Hear No Evil (Brotherhood Trilogy Book 3)

by Jordan Ford

  “Hey.” My smile’s kind of sad as I take a seat beside him.

  He looks so lonely…and broken. The photos are still clutched in his hands.

  “I’m sorry for taking them.” I lean my arm against his, hoping he’ll forgive me.

  “It’s okay.” His jacket rustles as he shrugs. “I probably would have too. It’s an interesting story, I guess.”

  “All mysteries are.”

  He scoffs and shakes his head. “I just want to know the truth.”

  Biting my lip, I pull the photo from my pocket and flatten it out on my thigh. “There was this one too. I found it in the box, after you left.”

  He stares at the photo for a long beat before finally reaching for it. Glancing up, he looks at my face, really studying it before finally whispering, “That’s me.”

  My eyes snap to the photo as his thumb taps on the cute little boy with his big teeth and freckles. I glance back up at Riley, questions filling my mind. But I can’t say anything.

  He looks so incredibly sad right now.

  For some reason, my eyes well with tears, and all I can do is perch my head on his shoulder and gaze down at that carefree boy with his loving family.

  That carefree boy who has become a burdened man. Weighed down by a mystery I’m so desperate to understand.

  #10:

  A Taste of Fear

  Riley

  Caitlin’s head on my shoulder is a comfort.

  Her quiet sniffs somehow mean I’m understood.

  And that gives me the courage to start talking.

  “I used to spend every summer up here. Mom and I would drive from Montana and we’d spend three weeks with Uncle Rafe. My happiest memories.”

  “Then what happened?”

  My laugh is short, hard and breathy. “You said you researched the Eton Prep runaways. What did you find out?”

  “Well, there was more information on Trey and Kade, to be honest. The only thing I really found out about you is that you’re an orphan. It didn’t say how your parents died or who they were.”

  “Matt and Sophia Duncan.”

  “And that’s them?” Caitlin points to the selfie image. “I’m kind of confused. I thought the hermit from the ghost story lived up here alone.”

  “He did.” My voice trembles as I struggle to explain. Finding the photo that says it all, I point at my cheating mother. “That’s Mom and he’s my…Uncle Rafe.”

  For reasons I can’t even clarify, I’m filled with shame. How could Mom do it? I know this evidence isn’t damning. So her hand is on his stomach. So he’s looking at her like he wants to kiss her.

  Maybe Uncle Rafe was in love with her and she did nothing about it.

  But…that’s wrong.

  As I stare at this picture in my hand, my gut’s telling me loud and clear that Mom and Uncle Rafe were not brother and sister like I thought. They were lovers.

  My poor dad. Did he die a clueless wonder?

  With a sound of disgust, I flip the photo over.

  Caitlin brushes her hand down my arm and rests it in the crook of my elbow. “How did they die?”

  “Murdered.” I clear my throat.

  “What?” She kind of breathes the word.

  “Yeah, brutal, right? They were found in a car on the side of the road. About ten miles from home.”

  “I can’t believe that. Where were you?”

  “I don’t know,” I croak. This is the first time I’ve spoken so openly about this. The guys know vague details—my parents were murdered, no one knows who killed them, I was sent to live at St. Catherine’s. I’ve never gone into the emotion of it all, showed them how much the mystery kills me.

  I swallow; my throat is thick and gummy.

  “With a babysitter, I think. I can’t remember.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “There’s this black hole in my memory. All I know is that one day I was blissfully happy and the next I was waking up in a children’s home. No one would tell me anything. When I got older, I did some of my own research and found out that my parents’ killer had never been found. All the police could tell me is that my parents were shot, and both died at the scene. I was eight. I didn’t even know how to digest that information.”

  Caitlin nestles her head back on my shoulder and gives my arm a squeeze. “That’s awful. They just picked you up and told you, and then dumped you in a home?”

