Red fades to green and I allow the car to merge in my lane in front of me. The second I do, my body freezes up. Oh, God. This Chevrolet has the exact dents…I’m sure of it. But it’s been eleven long years since his passing, what are the chances it’s my late father’s? The chance it was sold to somebody in Seattle? That they haven’t fixed it? It’s a common damage point on a car. The chances are slim. But it still shakes me, and for a second, it’s as if my father is in front of me.
It couldn’t be…
At the next red light, the driver meets my gaze in the rearview mirror. An intimidating lengthy stare, one I don’t look away from. I stare so deep that for a second his dark eyes turn a soft shade of gray with slate blue. My father’s shade. I blink and they’re dark again.
I’m seeing things…
It didn’t happen…
As he takes off straight ahead, I turn onto a side street. I can’t tell anybody about this. I shake my head to rid the thoughts of what I think I saw. That’s what I get for missing my morning coffee.
A bewildered Lance meets me by the chain-link fence. It creates a division at the property’s entry where charcoal rubble spans for a good ten feet before the first duplex. He didn’t tell me anything on the phone and with none of the contracted builders on site, I know it’s bad.
“Lance, you’re worrying me. What’s going on?”
He smiles flatly, gestures to the duplexes and we begin power walking. My Oxfords violently crunch against the tiny rocks. Thank god this is going to be cobblestone in a matter of weeks.
“You know I wouldn’t call you unless it was urgent. There’s been some vandalism between last night and today.”
“When you say vandalism…”
“I mean extensive damage to the interior and exterior. Shattered windows. Tiles that were installed to twenty-five percent of the duplexes are smashed in. Security cameras that we have are all sprayed over, but we can still check if they caught anything. And there’s more…”
I slow in my step. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Lance grimaces. “I wish I was. I really do.”
“We need to call the police.”
“I agree, but seeing as it’s a personal attack, I thought you should see it first.”
Personal?
And then I see it.
The sight has me grind my teeth and exhale sharply. The same name is written out. Over and over again. It surrounds every exterior dark brick wall in glowing crimson spray paint.
I have no words. None. No expression but utter disgust for this destruction.
Lance is right about the interior. The entire premises is ruined. Red spray paint turns to black. Shattered glass crunches under our feet. There’s this unsettling feeling inside my chest, duplex after duplex.
We walk through all fifty and even though more than an hour passes Lance sticks by me writing down each instance of damage and its extent. The whole scene repulses me. Taunts me. Damage like this will set us back weeks. It slaughters the promises I’ve made to a deserving client. The fact that this is a personal attack hurts further. Was this done by the same people who abducted and killed my baby-girl? There’s too much carnage here for it not to be done by a handful of fools. This is no lone wolf attack.
Addilyn’s name is everywhere, along with profanities and comments about my family.
This is a nightmare.
“What are you thinking?’
“That whoever did this is way over their heads if they thought this would break me.”
“I’m sorry you had to see this, man.”
I flash Lance a half smile and bring him into a side hug. “I’m sorry you did too, Hilton.”
The police ensure me they will get to the bottom of this with as little publicity as possible. While they are present, I notify them about the silver Mercedes Valencia and I spotted a couple of weeks ago on Addilyn’s six month anniversary. The one I noticed was following me from the florist, the same one Valencia suspects was parked in front of Helena’s that same night. There’s no real evidence to prove this man is after us, we don’t even have a clear description of him other than his slim build and lack of license plates, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.
The officers make note to visit Valencia with further details. I text her that the police will be there soon. She replies quickly with a curt ‘OK’ and we leave it at that. The officers also mentioned they would break the news to her about the vandalism. It’ll be better if she hears it straight from them.
I reschedule my afternoon meetings for the late evening. I want to be on site to see through the clean-up as the bill isn’t pretty. My last minute work trip to Vancouver, Canada for the weekend ends up being a blessing in disguise. A distraction. I don’t like that it means less time with the kids this week. I hate this part of my job. But what it does mean is I have one final chance to apologize to Valencia and plead my case to convince her to resume her position at my company.
It’s hell without her.
If I don’t summon the courage to tell Valencia this tonight, it’ll be pushed into next week, meaning I only have a few weeks to find a solution to our dilemma before we go back to seeing each other once a week for forty-five seconds.
I make a note to contact the tilers and delay their work until everything is in order. Those blueprints I’m meant to work on at the office have to be squeezed into my time in Vancouver, somewhere between sightseeing, networking, and virtually chasing Bryce McCarson down. As if my scheduling isn’t already overflowing, the vandalism situation tests my limits further.
When the twins run out of the school
