Page 62 of Trick or Treat: The Rebirth
A few days before our long-awaited reunion—our first since my escape from prison—I ventured to the church and dug a grave in the small cemetery behind it. I carved out my daughter’s resting place, and strangely enough, the act didn’t seem to affect me at all.
It felt almost mechanical, methodical. Each shovelful of soil sent a surge of dirt spraying against the wooden handles of my tool; the rhythmic thud of the spade echoed in my mind, a heartbeat to remind me of the life I was trying so desperately to protect. I didn’t want to entertain the idea that I could be wrong, that my daughter could be in danger because of me. Still, the image of her innocence pierced through the fog of my resolve, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was juggling two very different futures—one where I was next to her and another where I was six feet under.
I paused to wipe the sweat from my brow, catching my breath as the weight of doubt pressed down yet again. How had it come to this? I glanced around the cemetery, its aging stones and overgrown grass a faded testament to lives long lost. Had they also believed they were doing the right thing? Was this all I had to offer her—a darkened legacy and a cemetery visit on holidays? I gripped the edge of the grave and found my heart racing.
“Maybe I’m wrong,” I muttered to the empty headstones, as if they could answer. “Maybe we can still have a chance.”
But the clock was ticking. The deadline was a ticking bomb, and each second drew closer to detonation. I had to think clearly, to strategize. I carefully folded my hands, still caked with the remnants of the soil, and closed my eyes.
Now, I was on my way back to the church to meet her in person outside of the prison walls, and I was a nervous fucking wreck. But I knew things that she didn't, and I thought about opening up about one of them, but I was still on the fence. I pulled downthe church's long gravel driveway and parked the stolen truck in the back of the lot like I did the other night.
The first second I turned my back there was a gun pressing into my spine, and I froze with a smile on my face. I proceeded with caution as I locked the truck door and slowly turned around, coming face-to-face with my daughter, her gun still aimed at me.
"I can explain, sweetie," I assured her, but I could tell in her eyes that she didn't believe me.
"Save it. I see the truth now, a bit too late, but I still see it nonetheless. You used me as a ticket out of prison and then put me and the rest of the world in your rearview." She glared at me, waiting for me to assure her she was wrong.
But I couldn't, and she knew it. Without warning she fired the gun, putting a bullet through my knee, which made me drop to the ground in blinding pain.
"What the fuck was that for?" I screamed at her, but she didn't even flinch.
My mind raced with all my options, but the only one I knew would work for sure involved the grave dug and waiting for her out back. Her phone dinged, and she read the message and smiled at me as I struggled to get to my feet. She texted whoever it was back and made the mistake of taking her eyes off of me.
I bolted up and snatched her, wrapping my arms around her tiny body as I dragged her through the mud towards the cemetery as she fought like hell to break free. She tucked her phone in her pocket and dropped the gun as I threw her over my shoulder, limping as my pant leg filled with blood.
Standing over the grave, I dropped her in, listening to the thud echo within the trees around us. She looked at me as if I had slapped her, but I was used to that look from her mother, so it didn't bother me.
"I can't believe I trusted you," she spat as I began to throw dirt on top of her. "It's okay because the feds are on their way here to take you back to where you fucking belong." She grinned even as the dirt covered her body, the rain turning it to mud.
"I'll be long gone before they get here," I assured her, and I was just about done too.
With each shovelful of earth, I felt a mix of desperation and determination. I knew that this wasn’t the end I envisioned for her. This wasn’t just a lesson in survival or betrayal—it was a twisted attempt to save her. But the more dirt I threw, the more I felt the weight of her trust slipping away, mingling with the rain-soaked soil beneath my fingers.
“Why, Dad?!” she yelled, her voice strained, raw with emotion. “Why are you doing this? I wouldn’t have turned you in!”
The sight of her like this, vulnerable in the grave I had dug, made my heart ache. I dropped the shovel, my hands now trembling.
“You have no idea what I’m up against. They’re not just going to forget about me, and they will come for you next if they think you’re in the way!”
For a brief moment, I hesitated, and she seized it, scrambling to sit up in the grave and clutching dirt in her small hands. “You think this is protecting me? You think leaving me means you can keep me safe?”
“Better safe than sorry,” I snapped, feeling the weight of my choices press down on me. “What do you think I’m doing? You don’t know the things I know—the deals made, the lives lost.”
“Yes, and you’re the one throwing dirt on me! You’re going to kill me just because you’re scared?!”
Her words cut deeper than any weapon could. I felt like I was burying her alive, burying a part of myself, and it burned. If I really believed this was the only way, if I truly thought it was the only way to save her, why did it hurt so damn much?
“I’m not scared!” I shouted, my voice breaking. “I’m trying to keep you alive! You’re supposed to be better than me, to escape this!”
“I don’t need you to save me, Dad! I need you to be there!”
Her anger took charge, twisting the knife deeper, leaving me gasping for answers. Behind her, I heard a rustling in the trees, and my heart stopped. The wind had shifted, and the air felt charged—a sign of their imminent arrival.
“No,” I murmured, panic surging. I crouched down, hands trembling, heart racing. “They’re coming, we have to—”
“Stop!” She screamed, her eyes wide with fury and fear. “You’re not taking me down with you!”
I ignored her and resumed filling in the grave until Scarlett was entirely covered. I threw the shovel and cried for her, but it didn't last long because I knew I had to go if I didn't want to get caught. So I left. I left my daughter in a shallow grave, buried alive, and I never once looked back.