LOLA

 

When people think about people who’ve faked their deaths, I’d bet that they imagine people like me hide out in another country or hide out somewhere deep in the forest or something. After all, the reason most people fake their own death is because they’re trying to hide from something or more often, someone.

Over the years, my father has taught me many things—both good and bad—but one of the lessons I’ve taken to heart is that the best place one could possibly hide is in plain sight. So after the explosion at the warehouse, I dragged my father all the way to the hills of Hollywood into one of his long-forgotten estates. The property is buried so deep in paperwork and anonymous buyers that I’m certain nobody looking for us could ever find us, and that’s assuming anybody is looking for us at all.

After all, we’re dead.

Through my connections with the appropriate authorities, I was able to have death certificates forged for both me and my father. I did everything right to give us a much-needed chance at a new life. But I should have known better. I should have known that he could never change because he doesn’t want to change.

And thus, on the eve of his re-emergence back into society, I’m putting together a plan that will send him and his nefarious associates into the grave once and for all. It’s only then that I’ll be able to finally be free from his grasp of corruption and evil.

Keys jangle in my hands as I close the car door behind me—a slick black ride—and make my way across the narrow driveway and step onto the front porch.

I take a moment to myself, to prepare myself for what comes next. Most people I’ve ever met would call me manipulative. And it’s true, I can wrap people around my finger like no other and I can lie with the best of them, but the one person I’ve never been able to lie to or fool is my father. It takes a monumental amount of energy to pretend when I’m around him.

I force myself to consider that I won’t have to pretend much longer because in two nights this will all be over for good. I sigh once more before pushing the front door open and stepping inside the dimly lit house.

It’s a modern house in every sense of the world with large floor-to-ceiling windows—that are always boarded up by dark blinds and curtains so nobody can see inside. The rooms inside are open and appear much larger than they actually are, and everything inside is white; the walls, the furniture, and the kitchen cabinets with a sole black marble island in the kitchen.

My father is sitting straight up in a loveseat facing the door, and his eyes level with mine. He cracks a wild grin before chewing into his bottom lip and then shaking his head gently. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Yeah.” I force the fakest smile I can muster as I close the distance between the front door and his chair. “You’re always waiting for something, aren’t you?”

“Nah.” He waves me off with a gentle chuckle that betrays his sinister heart. That’s the problem with men like my father, on the surface and at first glance, they can be beyond charming. It’s only after you stick around too long that they show who they really are. “The only thing I’m waiting for is getting out of this house.”

“That’s exactly what I was referring to.” I step past him and toss my purse onto the counter before prying open the cabinets and grabbing a rum glass. I sit the glass down onto the counter and fill it to the halfway point with whiskey before stepping back into the living room and pacing past my father.

He hooks his eyes up to me as a curious smile hitches across his lips. “Thank you,” he says softly and reaches upwards for the glass.

I force another smile and push the glass into his hands. “It was actually for me, but you can have this one and I’ll pour another.”

He nods and takes a sip before his eyes are following me again. Just as I’m about to pass him again to head back into the kitchen, he grabs me around my wrist, stealing my attention.

I look down at him with fear in my eyes and swallow nervously. I’m not exactly playing the part of a doting daughter in the moment, but there’s just something in his eyes, something I can’t quite pinpoint and it terrifies me. It’s like he knows that I’m about to betray him… again.

His smile fades slightly, just enough so that it becomes somewhat somber. “You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thanks…” I manage to free myself from his grip and push my hair behind one ear. “Dad.”

He shifts his attention elsewhere and sips on his drink as I make my way into the kitchen to pour another drink. As I pour the whiskey into the glass, I close my eyes and try to refocus my thoughts, but the truth is that I’m too tired and too exhausted to keep up this charade, for the night at least.

I throw my head back and swallow the entirety of the drink in one go before immediately pouring another and making my way back into the living room. I drop down onto the couch adjacent from my father and kick one leg over the other.

“Is everything ready?” he questions, turning his attention to me. “For my grand entrance back into the world of the living?”

I nod and take a sip, reveling in the way the whiskey burns against the back of my throat. It’s much preferable than trying to swallow the unadulterated hatred I have for my father. “Everything is on track. We’ve already sent out the emails alerting all the key associates to come to the event.”

“And nobody is any the wiser that we’re still alive?”

“Nobody except for Richard Calloway.” I reach forward and sit the glass onto the white marble coffee table. “He’s our man on the inside.”

“I’ve always believed Richard to be an upstanding gentleman.” He rises to stand and sits his glass next to mine before stepping over to the floor-to-ceiling windows beside the front door and peeling the curtains back. “He’s always been fond of you as well, you know?” He cranes his head over his shoulder to pass me a smile.

