Loathing and bitterness never felt like burden to me. They merely felt like friends whom I have lived with ever since I can remember. I was too contented and too used to having them. Meeting my parents, though, allowed me a glimpse of bliss. It was like a spark—a flicker of warmth in my cold, dark life. It made me realize that those things I have lived with were actually pulling me down and gnawing at me to shatter my very being. As I embraced my parents then, I knew I had to let those things go. I have finally loosened the grip that my own loathing and bitterness had around my life.
The Swan was freed from the curse. Never have I felt so light. I felt like I was soaring. If I was not injured at the time, I would have danced the Swan in flight. My spirit has danced for me though. It leapt, spread its wings and flew for the first time. It flew out of a cage it never realized had trapped him. I was free.
Papa was the one to let go first. He cupped my face in both his hands and looked at me, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears. "I could not have you die without telling you I love you, Abiel."
I smiled and put a hand over his. "I don't want to die without hearing that either."
He smiled and put a hand at the back of my head, gently nudging me to bow so he could kiss my forehead. "I knew you'd still grow up to be like us though you're away." He said, ruffling my hair.
I chuckled. "Hard to kill?"
"I was about to say 'reckless'," Papa smirked as he looked at Dad and then back to me. "But that works too."
"You were about to kill Bedelia, weren't you?" Dad asked as if to chastise me.
"I'm not one to attempt diplomacy." I replied.
Papa chuckled. "I don't know if I should be proud of you, son."
I shrugged. "Perhaps I'd rather you take pride in me for other things."
"Indeed," Papa replied.
"I've talked with your degree program coordinator, Abiel," Dad began. "Who also turned out to be your dissertation adviser. I told her you might not be able to attend classes until Wednesday."
I raised a brow in question. "Dad, how exactly did you manage that?" I asked. "She's always telling me how you and Papa are difficult to contact for study and all."
Dad shrugged. "I told her I'm your father, and she was not surprised at all." He opened his mouth to say something, but clamped it shut and looked down as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. There was something he felt the need to tell me but it seemed reluctance silenced him.
It was Dr. Bloom who spoke for Dad. "Freddie Lounds wrote about you, Abiel," she said from the corner where she has been watching us. "She also mentioned you're roommates with my son." She added with a scowl. "I should have known you were the foreign student Morrie has been staying with."
"Neither did I know he's your son, Dr. Bloom," I replied. "All he wanted for me to call him is 'Morrie'. He would not have it otherwise." Turning to my parents, I asked with a smile, "What did Miss Lounds say about me anyway?"
I saw Dr. Bloom roll her eyes at my question while Dad looked at me as if I was a ghost. I reckoned they reacted that way thinking I have inherited Hannibal Lecter's vanity—which I may indeed have.
It was only Papa who returned my smile and replied. "She spent quite a lot of words on you, likening you with us and talking about your background. You danced ballet in Lithuania." He said, sounding impressed.
I chuckled and nodded. "Tchaikovsky was an inspiration."
"Your adviser also told me you're candidate for Latin honors." Dad said, smiling.
"Yes I am," I replied and returned the smile. "I never left the dean's list."
At this, Papa sighed. "We have twenty-two years to make up for, Will."
Indeed, if twenty-two years can be compressed in an hour, my parents and I sure attempted to do so. We had so much to talk about during that visit. They made me talk about myself—my childhood, my hobbies, my aspirations and more. My fathers were so eager to hear from me. I saw in their eyes how much they wished they were with me all those years.
"I must return to Lithuania within 60 days after graduation." I told them. "I'm just here with a student visa."
A rather morose silence fell upon us as my fathers seemed to let that inevitable fact sink in. Though I was born in the United States and technically a citizen, I was using a different name. I would risk contradicting the law if I were to declare myself as Abiel Graham-Lecter. I will lose my credentials and academic progress as Abiel Urbonas. There was no way for me to stay.
At last, Dad's sigh broke the silence. "I guess we would have to pay Papa regular visits then, Abiel." He cast his 'murder husband' a sorrowful smile as he said so.
"We still have months ahead of us, Dad," Papa said. He smiled at Dad and me, and placed a hand on Dad's shoulder. The hand slid down Dad's arm.
"Yeah," Dad replied as he took Papa's hand in his. "Having this chance to be family is already enough happiness."
It was Monday and I was still excused from my classes for another day. I stayed with Dad for the rest of the day. That evening, I contacted Jack Crawford to set an appointment to interview him. He was more civil over the phone than he was when we first met. I fancied it was because I freely introduced myself to him as Abiel Graham-Lecter.
After breakfast the next day, Dad and I drove to my sister's grave.
"You could have been close," Dad said as he drove.
I was sitting on the passenger seat, holding a bouquet I got for her. I was never one for romance and I never could have guessed that I would be bringing so many flowers to a girl—let alone a dead one. Nevertheless, she was my sister. Abigail Hobbs is still family to me.
Talking to her tomb was awkward at first. I did not know what to say. I told her I am her brother who was born to our fathers years after her death. When I talked of how happy I was to feel a part of our family, I felt warm again. It brought me comfort 'talking' to her. For years to come, I would still visit my sister's grave, cradling a huge bouquet of flowers for her. They were always the same sort of flowers—the ones that would remind Dad of a decorated corpse Papa had put at a parking lot.
It turned out Morrie was not a good shooter. My godmother survived and recovered quickly. She was not in the brink of death as I was. I never saw her again though, but we would send each other generic greeting cards on holidays.
Morrie and I grew close after that incident. All my life he was the only friend I have ever known, and he said the same to me. Though Dr. Bloom was not fond of me at first, she eventually grew civil; Margot Verger was only happy to see her son with a friend. Even now, Morrie and I are still very close.
After graduation, I flew back to Lithuania. It was only for a brief two weeks as I needed to settle some things. Chiyoh was distant as always when I bade her goodbye for good and returned to the US. I pursued being a forensic psychiatrist. Realizing I had Will Graham's skills though, the FBI took me in as a profiler. It was just as dangerous for me as it was for Dad. If it was not for my husband who is also a psychiatrist, I would have been very much damaged by my job. I found myself raising my own family shortly after I returned to the US. A daughter named Micah and a son named Michel were born to us the same way I was born to my fathers. Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter have lived long enough to see my children in their teens.
¿end?
Author's Note:
Thank you so much for checking out this story and reading through! 'God Is My Father' technically ends here. This really means a lot to me since I've never written a story in years. I hope you enjoyed Abiel's account.
Special thanks to Karl and Jenny who did not mind my private messages and providing me feedback. I can't begin to say how valuable the input you provided were. You guys (and Psych 150) really helped me in writing this. Of course, all my gratitude to Senpai whose notice placed the idea of this fic into my mind. Thank you for noticing me, Senpai!
It has been a pleasure with you all. Please review and/or fav this story!
PS: End? I'm not fond of even numbers even if they are multiples of 10. I'm planning an epilogue. Up to it though?