The Twenty-Second Post

I changed my sleeping tactics just a little. You see, with homes for sale, if they don't have one of those boxes hanging on the door knob, the keys to the house are usually hiding on the property somwhere to allow people to get in who need to. The same goes for new construction, whose doors usually aren't locked at all in the early stages of construction when there are walls, but not much else.

The plan was simple: find an open house, and stay there for the night. I was fortunate enough to find one that already had gas logs installed in the fireplace (very much like the ones I had seen only a few weeks ago in Mack's place), so I had heat, even. I pulled my car into the unfinished garage and stayed there last night. Granted, there was no net access in an unfinished house, but it served its purpose and I slept a little easier knowing that nobody knew where I was.

I'm finally up to the time where everything changed for me. I was angry at this Mack character for killing Tara. Even indirectly, he was guilty because whatever he said to her sent her into the spiral that made her take her own life. I wanted to know what he said to her, and then ... I was going to kill him. I was ready, too. I thought I was anyway.

After all, it had been a couple months since I first laid eyes on the man. I'd been following him ever since. Sometimes, he knew it, and other times I know he didn't. I had learned most of his movements; knew where he tended to stay; knew the majority of his schedule; and I was ready to take him down. All the grand injustices of the world were to be solved in this one deed. Yeah...

I had prepared too. Being a normal, law abiding citizen, getting a gun was very easy. I had no criminal record, and passed the background check with flying colors. I went to a firing range, and practised it until I could fire it consistently well. I keep it in the trunk of the car now.

It was December 13th. Only four days before my first post, but eight months after I'd first met Tara. Broken Arrow was dark. Most of the town had no power at all, and no firm time frame of it being fixed. I had been watching Mack's place the whole time, despite the cold weather. I had traced him to an actual house during one of the times when he wasn't paying attention, and this place wasn't the fortress I had expected. Then, I doubt he expected to be in any danger from anyone. After all, if your life is a secret, who would know where to find you?

Short answer: I would.

His house was dark, and had been for a couple of days. Apparently, this non-fortress of his wasn't outfitted with a generator or anything else, but I could see the fire burning within from those gas logs, so it may not have been a big issue for him. Some people don't need power as much as others, and he may have been fine without the juice on.

Mack lived in a typical residential neighborhood containing a modest mix of one and two story houses of what appeared to be mostly 3 or 4 bedrooms. Mack's was neither the largest nor the smallest house on the block, so he was probably comfortable enough in there. I never saw anyone else enter the house other than the occasional suited male here and there, so I doubted he had anyone else actually living there, so the house was all to himself.

As there were no lights, I was able to get around the house without any problems. I tried the front door, and to my surprise, it was unlocked. The door swung open very easily. Mack's voice drifted from within.

"Come in, [Atari]. I've been expecting you."

While I didn't exactly expect to surprise him, I also didn't expect him to know it was me before I'd even entered the room. I closed the door behind me and locked it.

"And leave the gun by the door, would you? I don't think we need the company."

Ok, I thought. What doesn't he know? I didn't leave the gun by the door, mind you. I shoved it in the back of my pants under my jacket before moving in, hands showing.

"How did you know," I asked him. He looked up at me and smiled.

"It was only a matter of time," he said. "I knew you had been following me obsessively, and I assumed at some point you had found this place. Clearly, you want to talk about Tara, so let's talk."

He turned to face me. He was sitting at a desk in what appeared to be a den. The room was lit by candles, and there was a set of gas logs in the fireplace giving heat to the room. Overall, it was remarkably warm and cozy. It was hard to see the corners of the room in the darkness, but they appeared to be alone.

"Please, have a seat," he said. So I did. "Clearly, you are interested in something, or you would not have taken such an obsessive interest in me. You chose your time wisely, though. I'll have to hand it to you. This power outage has been very beneficial to us as well in getting rid of a lot of troublemakers. You were one who has managed to elude us though."

"What is your interest in me," I had to ask. I had a million questions, but that happened to be the first one out. I knew who he was; he was my father, but at the same time, I wasn't ready to let on how much I knew, so I figured I'd let him tell.

"You're an orphan," Mack began. I started to say something, but he stopped me. "That wasn't the whole answer. You really need to learn some patience. You're an orphan by the choice of your biological parents. I assume Tara did tell you that your parents worked for The Mist, correct?"

I nodded.

"Right, well, we wanted to make sure you were well taken care of, so we had people watch over you in addition to the fine people we chose as your adoptive parents. But we wanted to know how you were progressing as you grew, so we kept tabs on you throughout your life. As you made your choices, we wanted to ensure you made the right ones, so we put people in your life to help you. Sometimes, you followed our guidance; sometimes you didn't.

