Disgraceful. Passed around from person to person in hopes that I could be fixed. Was I some pile of scrap metal? At the time, I might’ve been. The whirling pains, revelations and genesis of everything that’s happened kept my mind incredibly busy during the years, until it could no longer withstand the constant self-criticism. I came to a screeching halt in my thinking, as if abandoning the very concept of thought itself. In this state, there were no ifs and maybes, no right or wrong, no black and white–just, existence. Crossroads laid before me, imploring me to make a decision.

Mom had passed the baton onto dad and distanced herself, albeit, she wasn’t very far away. How strange the coming days were. A man whose eyes I’d never seen, whose existence I questioned very early in my childhood. A ghost. She must’ve exhausted all her options to resort to including someone I hadn’t heard even a whisper about before into my life.

A handyman by the looks of it, simplistic in every sense of the word, a stark contrast to mom. Painter, plumber, electrician, mechanic. Because of his helpful nature, he was well known and received in the neighbourhood. You name it, he did it. I didn’t know this man, but still, even in my aloof state of mind these past days, I understood that my mere presence was a danger to those around me. For him to become entrapped in this dangerous game Cennet played was something that scared me; it would mean gravitating towards a choice I wasn’t able to make yet. My dilemma wasn’t a very complex one. I had two choices in the matter, two choices I posed to myself in order to move forward with my life.

The first was to resume my life in the pretence that I did not kill Jonathan Cennet. It was a life where I wouldn’t be afraid to fight for the things I wanted, one I contrarily wouldn’t be afraid of losing those things either. Mom was one of those things. Do I become strong? Do I forsake the notion in my head that fighting for my desires would revert me back to that sadistic smiling Jared that bloodied his hands? Was I willing to become him again so that I might get what I want?

The second was a game of fleeing. To stick my head in the sands and assume any of the attacks didn’t really exist. To distance myself from everyone, everything, to blind myself to the harshness of life and live in the bliss of ignorance. To forgo the ever-growing worm that wanted vengeance for Theresa. To forgive and forget all the bad that’s ever pounced into my life and gnawed on my bones. I could transfer schools, live far away, start a new life. Mom had the money to do it, and recently, certainly had the willingness to accept whatever I might’ve asked–if I said anything at all.

Those were the paths I saw paved before me, and the latter certainly seemed better. It was easier to just disappear. The days skipped on by, and my mind went from an empty wasteland to those two paths. The only difference between them was, one path was thorny with hardships and challenges, but it led to an oasis. The other path was an oasis, comfortable and safe, but it led to a fen of thorns and brambles. Thinking like this, the answer was terribly obvious, but I was terrified. Because to me, the answer wasn’t obvious. I couldn’t choose, and both paths were locked in a stalemate, vying for my attention. If I ran, the regrets of my guilty conscience would latch on and torment me all my life. If I fought, it meant running the risk of adding even more to my conscience’s repertoire.

The pangs of thought, naturally, incurred the will to rid myself of the ones that were troubling. For the first time since I came to this man’s house, I ventured into the storehouse where he kept his clients’ goods. Mostly appliances that people wanted him to take a look at. Attached to a washing machine, was a little note with ‘Annie’, written on it. In the wee hours of the morning, I pulled out dad’s toolbox and got to work on the prehistoric machinery, probably older than me. In a few minutes, my cell rang. I stared absentmindedly at the number I never saw before, then reluctantly answered, without actually speaking.

“Jared? You okay?” dad asked, his talkative personality embedded his voice deeply to the point where it was hard to miss. “Where are you?” he asked. In my mind, I wondered why he would call at this absurd time. How did he know I wasn’t in the room? Was he watching me while I slept? “I was about to wake you up for breakfast, but you were gone,” he said to me, making me glance to the small ventilation blocks above. Morning light pierced through them. Had all that time really passed by?

“I’m coming,” I muttered, then hung up and went back to the house to eat. Perhaps my tinkering time pulled me out of my rut a little. I’d decided to finally answer the few texts mom sent, and eventually tackle the mountains of text I stockpiled from Anna.

On days where there wasn’t much work he had to do, dad would bring me with him, despite my silence. Mom must’ve given me to him on certain conditions, one being that he never told anyone our true relation. Dad never introduced me as his son to anyone in the community, albeit I met near all of them. He took on some compromises, even though I knew it burned him every time he said I was the “son of a friend who’s visiting” to them. The look in his eyes killed him inside. But every time I saw that he was hurting, I always asked myself, how? He’d only known me for a few weeks now, and not much of me that is. Why did he take it to heart so much? Why did he try so hard to bond with me if I just sat there staring blankly into my own convoluted mind-maze?

Just who was I, anyway? Who was Jared Ugo? These were the questions to the answers I sought after I realised day-in, day-out, dad tried to get me to open up to him. What was it about me that made him want to do that? There was no way mom could’ve had that much sway over him. The mere look of disgust in his eyes when he saw her told me enough. Was he trying so hard for my sake, or his? Either way, was I really that interesting a person to exert that mountainous amount of effort on? Was I worth their time?

Six weeks passed, and these questions revisited me on a daily basis, pushing the choice of which crossroad I should walk to the backburner. It agitated me, greatly, until I could find no better alternative of finding out than asking the man himself. Between breakfast, I posed the question. “Why do you try so hard? With me.”

His jaw paused and his eyes locked-on to mine. His fingers curled in, making a fist and he released a drawn-out sigh. “Why else?” the edges of his lips curled up a little, “You’re my son.”

What a half-assed answer. I thought to myself, but it would appear he read my expression with pinpoint accuracy. He placed his fork down, “Not satisfied, eh? W-well, I’m not really good at these talks, and it’s really hard to say these things for me. I never really had the chance to before, you know? I guess what I’m saying is,” he reached over to me, “I love you. Doesn’t matter how far we’ve been, how long we been away from each other. I’ll do anything for you, at any time, any place, so long as I breathe,” he patted my head and made my already bad bedhead even worse.

“You say those things, yet you were nowhere to be found at any time in my life. Why is that?”

He smiled, a wretched one that felt like I threw salt in his wounds. “I, tried. So many times, I tried. You were still a baby and she holed you up in that damn palace,” he emphasised. It was the first time I heard any trace of anger in his tone. “The security turned me away every time, every time! She wouldn’t take my calls. The maids and butlers would say she’s busy. I got my lawyer and involved the courts. Didn’t take long before I lost. Winning custody isn’t really easy for men, especially if the mother’s rich. But to be honest, all I wanted was to pass by from time to time,” his eyes watered, “and check up on you. That’s all, but I couldn’t even do that. I was denied all rights as a father. I got desperate, and got violent with the estate security and forced my way into the house one day. Of all the days that she had you cooped up inside, it wasn’t that day. Cameras caught me, court got involved. That was all she needed to have me legally restricted from you. It’s hard to win in the court of law. It’s a money game. Diana won hands down. Well, I knew that would happen.”

In the back of my mind, I hoped that story was a lie. Who would deny someone something so simple? She denied me someone who would’ve seen me through my guilt without hesitance. My life might’ve been chockfull of happiness instead of self-depreciating hatred for so many years. “If you knew it would turn out that way, why did you bother trying?”

“How could I not?” he shrugged, “The harder path is almost always the better one. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, but you always get stronger.”

“–always get stronger, huh?” I thought on his words. I guess the answer was there, under my nose the whole time. Seeing this man try so hard after getting beat down every time, the images of a crossroad wasn’t there anymore. There was but one road available to walk.

