hatred in that look. The man scared me. He turned back toward your father. “Come on, Joe,” the man said, feigning disappointment, “you really thought that we wouldn't post anyone by the back door?”
“I didn't realize it was you, Jared,” your father replied. “If I knew it was you, I'd have known that you would cover all your bases. Not everyone is as meticulous as you.” Your father sounded despondent. I listened for any hope in his voice but heard none. I looked at the man sitting across the table from your father. I knew the name Jared. It was the name of your father's oldest friend. Your father had told me stories about how he and Jared grew up together. I wanted that to give me hope. It didn't. Not after the look that Jared gave you. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
“So there's the cause of all our problems,” Jared said to your father, pointing at you like a witness identifying a murderer in a courtroom. He looked almost silly, pointing at a baby like that.
“His name's Christopher,” your father said. “Christopher Jude.” I could tell what your father was trying to do. He was trying to break through to his old friend.
“I really don't care what his name is, Joe. You shouldn't either.” Jared's words were flat and emotionless. Jared reached into the waistband of his pants and pulled out a tarnished silver revolver. He placed it on the coffee table in front of him before looking up at your father again. When he looked at your father, all the hatred in his face was gone. It was replaced by something else, something more compassionate. “He's one of them, Joe.” Jared spoke in almost a whisper, loud enough for me to hear him but quiet enough for your father to understand that the words were meant only for him. Jared was trying to break through to your father too.
“He's my son, Jared,” your father said. Even in that moment, surrounded by strange men with guns, those words made me feel strong, but only for a moment. Jared nodded his head. I thought that maybe he was going to agree with your father.
“I always knew that one of you two was going to get into trouble,” Jared said, shaking his head. “I just always figured it would be Michael.” He laughed for a second and then stopped laughing as quickly as he'd started. “You still have time, Joe. I made sure of that. They haven't written you off completely. Give me the kid. Give me the kid and you can still come back into the fold.”
“I can't do that, Jared.” Now your father was whispering too.
Jared leaned further in toward your father, placing his elbows on his knees. “I really thought that once you had the kidâonce you actually saw himâyou'd come to your senses. I thought that once you realized what your kid was, you'd come back to us.” Jared began to chew on his lower lip. “That's why we waited, Joe. That's why I've been protecting you all this time.” My skin rose when I heard those words, before I even understood what they meant. “I just thought that if I gave you time, you'd come to your senses.”
“So it was you that saved me in Charleston?” your father asked.
“You think you would have made it this far without me protecting you, Joe?” Jared responded. He almost looked like he was about to start laughing again, but he didn't. “Come on, Joe!” Jared raised his voice. He made a fist and slammed it on his knee. “Do you realize the risks I took to save you? We took three of their men out protecting you in Charleston. They accused me of using you as bait, of using you to draw them in. Do you realize what the penalty for that is, Joe? I risked everything for you.” I couldn't tell who sounded more distraught, Jared or your father. “You're my best friend. I just kept saying, âGive him some time. He'll come around.'” Slowly, it all started to come together in my mind. These people in our house, they were the reason why we made it out of Charleston together. They had been protecting us so that they could come back and take you from us.
“So was this all still part of your Fixer job?”
“Don't do that to me, Joe,” Jared said. “You know that this goes way beyond that.” Jared looked out the open window for a moment. “You know you're fucking killing your mother?” Jared said to your father.
Joe just nodded in response. I knew that he had already written your grandmother off. “What about Michael?” your father asked, wondering about his and Jared's other best friend, the third member of their trio.
“Michael doesn't get it, Joe,” Jared replied. “He busted off when he heard you were on the run. You confused the hell out of that kid. He doesn't know what to do without you.”
“So he's on the run too?” Some hope returned to your father's voice.
“No. Nobody's chasing Michael. He didn't do anything wrong. If I bring you back, he'll come back in a second. It'll be just like old times.” Jared put his hand on the gun on the table. He pushed it to the midpoint of the table so that it was as close to your father as it was to him. I didn't understand if it was supposed to be a peace offering or a challenge. I still don't understand the rituals. I looked away from the gun. Everyone was too calm. I wanted to scream. You had fallen asleep in my arms. The sky outside was turning a dark pink as the sun went down. Long gray shadows began to emerge throughout the house.
“So what do you want from me, Jared?” your father asked.
“I just want you to do what's right,” Jared answered. “It's just the kid, Joe. You can keep the girl.” Jared motioned toward me with a nod of his head. I wanted to call him a bastard. I wanted to ask him who the hell he thought he was but I didn't dare make a sound. “This is for your own good, Joe. I've known you a long time. I love you. I'm trying to help you.” Hearing the way Jared said those words, I almost believed them myself.
Your father rubbed his hands together. “I don't want my son involved in any of this, Jared. I don't want him to grow up to be a killer.” Your father shook his head. His voice was full of a resolve that I had never heard before. “So if I hand Christopher over, what are you going to do with him?”
