Loki calls out, "Sneaking up on people is a good way to get shot. State your name, asshole."
A bubbly laugh escapes the man's lips. He starts to walk forward.
As he walks, I notice his leather boots that rise up to the top of his legs. Elaborate metal spurs pierce through the sides of the shoe. A boar's hide hugs around his shoulders.
"Don't worry. I'm not here on behalf of the devil," he says.
I claw the hammer on my gun back. Just in case. "You a bounty hunter working for Legalt & Hornsted?"
More laughter. "I can't imagine you're worth that much."
Finally, he steps into the light. The first thing I notice is his long and bushy mustache. It looks about as fake as it did in that newspaper clipping.
"Clyde Grimwald," he says. "I believe you were looking for me."
But it's all too much to handle. He is someone familiar. Too fucking familiar.
My heart nearly shatters.
"...Dad?"
Raven
The man we set out to find is standing near the fog with a jovial smile on his face. What hair he has left is disheveled and combed over the balding center of his head. His pupils are small pins, and they waver from left to right too quickly for me to stomach.
"Clyde Grimwald," I say.
Quietly, he twists his mustaches into two points that resemble two devil's horns. "Erm, we should talk," he says. "Lots and lots of things to catch up on."
"Uh, yeah. Clearly," I say.
His eyes frantically search the surrounding swamps, but it is impossible to see anything through the thick mist. "We're not safe in the open like this. Follow me," he says.
We're led back into the cabin where he slides the table and rug away to reveal a trap door. He fits his finger into a small hole. A green light shines and a pleasant tone issues before he lifts a metal door upward.
There is a long staircase leading into a heavily fortified basement.
"Here we are," he says, hopping down. "My humble abode. Take your shoes off, please."
This is crazy, but it's definitely not the craziest place we've been to.
When we get downstairs, he locks the door three times.
I can see the area more clearly. There's a whole house down here, complete with an indoor backyard and lights that resemble the look and heat of an artificial sun.
"Built this place myself using blueprints leftover from the Cold War," he says, with smug arrogance. "The backyard has a lunar and solar phase. I have also developed an algorithm that changes the weather. This place is built to withstand a nuclear bomb."
Truthfully, I don't know what I'm looking at here. Somehow, Ash's father is the man who designed the cement casings for the angels.
For nearly a decade he was regarded as the city's rising star in artistry. He painted murals, designed fountains for parks, and then he completely disappeared. I read about the whole thing in the car. It's a tragic story.
"Took you long enough to find me," he says.
I look at Ash, and he looks devastatingly confused. "Dad?" he stutters. "Is it really you?"
Clyde hugs his son, but there's still an obvious distance between the two. Ash doesn't fully trust the man, and it appears that Clyde has forgotten how to act in social situations.
Clyde says, "You're mad at me. I guess I knew you would be."