Captured Lies

by Maggie Thom

He quietly lifted the cane from its resting place across the desk. The walking stick was old but there was nothing spectacular about it, other than maybe that one side of it was well worn and didn't match the maple brown of the other side. The rubber end was maybe a bit larger than most had but nothing to draw attention to it. That's why it had taken him so long to figure out where she'd kept her key hidden all these years. Setting down his flashlight so it faced him, he pinched the rubber end of the cane using his fingertips and gently pulled. His large garnet ring flashed in the light. He smiled at the gift his first lover had unknowingly given him. He wasn't sure how she'd explained to her husband that it had gone missing. The stopper slid off the wood with a gentle pop. The devil's smile crossed his face as two keys fell into his hand. He walked around the desk.

  There was a creaking sound from just outside the door.

  He froze, one foot firmly on the ground, the other half raised to step forward. He knew it couldn't be the old bat - that's how he'd always seen his sister even though she was only a few years older than him - she slept like a drunken sailor. The snort that automatically rumbled up from the back of his throat was barely muffled by his hand. Two minutes went by before he dared to move. Since no more noises came, he put the sound off to that of an old house settling its bones. The mansion had been built in the 1800's and although it was as solid as any mountain it still had its moments. When he'd been younger, he remembered thinking that the house's ghosts were waking up, to take vengeance for all the wrongs that had been done.

  He knew of many of them. Actually he was responsible for a lot of them. And was part of too many. There was no question in his mind he was going to hell. That just meant his time on earth was going to be anything but that. He sat down, in her chair. He sank back into the luxury of the soft leather, his mind wandering to what he would have done had he had this role. It didn't matter that in theory he was in charge of everything. He'd never been given the title or acknowledged as 'the one'.

  She'd always gotten the credit.

  He ignored the voice from the past reminding him that he had no real right to even be there. To even be given an opportunity to run the family business.

  He pushed away his thoughts before sliding the key into the lower left hand drawer, pulling it open. Knowing what he would find, he quickly flipped through the files - My Will, which he'd read many times; account ledger - again something he'd reviewed and was only glad that she had no idea that it wasn't totally accurate; Baby Cassidy? He jerked back as though a snake had struck at him. He pressed his hand to his chest trying to still the frantic racing of his heart as he stared at the open drawer.

  Baby Cassidy. That hadn't been there before. Slowly leaning forward, he pinched the document between his thumb and two fingers and lifted it out with a straight arm. He carefully laid it on the desk, before reaching into his inside breast pocket and pulling out his handkerchief. He wiped his damp forehead; not feeling the cool, seventy-two degree air conditioned room temperature.

  Grabbing the top side of the file, he gently flipped it open. Guy's name jumped out at him.

  That bastard is out to ruin me!

  He knew she'd been hiding something from him. His hands clenched, his body rigid, his breathing shallow and rapid as he sat there staring at what he had feared for almost 30 years.

  Somehow, the old bat had found her.

  He had thought that maybe he was home free. That since nothing had surfaced in such a long time, nothing would now. After all, no one knew his secret and it was much older than that. Sitting back, he took a few deep breaths before reaching into his jacket pocket for his cell phone. It had been a call he'd rehearsed ten to twenty times a day for the first couple of years.

  When nothing had happened, he'd accepted that he'd gotten away with it. He'd gotten complacent. Now he had to pay.

  Dialing the number that he knew would go to the grave emblazoned on his brain, he waited for the several clicks that let him know it was being rerouted. He never understood all that techno junk but he'd been smarter than the old hag and he'd kept up with at least how to use it. This call would be hard for someone to trace, even for the FBI with all their fancy equipment.

  He'd been leaving the man messages on a regular basis for thirty years but he never thought there'd be a need to change their relationship. John had come into his life at a time he'd needed him. And John had taken care of his problem. Or so he'd thought.

  After Mary and baby Cassidy had died, or supposedly had died, he and John had struck a bargain. He still wasn't sure how they'd gotten to that point. But he did know that John brought him the best whores there were. Discreetly, of course.

  His hand shook as he dialed. They hadn't talked face to face in twenty-nine years. Their weekly arrangement was done by leaving messages for each other on an untraceable voicemail. One that deleted all information once listened to. No one would have understood the weird messages anyway. It was a code they'd worked out. And it had served him well for a very long time. This call would change all that. This time he called the number that was for emergencies only. One he'd never had to call before.

  "John, it's me."

  There was silence for a long time. "I take it there's a problem."

  "Yes. Babies are cute, aren't they? After twenty-nine years, having one come back from the grave is a little disturbing." He filled John in with all he knew. His anger was palpable over the phone.

  "She took Mary's life. She won't be an issue for long. But this will cost you."

  With reluctance he agreed to John's exorbitant fee, knowing that after this they'd be severing ties. Which meant he'd have to find someone else to feed his particular habits.

  The line went dead.

  His hand was shaking so bad, he had a hard time hitting the end button. He mopped his forehead again cursing his mother and father. It was their fault he was in this bind. If his father could have kept his pants zipped, he wouldn't have had to keep his secret from the world - he wasn't pure Caspian blood. He wouldn't have been treated like a leper. He put the folders back in the drawer, closed and locked it. The keys slid easily into the end of the cane.

  All of a sudden, there was a steady hum sound. Startled, he flinched and the rubber end shot out of his hand. Listening he realized the house staff were polishing the front foyer. To keep the house spotless and to intrude the least during the day, they worked after everyone was in bed. Swearing silently, he looked around the dark room. He picked up the flashlight and shone it, slowly sweeping the light across the floor. It was dark and hard to see much of anything with his thin beam of light. He was tempted to fully open the full length curtains that were only a couple of inches apart but knew that would draw attention in the middle of the night. The curtains remained closed every night and the guard that prowled the place would surely notice if they were wide open. Not knowing how else to find the stupid thing and find it he knew he must, he made his way to the door and flipped on the overhead light. If someone came in, he'd make up something. Then he'd make sure that the servants were still scared of him and wouldn't even think of breathing a word to Dorothea about his being in her office.

  Wherever the rubber piece had gone, it wasn't sitting out in the open. Cussing he went to the far corner and slowly walked forward looking from side to side. There was a snapping sound that came from outside and caught his attention. He stepped over to the window and peered through the small crack in the curtains. The light from several lamp posts lit the area well. The well groomed expansive gardens looked immaculate and beautiful. Although in the dull light the colors weren't as brilliant as they were during the day. Nothing seemed to be out of place. There didn't appear to be anyone there. He waited several minutes but nothing stirred. It had probably been one of the twenty or so cats that ran amuck around the place.

  He was ready to get down on his hands and knees - something he'd never done in his life - to look for the dumb piece. Being 6'2" and twenty pounds overweight wasn't something he was looking forward to
but he didn't know where else to look for the stupid thing, except under something. He stepped back wanting to stay away from peering eyes that might be lurking outside. Something hit his shoulder. He jerked around, almost falling over. The large rubber tree he'd backed into sat there no worse for wear, almost mocking him. Hacking the thing down was his first choice but he knew he'd be the one they'd come looking for, since he'd said on more than one occasion what a grotesque, disfigured plant it was. He was about to turn away when he looked down and there sitting in the pot, was the rubber end.

  "I guess I shouldn't hate you after all. You just saved my ass."

  He quickly replaced the end, gently set the cane down on the desk, walked to the door, shut the light off and stepped out of the room.

  He never looked back. He'd never needed to. Being sneaky was something he prided himself on. After all, that was how he'd found out the real truth about himself. And now he knew he had to get rid of baby Cassidy. Again.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN