“So silence is best for all in this matter, yes?” she asked rhetorically. “And whatever you think you know about me, remember that at most you only know what my father knows, and he does not know everything about me. Remember that, particularly before doing something of which I might . . . disapprove.” Shelly smiled in a unattractive way she never had never tried before, and found that she didn't care for it. It made her feel too much like her father.

She couldn't deny its effectiveness however, as she watched the stranger quail before her. “What . . . about you? What about your . . . father?” he stammered.

Shelly sighed in mild exasperation. “I keep telling you, I have not decided yet . . . but I will. First I need to decide what to call him, since 'father' does not feel right to say anymore . . . progenitor, perhaps? After that . . . ”

She shrugged, and noted with some distress at how that simple motion caused the stranger to flinch. Feeling the need to make a conciliatory gesture, she continued by saying, “and perhaps once I decide, I shall come for you,” She watched his fear turn to something else as she smiled in a way that father was particularly fond of, giving double meaning to her words. “So be ready,” she added huskily, then her smile fell away. “But for now, I think you should run.”

Fortunately, her father was still sleeping soundly, so the clamor of the stranger's hasty exit from the house went unnoticed. With a wry shake of her head, Shelly turned her attention to cleaning up the bloodstain in the carpet before her father awoke.

*****

I was correct, of course. The man my progenitor attempted to murder that night did not have a good reason to be there.

I just had no idea at the time just how correct I was.

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