by Doug Welch
Taking his coffee with him, he led her to the back patio. They sat in the outdoor chairs, sipping coffee in the warmth of the humid late-spring air, and listening to the sound of the crickets.
“You want the truth,” he began. “Well, the truth is not something I’m proud of. Your grandmother and grandfather taught me to be a moral Christian and to not have sex before I was married.”
Audrey knew this. He’d tried to instill the same morality to her and her brothers, taking them to church on a regular basis and trying to keep topics about sex hidden. Of course it had only made them more curious about the subject and prone to experimenting on their own, but she didn’t say that.
“So what happened, Dad?”
He hesitated for a long moment as though reluctant to reveal some deep secret. “In my freshman year at college I met this woman. She was older than me, but when I was around her, I couldn’t control myself. Even though I knew it was wrong, I fornicated with her every chance I got. I kept promising myself I wouldn’t see her again, but I kept going back, having sex with her over and over again. Then she told me she was pregnant and I was the father.
“Well naturally I offered to marry her, it was the moral thing to do, but she kept putting me off. I was too ashamed to tell my mom and dad what I’d done, so I kept it a secret and waited. I got a part time job to pay for her medical expenses and she had you.
“A month later she left, leaving you behind.”
Tears had come to his eyes and he wiped them with the back of his hand.
“I didn’t know what to do with a baby girl, so I went back home and confessed my sins to my mother and father, asking for help and forgiveness. I don’t know what I’d have done if it wasn’t for your grandmother and Pat. Pat and I were childhood sweethearts and I thought we’d marry someday, but I couldn’t imagine how I’d tell her about you. I thank the Lord for her. She forgave me and took you to raise as her own.”
Audrey piled a little more guilt on her shoulders, but despite his obvious distress she steeled herself to ask him, “What was her name, Dad?”
Looking at the ground he whispered. “Sybil.” His voice grew stronger. “She said her name was Sybil. She never told me her last name and strangely enough, I never asked.”
Audrey pressed her advantage. “Do you have anything, any pictures or examples of her signature? Any documents? Something I could use to locate her?”
He looked to the side. “Why do you ask? What makes you think I’d keep something like that? Just let it go, Audrey.”
Determined to know, she kept at him. “It’s important to me, Dad. More important than I can tell you right now. It has to do with my future.” And the future of my baby, she thought. “If you have something, I need to see it.”
He hesitated for a prolonged moment, staring at her. Then he rose to his feet. ‘Wait here, I’ll be right back.”
Audrey felt tense with anticipation, wondering what he’d reveal. She had a feeling that her entire life would depend upon this. She was determined to know and if necessary she’d track the bitch down to find out why she’d almost ruined the lives of so many people.
After a few minutes her father returned clutching a photograph. Sitting back in the chair he stared at it. “Sybil shied away from cameras. It was like she didn’t want any pictures taken of her. I managed to snap this when she wasn’t looking and I’ve kept it hidden.” He handed the picture to her.
Apprehensive, Audrey looked at it. The image shocked her. She felt dizzy and she could feel her face blanch.
She’d seen this woman before.
Audrey had kept a part of the truth of her time with the man who’d violated her hidden from everyone and seeing the image had reawakened the guilt she’d been holding back.
Although in her mind, she’d screamed ‘no’, that what was happening was wrong. Her body had seemed to have a mind of its own. She’d responded with lust, acting like a bitch dog in heat at every encounter.
One constant had accompanied each tryst. This woman had been there, observing her humiliation the entire time.
Her father’s voice filtered through the roaring in her head. “Are you alright, Audrey? You look pale.”
With an effort of will, she lifted her eyes from the picture. “Are you sure this is Sybil, Dad?”
He nodded.
Audrey studied the image again. There was something else wrong about it. A chill passed up her spine and lodged in her head. It was urgent that she get this picture to Paris as soon as possible.
Chapter 8
Stranger in My Bed
Elizabeth held still, her body tense with fear, listening to the snores of the sleeping man that lay next to her.
