"This is not a good time." He went to shut the door, but Fitzroy forced it open with his shoulder. My father stumbled back and we entered. "Who are you? What do you want?" He picked up a heavy book from the hallstand and held it aloft like a weapon. It was a bible.

He sported a gash on his temple. The red, angry cut crossed his frown lines. He looked much older than I remembered. His hair was grayer, the lines deeper, and his shoulders stooped. He hadn't been a young man when I was born, but he looked much older than his fifty-five years.

"Do you recognize me?" I said.

He looked at me again, and this time he actually saw me. And he knew. The mask of horror that descended over his face told me that. His eyes widened, his lips moved without speaking. "You," he choked out. "You."

"Me. Your daughter. I've come to—"

"You're no daughter of mine! Get out! Get out of here, devil's spawn!" He threw the bible.

Fitzroy caught it before it hit me. "You had some trouble overnight," he said. "What happened?"

"Wh…what?" Father shuffled backward toward the stairs. His shaking hand reached out for the newel post.

"We won't hurt you," I told him. "We've come to ask you about the man who came looking for me a few days ago. A doctor. But first…are you all right?" I moved toward him, but he tripped over the bottom step in his haste to get away and landed on his rear.

I clasped my hands tightly in front of me, stopping myself from reaching out to help him. This man didn't want me to touch him. It was clear from the twist of his mouth and the fear in his eyes.

"Father—"

"Do not call me that," he snarled. "You are not my daughter. You don't belong here. You belong in hell! Get out!" He began a prayer as he scooted up the stairs on his behind.

I bit back tears, refusing to let this man see how much his hatred affected me. I thought I'd given up hope of a happy reunion years ago, but it seemed a flame had flickered in my breast the entire time. I'd promised myself I would never feel anything for him again, and yet here I was, about to shed tears for the pathetic man I wanted to love me.

"I am your daughter," I whispered, struggling to get the words out through my aching throat.

He laughed, a manic, high sound that grated on my ears. "You're not. You're adopted."

I fell back and reached out for something solid to hold on to; to stop myself losing my balance in the suddenly tilting world. Fitzroy's arm was there. His hand on my elbow steadied me.

"You…are not my father?"

The old man on the stairs stopped laughing and squared his shoulders. "No. How did you not see it? Your mother was pure of heart. I am the lord's faithful servant. And you are a creature of darkness and death. The lord sent you to us, to test me. I didn't fail. I cast you out, as the devil should be cast out. I removed the ugly cancer from my house and—"