Bruno was doing a hundred and twenty five years because once the feds had started pulling on that string they had unraveled a whole network of sick fucks far and wide who were into the exploitation of children and young women. The only thing I wouldn’t agree to was Kadyn’s telling her story in public; she’d come a long way since those days that was for sure but I was still keen on keeping her protected.
She no longer had any fear of the man who was her own personal demon. And each year on the anniversary of his sentencing I sent him a little present. He never knew whom or where it came from but I was satisfied that he got the message. From everything I’d read I knew that it was picking away at his sanity that his obsession had gotten away and he would never be able to see or get near her again. It was probably a petty ass thing to do but it gave me great pleasure to torment his ass.
These days I’m the one losing my damn mind though. It seems Josh and I spend our every waking moment trying to come up with something to ensure our daughters’ safety and protection. From the moment they were born, which I still think was some sort of cosmic joke we have been in a tailspin. Pregnancy was an experience best left untouched. I don’t think I breathed easy from the moment she put that little stick in my hand until…well now.
My daughter is an exasperating mix of her mother and I. She has a mind of her own and lets it be known that she’s her own person, even at three. Her cousin isn’t much better; I think the two of them think up shit to drive their poor dads nuts when they’re in their shared room at night. The two of them are inseparable, preferring each other’s company to anyone else’s, and they had some strange ways about them that I feared bode ill for the future. They spoke in code or some shit that not even their mothers understood and they had that eye roll shit down to an art form.
Josh was a complete lunatic when it came to his daughter and niece. I like to think that I’m a little more with it, though others seem to think we’re two of a kind. They were tagged obviously, and we tried to give them as normal a childhood as possible without stifling them but it was a trial. Maybe it was a product of our careers I don’t know, all I know is that there are some seriously twisted fucks in the world and you can never be too careful. Anything that can be used as a security measure is in place. The women act like we’re nuts but I know their freedom and stability stems from the fact that they know we’ve got them covered.
“I know how to get us out of this. Hey girls you want to go to grandpa Stan’s?”
“Yaaaaaayyyyyyy…”
“Alright then let’s go. I started to take off the offensive boa from around my neck but was stopped in my tracks.
“No daddy.”
“What baby? I can’t wear this outside that’s silly.” Shit, she just stared up at me like I was a dumbass while Josh tried bribing them. In the end my little bribe backfired and we ended up going to the diner with hot pink feather boas around our necks.
“Nice work Einstein now the whole town’s gonna know we’re whipped.”
“What, I didn’t see you coming up with any bright ideas. Look at them back there, you think they know what they’re doing?” He looked back into the backseat where the two little darlings had the smuggest looks on their faces. “I’m pretty sure they do but I’ll take this one, at least it beat the last time.”
“Don’t remind me, purple nail polish.” It was the only time I’d made my little girl cry, a man had to have some limits after all. And mine was letting my three-year old daughter paint my nails. I thought Josh was going to have heart failure that day, Mr. Macho can never deny the girls anything but even he had balked at that. Dad was a total sellout, he’d let them paint his hands and feet for extra hugs and kisses the snake.
With our luck the damn diner was crowded and everyone just had to notice what we were wearing. Josh gave them a stare down that they all pretty much ignored and Stan’s pointing and laughing didn’t help matters any. We got set up in the booth and tried to pretend we had some dignity left but it was a lost cause.
“Ice cream girls?” they both nodded as we got them set up in their booster seats with bibs to protect the cute little dresses we’d dressed them in earlier that day. There was a lot of racket when grandpa Stan came over to say hi to them and they carried on a conversation with him like two old ladies in a parlor. Truth be told my daughter gives me anxiety attacks, not only because she’s a female and I haven’t the foggiest notion what to do with one that tiny. But because she’s not like any kid I’ve ever known, and since she came with a duplicate and they pretty much do everything the same there’re times when that shit borders on the spooky.