up with a vacant room. At some point during the night, it dawned on me that the only way to move past this was to face the villain in my story.
When I came to the prison yesterday, they wouldn’t let me in. Apparently, visitors need to be approved by the inmate. They took my name and told me to come back during visitation hours today. I’m not sure if he even knows my name, but he must know the name Masterson. It can’t be easy to forget the name of the man you murdered.
The officer slides a round container under the glass. “Place all of your personal items in here—cellphone, watch, jewelry. Your pockets need to be empty. You’re not allowed to take anything inside with you.”
My hands are shaky as I do what she said, turning off my cellphone before placing it into the bowl. I slide my dad’s guitar pick over my head and hesitate. He should be with me when I face the monster who took his life from him.
“Can I keep this with me?”
The officer sighs. “Everything.”
I take a deep breath and place the necklace on top of my other belongings. Once I’m done, she yanks the disc back and points to her right.
“Stand over there,” she says.
Saluting her, I walk off and stand in the line formed at the doors. There’s a mother waiting with her crying babies, and some people who look like they’re in need of a fix. I can’t wait to walk out of this place and never come back.
A few seconds later, the guard starts reciting rules and instructions, but my head is too crowded with thoughts of what I’m going to say and do once I see him to hear any of it. How do you find the right words for the man who beat your mom and killed your dad?
I’m in a daze as the line begins to file inside the doors, moving on autopilot. The room is much larger than I expect. There’s a sea of metal tables, fastened to the ground the same way they were in the lobby. But I still manage to spot him immediately. There’s no denying our relation. He looks like an older version of me. Same blond hair and thin lanky frame.
Hopefully though, there’s not a prison jumpsuit in my future.
I only saw a picture of the man who murdered my dad once. Nothing more than a flash on the screen during a news report before my mother turned it off. All these years later, and I still couldn’t bring myself to look him up. Like subconsciously I knew something was wrong.
Brody studies me while I approach the table, the proud smirk on his lips causing rage to volcano from the pit of my belly.
My jaw tics as I take a seat, words failing me.
“Hello, son.”
I swallow the bile in my throat, shaking my head. “You don’t get to call me that.”
“I’ve got every right. You’re my blood. My son. Just look at you, it’s like looking into a mirror.”
“We might share DNA, but you’re nothing to me,” I grit. “My father was Nicolas Masterson.”
Brody balls his fists, making me thankful for the cuffs around his wrists. “I’m not sure what kind of lies your momma has been feeding you, but that son of a bitch thought he could steal my family and get away with it. You’re my boy. You and your momma belonged with me.”
There’s not an ounce of remorse in his words. No guilt at all. He’s basically saying my dad deserved to be beaten, stabbed, and left to bleed to death in a dirty alley.
My entire body trembles with rage as I shake my head. “My dad was a good man who took care of my mom and raised me as his own. He loved us, never did anything to hurt us. And you…you killed him for it.”
He scoffs, his lip snarled in disgust. “You act just like that fucking prick, thinking you’re better than me. I’d like to see what you’d do if some bitch broke your heart and ran off with your kid.”
My hand slams down on the table, earning me a warning glare from the guard. “She did what was necessary to protect me. I hope the mother of my children would do the same.”
“So, what? You came here just to tell me what a piece of shit I am after all these years?”
The truth is, I don’t understand the driving force behind my visit