Chapter 2: Chapter 2 : Burning the Midnight Oil

It wasn’t until late into the evening that I finally got to bed. I had to get up early in the morning but, like most nights, I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned in bed, then I gave up, flipping on my bedside light. I reached into my bedroom cabinet, pulling out a photo that was creased in the middle because of how many times I’d folded it over after looking at it. It was of my father and I at a courthouse the day he officially adopted me.

I took a deep breath and tried to keep the tears at bay, but I couldn’t. I put my head in my hands and allowed myself to fall into the consuming grief that I’d been carrying with me ever since I heard the news that my father was shot. As I cried, I thought about the first day I met him…

I was fourteen when my mother died. She was a stripper that went by Candy Cane and her signature song was Santa Baby by Eartha Kitt. I didn’t have a typical childhood, spending most of my nights in the dancer’s dressing room.

One of my first memories was bright mirror lights and the smell of hairspray and baby oil. But my mother always provided for me and loved me unconditionally. Every early morning, when we would get back from the club, she would stay awake to make me chocolate chip pancakes. I knew she was tired, but she didn’t want to miss out on that time with me.

My mother didn’t drink, do drugs, or anything like that. On a random day in the summer before my sophomore year, she was hit by a car and left for dead. They never caught who did it. I didn’t go back to school during the fall, instead, I worked two jobs—one under the table to afford the rent of the small apartment I’d lived in my whole life.

But even that wasn’t enough.

I got kicked out and lived on the streets. Sometimes, I would crash at my friend's houses, but I never stayed in one place for long. I didn’t want their parents to realize and call Child Protective Services. I refused to go into the system. I’d heard too many horror stories from kids at school who were in foster homes. No, I preferred the streets.

But then, winter came and everything changed.

I started to sleep outside the strip club my mother had previously worked in called BitterSweet. The green awning over it gave me some protection from the cold. I would sleep during the day since they were only open at night.

Soon the owner, Ambrosia, caught me sleeping there. Even though she had always been there for me growing up – she practically helped raise me – I didn’t want to ask her for help. Ever since my mother died, I avoided anything that reminded me of her, and that included her old boss, whom she was very fond of.

But maybe I started sleeping outside the club because I was unconsciously looking for help and trying to feel closer to my mother. Also, I was also very stubborn as a teenager and I didn’t want to feel like I was getting any hand-outs.

I remember Ambrosia tapping me awake and inviting me into her club for a chat. Reluctantly, I followed her, thinking she was going to ask me to stop sleeping outside of her club.

It was daytime and there was no one else inside except for a tall blonde man. When I entered, he stood up and smiled at me. He stared at me like I was an angel sent from heaven, not some dirty homeless kid who hadn’t had a shower in two weeks. Immediately, I stopped when I saw him, my mind automatically jumping to the worst-case scenario.

“I’m not a hoe looking for a pimp,” I said, backing away and throwing a glare at Ambrosia. I didn’t know why she was allowing this to happen. She knew me since I was a baby and although she was strict, Ambrosia had always looked out for me.

The stranger looked disgusted by my insinuation and he opened his mouth to speak, but Ambrosia held up her hand.

“Audry, when you were first born, your momma gave me a number to call if something ever happened to her. It’s taken me a while to track him down since he got a new number and everything, but this man right here…” Ambrosia pointed to the stranger. “Is your biological father.”

I simply gaped at her.

“When your momma found out she was pregnant, she moved away from her hometown in Ohio and came here. John,” again she gestured to the man, “never even knew you existed until I came into contact with him.”

“No… I-I, um, no,” I stuttered and backed away.

My mom told me she didn’t even know who my father was. Why would she lie to me?

As if she could read my mind, Ambrosia continued. “Your mother was very young when she became pregnant and grew up in a catholic community. She didn’t want you to be judged from the second you were born.”

I started to cry.

My father comforted me and took me to a diner across the street. I still didn’t trust him, but since it was a public place with a free meal, I went with him. I ordered three meals and gorged myself as my father explained he still lived in Ohio working as a cop, but had flown up and rented an Airbnb for a few months so we could figure things out.

