Epilogue

** Twenty Years Later **

Antonio

Victoria and I will need to leave the United States, as I'm sure I'll be hunted down for murdering those two officers. We'll probably flee to my vacation home in Rome. Once we're settled, I'll make sure Victoria suffers for the time with Antonio she robbed me of. I have plenty of men who I'm sure would take delight in a who-"

"Antonio!" My half-sister, Cassandra, called out.

I closed my father's diary and put it behind me as my sister walked into my room.

"Hey," Cassandra said. "What are you doing?"

"Reading," I said bluntly.

"Where's the book?"

"I was reading on my phone. News articles about recent psychology research projects; you should check them out."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Chicago Tribune."

"Okay, thanks!"

I smiled at my sister; she enjoyed psychology and planned on studying it when she went to college; her dream was to attend Loyola.

"Wha did you need?" I asked.

"I just wanted to let you know I'm going out with some friends. I won't be back until later."

"Which friends are you going with?" I said sternly. I was extremely protective of my little sister, especially since there were twisted mother fuckers like my father lurking around.

Cassandra rolled her eyes and said, "just the girls from volleyball."

I narrowed my eyes at my little sister to see if she would squirm; she always cowered away or squirmed when she was lying. I relaxed when she remained standing casually.

"Okay. I want you home no later than six. Remember, it's our movie night."

"Duh! Have you heard from mom or dad?"

"Mom texted me this morning. They'll be spending a few more nights at the resort."

"Lucky," Cassandra scoffed. "I wish I could go on a vacation like that."

"You will. One day," I reassured her.

Cassandra sighed. "Well, I'm gonna get going. I'll see you later."

"Text me where you are."

"Whatever!"

When I heard the front door close, I took my father's journal from behind me. I've read it dozens of times, and my mother had no idea. When I was supposed to be in my room, I wandered into my father's office and snooped around. I was intrigued by the fancy brown leather cover, so I kept it. Thankfully, I didn't decide to read it until I was sixteen; I'm sure I would've been traumatized had I read it as a child.

I first read it, hoping to find the answer to why shit went down the way it did. I found the answer I was looking for. I couldn't understand why my mother stayed with my father for as long as she did or why she was so affectionate and gave him hope toward the end. It wasn't until I reread the journal that I realized my father had initially manipulated my mother. I couldn't help but feel proud of my mother when I realized she had managed to turn the tables and manipulate my father.

Why did I keep reading that book full of a monster's disturbing thoughts and actions? Perhaps it was so I knew what warning signs to watch out for with my own behavior. I didn't want to turn into my father. Still, sometimes genes of twisted behavior and thinking can be passed along from parent to child, and the results are inevitable. That's why my mother would protect me by saying my father was never in the picture whenever people asked. She didn't want people to judge me based on my father's sins.

A few years after my mother and I started over, my mother married a good man who put her on a pedestal and practically worshipped the ground she walked on. He let her work and go to school and helped her pursue a career in criminal justice, working as an attorney for victims of domestic violence. My stepfather took good care of my mother, and I could tell she was happy.

My stepfather was kind towards me as well. He treated me like his son and was the father figure I needed. He was there for all the sports games and award ceremonies and helped me whenever I struggled in school. Even when he and my mother had my little sister through a surrogate, he continued to treat me as his own. I felt safe with him. He provided a good life for my mother and me, and I couldn't ask for better.

Although my stepfather kept no secrets from my mother, there was one secret my mother would take to her grave. Every Sunday, while my stepfather was golfing with his friends, my mother would drive out to a small shack deep within the woods. When I was eighteen, I confronted my mother about my father's journal; she sobbed in humiliation and said she never wanted me to know. As I tried to comfort her, she came clean to me about what she had been doing in the woods. I should've been disgusted or horrified, but instead, I was proud and asked if I could take over for her so she could live in peace and enjoy her life. She hesitated but agreed after I pleaded with her and explained my reasoning.

It had been three weeks since I last visited the shack, so it was time for me to stop by. I grabbed my phone, wallet, and keys and headed to my car. Before getting on the highway, I stopped by a small gas station and went inside.

"Good afternoon," the cashier greeted.

"Good afternoon," I replied.

I walked to the snack and beverage section and grabbed the usual items: A one-liter bottle of water and a cheap protein bar. I walked up to the register. As the cashier rang up my items, he said, "You always buy the same thing. Why don't you ever try anything different? There are better products."

I gave the man a deathly glare and said, "I have ASD; I'm not interested in trying anything new."

"Oh, my apologies. Five dollars and twenty-six cents."

I paid with cash and headed to my car. I didn't have ASD; that was an excuse for buying the same thing over and over. However, I did have anxiety which I was taking medication for. I was diagnosed with depression as a teen, but my stepfather got me a great therapist who helped me get through it.

I got on the highway and drove. Once I exited, it was a few miles before I reached my destination. I parked on the side of the road, grabbed the bag and an odor-proof mask, and began hiking. The small shack was three miles in and hidden behind a cluster of trees. Once I reached it, I put on my mask and stepped inside.

My father was sitting behind jail cell bars in the corner of the room; his hair and beard were long and matted and most probably full of lice or fleas. His eyes were dull, and his skin paled from lack of sunlight. Rats, flies, and other bugs surrounded him, and the tiny shithole in the ground was overflowing with piss and crap. His body was littered with bruises and scars from being beaten and burned. He sat so lifelessly, on the verge of losing his sanity. His only interaction with the outside world was with me when I stopped by every two or three weeks, but even then, I said nothing to him.

I threw the water and protein bar outside the cell bars, and my father weakly reached for them. I quickly tasered his hand, causing him to yell in pain weakly. The piece of shit began to whimper as he held his wounded hand; the high voltage from the taser left a slight burn.

I rolled my eyes and looked over at my father. He had multiple bites that looked infected, his skin was rotting in some areas, and his bone structure was practically visible from under his skin. The man was barely alive.

Satisfied with my visit, I began to walk out the door but stopped when my father started to mumble in a hoarse voice, "whe-whe-when. Will. Y-y-you. K-kill. M-m-m-me?"

I looked at my father and chuckled darkly.

"I won't. Death is too easy for you after everything you did to Mom. You'll die a slow and painful death from old age or an infection. We'll see. Once you're dead, I'll take your corpse up the mountains so the wolves and coyotes can feast."

"H-h-how's y-y-your m-mom?"

"That's none of your business."

I slammed the door closed and went back to my car.

Once I got home, I saw Cassandra text me a picture of her and her friends at an ice cream shop and wrote, "I'm okay. Having fun."

I smiled and put my phone back in my pocket. I was glad Cassandra was being responsible. I wanted her to be safe. Although I couldn't protect her from every evil thing, I would do my best. I would make sure she didn't end up with a monster like my mom unfortunately did. They say that those who do not know history are doomed to repeat it; I would be damned if that happened to my sister.