Deja Vu

by Samantha Gentry

He turned and stared out the window, his gaze falling on the ocean without really focusing on it. What to do. How much to tell her. He had known the time would come when he had to confide the truth to her, especially after they spent an incredible night making love. A night that had a remarkable impact on his life. A night that confirmed his involvement with her had moved beyond the physical to encompass the emotional as well. But he had not been prepared for her to confront him the very next day and certainly not with the knowledge of his deception about his identity.

  Divulge his entire plan to her? Confess his true identity while holding back the details of his scheme? He had never felt so torn between two opposing ends of one reality. Even as a teenager he knew what had to be done. For twenty-five years he had pursued a single-minded course of action and long range plan aimed at one, and only one, conclusion. A plan that included his one and only long time ally and confidant.

  And now he stood there, staring out the window and wondering what to do. He tried to shake off his rapidly growing apprehension. He had no option other than to trust her with the truth. At least part of it…for the time being. He turned to face her, but stayed more than arm’s length away. He could not allow his desire for her to cloud his thinking and touching her would do just that.

  A sigh of resignation escaped his throat. “You’re putting me in a position I wasn’t quite ready to accept in spite of the fact that I’ve given it considerable thought over the last day or so. I wanted to be honest with you.” He tried to calm his rattled nerves, but without much success. “What I’m about to tell you must be kept in the strictest of confidence. The seriousness of what’s going on here…the importance of all this can’t be emphasized too much. There cannot be any exceptions. I need to have your absolute promise of discretion and complete secrecy.”

  “I promise.” Her words had been barely above a whisper, her expression one of total confusion.

  He sucked in a steadying breath. Things had gone too far and now he couldn’t turn back. He had to tell her. A quick glance at the floor as he rallied his determination, then he allowed the words he had promised not to say. “You’re right. Gable Talbot didn’t exist prior to five years ago. My name was Jonathon Stinson before I had it legally changed. I’m…Jack Stinson’s son.”

  Her eyes widened in shock and the color drained from her face. “You…you’re Jack Stinson’s son?”

  Had she heard him correctly? Her entire body trembled from the emotional turmoil coursing through her veins. She fell backward into a chair in stunned silence. Her mind refused to focus, refused to process the information. She stared at him in disbelief as she shook her head in an attempt to clear the fuzziness.

  Gable rushed toward her, kneeling next to her chair. His voice carried genuine concern. “Lexi…are you all right?”

  He grabbed her hand and held it to his chest as he made an unsuccessful attempt at a teasing tone of voice. “I know. You told me not to ask you that again.” Then the seriousness returned. “But you looked like you’d seen a ghost. I’m sure what I told you is not what you were expecting to hear, but I had no idea it would have such an adverse affect.”

  “I’m…I’m okay.” She tried to force a smile, but only managed a slight upward turn at the corners of her mouth. Her tremors escalated to the point of being almost out of control. “I’m not sure what to say, how to respond to that. I suspected you might have some sort of connection to what happened here thirty years ago even though I couldn’t imagine what it might be, but the possibility of you being Jack Stinson’s son never entered my mind.”

  “As for the money to buy this island…well, I started an internet company and sold it five years ago for a considerable amount of money. The fortune is mine and I came by it honestly. It’s given me the freedom to concentrate all my efforts on proving that my father did not murder anyone. It’s my belief that Winthrop murdered his wife and my father was nothing more than a scapegoat. From everything I’ve gathered over the years, I’ve determined that my father was not having an affair with Evelyn. In fact, I discovered he didn’t even particularly like her or Winthrop. He considered both of them to be pretentious, self-centered snobs. His presence on the island was part of his job and nothing more.”

  “What about your mother? Where is she?”

  “My mother died three years ago. Even though my parents were divorced, she never believed the gossip and rumors about my father. She lived long enough to see me put a carefully thought out plan into play starting with the purchase of Skull Island.” He paused as a moment of regret flashed across his face. “I only wish she could have lived to see my father’s name cleared.”

  He set his jaw in a hard line of determination. “And I intend to see it happen no matter how long it takes or how much it costs.”

  He cocked is head and leveled a quizzical look at her. “Perhaps you can answer a question for me. What made you suspect I had some sort of involvement in an event that happened thirty years ago? I was only a child, barely nine years old. There was never anything mentioned that said there were any children involved in the events of that night. Winthrop and Evelyn never had any children and I lived with my mother in California at the time and had never been to Skull Island.”

  “I…well,” a nervous jitter told her how uncomfortable she was with his question, but probably no more so than he had been with her probing and prying. “I sort of have this psychic ability…visions about things, but I don’t know how to control it or properly interpret what I see.”

  He stared at her as if not believing what she had said. “Psychic abilities?”

  She bristled at what she interpreted as his condescending manner. Was he making fun of her? “You asked the question and that’s my answer.” Her words came out with an edge of defensiveness she had not been able to control. “If you don’t believe me, then there’s nothing I can say that will change your mind.”