I want to roll my eyes, but I force myself to remember that I’m playing a part. The truth is the thought that that man—Richard Calloway—is fond of me isn’t something I’m about to be proud of. To my knowledge, he’s directly responsible for the deaths of countless innocent men.

“Well, he’s thrilled to be a part of this.” I grab my glass, rise to stand, and meet my father beside the window. With my free hand, I reach for the curtain and pull it to a close. “And in the meantime, you need to remain hidden.”

He presses his tongue against his cheek and spins around to face me eye-to-eye. While his eyes linger on me, he takes a long drink from his glass and follows it with a sigh. “You really are so damn beautiful.”

“Stop it,” I command him and shake my head wildly. “You know, there is more to me than my looks.”

“I know that,” he says with a condescending tone. “It was just an observation.”

“Do you know that though?” I scowl at him and spin on my feet so that he’s facing my back and I can let down my guard for a brief moment. With my back to him, I can stop pretending that I’m a doting daughter and just wallow in the disgust he makes me feel in the deepest pits of my gut. “It’s all you ever talk about.”

“Lola,” he cautions me from behind and I can hear his glass clinking as he sits it down onto the console table between the door and the windows. Then, I can hear his feet padding along the hardwood floors as he approaches me from behind before placing a palm on each of my shoulders. “I’ve forgiven you.”

This is the time where I really have to put on a show worthy of an Oscar. I twist to him with a sullen look on my face, one that screams guilt and anguish, but deep inside, I’m not upset because I tried killing him. I’m upset because I didn’t follow through with it the first time.

“I don’t know how.” I shake my head gently, and when he tries to place his palm back on my shoulder, I brush him away. “I shot you three times and you still look at me like I’m the most precious thing in the world.”

“That’s because you are.” He reaches forward and combs one hand through my pitch-black hair and smiles a brief smile. “You’re just like your mother…”

I flinch at his words as the memories of what exactly he did to my mother come back to haunt my imagination. I still remember her pleas for him to spare her life and to let her finish out her time naturally on this planet. And then he put a bullet through her head, all for the sake of ending her misery, but it only ignited my own misery and hatred.

“You’re strong,” he continues, “and stubborn. And sometimes, you think you’re doing the right thing and when that happens, it’s like you don’t have a choice.” He pokes me softly in the chest. “You didn’t have a choice in pulling that trigger because you didn’t think you had a choice.”

“I did,” I grind out. “I had a choice and I pulled the trigger anyways. And no matter the reasons why, the point still remains that you did forgive me and I’m not sure if the roles were reversed, I’d so the same thing.”

“You’d forgive me,” he says with absolute certainty, but he’s only fooling himself. “You know why? I’ll tell you why…”

I wish you wouldn’t.

“It’s because we’re family,” he exclaims. “We have the same blood coursing through our veins. No matter what this world tries to tell you, blood is thicker than water and nothing can or ever will change that.” He brushes a hand through my hair one last time before stepping back first and then stepping past me. “Don’t ever forget that.”

I twist to him and grab him by the arm. Though I might be breaking with the charade I’ve been acting out for the last nine months, there’s one thing I need clarity on. He looks at me curiously and then leans forward slightly, anxiously awaiting what I’m about to say.

“Lola, the other Lola, I mean. My sister, she was blood too, right?”

He swallows and exhales sharply. “Blood, yes. But she was nothing like you.”

“But aren’t you even somewhat sad that she’s gone?”

“Honestly?” He shrugs with apathy. “I’m not, because she wasn’t strong enough and she was gravely stupid. She tried stepping into my shoes and she failed miserably. She paid the price with her life.”

“Why did you give both of your daughters the same name?” I question him, trying to get as many answers out of him as possible since he’s not long for this world. Once he’s dead—really dead this time—I’ll never be able to ask him again and since my sister is dead, I can’t ask her either.

“We live in a dangerous world, Lola.” He steps towards me. “And there are stories you’ve never heard and someday, you’ll hear them—”

“I need to know this one now.” I shake my head defiantly. “I can’t wait another day, because it’s a question that’s been on my mind since we were both little girls.”

“You were too young to remember,” he sighs as he paces backwards and sinks back down into the loveseat where he spends the majority of his time. “When your sister was born, she was the light of our world but just before she turned six months old, she was taken away from us by a bitter enemy.”

I gulp, a cold breeze painted down the back of my spine.

“Your mother was torn up inside, but there was nothing we could do. We were powerless and we believed she was dead for the longest time. A year later we had you.”

“I want to believe you,” I say lowly, under my breath.

“Then believe me.”

“Why don’t we look alike?” I shrug, trying to make sense of the very questions that have been haunting me since I was a little girl. “I mean, why didn’t we look like sisters?”