The baby nestling in her womb stirred restlessly as though sensing her mother’s panic. Elizabeth felt if she moved, her mind might shatter, but she willed herself from the bed and kicked off the bedcovers. She padded out of the bedroom, and shuffled down the hall to the bathroom.
Once out of reach of the man in her bed, her panic attack subsided. She was almost eight months pregnant, having conceived more than a month before Paris rescued her mother from Iran.
A little nauseous, she leaned on the sink with her hands, staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, desperate to regain her composure.
She struggled to understand her emotions, trying to find a rational explanation. Her anxiety surged again and weak at the knees, she sat on the toilet seat, drawing in deep breaths, and rubbed her distended womb.
Was she going nuts? Was she suffering from some weird hormonal imbalance? Something was definitely wrong, but what was it?
It had started innocently enough. Paris had returned early that morning from a Council mission. She’d been secretly glad, because he’d originally said he’d be gone for two weeks and he’d returned in less than one. As the countdown of her expected delivery date approached, she resented every moment he was away from her.
She’d rushed out the front door to hug him only to be held at arm’s length. She’d searched his face for a reason, but he’d only smiled, kissed her cheek and removed his suitcase from the car.
Following him into the house, she’d wondered at his behavior. Had something happened? The old Paris would have kissed her to breathlessness and followed up by refusing to let her go. His greeting had almost been that of an acquaintance or friend, not a lover.
All day long her tension had built. He’d shut himself up in the study, working with the computer and only coming out for brief moments to eat and visit the bathroom.
Confused by his behavior, she’d puttered around the farmhouse, fretting, thinking and staring out of the windows. Had she done something to cause him to be so distant? Usually after a prolonged absence he hovered at her side, asking about the baby and fussing over her comfort. Could the changes in her body have caused him to lose interest? She knew she wasn’t the same woman who’d married him. Her weight had gone up and her figure had become pear shaped, but it hadn’t bothered him before, so why all of a sudden, now?
During dinner, Paris had been curt with both her and Cecil, responding only when spoken to. After he’d eaten, he went back to the study and emerged late at night. She’d joined him, expecting some attention. He’d kissed her and that had been when her fear began.
It was like kissing a stranger. She felt...nothing. No stirring in her womb, no desire to mold herself against him, nothing.
Seething with anxiety, her mind in turmoil and reluctant to become intimate, she’d changed to underwear and an old nightgown that was too tight for her belly, to join him in their bed.
Hoping that whatever had caused the gulf between them could be healed, she’d stretched out her mind-glow as Paris had taught her, seeking its match in the mind of the man who lay next to her.
Ordinarily her mind-glow met with Paris’ mind like two perfectly matched puzzle pieces. This time, her brain had frantically tried to fit the pieces together and failed. She’d become rigid, the truth dawning on her. The man who lay next to he
r wasn’t Paris. He couldn’t be her husband.
If he wasn’t Paris, then who was he?
More important, where was Paris?
Now she huddled in the bathroom, shaking with fear.
Confused and tired from lack of sleep, she was unwilling to approach her bedroom.
She’d find out the truth about Paris all right but it could wait until the morning.
She padded down to the living room, curled up on the couch, and with a throw to ward off the chill, fell asleep.
Chapter 9
The Shadow Twin
Alex used her key to open the front door of the farmhouse and walked into the living room. I don’t walk anymore, I waddle, she thought. She was almost at full term, and her stomach resembled a prize watermelon. One time, on a whim, she’d wondered if it could serve as a table and she’d successfully parked a cup and saucer on it. Caesar had laughed at that one but had sobered when she’d threatened to throw the cup at him. She chuckled, reliving the memory.
About to go to the kitchen to see if Elizabeth or Cecil had any coffee, she spied Elizabeth’s still form, huddled on the couch.
Uh oh, did they have an argument?
Curious, she decided to wake her, gently shaking her slumbering body. “Wake up Beth.”
After a few prods, Elizabeth blinked and sat up. “What time is it?”
Alex’s feet were killing her so she lowered her behind to the couch and collapsed the remaining way beside Elizabeth, closing her eyes and leaning back against the cushions. “Eleven o’clock. I heard Paris was back. How’s he doing?”
