Foreteller

by Anne McAneny

  Zoey fessed up. “I’ve already seen it.”

  “You what?”

  “I found your brother’s file the night Matthew kidnapped you. I already know you were in the gang that killed your brother.”

  Jake frowned. “No wonder you thought I was mixed up in your foretelling. Between the you would kill your own child comment, and thinking I was in this gang.”

  “Weren’t you?”

  He shook his head. “I was fresh out of high school and knew a lot of cops in town from doing ride-alongs for the high school paper. They recruited me to do undercover work at Birnam College where the drugs were out of control. They just wanted info, nothing dangerous. But I couldn’t tell anybody, including my family. I made a deal to do the undercover work in exchange for the exclusive story. They agreed, so I deferred college for a semester and infiltrated the dealer subculture. I thought I was such a hotshot. Pretended to be a commuter student, and learned everything, including who the suppliers were.”

  “The SLIPS gang?”

  “Yeah. About two months into it, Phillip, my little brother, came across my notes and my fake driver’s license and he got curious. He was just like me, always nosing around. So he followed me one night when this big deal was going down, and in the middle of it, he got dragged in by a lookout from the outskirts of the parking lot. Thing was, the SLIPS were already worried about a mole in the gang.”

  Zoey felt her heart racing.

  “All they had on the mole was a last name—Medeiros—and my brother had an I.D. with his real name on it.”

  Zoey cringed. She no longer wanted him to go on, but perhaps he needed it more than she did.

  “I managed to hold them off from doing anything for a while, but eventually, this one skinhead with skull tattoos covering his entire body, got all antsy, and—”

  Jake fought tears and took a few moments to regain his composure.

  “Jake, you don’t have to tell me.”

  “No, I do.” He sniffed and continued. “I knew what was coming and I had no idea what to do. I was in so far over my head. This jerk was waving his gun, and my brother was looking at me like I’m supposed to be some kind of hero, and I just panicked. I screamed out, ‘Hot Potato’—that was our signal to start racing when we were little. We both took off sprinting into the woods. The crazy guy got off two shots, but he didn’t come close. I shouted to Phillip to stay with me, but he went off in a different direction, and, well”—Jake’s voice grew small, barely audible—“I guess you saw the picture. They got my brother. I couldn’t even save my little brother.”

  Zoey let Jake experience the emotions that had been buried for so long. She stayed quiet while he sobbed, comforting him as best she could.

  “Some guy found him…”

  Jake no doubt wanted to continue, to purge the memories from his mind. But he couldn’t. This from a man who spent his life finding the perfect words. Zoey understood. Some things in life were too horrible to verbalize, too painful to write, too raw to imagine.

  “The newspaper and the cops planted a story that I got arrested and was being investigated. Then they spread the word that the tip on the mole had been wrong—to keep the SLIPS from coming after me. I’m not even sure what all went on, but most of the SLIPS ended up in jail or dead within a couple months. After that, the file got sealed real tight.”

  Jake’s swollen eyes met Zoey’s. “There’s more,” he said in a near whisper. “My mom was pregnant when all this went down. A very late surprise, but she was happy about it. After my brother’s body was found, she lost that baby. I didn’t just cost her Phillip’s life. I took the life of that baby, too.” He shook his head. “I don’t think I could handle anything ever happening to our baby.”

  So this was the burden he’d carried. Zoey could only imagine how it had festered in him over the years. She looked at this man she loved, who tried to offer such a strong physical specimen to the outside world, as if he needed to keep his shell flawless lest someone see the rotting insides. Perhaps now, with her support, he could begin the process of healing. It couldn’t be too late for them.

  “Jake, you were guilty of nothing more than following your passion. If anyone’s to blame, it’s the policemen who threw an inexperienced kid to the wolves, with no protection and no professional training.”

  “I knew that going in.”

  “You were only eighteen. And you didn’t know your brother would follow you.”

  “I should have.”

  “My God, if I’ve learned anything from the past week, it’s how much we can’t—and don’t—control.”

  “You controlled it when it counted,” Jake said. “You saved yourself—and me—from Mad Dog and Corbin Black.”

  “I had the letter from Dora! If someone had told you your brother would be chased to his death that night, things would have turned out very differently. You’ve got to stop punishing yourself. No wonder you never want to see your family. But until you forgive yourself, you’ll never be able to face them. Your mother already lost two children, Jake. Don’t cost her a third. Give her a chance to forgive you, and to have you back in her life. Give her a chance to know her grandchild.”

  Jake shook his head. “I can’t even imagine a scenario like that, Zoey.”

  “That’s the grand trick of this twisted tale, Jake. Your mother wants you to forgive yourself.”

  “You don’t know her, Zoey.”

