My father pulled the torn, hyper realistic prosthetic mask from his face. The prosthetics even reached over his shoulders and down his torso, revealing wrinkled and sagging breasts. This was a disguise of hyperrealism.

My memory raced back and images of our meetings with Granny Grace returned. It occurred to me that we only ever saw her in short bursts, and any time we spent longer with her were in places with low level lighting, like the caff. I also recalled with a thumping clarity, that she always showed up whenever Josh or I were in danger: like my guardian angel, like my dad.

His head remained bowed in shame, but I instinctively felt an urge to reassure him, "So you killed the man on the estate to protect me and Dylan, and the man in here to protect me and Josh. Grace, the serial killing Granny was the woman you hid behind to protect me," I said.

"Yes, daughter," he said, the sound of my father's South London accent returned.

Josh joined me, "I won't lie, my mind is bombed right now." He paused to reflect sliding his arm around my waist, "You arranged our meeting, didn't you?" He asked.

"Of course I did, I've had my eye on you for a long time young man, I want the best for my girl; and we knew Dylan was being won over by the dark side," he said, his head still hanging in what seemed like shame.

Still my mind kept reeling back: the dexterity and strength with which she killed the thug, the speed she employed in rescuing us from the warehouse men – in retrospect, we should have guessed that these weren't the actions of an elderly old lady, but I suppose circumstance and his performance meant we never questioned Granny Grace's authenticity.

Josh looked around, "Where's the girls?"

Dad's head kept dropping lower, "They're in another part of the warehouse, safe. We've saved them from the life these low life's had in store for them," he said, his hand rubbing the top of his head, which I suddenly noticed was bald.

"Why didn't you just go to the feds, why all this subterfuge?" Asked Josh, without sounding judgmental.

Dad didn't hesitate, "Get real Josh, I'm a murderer, Donal's a murderer and escaped high risk security patient, we're both highly sought after fugitives – taking the law into our own hands was our only way to save these innocents," he said.

I could feel my heart start to bleed for everything my dad had been through, alone, "But Dad, you could have just told Josh and Me, and we would have went to the police," I said.

"No – Donal and I thought we could handle it ourselves, we didn't think you three would get so deeply involved." He stopped for breath, "Besides, I wanted you and your mum to still think I was dead, I didn't want you ever seeing me like this – and I still don't want your mum to see me, Benita," he said.

I chuckled, "Dad, you can take your Granny Grace mask off in our company," I said.

A soft sob shuddered through his body and his head bobbed lower on his chest.

I reacted with equal upset, "Dad, seriously, mum will understand, it'll be a shock, but you know mum..."

..."Benita, it's my pride and dignity, I want mum to remember me the way I was, please respect that," he said, cutting me off.

Josh pulled me into him, his strong arms held me tight as though he instinctively knew what was coming and wanted to protect me from an imminent shock.

Dad began to slowly raise his head.

His brown eyes stared at me, their whites as bright as I always recalled them. But his eyes were all that were left of the face I remember – my dad had been horrifically disfigured.

But I didn't flinch, didn't react, I stared back with love and devotion, "What did they do, dad?" I asked, matter of factly.

"An acid attack," he replied.

Josh said silently, "The video we saw on Dill's computer, that's when it happened," he said.

"That's right," said dad.

Josh untangled his arms from around me and gently guided me towards dad. We fell into each other's arms and wept tears of sadness, laced with a large portion of bittersweet joy.

Eventually we let go. Dad dropped his head, wiped his tears and pulled on a black silicon mask that he retrieved from his pocket, "Promise me you won't tell mum," he said.

"I promise."

"What's her new fella like?"

"He don't come close to you."

He chuckled, "You're just saying that, ain't ya?"

"No, you're my dad, he isn't."

"Donal stalked him, says he seems like a decent bloke. I saw his eyes moisten again, "Does mum still talk about me?" He asked.

The tears exploded from me, "All the time, please come home to us, where you belong, dad!"

His voice was loving but firm, "Daughter, I can't. Not only because of the way I look, but it will kill me to see your mum with another fella – cos I love the bones off, of her." His voice lifted a little, "Do you understand?" He asked.

"Yes, I do – but I can still see you, can't I?"

He smiled and through the mouth hole in the silicon mask, I saw he'd blacked out his teeth, a trick that gave Granny Grace her toothless look, "Of course we can, so long as you can put up with me looking like GG?"

I laughed, "You don't have to wear that mask when we're alone, do ya?"

He looked at the prosthetics on the floor, "The rubber helps with my healing, keeps the scar tissue moist and hydrated, the old bird serves me well," he said, still smiling.

Josh steered things back to the situation, "What will you do with these guys?" He asked.