  “Whoa…pull in your claws. I didn’t say anything about not believing you. As Shakespeare wrote in Hamlet, There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. I’m not denying the existence of psychic abilities. I’m just surprised at your answer. I’ve never met anyone before who claimed to be…uh, I mean anyone who is psychic.”

  “Well…” A moment of sheepish embarrassment claimed her. “I…uh, didn’t mean to jump to conclusions—”

  “It’s all right. We both seem to have some surprises in us. Have you always had these psychic abilities? Does this run in your family?”

  A moment of sadness washed over her. “I don’t have any immediate family any more. I’m an only child. My parents were killed in an automobile accident eight years ago.” She managed to force an upbeat manner in an attempt to change the mood. “As far as my psychic visions…you’re the first to know. I started having them when I was a teenager. I thought something was wrong with me so I never told anyone about them. Maybe if I had confided in someone, had found others with the same type of abilities, I could have gained some viable knowledge in that area. But, that wasn’t the case. So, I’m stuck between knowing something and not understanding what it is.”

  “Do you know what triggered your psychic senses about me?”

  She forced her attention back to the matter at hand. “When I arrived and we shook hands on the dock, a vision popped into my mind. A horrifying image of mud sliding toward me and skeletons. It repeated several times. I didn’t have any idea what it meant but it seemed to tie you, the island, and my research together.” A cold shiver swept across her skin. Her words came out barely above a whisper. “Yesterday that vision became a frightening reality.”

  Gable couldn’t maintain his distance from her any longer. He stepped in close and folded her in his embrace, holding her close to him. “I can’t begin to imagine the terror you must have experienced when you saw that wall of mud sliding toward you, then the skeletons…” If making love hadn’t confirmed how much he wanted to pursue a true relationship with her, then the sharing of d
eeply held secrets sealed his fate. No matter how his quest played out in the arena of real life, he could not allow her to be lost in the process.

  She wrapped her arms around his waist as he nestled her head against his shoulder. Neither of them spoke, each content to sway gently back and forth in each other’s arms. Several minutes passed before either of them made any attempt to break the spell binding them together.

  Gable brushed a soft kiss across Lexi’s lips. “I told Dolly I was fetching you for lunch. She’s going to have a fit if we don’t show up in the kitchen right away.”

  “I am hungry. I didn’t really have any breakfast.”

  “I know.”

  “There’s more…” She paused, as if uncertain about whether or not to continue. “I need to show you what I’ve been working on this morning. You aren’t the only one whose background I was curious about. I really think you need to see what I found as soon as possible. I can show you now,” she waved her arm indicating her laptop computer. “If you have some time.”

  He stepped back and studied her for a moment. “Would it be better if we had lunch in my office? We can shut the door and be assured of complete privacy. That will allow us to eat as we talk.”

  “Give me a moment to gather my work materials.”

  A few minutes later, they headed toward his office. Gable carried the tote bag containing her papers and laptop computer. While she set up her computer, he went to the kitchen and brought back a lunch tray.

  Once locked behind his office door, she hooked her laptop to his printer and printed out the computer aged pictures, then explained to him what she had been doing. “I procured photographs of the principals involved in the case—Winthrop, Evelyn, and Jack…uh, your father—and aged them to what they would look like today. Here is what I ended up with.” She placed two of the photographs on the table. “This is Winthrop and Evelyn.” She put a third photograph on the table next to the other two. “I located a candid photograph of your father that had been taken during the party preparations. This is what he would look like today.”

  Gable picked up the photographs of Winthrop and Evelyn and studied them. Their faces were ones he knew well. They had been burned into his mind. “It’s very interesting seeing them as they would look now.” He replaced the photographs on the table.

  “In my research I had come across a candid snapshot, a paparazzi type photo taken on the streets of Manhattan five years ago that’s supposed to be J.D. Prescott. As you had mentioned when I first arrived on the island, I also couldn’t figure out how the research information he wanted would fit in with the type of books he writes. That, combined with my suspicions about you, led me to look into Prescott’s life and see what I could find. I wanted to know what connection he had to you, why he wanted to know about you specifically and what you had planned for the island.”

  Nervous anxiety churned in the pit of Lexi’s stomach. Was she doing the right thing in sharing what she found? She had never felt so sure of anything while at the same time being so uncertain. Making love with him had thoroughly captured her emotions, but that did not make it prudent to forsake her logic and common sense. Something very unsettling was happening on Skull Island and she didn’t understand her part in it. Was she a willing accomplice or an unwitting dupe? Had she gotten too close to the truth? Could her life be in danger?

  One thing for sure, if she wanted to leave there was no way off the island without someone else’s help. The only remote possibility she had for any assistance would be to call the sheriff’s office on her cell phone, but even that was speculative at best. Gable and Deputy Lansing had appeared to be friends, at least enough so that they referred to each other by first name. Gable’s adamant statements about intruders being arrested for trespassing had been taken very seriously by the sheriff’s department to the point where they were willing to send a boat in a storm to pick up the reporter. Any call she made for help would most likely not be kept confidential.

  Gable’s voice interrupted her wandering thoughts. “And what did you find?”