  “I don’t remember the details.” I shake my head. “I don’t even remember how I got to St. Catherine’s. I’ve always just assumed it was a social worker or the police who dropped me there.” Squeezing my eyes shut, I rub my forehead. “Everything from back then is fuzzy and disjointed. I wish I could remember.” My voice breaks. Tears sting.

  But I can’t cry.

  I don’t cry.

  Ever.

  Caitlin’s fingers skim down my forearm before threading between my cold digits.

  “It’s okay,” she whispers.

  “It’s not though. It’s killing me…and being up here just makes it so much worse for some reason. I can’t even explain why.”

  “If being up here was your happy place and now it’s just a big mystery, I understand.” She taps the photo, the scandalous one that tells me things I don’t want to know. “Your Uncle Rafe. He was a good guy?”

  “Yeah.” I work my jaw to the side, not sure how to feel about him. He was my idol and now he’s just the guy Mom was sleeping with.

  “You really loved him.”

  “Yup.” I drop the photo and have to fight the urge to smash my boot into it. “He never came for me though. I waited. But he never came. Probably because he wasn’t my uncle.” The words taste bitter.

  Caitlin reaches between my knees and collects the photo. Her expression is soft as she gazes at the image. “He looks like he loves her. Like she’s his everything.” A soft smile pulls at her lips. “I’m guessing you’ve made some assumptions here.”

  “How can I not?” I frown. “I wonder if Dad knew. I hope not. I hope he died an ignorant man.”

  “Where do you think your unc…Rafe is now?”

  “Who knows?” I shrug. “Dead, runaway. I’m not sure. I haven’t seen him since I was eight.”

  Caitlin brushes her teeth over her bottom lip and hands me the photo back. “We didn’t move to Legacy until about eight years ago and people don’t like talking about it, but…well, I told you the story already.”

  “He didn’t murder anybody.” Doubts rake my insides. “He might not be the guy I thought he was, but…he can’t have. I just… I can’t believe he would have killed my parents.”

  “If that photo’s anything to go by. I don’t think he did either. Maybe he was killed by someone else.”

  I scoff and shake my head. “You know, for a second I imagined that my dad found out and he lost it, came here and tried to hurt them.” I blow out a breath. “But I can’t make that work either. Dad was a quiet, unassuming guy. He worked a lot but when he was home, he was nice. Always complimenting Mom and telling me he was proud of me. I can’t turn him into a killer either.”

  “People can snap when they’re hurt or afraid.”

  I shake my head, refusing to go down that path. “No. My parents were found miles from here. Uncle Rafe…there’s not even a body.”

  Caitlin bites her lips together. Her mind is probably bursting with theories. Probably ones that will break my heart.

  “Please don’t,” I whisper. “Uncle Rafe was my favorite person.”

  She forces a smile, sitting up straight and talking brightly. “What’s your lasting memory of him?”

  With a snicker, I rub my forehead and look out across the pond. “Fishing. He’d take me to a pond just like this one. We’d either sit on the side like this, or take his little boat out to the…” My voice trails off as I point across the water.

  On the other side of the pond is a tree that splits in two, like a Siamese twin. The two trunks have grown out from each other, curling down and then up, creating this weird kind o
f seats.

  Wait a second. I’ve sat in that tree before. I know it.

  I stand and start walking.

  “Where are you going?” Caitlin jumps up and follows me.

  I hustle around the pond. “I know that tree. I used to sit in it! I used to come here fishing with Uncle Rafe!”

  I can’t help my excitement. It’s a clue. Like some magical ticket that I’ve been searching for all this time.

  As soon as I reach the tree, I run my hands over the rough bark. I picture myself scrambling up the trunk. With a little boost from Uncle Rafe, I made it to the dip in the tree and sat down, proud as punch, my legs swinging. Mom stood below, shading her eyes from the sun and laughing.

  “Mom was here.” I spin and look for the spot, then walk towards it.

  Standing where her feet were, I shade my eyes from the sun and try not to get swallowed whole by nostalgia.