"We noted your mechanical abilities at a young age, and had someone recommend a computer to your parents. They got one. Your computer teacher in school was one of us. When you chose the military, we acted quickly to have the recruiter show you the computer jobs. We influenced your scholarships in college to get you through it. We even helped you get your current job -- or at least, the job you recently threw away to look for me.

"All of this we did so you would be successful. It was best your mother and I could do for you."

I wanted to know about Tara, but I figured I should build into it a little at a time, so I decided to get the answer to another of my life's questions.

"Who was Chanda?"

Mack sighed and shook his head. "Chanda was the person in Colorado Springs that we had to keep an eye on you there. She was never supposed to make contact. After watching you for six months, she became infatuated, and broke the barrier between you. We learned of it fairly quickly, and wanted the contact broken, but neither of you would have it, so we let it play out, knowing full well that once your tour was done there, you'd probably return here... and you did.

"We counted our blessings and assumed it could have gone much worse."

"Why give me up," I asked. It was a random question, but I wanted to know as much as I could before getting to the main question.

"We were busy. Your mother and I were wrapped up in this group and we had a lot of work to do. We weren't ready for kids right then, and didn't know what to do with you. We decided to give you to a family who wanted a child, so you would have a good life free from all this mess."

"What did you tell Tara," I blurted. Maybe if I'd let him finish his answer, I would have found out anyway, but the question was out there, and he looked at me for a long moment before he sat down and sighed. He stared at the ground for a long time as if trying to muster the words to tell me.

It was a hard answer. He did tell me what it was, and the fact that it took so long doesn't surprise me now. But I was less patient then. "Well," I said.

Mack looked at me. He smirked. "You have no idea, do you," he asked. "Secrets are how we have lived our lives, and secrets have destroyed them. We carry our burdens every day, and keep ourselves out of the public eye to keep everyone safe. We tried to give you everything you needed behind the scenes, and you never knew. No one ever knew."

"You're not answering the question," I said.

"I am," he told me, "but again, you're not being patient. Maybe it's a family trait. None of you will just wait." He sighed. "We sent Tara to get to know you."

"Well, she did. What's the problem? Why did she-"

"You need to stop interrupting," he said. "You need to be patie-"

"I'm tired of being patient," I said. I stood and pulled the gun out of my belt and pointed it at him. He looked at me without fear.

"You've never shot a person in your life," he said. "You have no idea what it means to pull that trigger."

"I will find out if you don't tell me what you told her," I said. "Whatever you said to her killed her. She came back to our apartment and was like a shell of a woman. She stared blankly into space. She refused to eat. She wouldn't touch me any more. What did you tell her?"

"Son," Mack said, "I sent Tara to meet you because I wanted you to know each other. I was hoping we could be something of a family."

I processed this for a moment. I didn't want to believe what it seemed to imply. I faltered, but I didn't move. Mack laughed softly.

"After we had given you up, your mother was miserable. We waited several years and had another child. This time, we kept the baby. That baby was a girl."

He looked at me, as if waiting for me to "get it." I was getting it. I wasn't accepting it, but I was getting it. My mind had already processed what he was telling me, but I was refusing to take what he was giving.

"You're lying," I insisted. Mack laughed again.

"I wish I were," he said. "When Tara came to me ranting about how Chanda had contacted you, I told her everything. She couldn't handle it."

"Oh my God," I said. I sat down and Mack looked at me, his eyes still smiling. Why did he think this was funny?

"I wanted you to be close," he said, "not that close." He laughed again. The man had gone hysterical, I thought. I watched him for a long moment. Then, without any warning, he snatched the gun from my hand.

"Now," he said quite seriously, "let's have no more of this gun pointing nonsense. You may well be my son, but you have created a lot of trouble in the organization and we don't take kindly to trouble."

He put the gun down on his desk. I looked at him.

"You let her die," I said.

"She made her own choices," he said. "He neither killed her, nor allowed her to live."

"Allowed her to live," I asked incredulously. How could he talk this way about his own daughter? Like she meant nothing to him. "Your daughter killed herself because you kept all your precious secrets to yourself. Doesn't that mean anything?"

"Life goes on," he said. "There is no use in dwelling on the past."

"Her life didn't go on," I said. "You could have done something to help her."

"So could you," he said. "Why didn't you take her into a hospital? Why didn't you insist she eat? Why didn't you take care of her? You were supposed to be her lover, yet you did nothing to save her either."

I stared at him. He had a point. I had played as much a part in her death as he did. I was guilty too. I had slept with my sister and played a part in killing her. And this person who claimed to be our father didn't care. With two crimes under my belt, what the hell was one more. I jumped to my feet and snatched the gun from the desk again.

He looked at me and smiled. "Come now, we've gone over this," he said.

"Yes, we have," I said, "and I think I've heard what I needed to hear. I accept that I helped kill her. You secrets allowed me to commit incest. Why shouldn't I kill you?"

"Do you think it will help," he asked.

I pulled the trigger without giving him an answer.