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IT STARTS TO RAIN AS WE DRIVE, soft at first, slowly blossoming into a downpour as we come upon the gravel road leading up to the Mendoza Institute. The gate that Meredith destroyed has yet to be fixed.
"Meredith did that," I tell Dad. "I was the one that told her to."
He high-fives me. "Tell Meredith that I appreciate her handiwork."
I lean my head against the window as a bolt of lightning colors the waning sky a violent shade of baby blue. The rain looks like sheets of melting glass against the looming trees.
Dad puts the car in park. "If this all goes south, we take a hostage."
I stare at him. "Take a hostage?"
"You know... Politely."
I roll my eyes. "We're not taking a hostage, Papà. You said you just wanted to talk to them."
"You never know!" Dad drums his hands against the steering wheel in defense. "Plus, you just kidnapped their little experiment, and killed a lot of them, I don't think they're going to be very happy with you — "
"They were going to kill her. I didn't have a choice."
"And you did the right thing, and I'm proud of you, but that doesn't change the way they're going to view you." Dad replies. "You're going in there a wanted man. A hero to one, a villain to another; you can't please everyone. Being a good person isn't about making everyone happy. It's about doing what you know is right, even if the entire world seems against you."
It seems a little odd that my literal murderer of a dad is giving me moral advice, but I've seen weirder.
"Please, I'm always a wanted man." I push my door open and step out into the rain. It instantly soaks through my jacket — which, yes, I do admit is more for fashion than warmth, because, you know, I'm horrible. "Come on."
Dad takes a deep breath and follows me outside. We walk up to the institute together, side by side, and I push the doors open.
The inside is the same as ever. It shows no signs that anything out of the ordinary happened here today. It shows no signs that they were willing to kill an innocent eighteen-year-old girl for some bullshit experiment. It shows no signs of the massacre that happened within these very walls.
I expected a bit more excitement. In my past experiences, that's what murder has always ensured.
I lead Dad to Dr. Mendoza's office, and I knock on the door. The only answer is a weak voice asking who it is.
