Annette was still dumbfounded by the table that had been rather carelessly put into the room she shared with The Builder.
Grabbing a leg, she pulled at the cloth that seemed to be stitched at the ends. Something about it seemed weirdly human.
She then patted around the rest of the table, trying to figure out what it was made of. Trying to lift it proved worthless. It was much too heavy.
(I might have overshot the crying in this chapter…)
Sinbad stepped away from the other two men, not believing what he’d just heard.
“No,” he loudly stated to them, pointing at them to keep them from following him. “There’s no way in Hell you’re my dad.”
But Harwood stood his ground. “I just told you, Sinbad. DNA doesn’t lie. I know this is probably difficult for you to believe-”
“You’re damn right it’s difficult! You honestly expect me to think that some old hippie dude is my long-lost dad, after living my entire life without one in the picture?!”
“Sinbad, please, listen to me-”
But Sinbad didn’t want to. “No! If you really were my dad, then where the fuck have you been all these years? You couldn’t bother to keep in contact with the kid you didn’t want?!”
“That’s not it at all!” Marc flinched away from Harwood when he raised his voice. “I barely knew you existed until the day I saw you standing in the atelier.”
He took a step forward, and cupped his face in his hands. “I had a feeling about you the moment I met you. It was your eyes. It had to be those eyes of yours.
“I’m sorry for tricking you the way I did,” he said while trying not to falter. “But I didn’t know how else to learn the truth.”
…
Sinbad dropped the paper to the floor, taking hold of Harwood’s wrists. “You…”
He felt tears spilling down his cheeks now. “When I lived with that abusive whore, and when I was alone after she OD’ed…You’re telling me I had to suffer because you didn’t even know I existed?”
“If I’d known about you, I would have gladly raised you!” Harwood cried. “Back then I was still mourning my dead wife, so I wasn’t thinking right. All I thought about was trying to make it less painful.”
He began to sob himself. “I ended up paying for a prostitute one night while I was in Bridgeport. I know it was wrong to contribute to such a degrading thing, but I didn’t care at that point! I just needed someone.
“She told me her name was Maria, and I asked if it were her real name. She said it was none of my business. Then I guess she and I, well, made you.”
At this point, Marc stood behind Harwood again, and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m thinking that time you said your mom’s name, that set off something in his mind.” He looked at Harwood. “Right?”
Harwood nodded. “It was that one night, and I never saw her again. I didn’t know where she went after that. But to hear that she’s dead, well…”
Sinbad gently pulled away again. “Yeah, she died of an overdose when I was a kid. She still fucked me up in a way that’s lasted for years.”
…
He went on, grabbing his hair out of frustration. “I still can’t believe it’s you. All this time, for the years I’ve lived in Twinbrook, you’ve been living nearby?”
Sinbad’s voice was becoming thick with emotion. “Why? Why’d it take so long for me to know who my real father was? And why now?”
Harwood shrugged. “I don’t know. But I suppose better late than never. Just please realize that what you see on that paper is the truth.”
Picking up the paper on the floor, Marc quietly handed it back to Sinbad. Sinbad then looked it over again, his tears blurring his eyesight.
“So what you’re saying is true? You’re really my…?” His face scrunched up, culminating in his eyes squeezing shut.
He then opened his arms wide, strangely deciding he needed a hug.
“Daddy!” He exclaimed as he wrapped himself around Harwood, practically overwhelmed by it all.
All Harwood did was return his embrace, rubbing his back and holding him close.
He then gently pulled away, and let Sinbad take a look at Marc. “And…I also want you say hello to your older half-brother.”
Sinbad turned to look at Marc, who was patiently waiting for his turn to speak. He smiled as he warmly said to Sinbad, “Hey, little bro.”
All of it was getting to be too much for Sinbad. He just couldn’t properly form the words he wanted to say, and just included Marc into their little family hug.
-later that night-
Harwood didn’t want to keep his two sons waiting out in the truck for much longer.
Putting on a proper pair of socks, he quickly realized that his wedding photo had fallen to the floor at some point. Reaching for it, Harwood realized the glass had broken.
Interestingly, the glass seemingly had only broken on Macy’s half. His half was perfectly fine. Carefully running his fingers over the cracks, he quietly asked the picture:
“Is this your way of telling me I need to move on?” He hesitated a little longer, then set the picture back on top of the dresser.