Elizabeth drew a quick breath.
Alex opened her eyes. Turning her head to gage Elizabeth’s reaction she said, “Did you guys have a fight?”
Elizabeth’s avoided her gaze, casting her eyes to the entrance of the hallway. “No nothing like that. I just needed to sleep alone.”
Alex snorted. “Bullshit, Beth. You haven’t slept alone since you married him. Give it over, Sis, what’s the problem?”
Elizabeth worried her lower lip with her teeth. “I’m not sure.” She shook her head. “Maybe it’s just me. Things always look different in the morning.”
Alex frowned. “What things? What are you taking about?”
Elizabeth sighed. “Never mind, Alex. So how’s your baby? Still having backaches?”
Alex chuckled. “The little bugger’s tap-dancing on my bladder. I swear, if he’s as hyper when I get him out of there as he is now, I’ll have to tie him to a chair.” Both she and Elizabeth knew the sexes of their children. Elizabeth had insisted on genetic testing, looking for birth defects and as a result, they’d learned early. Elizabeth bore a girl while she carried a boy. They’d already picked out names. After discussing it with Paris, Elizabeth had chosen the name Dorri after her recently rescued mother, and Alex, Sanjar, after Caesar’s deceased father.
Elizabeth went through the difficult process of getting up from the couch, rolling to one side and rising with the aid of her arms and legs. Once standing, she offered Alex a hand and they both walked to the kitchen where they found Cecil sipping a cup of coffee and reading the morning paper.
He looked up from his seat. “Mornin’ Beth. Mornin’ Alex.”
Alex sat at the table with a thud, cradling her stomach. “Good morning, Cecil, is there any more coffee?”
Cecil’s big brown eyes examined her with concern. “You just sit there, Alex, I’ll get it for you.” He redirected his attention to both of them. “Sit down, Beth. Do you two want me to make some breakfast for you?”
Alex waved a hand. “Just some toast for me, Cecil, but the coffee first.”
“I’ll have some oatmeal,” Elizabeth said.
Alex studied him as he rose to serve them. Cecil’s skin was coal black with the bluish shine that only came from truly black skin. His close-cropped gray hair clung tightly to his scalp and his large frame made the kitchen stove resemble a child’s toy. Despite his intimidating size he moved nimbly around the kitchen like a big bear with a ballerina’s grace.
A few months ago, the Family had adopted Cecil. He’d been living in the flood control tunnels in Las Vegas and he’d helped rescue Elizabeth from the Shadow spy network. Since Cecil loved to cook, he supervised the cooking at their new bed and breakfast, preparing meals for visitors and The Family’s new additions. To provide a home for him they’d built a new wing on the farm house. Since Edward and Dorri had moved to Florida, Alex lived with Caesar in her father-in-law’s old home while Paris and Elizabeth lived at the farm.
Cecil set a streaming cup of coffee and a plate of toast in front of her and sat at the table.
Alex watched as Elizabeth poised a spoon over her bowl of oatmeal. Before taking a bite, Elizabeth glanced up. “Where’s Caesar?”
Alex didn’t answer until she’d swallowed her first sip of the rich coffee. “He’s checking the fields and the livestock.”
Caesar had a passion for farming. Over the winter and spring, he’d purchased a select herd of cattle, some chickens and pigs. Enlarging the Family’s holdings with more land, he’d created pastures and planted acres of crops. The produce went to supply the bed and breakfast with meat and fresh vegetables. The surplus supported the Shadow community or was sold locally.
Alex countered. “Where’s Paris?”
Elizabeth finished a bite of oatmeal and shook her head. “I haven’t seen him this morning.”
Cecil cleared his throat. “He left early. Said he was goin’ to the Center.”
The Center was an office building in downtown Jamestown that served as The Shadow Family’s business center. It housed an urgent care and medical clinic, their offices, and temporary lodging for homeless Shadows or Shadows recovering from medical treatment.