  Emotions choke me, threatening my air supply.

  “Hey, look. There’s a path here.” Caitlin grabs my attention before disappearing behind the big tree.

  I run after her and follow her careful footsteps as we negotiate the overgrown path.

  Voices from my past urge me forward.

  Come on, Mom!

  The path was wider then.

  Uncle Rafe laughs behind me.

  I spin to check out the sound, but no one’s there.

  Turning back to Caitlin, I focus on her footsteps. Holding back branches and stepping over tree roots, we plow through the forest until we stumble into a clearing.

  It’s a circular, open space, like the hand of God reached down and scooped up some trees to take home with him.

  I brush past Caitlin and between two dead stumps. My boots crunch on the dry earth as I stop to take in the run-down shack. It’s cast in a soft ray of light, giving it this eerie feel. Shadows lick the back side of the structure, making the broken boards and smashed out windows more ominous. The horizontal boards are green with moss, the slanted roof brown with rust.

  My muscles are coiling as a dark sensation skitters through me. I don’t know what it means.

  “Wow,” Caitlin whispers. “I didn’t know this place was here. I wonder how long it’s been abandoned.” She passes me and heads for the broken shack door.

  Glass breaks in the back of mind.

  I flinch and have to fight the urge to run.

  But then music stirs in my memory. It’s a happy sound that pulls me towards the shack, an invisible force I can’t control.

  The door groans but then sticks when Caitlin tries to push it open. Leaning her shoulder against it, she shunts it wide enough for us to squeeze through.

  My heart is hammering.

  I shouldn’t go in.

  But I’m drawn by the sounds of long-ago laughter…and images of dancing.

  My boots are loud on the wooden floor as I squeeze through the gap and stop to survey the room.

  It smells old. There are patches of rotting floorboard beneath the hole in the back left corner of the roof.

  Mom’s in Rafe’s arms. He’s spinning her around. They’re laughing.

  There’s a single bed in the corner, the covers bunched in a messy pile. Black mold is growing on the corner of the mattress.

  I shy away from it.

  I’m frightened.

  I don’t know why.

  Caitlin’s hiking boots make the floorboards creak. I jerk at the sound and spin to face her. She’s not looking at me; her eyes are darting around the shack. Her eyebrows knit as she moves in close and places her hand on my lower back. “Is it just me, or is there something creepy about this place?”

  Her chin brushes my shoulder.

  Her fingers curl into the back of my jacket.

  And Mom’s laughter turns into a scream.

  I look back at the bed in the corner and suddenly all I can taste is a choking fear.

  “Quick!” Uncle Rafe yanks my sleeve and drags me towards the bed. “Hide. Under here.”

  He shoves me under the bed, then pulls the blanket down. I can’t see anything. I’m scared.

  Why did Mom scream?

  I walk to the bed and sit on the edge furthest from the mold. It smells dank and disgusting.

  My nose wrinkles as I stare into the room, searching for answers.

  “Riley, are you…are you okay?”

  Caitlin walks towards me. She’s concerned. I can hear it in her voice but I can’t see her.

  I’m searching. Trying to get back to the place I was.

  But my brain doesn’t want to.

  It’s scared.

  Shouting.

  “No, please!”

  A gunshot.

  I flinch and squeeze my eyes shut.

  “Riley?” Caitlin’s hand is on my shoulder.

  I can’t breathe.

  Someone is screaming. “Stop! Stop!”

  Another gunshot.

  A body thumps to the floor.

  I can’t see who it is.

  “NO!”

  I slip off the bed, crumpling to my knees. I’ve lost something. I know I’ve lost something.

  It hurts.

  There’s a hole in my chest.

  I can’t breathe.

  “Riley!” Caitlin shakes my shoulder. “Riley, can you hear me?”

  She kneels in front of me and grabs my face.

  “Open your eyes. Look at me.”

  I can’t.

  “Riley,” she whispers.

  And then I feel her.

