A Father's Love Has Two Blades

TW: Mentions of abuse and some swearing.

“Detective Nunez had recently been promoted from the rank of officer. He has admitted to a string of assaults against registered paedophiles near his home. Several of the men were left unable to function psychologically. One committed suicide shortly after being attacked.” I read from my phone.

            “Why did he do it?” Billie asks, bouncing baby Tina on her lap. “Even if he isn’t convicted, his career is over.”

            “He was keeping them off my trail. He bought me time. I think he wants me to keep going.” I put my phone down.

            Tina smiles as I catch her light brown eyes. Her toothless grin proved to me that tears of joy are a real thing. Her innocent delight washes away all the darkness in my mind. I’ve never felt so positive about the future.

            I’ve never felt so conflicted about my purpose in life. Detective Nunez was right. Some monsters will always be a threat to our daughters, to any child. The law only catches the ones that make mistakes, and even they get out eventually.

            “I need to help him,” I say. I’m shocked by my own words. Tina’s eyelids bob up and down. Her head rests on Billie’s swollen chest. Fingers too small to wrap around my pinkie tense in Billie’s Grogu T-shirt. We already have a Chewbacca costume for Tina that won’t fit her for months.

            “Do you?” Billie asks. Her voice is neutral, but her face tells me not to risk my future. “I know you were doing something good. I’m sorry for Detective Nunez, but maybe you should just be thankful for what he’s done. He helped keep his daughter safe telling you where those awful people were. Now he’s protecting you. Can’t you just take that as his blessing to live your life now? Tina needs a father.”

            Tina’s eyes are worthy of Puss in Boots. She looks at me as if she’s pleading as well. I smile. She smiles like the sun, and I can’t look away. Conflicting emotions tell me to cry. Joy for the light in my life. Fear for the evil around us that might kill the light inside her.

            “She needs self-defence classes as soon as she can walk,” I say. Tina smiles as if she agrees. Her eyelids slam shut and her head collapses into Billie’s cleavage.

            “Agreed,” says the doting mother. “Karate, Judo or Muay Thai? They do them at the local gym.”

            “All three and more?” I whisper, not wanting to wake the angel.

            “I might take some classes myself, when I have the time again.” Billie rubs Tina’s back gently. Waking herself with a burp, Tina cries, panicked.

            “Maybe you should go for a ride with Papa.” Our darling’s eyes go wide as she floats in the air by her armpits. As Tina nears me, I know she needs to be changed.

            “Maybe Mama didn’t want to change your stinky diaper?” I say as Tina tilts her head. I carry her to the changing table and spin the plastic elephants on the mobile above.

            “I feed her,” Billie says haughtily, “then you change her. I deal with input. You deal with output.” She’s changing the subject for sure. She doesn’t want me thinking about the creepy monsters living less than a block away.

            “I’m going to visit Detective Nunez,” I say as Tina bounces in my arms. She only lets me hold her one way, facing the world as if she’s riding a dad shaped horse. I hum a classical tune I associate with horse racing and prance up and down the floorboards of the loft.

            “You’re completely different since she was born,” Billie says. “In a good way. I’ve never seen you so happy.” She’s changing the subject again. Maybe she’s hoping I’ll forget.

            “I’ve never been this happy,” I say. Tina fusses because I’ve stopped bouncing her. She giggles as I start again.

            “We need to get carpets. Rugs to stop her smashing her skull if she falls. We’re not ready for her.” Billie waved a hand at the wooden floorboards.

            “No one is ever ready for a miracle,” I say. I turn Tina to look into my eyes and lift her up. She smiles, then pukes, still smiling. Mess drips down onto the floorboards and my T-shirt. My Led Zeppelin design has a streak of white across it. I’m grateful that the puke of a month-old baby doesn’t have the hideous acidic smell it will later.

Nunez laughs bitterly as I walk into view of his cell. “Why are you here, Xander? I took the bullet.” He’s sitting on a metal bed. Four concrete walls and a toilet are his world. A hideous grey pillow and blanket are his only comforts.

            “I wanted to thank you. Why though?” My sapphire eyes investigate his zircon irises.

            “My bed at home was too comfy.” His eyebrows arch. “I was tired of waking up in bed with my beautiful wife. I didn’t want to see my adorable girl growing up.” He rubs dishevelled hair with the heels of his hands.

            “I would have been arrested without ever seeing my daughter if you hadn’t confessed. How can I repay you?” I hold the cold bars between us, getting close enough that I don’t see them at all.

            He stands. “You didn’t do anything before,” he growls. We both know that’s a lie. “I want you to keep doing NOTHING. Understand?” He comes almost nose to nose with me. “You didn’t do anything to the perverts.” He starts whispering. “Don’t do anything to the ones that live near you and your daughter. And your wife.”

            His message is plain enough to me. We’re playing opposite day.

            “Michaela Alvarez from CPS can help you,” Nunez whispers and leans back as if he hasn’t said a word. “I think you should go now,” he says for all to hear.

The office of Michaela Alvarez in the Child Protection Service headquarters is beyond dingy. I should have waited for an appointment to meet her, but I pretended to be delivering documents. A brown envelope filled with blank paper has the address on it. No one noticed that there is no handler’s mark, no stamp.

