Bury Me(53)

“Duskin will be in booth number eight, right down there,” the guard tells us, pointing to the booth at the very end that has a sign taped to the inside wall with the number eight written on it. “When he is escorted to the booth, you can pick up the phone on your side of the counter to communicate, and he’ll do the same on his side. You will have exactly thirty minutes from the time he sits down.”

Without another word, he turns and exits the room. I walk slowly toward booth eight, glancing at the booths we pass, all currently occupied by other people visiting prisoners, the low hum of conversation filling the room. Nolan pulls out a chair for me and I take a seat, clasping my hands together in front of me on the counter, staring at the empty chair on the other side of the glass.

Nolan wisely keeps his mouth shut while we wait, and I tap my foot against the floor under the counter in nervous excitement that I can’t even explain. I’m here to confirm whether or not my parents lied to me my entire life about who my father really is, and excitement probably isn’t the most appropriate feeling to have right now, but I can’t help it. What little I know about Tobias Duskin already fascinates me, and I’m anxious to find out more.

A door on the other side of the partition suddenly opens, and my eyes greedily take in the man in shackles being led to his chair across from me.

“Oh my God,” Nolan whispers as the guard helps Tobias sit down in his chair, saying a few words to him that we can’t hear because of the glass and then exiting back through the door, leaving us alone for our visit.

Oh my God is right. Looking at this man across from me is like looking at a more hardened version of my father. They look so much alike they could pass for twins. I watch in silence as he stares right at me, our eyes the exact same shade of green. My mother has the same color eyes as I do, so it’s not really proof he’s my father, but something in his eyes calls to me. I can’t look away, and the glass that separates us angers me. I want to reach across the counter and touch him, grab ahold of the energy and excitement that radiates out of his stare and pull it inside of me.

I slowly lift the phone receiver and hold it against my ear, waiting for him to do the same. His eyes never leave my face and a few seconds later, he reaches for the handle of his own phone, the shackles on his wrists making him use both hands to bring it up to his ear.

Static crackles through the line for a moment, and then I hear his smooth, deep voice.

“Hello there, darlin’.”

The corner of his mouth tips up in a half-smile, and my heart thumps loudly in my chest. His voice fills me with needs and wants and a feeling of power that I can’t even explain.

“You know who I am?” I ask softly.

He chuckles, the sound warming my skin in the damp, chilly room.

“You look just like your mother, so it’s not hard to guess who you are,” he replies.

“But do I look like you as well?” I ask, holding my breath, waiting for him to confirm my suspicions.

“Could be, but you’d have to ask her that.”

“She’s dead, so that’s not really an option,” I reply.

“Let me guess: Tanner finally bored her to death?” he asks, laughing at his own joke. “My brother wouldn’t know how to have a good time if it jumped up and bit him on the ass.”

I stay quiet, waiting for him to keep talking. At this point, I don’t even care what he says; I just want to hear his voice.

“And here I thought he kicked me out of Gallow’s just because he couldn’t handle knowing his wife preferred the company of a killer over him,” he continues. “He didn’t just need to protect Claudia from my wicked ways: he needed to protect her bouncing baby girl too.”

He rests his elbows on top of the counter to lean closer to the glass between us, and my hand grips tightly to the receiver. His words make it hard to sit still, filling me with excitement and validation.

“Why did you kill your parents when you were eighteen? What made you kill all those other people you didn’t even know?” I ask, unable to hide the eagerness in my voice.

“They tried to say I was insane,” he replies with a shrug. “That I wasn’t of sound mind, and some even said the devil made me do it.”

I hang on his every word, knowing he couldn’t possibly be insane. Even after years of living behind bars, he’s more articulate and composed than my parents ever were.

“The devil can’t make you do something when he lives inside of you, and you welcome his thoughts,” Tobias says, his voice low. “I killed them because they made me angry. I didn’t like their rules, and they didn’t like it that I didn’t follow them. Once I got the taste of it, once I finally found something that made me feel alive, I never wanted it to end. The man at the gas station pissed me off when he wouldn’t let me use the bathroom. The woman walking her dog gave me a dirty look, and the teenager at the Food Mart made fun of the blood stains on my shirt, assuming I dripped ketchup on myself.”