  Soft lips touch mine. They’re warm. Safe.

  I reach for her, wrapping my fingers into her jacket and holding on before this nightmare can claim me.

  #11:

  I Won’t Let Go

  Caitlin

  Riley clings to me, like if he doesn’t he might fall over and never get back up again.

  I press my fingers into his neck and hope my kiss will be enough to save him.

  That sounds dramatic and over the top, but he’s freaking me out.

  His tongue brushes my lower lip.

  It’s sweet and amazing.

  I’ve never kissed before, but my body knows what to do.

  I part my lips, my tongue tentatively searching for his.

  He’s shaking.

  But he finds me.

  His tongue curls around mine, a warm, soft sensation that sends tingles through my entire body.

  Pulling me against him, Riley runs his hand up my back, kissing me like it’s the only way to survive. His passion is urgent, intense.

  I’m not sure what to do with it.

  The kiss becomes fast and frenzied.

  I place my hands on his shoulders, needing to pull out.

  But then he rips his mouth off mine and pulls me against him.

  Resting his chin on my shoulder, he clings to me.

  His breathing is erratic. His arms are trembling.

  I don’t know what to say.

  How can I help him?

  The only thing I can think to do is slide my arms around his shoulders and squeeze back.

  My promise is a silent one.

  But hopefully he can hear it.

  I won’t let go, Riley.

  I won’t let go.

  #12:

  A Taste of Sweetness

  Riley

  Kissing Caitlin is a balm.

  Her sweet scent. The taste of her strawberry Chapstick.

  It calms me—chases the terrors away.

  Creeping my eyes open, I scan the shack again.

  Caitlin’s arms are still around me, and her head is pressed against my ear. It blocks out the noise. The nightmares.

  Eyeing the old shack, all I see are empty walls.

  I can’t hear Mom anymore.

  Her laughter.

  Her screams.

  The birds are talking to each other outside.

  “Just a dream,” I murmur.

  Caitlin shifts in my arms, but I squeeze her, keeping her against me.

  If I let go
, I might fall apart again.

  “Are you okay?” she whispers against my ear.

  “It was just a dream,” I repeat.

  “What’s going on?” She sounds so scared.

  I caused that.

  The thought snaps me out of my stupor. I pull away from her and feel the loss immediately.

  Brushing the pads of my finger down her cheek, I smile. “Thank you.”

  “Riley.” Her eyes are glassy with tears. “Tell me what’s going on?”

  “I don’t know yet.” I stand and reach down to pull her up.

  Threading my fingers through hers, I lead her out of the shack.

  Out and away.

  I don’t know if I can come here again.

  Setting a quick pace, I head back down the overgrown path. Caitlin stumbles behind me and I whip back to catch her before she falls.

  Her hair smells like apples. I brush my nose across the sweet scent and cup the back of her head.

  “I’m sorry,” I croak. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

  “You were remembering something,” she mumbles into my shoulder.

  “No.” I shake my head. “It can’t be a memory.”

  She pulls back and looks up at me. A branch tries to scratch her cheek and I push it away before it can. “How do you know that?”

  “Because I heard my mother screaming and then gunshots. She was killed in Bozeman, Montana.” I raise my eyebrows. “That’s miles from here.”

  “What about your uncle? Did you see him too?”

  The air is sucked from my lungs. It takes a second to find my voice, but I eventually manage to whisper, “He hid me. Under the bed.”

  Her eyebrows pucker with confusion. “So who else was there?”

  My throat swells as I shake my head. The feelings are creeping back again, running from the shack and straight into my soul.

  I can’t let them get me.

  “We have to get out of here.”

  “But…”

  Pulling Caitlin’s arm, I march her through the brush again. She keeps up with me, even when I break into a run.

  I don’t stop moving until I’m back on the edge of the pond.

  It’s safe here.

  The pond is safe.

  Bracing my hands on my knees, I bend forward and suck in the fresh mountain air, like somehow it will cleanse me.