“This is one of those truths I’ve wanted to protect you from.” He reaches forward, grabs his drink and then swallows the remainder of it in one gulp. He drops the glass back down onto the table, landing with a loud clink.

“I don’t need protection,” I grit out. “I just need the damn truth.”

“Your mother isn’t who you thought she was.” He chews into his lip and shakes his head like this isn’t something he wants to talk about because the memories hurt or some bullshit like that. But I know the truth, he doesn’t want to talk about it because he doesn’t want to admit the truth. The truth, when it comes to my father, is more elusive than anything in this world. “She wasn’t this angel—”

“Just tell me the truth without going on a tangent,” I cut him off, seething through my teeth. In a mirror outfitted on the wall beside me, I catch a glance of my cheeks turning red out of the corner of my eye.

“Your sister wasn’t mine.” He clicks his tongue against his cheek and cocks his head sideways. “Your mother had an affair with the very same man who took your sister from us.” And then his eyes meet mine again and I wish he’d look elsewhere because right now, I want to sink into the damn floor. “A year after she was taken and presumed dead, your mother and I found out she was pregnant again. When you were born, she insisted that we name you Lola, too. In many ways, it was like she was hellbent on replacing your sister. And then when you were three, we found her again and it was too late to change either of your names. That’s why I always called her Lolita and called you Lola.”

On the surface, it all seems to make sense, or at least it seems to be a viable answer to the questions that have always haunted me, but I know that when it comes to him, the truth is something that’s often riddled with lies.

I stare at him for a moment longer before breaking away from his gaze and pursing my lips together contemplatively. “I asked for the truth,” I say with a heavy sigh and shift past him, to head towards my bedroom. “I’m worn out and I need to get some sleep.”

“Goodnight, baby girl,” he says from behind me and reaches backwards to grab my hand with his. He squeezes my hand with a firm grip before he releases me.

And as I make my way to my bedroom, situated down a short hallway, I say something to him that catches even me off guard. I say to him, “I love you, Daddy.”

And from behind me, I can hear him trying to process the words I’ve just said to him. He exhales softly and when I crane my head over my shoulder, I catch him staring blankly ahead at the curtains covering the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I push my bedroom door open, flip on the lights, and then close the door behind me. It’s only when I’m in the safe space that is my own room that I’m able to let down my guard.

I drop down onto the side of the bed and sink deep against the mattress as I stare ahead at the mirror hanging over the back of my door. The simplest truth is that I do love my father as any daughter does. But that simplest truth is distorted by years of emotional abuse and seeing first-hand what my father is capable of.

I can love him with my entire heart and still know what must be done.

There’s just one damn catch. I can’t be the one to kill my father.

Not again.

Not this time.

Not for real.

It’s not because I have a moral objection to it, but it’s simply too late in the game for me to get away with it unscathed. I know that I look and sound like a complete and total crazy person. But the job that must be done is a job for more than one person and I simply can’t do it alone.

It’s not easy being my father’s daughter. It’s especially not easy when both of us are supposed to be dead. There are reasons I went back into that building just before it exploded and none of them included the need or urge to save my bastard father. Or maybe the original reason was because I couldn’t bear the thought of a life without him, and maybe those reasons have morphed over time.

He’s a terrible man who has spent his life ruining the lives of others. He has done unspeakable things and he deserved to die in that explosion, but it simply wasn’t his time…

Because there was something I still needed from him.

I needed this to end, I needed his organization to be brought to its knees and the only way to do that was to ensure that he survived, at least for the time being.

My father’s death will worsen the void that’s already been left in the wake of his fake death. There is a power struggle to take over his empire brewing and that’s why I’ve constructed a plan to push him back into the limelight; to put an end to the power struggle.

And at the exact moment my father takes back the throne, that’s when I’ll make the big move. He’ll be standing in a room with all of his associates and with the simple press of a button, I’ll have Zach send them all to kingdom come. It’s poetic that he’s about to die in a fiery explosion, taking out anyone and everyone who could stand in his place after he’s gone.

It’s the only way I’ll ever be able to outrun the legacy he leaves behind. It’s the only way I’ll ever get to know what it’s like to live my own life, outside the tremendously dark shadow I’ve lived in my entire life.

And I’d never be one to take murder lightly and I make no qualms about it, this will be an act of cold-blooded murder, but everyone standing in that room will deserve what’s coming to them. Together, they are responsible for the slaughter of at least a thousand innocent men, and they have ruined the lives of thousands’ more.

In less than forty-eight hours, I’ll finally be able to live my own life. But as I stare blankly ahead at my reflection in the mirror, I’m already questioning if I’ll still have a soul once the bomb goes off…