"We'll keep em here for the short-term, till Donal and I figure out the best way to keep em off the streets," he said. He turned to us, suddenly business like, "Can you two see to the girls, bring them to the police station, they can stay there for a while," he said.

Josh interjected, "Javed, that place's the pits, I'll put them up in the Church Street Hotel," he said. It was weird hearing him say my dad's name – but good weird.

Dad nodded, "Your shout. It's up to you where you decide to safe-house em." My dad put his hands around us both, "We're a team now, batting for the good side," he said, with a definite pinch of pride in his voice.

As we were leaving to collect the girls, dad shouted after us, "Hey, on your way out, bring us back GG's old stick will ya, I miss me old walking gadget," he said.

I smiled, "Will do dad," I said, so happy to be talking to him again.

###

Once outside Josh grabbed me with an unexpected force that took my breath away. He spun me round to face him. His hand held my head in a strong, steely grip, his face honed in on mine as my lips instinctively parted ready to receive the full power of his passion – but my phone rang!

"Hang on," I said, lifting my phone.

"Leave it," he said, grabbing my hand.

I saw it was mum, "No, let me take it."

He relaxed his grip and I answered breathlessly.

"Hello mum."

"Daughter, you sound out of breath, are you ok?"

"Yep, just ran for the bus, missed it."

"Never mind, another one will come soon."

She sounded apprehensive and kind of shy, "What's up mum?"

"Erm, daughter – do you mind if I stay over at..."

...I cut in, "Course I don't mum, like you even have to ask," I said, my heart soaring because it meant that I could at last spend the night with Josh.

I said goodbye, then grabbed Josh and pushed him up against the warehouse wall. When our lips melded together all the recent trauma and revelation melted away in the warm wetness of our lunging, lingering kisses.

When at last we broke for air, I whispered, "Tonight's our night, I'm staying at yours." Josh swiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then wiped my lips dry of our snogging serum, "It's gonna be a night to remember B, I promise ya," he said, with a loving and lustful smirk.

###

But Josh and I still had stuff to do before we could consummate our young love – the girls.

###

We made our way to where dad told us they were, a room at the back of the auditorium.

I was filled with a fuzzy feeling, the kind of euphoria that comes with extreme relief. Despite my father's: deception, his injuries and my having to indefinitely lie to my mother, I felt incredible that I had him back in my life.

And I knew the way I felt was all because of Josh and the excitement I felt about are imminent, longed for intimacy.

###

We arrived at the designated room; Josh looked back at me as he put his hand on the door handle.

He turned it, and pushed the door  – causing a collective scream to ring out, loud and full of fear.

Josh bounded in, "Calm down girls, it's me," he said, throwing his arms out in a welcoming gesture.

The girls immediately dropped to their knees and clasped their hands together, their mouths moving and mumbling in prayer.

Then from a side room came Clara, the girl I first met at Paddock Field, with Dylan. She looked fresh and free, her smile wide and glowing.

She stood behind the girls and clasped her hands together, "I knew you were HE when I first met you. You have saved us all from ESHU, and for that we will follow you always, you, the second coming, Lord Joshua of Camberwell," she said, with a reverential nod.

Josh pulled me into him and whispered, "They honestly think I'm him."

Clara continued, "When we saw you on stage with SATAN himself, we knew your good would defeat his evil," she said.

Josh smiled, "That man wasn't Satan, he was a magic trick, a fakery, an illusion designed to frighten you into submission," he explained. Clara smiled softly, "We saw him with thine own eyes, just as we now see you, our savior," she said.

I held onto him and looked at the scene in front of me – a group of girls all knelt in front of us, worshipping Josh, my first love.

But I felt no jealousy. No, these girls were my sisters and I would do all I could to make sure they were cared for, appropriately.

Josh squeezed my hand and whispered, "Let's get them to the hotel, then we go back to mine and worship each other – you get me?" He said, with his cheeky wink.

###

We led the girls single file through the corridors. They walked silently, with a reverential respect and order.

When I saw a sign indicating: STAGE ENTRANCE – I remembered, "Josh, go ahead, let me grab dad's walking stick, I'll see you outside," I said, sprinting up the ramp that led onto the stage.

I raced to the far end, where the rope ladder was, assuming we'd left it there.

Dylan's blood had already dried, staining the floor with its dirty brown bad memory – but I saw no stick.

I scanned the floor space.

'TAP – TAP – TAP!' My eyes darted toward the sudden sound.

It was the walking stick being tapped on the floorboards – by the middle-aged businessman who claimed to be: Lucifer, Satan, the Devil – him who I was convinced was a trick, an illusion, a fakery designed to frighten the girls into submission.

He walked towards me with a letching leer, "I told you I'd get you, didn't I..."