After breakfast, I returned to the storehouse and continued fixing regular old appliances, until I eventually ran out of things to bury my mind into. “You, did all this?” dad asked, creeping in from behind when he returned home from his jobs. His hairy arm passed over me, ruffling my hair with his elbow, “No way! You genius!” he joked, earning a little titter from me as I fought him off. That’s how it went for the days to come, he did outside jobs and I took care of any electrical issue. His work days became much shorter and his free time increased, which he used to inveigle me to see a movie, learn to skate at the local rink or just hang out. It was a weird feeling that I didn’t know how to handle, but I ran with it anyway. Compared to my state before, I was a lot happier now.

Getting into this new groove finally made my creative juices run again. I missed my little lab in the basement, yet it felt a little painful to leave the minute my spirits lifted, but I had to, else my brain would go crazy if I didn’t give my fingers the experimental flow they were used to. “Charlie,” I said, grabbing his attention the minute we pulled up in the driveway for the evening, “I need to–”

“Return home?” he finished my sentence in a question. “Yeah, I sensed it coming the past couple days.” He got out of the pickup, as did I. He didn’t seem perturbed by it at all.

“I, guess you knew. But it’s not like I won’t visit again, now that I know you exist,” I chortled, “there are just some inventions waiting to be made and my hands are getting restless.”

“I know you are. That, can’t be helped, huh?” he smiled.

The morning after, a car was waiting outside the house. How weird. If I wanted something in this little town, I’d have to get up and get it myself. There was a sense of independence that covertly invaded my habits when I was with dad. With mom, however, everything was handed on a silver platter.

Mom stood outside the car, waiting for me, and dad stood at the entrance of his house, with me. He looked right at her, but spoke to me, “I know my lifestyle was pretty simple and boring compared to your usual life but, I’m still really glad I met you, Jared.”

“Gah, stop it. I’m not good with this stuff. Can’t we just shake hands?”

He tilted his head with a sly grin plastered on his face, “Nah,” and brought me in for a hug before I could do anything, “I’ll miss you, kiddo.”

“I’ll miss you too,” I paused, an awkwardly long one, “dad,” I finished, finding it hard to call him that after a measly three months. But, it felt like a hurdle I had to cross at some point, and this was a good time to do that.

We said our goodbyes and I walked over. Mom opened the door for me, a big smile and big sunglasses to ward off the sun, and perhaps anyone trying to read the message her eyes might have told. We took off in silence, until she suddenly turned to face me, “You two seem to get along,” she commented. I could tell right away she wanted to snoop around the conversation for information on how my stay went–particularly the details of her that dad and I might’ve talked about, probably.

“Yeah, we do. Hey, mom,” I turned to her, in the exact manner she faced me in, “do you love me?” I posed the question. Maybe I became a lot bolder since living with dad. Maybe I wanted to topple her mind off her objective.

“W-wh-what are you talking about?” She stuttered, “Of course I love you.”

“Then, I have three favours to ask,” I said, then handed her a list of things I needed for my newest project, “first, these things.”

“Ten construction boots…” she read to herself with a furrowed brow, showing some bewilderment as she continued down the list.

“Okay, not a problem. What are the other two favours?”

“A lab. I want a fully-packed lab with all the high-tech tools I might need, like in UGO. The basement isn’t enough anymore.”

“Jared, honey, are you hearing yourself? Do you have any idea how much that would cost?”

“Yeah, I do. Less than ten percent of the profits UGO made with Ban’s inventions. Even less if you renovate the abandoned lab near the pier. Besides, I have a lot of things I consider junk that you could market and sell, things that would make your previous earnings look like child’s play.”

She crossed her legs and rested her cheek on her fist, audibly exhaling with a grimace-turned-smirk, “Did he put you up to this?” she questioned.

I laughed, its abruptness startling her a little. “Would that change your answer?”

“No,” she shrugged, “just curious.”

“Well, no, he didn’t. I always wanted a better workspace but it wasn’t exactly easy to ask you.”

“Well, alright then. Ban did help us a lot, so sure, I can invest in the lab. What’s the last favour?”

“Anna. I want Anna.”