Chapter Text
It felt like time stood still. Sitting at the kitchen table, hands clammy, folded together on the kitchen table. Meanwhile Marion was organizing papers, writing down something before he pulled out a tape recorder.
“I’m gonna ask you some questions, and you're going to answer them as honestly as you can,” Marion said, his finger on the record button.
Violet nodded, waiting.
He pressed the button, starting the interview.
“It’s currently 9:54 p.m., and I am here with…” he started.
“Violet Lynn Gonzalez,” Violet replied, clearing her throat.
“And can you tell me what happened that night, when you went to Mount Massive Asylum?”
Violet took a breath, recollecting her thoughts from that night.
“I got an email from Miles, asking me for help. He replied saying that he needed to get out of the asylum. So I agreed and…left my house…to go up to the asylum.”
“And you have a driver’s permit?”
“Yes, I do.”
Marion waved his hand, asking her to continue.
“So I went, and I had to climb inside a second story window to get inside. Because the front door was locked.”
“And what did you see inside?”
She paused, looking down at her hands.
“Decapitated heads, lined on shelves. Further down, there were dead bodies on the ground of the asylum security,” she replied, closing her eyes.
Flashes of those dead bodies and their faces lingered. She swiped her head away, before she continued.
“Walker, in the state he was in, threw me out a second story window. And then I tried to find the security room, to see where the elevator was, the one that Miles had emailed me about, in order to get to him. And then I was drugged, moved around the asylum, until I ended up in a prison block. And from there I had to…find my way to that elevator.”
“And what did you see from that point on?” Marion asked, his voice seeming distant.
She shuddered, lowering her head.
“ Everything .”
“Elaborate.”
“I saw…people…dying everywhere I went. Piles of dead bodies, some of the patients there, some of the doctors and the security guards, it was–”
She sucked in a breath, wiping at her eyes that felt wet.
“I’m sorry,” she replied.
“It’s alright, take your time,” Marion replied.
“The sewers I had to go through were full of blood. It was like smelling pennies, left in the water. That’s how much blood there was.”
“Anything else?”
“I just–I just saw so much death around me. A lot more than what someone my age should have never seen. I watched one man, his name was Martin. People called him Father Martin, and I watched him as he was nailed to a cross, and was set on fire.”
Marion turned his head away, closing his own eyes.
“I watched Trager, in his own insanity, as he…cut off my finger. And I was nearly killed, over and over,” she then got closer to Marion, leaning forward to him. “I watched Miles Upshur, the man who asked me for help, die in front of me.”
“So Miles Upshur is dead, by your account.”
“Yes, he is.”
“Over your shoulder.”
Goosebumps prodded over the back of her neck. She pulled back a piece of hair behind her ear, sniffling as she wiped her eyes.
Marion stopped the recording.
“I want to ask you a few more questions. Things that don’t necessarily pertain to the asylum or what you saw.”
She quickly wiped at any remaining tears, trying to forget what she saw.
“What could it possibly be?”
Marion sighed, filing papers away into his folder.
“I’m a father, you know that. And you seem like a good kid,” he started off saying.
“Just ask the stupid question,” Violet replied curtly.
“You said your father left? Ran off after a one night stand to go fight in Afghanistan, correct?”
“Does he know?” She asked herself, looking at him suspiciously.
“Why?”
“Just a hunch, I suppose.”
“No, I never met him. My mom never mentioned him or his name.”
Marion chuckled.
“So you never wondered who he was? At all?”
“Kind of.”
He pulled a small smile.
“You know, you do kind of look like him,” he stated.
“So he does know.”
“What gave it away?” She replied sarcastically.
“Your face, your nose, right down to your eyes.”
They both didn’t use his name, but she knew who he was talking about.
“How come you haven’t told him?”
“To be honest, I’m kind of scared. Scared of his reaction, mostly.”
“Why’s that?”
“How would you feel if you never met your father, and you meet him unknowingly, and he tries to kill you?”
“Fair, but it doesn’t hurt, you know. Maybe you and your mom can build a life together with him.”
“That’s if Murkoff won’t be looking for him,” She reminded him.
“I’ll take care of that, kid. But in the meantime, why don’t you spend some quality time with him, to make up for what happened.”
Violet quickly remembered the homeless man in the parking lot.
“Wait!”
She quickly raced towards her backpack, opening it and grabbing her sketchbook.
“While I was at school, I saw him,” she explained, turning the pages and pointing a finger down at the sketch of the homeless man.
Marion looked at it, brows screwed.
“Simon Peacock,” he said.
“He was out in the parking lot today, at about three o’ clock in the afternoon,” Violet explained, giving details.
“Then he knows who you are,” Marion said, running a hand over his face.
“What do we do then?”
“He’s considered a threat and one of the whistleblowers from Murkoff, but I think he knows something I don’t.”
“And what’s that?”
“Somewhere in Arizona,” Marion replied, grabbing his things. “I’ll be gone for the next few days. Don’t contact me unless you absolutely need to.”
“But what if something happens?”
“Don’t. Contact. Me. Unless something happens,” he stated firmly.
Violet looked at him, almost being the same height as him. She nodded, unable to say much more.
“Good. Keep updates in a journal or something, hide it, do everything you can. And keep an eye out for Peacock.”
She nodded again.
“And what if I don’t hear from you again? What if you die?” She asked.
He put a hand on her shoulder.
“Trust me, kid, I won’t. I’ve been through a lot, this is nothing to me,” he replied, trying to be reassuring.