The first few days were hard. He told me he had been granted temporary custody and it pissed me off that the state was placing me with a man I didn’t know. At first, I thought he had ill intentions and slept with my door locked and my dresser pushed up against it just to be safe.

I fought him hard on everything. Like going back to school and enforcing a curfew my mother had given me. But over time, I realized that my father only had my best intentions at heart and that we had many things in common. Like our love for apple pie. We both loved math but hated English, and we were stubborn as hell. I slowly but surely began to trust him.

He was granted full custody on my fifteenth birthday. Afterward, he asked the judge to take our picture on his old Polaroid camera. I was too happy to be embarrassed. That night, we ate at the same diner as the day I first met him.

Having a stable home did wonders for my schooling and I graduated valedictorian. After I obtained my bachelor’s degree in criminal justice, I enrolled in the program to become a cop, just like my father.

We had truly become a family and, since I was older, I could see how much he sacrificed for me when he moved states. My father worked hard to help eradicate all the crime in Detroit.

That was why he was murdered.

I wouldn’t allow another parent who was killed to not be avenged. I was too young to do anything about my mother’s killer, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to let my father’s murderer walk free.

That was why I dropped out of the police academy and returned to the ‘underworld’. This was the code name we used on the streets.

I forced myself to get out of bed and stop traveling down memory lane. What was done was done. I made a cup of chamomile tea to calm myself down and opened my bedroom closet again. I poured over the notes I had about the night of my father’s murder and the Molton Family.

I groaned, frustrated.

I was missing something. Some vital pieces of information that would make everything fall into place. Even though I had the Moltons right where I wanted them, I refused to make my move. I would not destroy their gang or kill anyone until I knew I had the right people.

If my father could see me now, I knew he would be disappointed. He would want me to try and move on with my life and be happy.

But I just couldn’t.

My dad was always a better person than me. Even though he had saved me from the streets, this was where I grew up and in times of trouble, I would always think like a girl from the streets would.

But I did have a few morals left. I wasn’t heartless enough to kill or seek revenge on someone who didn’t deserve it. If my father could see me now, I wouldn’t want to be someone who was completely unrecognizable from the daughter he once knew.

I stood up and shut my closet door, knowing I wouldn’t get anywhere else with this tonight. I climbed into bed and said a prayer. I wasn’t religious. I wasn’t speaking to God. No, I was speaking to my parents. Wherever they were in the world. It was something I did on nights like these when I couldn't sleep.

“Mom and Dad, I wish you were both here to give me guidance. I wish there was a way to know that I am doing the right thing. But I am too far into it to turn back, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. I know what you would both say if you could see me now. You would tell me how this is a dangerous situation and how it isn’t my responsibility to rectify what happened. That it isn’t my fight to fight. But if I don’t, then who will?"

I took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling.

“I know that neither of you would want me to be doing this, but I have to. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t. I hope that you can understand. Please know that I love you guys and I think about you every single day. Now, Dad, if you’re listening to this, maybe you should hum or something because you won’t want to hear the next part." I grinned to myself.

“Mom, there is this man. His name is Daniel. He is completely wrong for me in every way possible. But I can’t stop thinking about him. It’s not just our physical attraction. No, there is something about him that just draws me to him. I can’t even fully explain it because I’ve honestly never experienced something like this before. I wish you were here so I could ask you what the right thing to do is."

Daniel’s handsome face shot up in front of me, smirking at me from the ceiling. I had to shut my eyes so I could remain focused.

“Honestly, I think you would tell me to stay away from him. That he’s trouble. And part of my mind—the rational part—knows that’s the correct thing to do. But the part that is ruled by my hormones, urges me to kiss him when he’s standing close. I shouldn’t even be thinking about Daniel. I already have too much on my plate," I carried on. "Anyway, I miss and love you guys. Even though I know you don’t agree with my choices to get revenge, please just know that I’m doing it for you guys. Wherever you are, I hope that you feel the love I’m sending you right now.”

I fell asleep and dreamed about my mother's chocolate chip pancakes and my dad's laugh. I also dreamed about Daniel’s dark, intense eyes, but I would better pretend I hadn’t.

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