“Say it, Phil,” I repeat. “Fuckingsay it. Because I don’t want to have to physically hurt you, but I will if you don’t say the words that Margaux and all Timmy’s other victims need to hear.”
“Timmy is the problem,” he whispers.
“And were these situations validated or justified because ‘she must have done something to upset him?’ Or because ‘it takes two?’ That all of these relationships just happened to be toxic and the women were at fault?”
“Well…”
“Don’t play with me, Phil,” I growl. “I’m warning you. My dark side gets much darker than this.”
He sighs. “I see it now,” he says, his voice trembling. “He… he’s done horrible things. Hurt so many people. I enabled it. I believed him over them because it was easier than facing the truth.”
“And Margaux?”
“I’m sorry, Margaux,” he says, barely audible. “I’m sorry for blaming you, for making you feel like you were the problem. You weren’t. You tried to help him, and we all failed you.Ifailed you.”
I stop the recording.
“Good,” I say, leaning in close enough for him to feel my breath on his ear. “But sorry isn’t enough, Phil. Not for Margaux, not for the others. So what do you have to say for your part in all of this? For the way you made his victims feel small? That you made them question whether they really were the ones to blame? You’ll live with this guilt for the rest of your life, and that’s the only justice they’ll ever get.”
I press ‘Record’ again.
“I—,” he says, then he swallows. “I’m sorry. I just really loved my son and wanted to believe him and look past everything. I never intended on hurting anyone, but I see my actions have taken a toll.”
“Tell Margaux specifically how sorry you are. Be specific.”
“I—Margaux, I really liked you when we first met. And then Timmy told me so many things and… well, he’s my son. I guess it was just easier to believe his lies and ignore the fact he’s had this pattern with so many people before you. It was easier to paint you as the villain than to believe my own son was evil and that he needs to be in a mental institution or, well… prison. I’m… I’m not sorry for being a protective father, but I’m sorry for blamingyou. For hurting you. For gaslighting you and magnifying my son’s abuse. You were just trying to help him to be a better person. And in return, he hurt you. Mentally and physically, and he broke all your stuff.”
“And? You’re sorry for calling her what?”
“I’m sorry for calling you a volcano of pain, Margaux. I don’t know where that even came from. It’s not true, and I’m sorry.”
I click ‘Stop’ on the recording.
I don’t know whether to believe him or not, but he’s said the words I needed him to, so I don’t really care. Karma will take its course. At the end of the day, Phil has to live with himself.
A tear slides down his face.
I still don’t quite believe his words. I still think he’s a woman-hating, self-aggrandizing prick who mollycoddled his son into the evil menace to society he is today.
But I have his voice on record.
And all I really care about is giving Margaux some of the closure and validation I know she so desperately needs.
I undo the ropes restraining Phil to the chair, re-tie them and blindfold him.
He slowly rises to his feet, and I load him into my van and drive him back to his neighborhood, a few blocks away from his house.
Untying him and removing the blindfold, I let him out.
Phil stumbles out of the van, his steps shaky. Before he leaves, he turns to me.
“Thank you," he whispers. "For making me see what I didn’t want to see. I think he’s far beyond any help I could give him. I’ve raised a devil, and let him create a hell that nobody else deserves, and I can never forgive myself for that.”
I say nothing, watching as he disappears into the morning light, a shadow of the man he was.
The monster he created may never be stopped, but for one brief moment, Phil had to face the full weight of his complicity.
And that’s a start.