Alex noticed a worried look on Elizabeth’s face and wondered what put it there. Was the baby causing trouble? “Are you okay Beth? Is something wrong with the baby?”
Elizabeth didn’t answer, instead she spoke to Cecil. “Cecil did you notice anything unusual about Paris this morning?”
Cecil avoided the question and mumbled something unintelligible under his breath.
Alex wondered where the conversation headed. “I didn’t hear that, Cecil.”
Cecil frowned at her. “I won’t say bad things ‘bout Paris.”
Alex considered his reply. Since The Family had returned to Kentucky from the near disaster that had occurred in Las Vegas, Cecil and Paris had bonded as only two war veterans who’d shared similar experiences could. Although separated by a generation, it seemed no matter how modernized; war was still war. They’d spent many nights reminiscing about common experiences. Alex could only imagine what images and emotions plagued their minds.
Elizabeth interrupted her thoughts. “Cecil, it’s very important. I wouldn’t ask otherwise. Did Paris say or do anything to give you the impression he might not be...Paris?”
Surprised, Alex almost objected to the question but clamped down on a reply and decided to follow where Elizabeth led.
Staring at the table, Cecil replied, “It was somethin’ he said. Maybe I misremembered the words.”
Alex glanced at Elizabeth who returned her look and shook her head slightly. They both waited.
Cecil sighed. “I was askin’ him about his mission. He’s been talkin’ things over with me before he goes on one of these things, y’know, and he didn’t seem to understand what I was talkin’ ‘bout. And then he said...” Cecil struggled to form the words.
Elizabeth leaned forward, her eyes focused on Cecil as though by will alone she could drag the words out of him. “Go on Cecil. What did he say?”
Cecil focused on Elizabeth. “He jumped up from the kitchen chair, lookin’ mad as hell and then he stomped out of the kitchen. On the way out, I thought I heard him say ‘Goddamn snoopy nigger’.”
Alex’s hand involuntarily jumped to her mouth. “Paris wouldn’t say that! You must have misunderstood.”
Alex was certain of it. Since they’d
returned from Las Vegas, Paris had smoothed the way for Cecil’s integration in Jamestown. He wasn’t a racist, far from it. She knew in the Army he’d worked and bunked with men of all races, creeds and nationalities, and he often grew angry when someone made bigoted remarks in his presence.
Elizabeth nodded at her. “Exactly. Paris wouldn’t even think it.” She laid her hand on Cecil’s arm. “You’re probably right, Cecil. You must have misunderstood. I’m sure he wouldn’t say anything like that.”
Alex noted the emphasis on the word ‘Paris’ and wondered anew at what Elizabeth implied. She decided they needed to talk in private. “Beth can you join me in the study?” She jerked her head toward the hallway but Elizabeth continued to eat her breakfast.
Irritated, but understanding that Elizabeth might not want to upset Cecil further, she decided to wait until she’d finished her oatmeal.
Calmer now, Alex thanked Cecil for the meal and followed Elizabeth to the study.
Alex closed the door. “Give, Sis what’s going on?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t know, but I’m starting to suspect that Paris isn’t Paris.”
Confused, Alex could only stare at her. “What the hell do you mean, Beth?”
Elizabeth wrestled with conflicting choices. Paris had warned her to not reveal the fact that she could sense mind-glow. She understood his reasons. If the Council learned of it, it might mean the end of The Family, but the urge to confess poised eager on the tip of her tongue.
With some effort, she forced it down. “It’s just some things I’ve observed. He’s not the same, Alex. The man that returned home looks like Paris, talks like Paris, hell, even walks like Paris, but I’m convinced he’s not Paris.”
Alex parked her swollen body on a convenient chair and cocked her head to one side. She studied Elizabeth through narrowed eyes. “You know how fantastic that sounds don’t you? Do you have any evidence? We can’t start doubting the head of the Family on a simple feeling.”
Elizabeth nibbled on her lower lip. How could she convince Alex without revealing her hidden talent? She decided on a failsafe method. “Alex I share a bed with Paris. I know him better than anyone else in the world. The man who came back to me is not Paris.”