Then Harwood went back out into the other room, and picked up the last remaining box of fireworks. Tucking it under his arm, he went out to join Sinbad and Marc.
“Which one do you think looks the best?” Shark had laid out a few pictures in between him and Sagebear.
Dennis was still in bed, trying to catch up on sleep on his day off. This gave Shark time to quickly work on a belated birthday present for him in secret.
All the pictures he had out involved Sagebear in some way. He just needed her approval on which one to use.
With a raised paw, Sagebear slapped it down on her choice. She almost seemed to be grinning at what photo she picked; One with her being held by Shark, as he was taking the picture of them sitting on the ground.
I like that one, too,” he said with a smile as he picked it up. Shuffling the others back into a pile, Shark took her pick and positioned it into a special picture frame laying nearby.
…
After an early breakfast, Harwood and Marc left to go out on a morning walk to City Hall.
Sinbad had no idea why they wanted to go there, and he decided not to ask. Either way, he declined going with them.
He wanted to kick himself for what he was planning to do, but he figured he could explain later. Waiting a while after they left, Sinbad began snooping around the house.
Wandering into Harwood’s room, Sinbad quickly began to search every nook and cranny of the sparsely decorated area. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he took to rummaging through the dresser drawers.
The bottom two drawers just held a high amount of drab-looking clothes. There were a few hints of purple and red, but nothing much else besides those colors.
“Come on. This guy’s gotta have something he’s hiding…” Ever since they met, Sinbad couldn’t help but notice something about Harwood seemed off.
It might have been the strange way he looked at him, or even the way he acted sometimes. Whatever it was, Sinbad couldn’t help but wonder what was causing him to act that way.
…
Finally rifling through the top drawer, Sinbad caught sight of an important-looking envelope.
“Huh. Wonder what this is. Probably information on offshore bank accounts or something…”
The broken seal showed that it had been read already by someone. Pulling out the papers, Sinbad scanned through them with a precise eye.
“Twinbrook Foundation Hospital…These were from my checkup. So why was he hiding this from me…”
Getting to the last page, Sinbad found why Harwood kept the results secret from him. The last page described something he didn’t remember being tested for:
“Probability of Paternity?” He saw the number after those words, and felt his legs go numb. Sitting down on the bed, he set the papers down, and grabbed hold of his long red hair.
“I gotta be fucking dreaming…Him?”
…
Annette could smell something cooking from downstairs when she left the hidden room. Following her nose led her there, to find Moony sauteing something in a frying pan.
She hoped beyond hope that he wasn’t frying up a clone of Julian. She cleared her throat to get his attention.
“Where’s your ever present partner?” She asked, hoping to break the ice. Moony just looked over his shoulder at her, and waved somewhere upstairs.
“Eh. I left ’em alone. Thought he needed some alone time away from me. Not like we’re joined at the damned hip!”
Annette didn’t respond to this. Instead she asked another question.
“So what’s it like to be romantically with someone old enough to be your father?” Annette internally noted the question, having been married to a much older man herself. She waited until he shut the stove off, before he gave her an answer.
“Not tha’s it any of ye business, but I don’t give a flying fuck about his age. He’s good to me, and that’s all I need righ’ now.”
He went on. “Me own parents had me late in life. I think me own father was pushing sixty when I left home. If he’d known his own son would end up as a Frankenstein’s Monster parody, well…”
Now Moony just shrugged. “Well, I wish I wouldn’t have ended up here. But if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have met Sunny.”
…
“Kind of a double-edged sword, then, huh?” He nodded to answer her question. Then he slumped down onto the floor.
“And what if you hadn’t met him here? What then?” But this time, he didn’t respond in any way to her now.
Annette watched in confusion as Moony took off his mask, revealing his tanned face in its entirety. He swallowed once, then traced his fingers against the mask.
“I want to get out of here,” he whispered. Annette tried to see if he was still talking to her, but he wasn’t even looking at her now. “I wanna get out of here, and have a nice happy life with Sunny.”
His blank white eyes welled up with tears. “But I can’t possibly have that while that Omnipotent bampot is still around!”
At the last two words, he threw his mask onto the floor, and began to sob.
“I want to go back,” he whispered to himself. Not knowing what else to do, Annette sat in front of him, and picked his mask up and placed it in his lap.
Moony kept whispering, his accent returning to sounding more Americanized. “I wanna see my daddy again. I want ’em to know I found the love of my life in this wretched hellhole.”
…
Shark had just written his and Sagebear’s names onto the wrapped present when he heard sounds coming from the bedroom.
Opening the door, he saw Dennis sitting on the bed, trying to wake himself up. He then grabbed the hair tie that he used during the day, and pulled it in.
When he saw his son and canine granddaughter standing there, he smiled and glanced at the present.
“Well, now what’s this about?” He sleepily inquired.
Shark handed him the parcel. “I know it’s a few weeks after your birthday, so I thought I’d get you this now.” When Dennis opened it, his face lit up at what he just uncovered.
“‘My grandchild has paws’.” He held it up to see it a little better. “Now isn’t that just precious!” He threw an arm around Shark, and pulled him closer. “I’d say this is the best present I’ve ever gotten, belated or not.”
Shark grinned, glad that his father liked the picture and its frame. “Thanks, Dad.”
Leaning herself up against their legs, Sagebear panted, hoping to get recognition for her part in this as well.
“Oh well, now I could never forget you, puppy!” Dennis set the picture aside, and patted his lap for her to jump up on. “Come here, let Grandpa give you some pets.”
When she did, both Shark and Dennis took turns petting the happy dog.
…
Sinbad was still trembling over what he’d just read. He was so caught up in this, that he didn’t hear the front door sliding open and shut.
“Hey, Sinbad, what do you want for dinner-” Marc came into the other room, then stopped when he saw what he was holding.
His face began to go pale, and then he stepped back and called for Harwood.
As soon as Harwood came to see what was wrong, he realized what he’d been trying to hide was now exposed.
“Oh, Sinbad…” Was all he could say. Sinbad got up off the bed, holding up the last page that he’d been staring at for a while now.
“Is this shit true, old man?” He asked in as strong a voice he could muster.
Harwood grimaced, knowing he couldn’t lie to the other man. “DNA doesn’t lie.” He tilted Sinbad’s head up so he could get a better look at his face.
“Yes, Sinbad Rotter,” he spoke in a trembling voice, “I, Harwood Clay, am your biological father.”
(Song the Chapter Title came from, because it’s relevant: )
(A quiet chapter, because quiet chapter. I figured there needed to be a breather chapter in here somewhere)
That night, Shark lay wide awake in bed.
Sagebear was curled up next to him in a cozy-looking set of dog pajamas. Underneath her paws lay the teddy bear he’d given her. Dennis was working late tonight, leaving Sagebear and Shark the only ones at home.
Although it was nearing the end of February now, it was as cold as if it were still December. The moon was shining beatifically through the bedroom window, illuminating the snow on the ground.
(Warning! Words implying slut-shaming and vilification of a dead woman!)
Looking behind her, Annette readjusted the things that she’d managed to shoplift in her arms.
A part of her didn’t want to risk a higher chance of capture, but she went and took a few other things anyway.
Now she snuck into the darkened Consignment Store after leaving the grocery store. Setting her current finds down on a table, Annette began rummaging around the discount clothes.
(Short filler chapter, because short filler chapter. Actually, I don’t know if it’s filler…It’s something, I guess.)
Annette was about to continue speaking to Harwood, when the bedroom door flew open.
“Okay, Mystique! Storytime’s over! Get lost!” Sinbad was annoyed as he dragged a crying Marc behind him. “You’ve overstayed your welcome!”
“Sinbad!” Annette tried smiling to appease him. “Good to see you not becoming a feral animal when you see a woman now.”
(Warning! Alluded-to rape and probably some other stuff!)
“You ever see a child’s foot, on that of an elderly woman?” Harwood pressed Annette now, almost like he were testing her knowledge.
Before Annette could answer, he spoke for her. “It’s not a nice thing to see. But there she was, with bound feet in a time where footbinding was banned.”
Harwood further retreated into his past. “The first thing she said to me, well, I still couldn’t pick up on most of the words back then. But translating them now, I think she said…”
Annette finished off the bowl of candy, as she awaited his grandmother’s translated words. Harwood covered his face as he tried to think.
