Buried Truth

by Caleb Whitaker

  Chapter 16: A Time to Remember

   

  The air outside is thick and humid, wilting the few flowers around the porch as the sun beats down from high in the sky. For even the shade is no savior from the radiant fire of the cloudless day. The railing of the porch is in direct sunlight, causing my hand to burn at the touch of the scorching wood. After ending the call with my sister, I needed somewhere open to think. The safest open space is the porch of the hotel, so that is where I find myself.

  I lean up against the blistering porch railing as I pull out my phone. If I think of this as a puzzle that needs to be pieced together, then the only way to finish the puzzle is to use all the pieces. Ryleigh’s ex is the big piece that killed my parents. But why? I have to use everything that is available to me. Maybe once I start using everything, my full memory will come back, and I can finally have peace through the truth.

  Now, what was my mystery person’s number? It’s time to talk to the man behind the mirror. I had dismissed the involvement of the texts as paranoia, but the images of that night continue to eat at me. If anyone outside of the family knows what is going on, it would be whoever is sending these texts. I type in what I think is the correct number, but an animated voice comes over the phone line, telling me a voicemail has not been created for the line. What is going on with this number?

  I guess I have to work the text angle. This is really starting to piss me off. I type, ‘Do you know what Gate’s Fortune means.’

  Sweat begins to pool on my forehead as I wait for a reply. The heat slowly drains my body of the energy that I stored up while sleeping. The effects of drinking, bearing down on me as well quicken my rage. My arms sweat from the sultry weather as my throat tingles from the fervor within me. Finally, after waiting for what feels like forever, I get a reply.

  ‘Yes. I can’t tell you, yet. Trust me. This is more complicated than you could ever imagine. Keep these messages private and keep an eye on Ryleigh. It’s not safe. I’m close to figuring out who is behind all this.’

  I stare at the message for a few seconds, letting it sink in. There is someone else out there that is trying to help me. Someone that knows about Ryleigh. Someone who won’t tell me more than I absolutely need to know. Why? Do they not trust me? Or are we in more danger than I think?

  I need to tell her about everything, she needs to know. I just don’t want to upset her even more. She wouldn’t understand. She would think me contacting my sister was an unneeded risk, let alone approve of me texting someone when I have no way of knowing who is on the other end. She would think it is her ex trying to trick us, which it might be. There is too much going on right now for her to know everything.

  But I can’t lose her too. She is most likely the only one that can actually help me navigate all the misfortune. So, why am I being so selfish? That’s it; I’m going to tell her about Gate’s Fortune. I’ll save the other stuff for later, until I can figure out a little more. I really should go check on her. It’s not safe for us to be apart for too long.

  The recurring thought of danger causes the hairs on my arms to stand on edge. I’m spinning in circles, getting nowhere right now. The best thing to do is to make sure Ryleigh is safe. Her ex-boyfriend is the one after us. She has more at stake than anyone does right now. Maybe, she knows what Gate’s Fortune actually means. It has to tie in somehow, and it’s beginning to look like she is at the center of the knot.

  As I open the lobby door, the rush of cool air greets my sweat-drenched skin. I casually walk to the spiral staircase and find a man, with a tattoo running down his chiseled arm, looking down from our floor. Upon seeing me, the man’s jaw line stiffens, before he leaves the rail of the stairs. Am I projecting again? That couldn’t be the man from the diner. We covered our tracks.

  Not wanting to risk it, I sprint up the stairs with every step of the spiral making me dizzy. When I make it to our floor, the man has already vanished out of the hallway. In search of a helpful hint, my eyes dart towards the creepy painting outside our door, but the mayor doesn’t show any signs of giving my nemesis’ whereabouts away. If Ryleigh is ok, then I’m losing my mind. But if she isn’t, this might be a trap.

  I burst through the doorway, causing the door to slam up against the wall, on my way into the room. I find Ryleigh, her eyes wide and face drawn, lying on the bed watching television. She screams over the actor’s monotone voice as her eyes settle on me, “What is your problem! I thought you were him!”

  “Is anyone in here with you?”

  She mutes the television, “No, of course not! You think I would be watching a soap if someone else were in here?

  I find myself checking the bathroom, in case the embarrassing show has been just a clever rouse. Finding not one other soul anywhere in the room, I self-diagnose myself as a nut case. I sit on the bed near Ryleigh as she asks, “How was your walk?

  “Good, I thought of some details I want to ask you about.”

  As she replies, her voice peaks with what seems like genuine interest. “Ok, tell me more. What details do you remember?”

  “I remember hearing something about Gate’s Fortune, but I don’t remember who said it or anything else about it.”

  She goes quiet, and I can tell she is thinking through what the words could mean. After a few seconds, she replies. “I have never heard of it. I don’t ever remember him mentioning it, but if you heard the words, it can’t be a coincidence. Do you know what Gate’s Fortune refers to?”

  “I don’t have a clue. I was hoping you could shed some light on it.”

  She pauses again, in deep thought, “Sorry, like I said, I have never heard it before. To me it sounds like Gate is a family name or place and Fortune could be money or property.”

  If Gate is a family name and Fortune does mean money, then how does that tie into my parents’ death? Our last name is Johnson, not Gate, and we don’t have a fortune that I know of. My ancestors at one time owned a plantation in Everton, but the enterprise fell apart. My parents have never talked about it, and they have always prided themselves on being a self-made family. We have never had any extra money that we haven’t had to work to get ourselves.

  “That makes sense, but I have no clue what that has to with any of our problems.”

  She replies, “Maybe it doesn’t, but it does seem like something my ex would latch onto.”

  “I don’t know. The further I dig into that night, the more complicated it gets… ugh!”

