Bound to the devil's heart

"When you needed this money you were the best version of yourself but right now we are blowing up your phones with calls yet you won't comply. Dean already sent us to tell you that if you can't pay within the seventy-two hours then your daughter has to pay."

I was at the door about to go in when I heard that.

My key was already in my hand. I had come straight from work, still in the same blazer I had been wearing since seven that morning, tired in that specific way that comes from spending six hours trying to make teenagers care about something they have already decided not to care about. I was thinking about food. I was wondering if my dad had cooked. I wasn't thinking about anything that actually mattered because I didn't know yet that anything mattered at all.

And then those words hit me through the door and I stopped breathing for a second.

I stood there in the corridor with my key in my hand and my heart doing something I could not name and I genuinely did not know what to do. Go in. Don't go in. My feet would not move in either direction. My brain got stuck on one thing and wouldn't move past it.

Your daughter has to pay.

"She has nothing to do with this." That was my dad. I could hear in his voice that he was scared even though he was trying not to be. "Whatever is between Mr. Holt and me is between us. My daughter stays out of this."

"She entered into it the moment you stopped picking up the phone." The other voice was not raised. That was the thing that made it worse. Completely level. Like this was a normal conversation. Like what he was saying was just information being passed along, nothing personal, nothing emotional, just facts. "Mr. Holt gave you two extensions, Mr. Calloway. Two. Most people don't get one. You were treated well because you came recommended and that recommendation meant something. But forty-six thousand dollars is forty-six thousand dollars and goodwill does not cancel debt."

"I know that. I know. Just tell him two more weeks. I have something coming through, a contract, the money will be there"

"Dean's message was very clear. Seventy-two hours. Whatever form that payment takes is up to you to arrange. But it will be paid one way or another."

I heard my dad make a sound then. I don't have a word for it. Then the footsteps started coming toward the door. I just remained at a corner where nobody will see me so I'll be able to understand what's really happening.

I moved back fast and pressed myself against the corridor wall, I lay with my back flat and I seized my breath. The door opened and two men came out. They walked past me without even looking my way and turned toward the stairwell. I waited until I couldn't hear them anymore then let myself in.

My dad was sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. Something on the stove had been burning for a while, the smell was everywhere. He was still in his work clothes. He looked bad. Just bad. He looked up when he heard me and the way his face changed when he saw it was me standing there, I'll never forget that.

"Jessie." His voice was rough. "How long were you out there?"

"Long enough." I left my bag on the floor and didn't sit down. "Who is Dean, Dad. What does he want with me?"

He got up and went to the stove. Turned it off. Moved the pot. Kept his back to me.

"I'm handling it," he said.

"You're not handling it. Those men just walked out of your apartment and said my name." I moved around so he couldn't keep his back to me. "They said your daughter pays instead. What does that mean? How does a person pay a debt that isn't theirs? Answer me."

He wouldn't look at me directly. His eyes kept going somewhere just past my shoulder.

"Go home tonight," he said. "I just need to think. Give me tonight and I will explain everything."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Jessica"

"Tell me who Dean is."

He sat back down and pressed both hands flat on the table in front of him. He told me pieces of it after that. The loan he had taken three years ago when the business had gone bad and the bank had said no and someone had told him about another way. The interest had kept adding itself on faster than he could keep up with. The calls he had started avoiding because he didn't know what to say and saying nothing felt easier even though he knew it wasn't. How it had gotten to forty-six thousand and he still believed he could fix it if he just had a little more time.

He did not tell me who Dean was. Every time I pushed toward that part he went quiet and looked at the table.

I took the bus home just after midnight. Sat in my apartment with my coat still on and didn't move for a while. Just kept thinking about that name.

Dean.

Who was he? What did he want?

Around 3 a.m., my phone rang. Number I didn't know. A woman's voice on the other end, shaking so bad I could barely make out what she was saying. She lived across the corridor from my dad according to what she described. She heard a loud crash coming from his apartment, went to check on him, and found him on the floor. Called an ambulance. He was at St. Matthew's now and she didn't sound hopeful when she said it.

I was already grabbing my keys before she finished talking.