It was failing. Miserably.
“Right,” she said.
He grabbed his things, making his way to the front door.
“See ya, kid. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
There was the shut of the door, and she went to lock it behind her. She leaned against the frame, still holding her sketchbook as she sighed. So much had happened, it was hard to imagine what more twisted experiments Murkoff was doing. Especially somewhere as desolate as Arizona.
“Is he gone?” Walker’s voice said.
He had suddenly appeared from the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. Violet looked at him, wondering if she should talk to him about…the dad thing.
“Yeah, he’s gone. Said he was going to Arizona for a potential leak.”
He grunted, taking a seat at the kitchen table.
She put away her sketchbook in her backpack, leaving it in front of the door.
This was her moment.
None of the others were awake (probably), and here he was, alone with her. She swallowed a thick wad of saliva, preparing herself as she took a seat across from him.
“Can I…talk to you about something?” She asked, looking at his face.
His blonde hair was slowly growing, getting longer by the day.
His eyebrows raised, setting them back down.
“Well, yeah, sure. What is it?” He asked, slightly confused.
“It’s, um, something personal. I guess.”
She tried to shrug it off, but her heart was beating loud in her chest, a fast beat.
“Okay, spit it out.”
“When I was looking over your file, I saw a few…details that kind of match up to a timeline of mine.”
“What kind of timeline?”
He leaned forward in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight.
“Of…my life. My mom’s life after she got pregnant with me.”
She watched his reaction.
Confusion, mostly. Surprise.
“Okay,” he drawled. “What’s your point?”
“I was just wondering…if maybe you ever met my mom before all of this happened.”
He scratched his head, thinking.
“Maybe. I could’ve, at some point.”
“You don’t remember?”
He shrugged.
“I was young, I was in the service. A lot of things get screwed in my memory.”
She sighed, rolling her eyes.
“Okay, so does the name Amber Gonzalez ring a bell at all?”
He paused.
“It…does. But I don’t know why.”
“That’s because you met her at some point. And…one thing led to another, and–”
“Stop,” he commanded.
“Well, I’m just saying–”
“I’m thirty-four, I know…what you’re getting at. Just…get to the point,” he said, gesturing with his hand.
Violet took a deep breath, muttering an “okay” more to herself than to him.
“I…” she started, pausing as he looked at him.
He pulled a questioning brow, crossing his arms.
“I think…you’re my dad; my biological father.”
She watched him and his reaction.
He leaned back, uncrossing his arms. He swiped a hand over his face, and then pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked off to the side, not saying anything before he chuckled.
“I knew it,” he muttered.
She screwed her brow at his response.
“I knew it,” he said again.
The corners of her mouth twitched up, feeling giddy. He pulled a smile, a genuine smile since leaving the asylum.
“So you’re my kid,” he said, looking back at her. “You’re my daughter.”
She nodded, excited at the prospect of having a life–one where she had him in it.
He seemed to study her now, looking at her face.
“I guess I haven’t been the best…dad. Certainly not ‘father of the year’,” he said.
“That’s okay. We can make up for that.”
He shook his head.
“No, I don’t think you understand. Every day went by, and I had no idea. Even when I fought in Afghanistan, and then worked for that stupid company, and then when I was in there,” he replied, shaking his head.
He continued.
“I never…got to do anything I was supposed to do. I never got to hold you when you were born, teach you how to ride a bike, see you on your first day of school, and just–” he cut himself off.
Violet swallowed, and tested the waters.
“Dad…”
He looked at her suddenly, his eyes glassy.
He laughed, wiping at his eyes.
“I'm sorry, I just uh…” He said, clearing his throat. He took a shaky breath. “This is all new to me. I-I don't even know what to do at this point.”
“We can take this as slowly as possible. And if you don't want to, we don't have to say anything to the others,” Violet replied.
“Yeah, yeah, sure.”
He reached over and grabbed her hand, holding it gently in his.
He sniffled.
This ex-military veteran, who was bigger than her, having watched him rip people's heads off–was getting emotional.
“So can I call you ‘Dad’ now?” Violet asked.
He nodded.
“Yeah, yeah. You can do that,” he replied shakily.
“Are you going to talk about this with Mom?”
“I will. Try to fit the pieces together, figure out what happened.”
She nodded in response, running a thumb over his giant and callused hand.
“You, uh, should go to bed. Get some rest,” Chris said, letting go of her hand.
“Tomorrow's Saturday,” Violet reminded.
“Don't you have, like, a bedtime?”
“No.”
Well, as your father , I think you should go to bed,” he said, jokingly, of course.
She scoffed, pulling a smile.
“Whatever!”
“Hey! No back talking,” he responded.
“I think this whole dad thing is getting to your head,” Violet replied, getting up from the table.
Chris just chuckled, patting her on the shoulder.
“Maybe,” he responded.
“Alright, well, goodnight…Dad.”
The word felt foreign. Strange to even utter out of her mouth.
“Goodnight, kid.”
They bid each other goodnight, going to their separate rooms as they filed in for the night.
Violet changed into her pajamas, laying down as she stared up at the ceiling.
She felt satisfied, almost relieved. The tension between them both cut through with a simple conversation. And his reaction wasn't even that bad. She smiled to herself, thinking back to his sarcastic remarks. When she went to sleep, however, she was still plagued by the memories and horrors of the Walrider.
Her mind was a mess of voices and that stupid buzzing sound.
Ever present like the buzz from fluorescent lights.