  I stare at the television, which displays a woman crying profusely because her lover ran off with another woman, as Ryleigh rattles off the latest newscast about the murder. The only part I really hear is when she tells me the police have now linked her to the house that night. At some point during the conversation, I leave, in a haze, to the bathroom to run some warm water across my face.

  The warmth of the water comforts me and helps me cope with my lack of understanding. As the water beats down on me, I sift through my memories in search of something that can bring clarification to Gate’s Fortune. I have no recollection of ever hearing or seeing those words except for the night in my dad’s study, which means it was something I hadn’t heard of before that encounter, or I could have known about it, and wiped it out of my memories, as I did Ryleigh.

  Getting nowhere with Gate’s Fortune, I concentrate on my own family. If her ex wants money, I don’t have any yet. My parents are dead now, so he isn’t getting their money. My dad has never mentioned any family money, and I have never thought to look into our family history in Everton because they always pushed me to make something of myself. They weren’t too keen on looking to the past.

  The information wouldn’t be hard to look into; I just have never been interested in the past, until now. All of Everton’s family plantations are listed in the town ledger at the public library. There is no way I can get access there with the police tracking me. It would more than likely be pointless, anyways. If there were any family money, my dad would have told me about it. An
d since I don’t know about it, there is no way her ex had any way of knowing about it. So, that has to be a coincidence.

  I turn the water off and dry myself off. The more important predicament is how we remain safe from an unseen enemy. How do we avoid both the police and her ex? Alice mentioned the Wilkerson cabin. But given Matt’s and my falling out, I don’t know if his family’s cabin would be the safest bet. I don’t see any other options, so I guess we will have to chance it.

  Once back in the bedroom, I lay down beside Ryleigh as she reads her book. “How can you read after all this?”

  “Why have you been chugging down the Scotch after all this?”

  I look over at the bottle by the television. It’s nearly empty, and we just got it this morning. I’m lucky I’m not totally gone right now. I had better taper off. We don’t need me accidentally hurting myself. I let the conversation die and change the subject. “I think I got a place we can hide out at tomorrow. It’s my buddy Matt’s family cabin. Nobody should be there and it's out of the way.”

  “That sounds good. You have mentioned it before in conversations about your childhood, and it seems like the right place to hide out.”

  I sit there watching the news as Ryleigh reads her book. The local station replays information about the case every thirty minutes, so I constantly see Ryleigh’s pictures and my own paraded across the screen. A police officer that comes on at one point speaks about the fact this could be the worst murder in Everton’s history.

  I can’t believe it. The worst murder in Everton’s history, and they think I committed it. How can I ever live here again? I wouldn’t be surprised if the people at the hotel make the connection eventually. Maybe, they will. Maybe, the police will come while we sleep. I can’t take this much longer, the questions, the paranoia, not to mention the headaches and constant need to self-medicate with Scotch.

  I get the sense that despite the fact the sun is still shining outside like a burning coal, our day is about over. All the conversations have plummeted to dead ends formed by pure madness. There is nothing new to discuss, and we both are fully fried by our constant emotional traumas. Surprisingly, the alcohol only partly debilitates my mind and body, but still exhausted from everything else. It could be that I have existed in an eternal hangover for the past few days, and now I’m building a tolerance. Whatever the case, I’m ready to sleep.

  It doesn’t take long after we close the blinds and turn off the lights for me to fall away. I begin thinking about how weird sleep really is, and how it’s a place of both joy and terror. Where sometimes, I know I’m sleeping, and while other times, I don’t know I’m asleep until I wake up. Another thing with sleep is that I can’t ever tell how much time is passing. Sometimes it feels slow but really lasts only a short time, then other times it flies by but lasts for hours.

  As my thoughts end and my dreams begin, it becomes clear that deep down I don’t want it. I know I’m dreaming, and I want to wake up, but instead my mind finds itself thrown into a complete and utter nightmare with no way out.

  I’m in my room on my knees staring into my parents’ blank eyes. They are on their knees opposite of me. Their faces give off little expression except for terror and confusion. My eyes meet my dad’s as he mouths something to me. Someone stands behind them with a knife twirling in his fingertips like a baton.

  My heart is beating out of my chest as the knife shines closer and closer to them. The person behind my parents is clothed fully in black, the darkness seeping out of his soul into the world. He is screaming at them while swinging the knife around, jokingly playing with them like a cat would with an injured mouse.

  I sit watching the chaos, unsure what to do. My hands and feet free from restraint hang limp, cementing me in place. Time stands still as my entire body gives itself over to a pure relentless fear. The man in black turns his attention to me. The muffled voice screams out as his eyes widen with pleasure. The hatred in his voice heats my skin like a burning torch, the evil…

  A moment later, he slides the knife down my father’s cheek. A few hairs from my dad’s beard fall from his face. My eyes close in hatred and horror. When my eyes reopen, my dad is falling to the side gasping for air. He pulls a notepad out of his pocket and scribbles something before someone kicks it out of his hand. As my parents lay motionless on my bedroom floor, not dead, but getting closer, I scream but no sound comes out.

  For a brief moment, things seem peaceful, as they could be getting ready for a nap. I begin to creep forward as someone grabs my throat preventing me from reaching my parents.

  I kick free as a knife slashes through my shirt, slicing my side like raw meat. The piercing pain from someone clawing at my face causes me to yelp as I reach for my parents. I get to my feet and scramble out of my room…

  Someone grabs me from behind before I can safely make it onto the stairs. My spine seizes as a powerful force hammers against me from behind. I fight back, swinging my arms free so that I’m facing my attacker. I look straight into his eyes as he pushes me backwards down the stairs. The attacker mask comes flying off as I fall towards the floor. The murderer’s face is my own.