            I knock on her door.

            “Yes?” Her voice is sharp with irritation.

            “I have some documents for you,” I say.

            She looks up from her desk, pushing her half-moon glasses up her nose. Frowning, her brown eyes scan my attire.

            “What delivery service is too cheap to buy you a uniform?” Her long hair is curly. Silver streaks cut through the umber strands that are tied up in a bun.

            “I was sent by Detective Nunez,” I say. Closing the door behind myself, I sit down in the chair opposite her desk.

            “I’m very busy, sir. I don’t have time for pranks, or whatever this is.”

            “Trying to stop people who haven’t done enough to be arrested but are still a risk to children?” I ask.

            “That and more.” Bags under her eyes crease as she frowns at me. Something in her eyes tells me she’s smarter than I am, and she knows it. “I don’t care if Nunez did send you. I want you to leave.”

            “Shake my hand and I’ll go.” I raise both of my hands to show I’m not carrying anything. I hold out my right.

            “If that’s what it takes,” she sighs and reaches across her desk to take my hand.

            I reach into her mind, seeing years dedicated to helping children. Cases involving neglect, abuse, and some where malicious rumours had almost split caring parents from happy children. I saw losses. Children murdered by their own family because the law could not respond to warning signs. She’d seen it all a thousand times.

            I shared memories with her. Memories of a boy I’d met when Nunez gave me a tip. Memories of his abuser. My own memories of my daughter.

            Michaela sat back in her chair as I let go of her hand. “What the fuck was that?”

            “Memories. I saw yours. You saw mine, those of a paedophile, and of a survivor.”

            She grabs an inhaler from her desk drawer and takes a deep blast. The inhaler is ditched in favour of a paper bag.

            “Sorry. I know it’s intense. I’m used to seeing other people’s memories and it still hits me hard.”

            There is no sound in the office except the paper bag inflating and deflating. When she stops, the ticking of her wall clock takes over. Wiping her eyes with tissues from beneath a mess of paperwork, she looks at me.

            “What are you?”

            “A father,” I say. “A friend of Detective Nunez. Someone who can incapacitate people beyond the reach of the law without physically hurting them. Some of the memories you saw were from the mind of a man who had served his sentence for molestation. Some of the memories were from the little boy I found at his house. The child can’t remember what was done to him. The man no longer has the mental capacity to hurt anyone except himself.” I’ve explained my gift enough to Billie and Detective Nunez that it rolls off my tongue.

            Hiding her open mouth beneath the wrinkled fingers of her hand, Michaela looks at the shadow in the corner of the room.

            “You’re a vigilante?” She asks when she turns to look at me again. Her voice is a hoarse whisper.

            “That’s part of it.”

            “Legally speaking, the most prominent part,” she says. Mrs Alvarez sits up in her chair, perfectly calm again. “And you’ve done this many times?”

            “Depending on the definition of many, yes.”

            “Do it again.” She reaches out a hand where liver spots are starting to show.

            “Really?”

            “I need to believe you.”

            “Don’t make me Agent Mulder,” I say, taking her hand.

            I pour my life into her head. My memories, birthdays with Billie. Holding Tina for the first time. It’s not like usual. I’m not giving them away, I realise. I’m giving her a copy.

            “Your daughter is beautiful,” says Michaela. “As is Billie, though I could have done without seeing you both in the shower together.” I blush. “My goodness. I never thought people like you exist. There’s magic in the world?”

            “There’s people like me, and others.”

            “Others?”

            “My father could do what I do. He was a monster though. I could have done with you working on my case when I was a kid. Might still have had a brother, and a mother.”

            She stares at me for a long time. I can almost see the gears turning inside her head.

            “Can you stop the ones that don’t want to stop?”

            “People need their memories to function,” I tell her. I let her imagination do the rest.

            “Then I have some names for you.” She reaches into her desk and pulls out file after file. “I’ll give you them all now. Coming here often won’t be a good idea.”

            I nod. “That sounds sensible.”

            She takes out a notepad and rips out the used pages. Copying names and addresses from her files, she writes for a solid twenty minutes.

            “Is that all of them?” I ask when she finally stops.

            “If only.” She laughs bitterly. “These are the worst.” There must be fifty names and addresses in the notepad. She tosses it to me. “If you ever get through all of those, I’ll give you more. Go. I still have work to do.”

            “You’re not what I expected,” I tell her as I stand.

            “I doubt anyone ever expects you,” she says smiling. “Thank you for opening my mind. I don’t think I’ll sleep for days.”

            “You’re welcome?” I say, confused.

She’s already back to work, and dismisses me with a wave of her hand.

Sixty-three names. I number them all with a pencil as I sit in my car. I’m not starting today, and I’m not taking the notepad home. I have a zip lock bag from sandwiches that just fits. I need it somewhere safe.

            There’s a gas station near my house. I fill up and use the bathroom. The ceiling tiles pour dust over me as I stash the notebook.

Tina is a ray of dribbly joy. She smiles as she sees me. I make a silent promise that she will never even walk past anyone from Michaela’s files. No one will ever take her smile away.