Bloodlines

It was a May 3rd same as any May 3rd I had known in my 13 years. I had begged Mother to let me go to school, to be normal. I had even faked an oral report to try and get out of it, but Mother insisted she had already gotten this and every May 3rd cleared with the school board. She always got what she wanted.

“I just don’t even know why we have to go see Gerry. We just saw him last year, I’m sure he’s not gotten around to much in the penin-- pentent-- in jail.”

Mother glanced at me, mostly side-eye, not wanting to give me the satisfaction of actually looking at me. She’d say it’s to “focus on the road,” but I’ve seen her text behind the wheel and she didn’t do much focusing then.

“Dahlia, that is no attitude to have on a visit to your grandpa. And you better not call him by that name, it’d simply kill him.”

“Weird choice of words talking about a murderer. The kids at school say--”

“Dahlia, stop. You know Grandpa is innocent. He wouldn’t’ve hurt a fly. The kids at school weren’t there. They’ll never know the truth.” And like that she silenced me, turning the radio up.

Meanwhile, my little sister fussed with her phone in the backseat, too dumb to complain, to see the implications of having a serial killer as a grandfather. Next year, when she hits middle school too, she’ll see. And then maybe Mother will listen. After all, Lu was always the favorite.

The drive was longer than I remembered, and I wondered if Mother had gotten lost without wanting to admit it. The officers checked us in, giving us nametags and bracelets, escorting us into a locked room like we were the inmates. The whole place reeked of desperation and sweat. A strange smell for a place so cold. We sat in the room in silence, Lu picking at her split ends, my mother staring straight ahead as she had been possessed to make it here, a stoic officer in the corner not trying to pry into the mind of a woman who would bring her two young children to see a killer.

Footsteps came and went and I assigned stories to the muffled voices coming through the hall. A whole day of waiting around. I would’ve had lunch by now if it had been a May 3rd for anyone else.

The jangling of chains and an unnecessarily loud creak from the door announced Gerry’s presence. His eyes darted from Mother to Lu and settled on me, creased at the corners, and glistening. We held the silence as the officer chained him to the table and to the floor. Overkill it seemed for a frail man of his age. Still, you treat murderers with the respect they earn.

Mother was the first to speak, “Happy Birthday, Grandpa.” She shouldered my sister and in turn we parroted the sentiment.

“Oh my dears,” the old man beamed. He was jollier than I remembered. At school they bullied me with his mugshot, looking younger and angrier, slipped into my locker, taped to my backpack, Black Dahlia scrawled anywhere they could write. I searched for that man in his watering eyes while trying to keep my distance from the evil that must lurk below. I wouldn’t be like him, no matter what the kids may say.

“How big you’ve gotten. You’re a full woman now, huh, Dahl-face.” I cringed at the name. Dad had called me it, too, before he passed.

“Yep, I probably won’t grow anymore,” I rolled my eyes and regretted it almost as soon as it came out, a flash of hurt showing across his face. He turned his attention to Lu, always the dream child, who smiled politely and answered all his questions.

“The kids look good, Sher. You’ve done a fine job, as I thought you would. They still have you in therapy?” A nod. “And the medication?” Another nod. “Good, good.” He turned again to smile at me. I searched for the malice in his face and found none. But of course, a man could change after so many years to consider their misdeeds.

The officer leaned in, letting us know to wrap it up. Grandpa nodded and smiled, leaning into my sister and me. His hand twitched as if he wanted us to hold him.

“You know, this wasn’t the life I wanted to leave you two with. But I did what I thought was best. You two mean the world to your mother, same as she means the world to me. All I have left is knowing you all are out there having a normal life. I would do anything to make sure you have a shot at happiness, even if it means spending the rest of my days in here.”

We stopped for a late lunch before heading back into the city. I wanted desperately to eat, but my mind was on other more important matters. I had planned to meet with a murderer, and figure out a way I could convince Mother it would be my last visit. But he seemed so genuine. My appetite was lost on trying to figure who could frame such a gentle man.

“You really think Grandpa’s innocent?” I couldn’t help myself.

“Of course. I know he’s innocent.” She didn’t look up from her food.

“But how could you be so sure? You weren’t there either.” Mother let the statement linger in the air as she considered her words and set down her sandwich. I ruffled through my purse and retrieved one of the more recent copies of his mugshot I had been tortured with. I looked again in those eyes, and wondered had the anger I assumed actually been disappointment? I opened my mouth to speak when Mother snatched the print from me.

“Where did you get this?” she hissed.

“The kids, I--”

“I told you not to worry about those kids,” she crumpled the photo and took my face into her hands.

She looked at me, hard, for the first time in a long while. I tried to jerk my head away, out of her grasp, and failed, forced to meet with the evil truth lurking below.