Jared leaned back in his chair. He knew the answer to this one. “I'm going to put him where he belongs. I'm going to hand him over to the other side. I'm going to follow the rules, Joe, just like you were supposed to.”
“And when he turns eighteen?” your father asked, knowing the answer before he asked the question.
Jared shook his head. He knew that your father knew what he was going to say. “I'll kill the evil little fucker myself,” Jared replied. I gasped when I heard those words. Jared heard me and looked toward us with nothing but contempt. That look told me what Jared thought of me. I had corrupted his best friend. I'd stolen his brother.
“No” was all your father responded, shaking his head from side to side as he did so.
“No, what?” Jared asked.
“No, you're not taking my son. No, my son's not going to be part of this War.” Your father spoke the words like an incantation, like they could give him some control. But they were just words. No matter what your father hoped, there was no magic in them.
“It kills me to do this, Joe, but I've done everything I can for you. We're taking him. One day you'll thank me for this.” Jared leaned forward and picked the gun back off the table. He stood up, tucking the gun into the back of his pants. “I gave you a chance to do this the right way. When you come to your senses, my door will be open. Hopefully, I will still be able to talk them into letting you back in.” Jared walked toward us. “Take the kid,” he ordered the others, pointing at you again. Two of the four gunmen stepped toward me. One of the others lifted his gun and pointed it at me. I suddenly realized what was happening. They were going to literally pry you from my arms.
“Wait,” your father yelled before anyone reached me. Your father spoke with such authority that everyone in the room stopped for a moment. “Before you walk away, are you going to apologize to me, Jared?” Your father stared straight ahead at the wall. He didn't look at Jared when he spoke. He didn't look at us either. I thought he had given up.
“For what?” Jared asked, clearly believing that he had nothing to apologize for.
“For ripping my heart out,” your father replied. They were the saddest words I've ever heard spoken.
“You first, friend,” Jared replied with equal force. Then he gave a quick nod to his partners and they started to walk toward me again. The first man to reach me grabbed my arms with a grip like a vice. He stepped behind me and pulled my elbows together behind my back. As he pulled my arms apart, my grip on you loosened. I could feel you begin to slip from my fingers. Right before you fell from my grip, one of the other men grabbed you. He held you in front of him, not the way you hold a child, but the way you hold a wild animal.
“Don't let them do this, Joseph!” I cried out. I didn't know what else to do. “You're supposed to be his friend,” I shrieked at Jared. I was crying now. I didn't know what I would do if I lost you.
“I am his friend,” Jared whispered to me. He sounded angry now, like he wasn't used to not getting his way. Once they had you out of my arms, the first man let me go. My legs wouldn't hold me up any longer. My muscles didn't work. I fell in a heap on the floor. They were taking you and I didn't know how to stop them.
The sky had gotten dark outside. No one had turned on any of the lights in the house so it was becoming dark inside, too, making it difficult to see. I looked over toward the couch where your father had been sitting. I wanted to curse him for letting this happen. I wanted to scream at him for not stopping them from taking you, but I would have been screaming at an empty couch. Your father was gone. Jared and his henchmen were making their way toward the door. The man with the rifle was in front. The man holding you was right behind him. I looked over again at the empty couch and then I scanned the room to see if I could see where your father had gone. My eyes caught the deep purple of the sky and I noticed the open window. Your father was already outside. He was waiting for them. I wanted to do something. I wanted to help him somehow but I had no idea what your father was going to do.
The man with rifle opened the front door. He stepped outside. The man holding you walked out after him. I could barely see the door through the backs of the other three men. I heard a sound, though, a deep, guttural sound of surprise. Then the front door swung closed. Jared and two of the men were still inside. Everyone just stood there for a second, confused. Then the sound of gunshots came from right outside the front door. I held my breath and listened, trying to figure out what the gunshots meant. I didn't dare breathe. I just listened and hoped. First there was silence. Then I heard you crying. I never thought I'd be so happy to hear you cry. Better still, your crying was getting quieterânot because it was stopping but because somehow you were getting farther away. It had to be your father. The henchmen would have come back into the house. Your father was abandoning me, leaving me in the house with these three horrible men and I never loved him more in my life. He was saving you.
I looked up at the three men who were left inside. The two henchmen still didn't seem to understand what was going on. They reached for their weapons before opening the door again. Only Jared remained calm. He reached for the front door and turned the knob. As he opened the door I could hear a car start out on the street. Your father was only seconds from escaping with you. I got to my feet. All I could think to do to help you escape was to make a mad rush at Jared. He stepped outside and, as he did, I ran toward the front door, past the two befuddled men standing inside. Jared had stepped onto the front porch. I could see that he was bending down to pick something up. I was outside now too. I knew that I had to try to tackle Jared, to hold him down, to keep him from doing whatever it was he was planning to do. But then I made my one mistake. Before I jumped at him, I looked up. I couldn't help it. I wanted to see you and your father. I wanted to know that the two of you were safe. I thought that it might be the last time I ever saw either of you. Your father was in the front seat of our car. I couldn't see you but I knew that you had to be lying on the seat next to him.