  “Huh?” Her mind raced to grab hold of what they had been talking about before more pressing matters occupied her thoughts.

  “What did you find when you looked into Prescott’s life?”

  Where had all her sudden doubts come from? She was already too far into things to suddenly shut down. She gathered her resolve. “I isolated his face from the rest of the photograph, cleaned up the image, and enlarged it. This is what I ended up with.” She placed the photo of J.D. Prescott next to the computer aged photo of Winthrop Hollingsworth. She heard his quick intake of breath as his eyes widened in shock. He picked up the two photos and studied them.

  She tried to control the quaver in her voice. “My first thought matched the expression on your face…the two people shown in the photos are the same person.” She shot him a questioning look. “What do you think?”

  The words came out as not much more than a whisper while he continued to stare at the two photos. “Winthrop Hollingsworth really is alive and well. I’ve always believed it. I felt it in the depths of my soul. It’s the one thing that helped keep me focused on my goal all these years, knowing that I would eventually be able to prove it. And now I finally know where he is and who he turned himself into.”

  Gable looked up at Lexi, capturing a moment of eye contact. She saw the pain in his eyes, the anguish that covered his features telling of a deep emotional wound. “We don’t need to wait for the official identification to tell us that the two skeletons are Evelyn Hollingsworth…and my father. Winthrop murdered both of them, then disappeared and created a new identity for himself.”

  The pain covering his face touched her as nothing else ever had. More than anything she wanted to comfort him, to let him know he was not alone. She tentatively touched his cheek, then slipped her arms around his waist and leaned her head against his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hit you with this without some words of warning. I wasn’t thinking beyond my initial surprise and the excitement of discovery when I realized the two photos depicted the same person…or at least they appeared to be the same person. I should have—”

  “There’s no reason for you to apologize.” He put his arms around her and rested his cheek against the top of her head. “You’ve provided me with some important missing pieces that I might have eventually connected, but without your help it could have taken me a long time. Thank you.”

  Then the realization popped into her mind. Why hadn’t he picked up the computer aged photograph of Jack Stinson? Surely he would find it interesting to see what his father would look like today. Had his statement about being Jack Stinson’s son been the truth or a ruse to gain her confidence? Had she played into his hands by showing him what she had found, especially connecting the altered photograph of Winthrop with the candid picture of J.D. Prescott?

  No. She shoved away the inappropriate thought. His pain was real, the emotion genuine. One of the skeletons was Jack Stinson…his father.

  “I don’t know what your intentions are, but you mentioned having put an existing plan into action starting with the purchase of Skull Island. I want to help you. If everything that’s happened proves to be exactly what it appears to be, that means J.D. Prescott used me for his own purposes. That gives me a stake in all of this. He didn’t need research for a book. I think he wanted to know whether there was any danger of your resort plans accidentally uncovering the bodies. If he hired a private detective, that would create suspicions. But using a researcher to compile information for his next book wouldn’t stir the same type of curiosity.”

  She stepped back from his embrace and looked up into the depths of his green eyes. “What do you want me to do? The only communication I’ve had with Prescott since my arrival here is an email I sent him first thing this morning telling him about the discovery of the skeletons.”

  She saw a moment of displeasure dart across his face, but she put a stop to it before he could say anything. “It was only
a matter of time before what happened would be on the news. By emailing him with the information, I gave the appearance that I’m still doing the job he’s paying me to do. Had I not reported to him, within twenty-four hours he would have known about it anyway compounded by the fact that I could not deny knowledge of the incident since I was the one who ended up in the ravine with the skeletons.”

  His expression softened. “You’re right. You did what needed to be done.”

  “There must be some way we can use this to lure him here to the island. If you could confront him face-to-face…”

  “That, in itself, wouldn’t accomplish anything. I never met Winthrop Hollingsworth and coming right out and confronting him wouldn’t have any impact on what needs to happen. I’d be accusing J.D. Prescott of being Winthrop and he’d deny it. I have no proof…yet. He’d relate to me as the person who currently owns this island and might even be able to give me a sketchy story idea that would explain his interest in the research he hired you to do.”

  “But what about fingerprints? Surely Winthrop’s fingerprints would be somewhere. The police could take Prescott’s and compare them. That would be proof that they are the same person.”

  “The police would need some sort of proof, at least a form of probable cause, before they would try to force Prescott to give his fingerprints. And that assumes there is some sort of official record of Winthrop’s fingerprints for the comparison.”

  A sigh of resignation surrounded her words. “You’re right.”

  “Confronting him without proof wouldn’t get us any closer to proving he’s Winthrop or that he committed two murders that night. The only thing it would do is put him on full alert that his secret wasn’t as safe as he thought. In fact, it could put us…especially you…in physical danger.”

  She nodded her head. “I see what you mean.”

  “However, getting him here to the island is something that could play into a revised version of my plan. All we need to do is figure out something powerful enough to lure him here, something so important that a self-determined recluse would want to leave the security of his home and anonymity and expose himself to the scrutiny of others in a place where he did not have control of the situation and didn’t have anyone answerable to him who could do his bidding. If we could come up with something—”