  Zoey lowered her head and let herself fill with calm. She touched his hand. “She reaches out to you every time she calls. She’s been waiting for you to come around for years. Believe me, I understand a mother’s love.”

  Jake leaned in close. “But what about the baby, Zo? We could never protect him enough. Not in this world.”

  “There are no guaranteed outcomes. Only probabilities. And with you as a father, and me as a mother, our child has a pretty good shot. But I won’t force you to take on the role of father.”

  A look of peace settled over Jake. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small box, and put it on the table between them. “You don’t have to force me. In fact, the only way I’d ever be willing to try would be with you at my side.” He opened the box to reveal her engagement ring. “Do you think you’ll ever be able to put this back on your finger?”

  Zoey glanced at the ring, and then at Jake, and she filled with elation.

  Jake dropped down on one knee, stopping the waiter in his tracks as he approached to take their order. All the lunch patrons went mute and turned to watch the intimate couple who had both gone teary.

  “Zoey, will you be my future and my eternity?”

  “Yes.”

  Jake slipped the ring back onto her finger where it fit perfectly. Then he leaned forward and kissed her.

  Epilogue

  One Year Later

  Zoey pushed the baby jogger down the street and turned to the man beside her, his limp barely noticeable. Both of them panted just enough to show that this was no walk for wimps.

  “And what was her favorite dessert?”

  “Strawberry cheesecake,” Matthew said.

  “Would she drink coffee at night?”

  “Never. Hot tea with lemon. Said it cleansed her, body and soul.”

  “Now, back to the dating years. Where did we leave off, about six months in?”

  “Yes, we’d entered our movie phase then. She couldn’t tolerate stale, overpriced popcorn, so she’d roast a chicken, slice it up, and make us sandwiches that we’d sneak in.”

  A gurgling noise from the stroller stopped the interrogation. “What is it, Marie?”

  Zoey leaned forward to check on the baby, but Marie, named after Jake’s mother, lay sound asleep in her cushioned lair.

  “Uh oh,” Matthew said, “talking in her sleep. Susan used to do that.”

  “You don’t think she’s a fore—”

  “Nah,” Matthew said with a smile. “I think she’s just talking in her sleep. Now, to continue in our genealogical dig, your mo
ther’s favorite movie was Somewhere in Time, a romance between a man from the present and a woman from the past.”

  “Well, go figure!”

  They laughed and walked on, looking forward to the future together.

  THE END

  ***Stay tuned after About the Author for sample chapters of RAVELED***

  Notes

  ~~Thank you for reading FORETELLER. If you enjoyed it and would like to post a review on Amazon, the author would be most appreciative. Just click here and select the CREATE YOUR OWN REVIEW button: http://bit.ly/ForetellerReviews Many thanks!

  ~~If you’d like to be among the first to get an automatic email when Anne’s next book comes out, sign up here: Book Release Mailing List. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.

  About the Author

  Anne McAneny started her writing adventures as a screenwriter. Several of her screenplays have been finalists in screenwriting contests and often circulate through Hollywood in the hope of making it to the big screen. Anne lives in Virginia with her family, as well as an adorable adopted puggle and a chubby cat that sneaked into the basement one day. When she’s not at her laptop, she’s usually out biking or walking—anything to avoid cooking dinner. Anne loves to hear from people who have read her books. Her Facebook Fan Page is Books by Anne McAneny and she tweets as @AnneMcAneny.

  Foreteller is the first book in Ms. McAneny’s Crime After Time Collection—stories revolving around everyday people compelled to investigate past crimes against loved ones. Their discoveries rewrite the past and reshape the future in exciting, twist-filled plots. All three original Crime After Time books have become Amazon Bestsellers. The collection does not need to be read in any particular order and includes:

  Circled: (New 2015 Release!) Sometimes truth proves the most deceptive trick of all. Little does reporter Chloe Keyes know that when she sniffs around for clues at a fire, she’ll be forced to face her own demons while unsettling her swampy hometown.

  Skewed: A tantalizing thriller that opens with a bang. When a crime scene photographer receives two photos in the mail, they upend the narrative of her life and invoke the ire of a long-dormant serial killer.

  Raveled: A fast-paced mystery thriller that sends a jaded daughter back to the town and the deadly night that ripped her young life apart.

  Other books by this author include:

  Chunneling Through Forty: (Amazon Best-Seller) The humorous and heartening story of a woman’s tumultuous journey through forty.

  Our Eyes Met Over Cantaloupe: The uproarious tale of a cupcake shop and a female reporter’s exit from her half-baked state of existence.

  Sample of RAVELED by Anne McAneny:

  Chapter 1

  Allison… present

  Sixteen years since my last trip to this park and not a tree had changed. Even the sidewalk jutted up in the same angry crevices that had worn out my childhood bicycle tires. Maybe the concrete walkway had reached its breaking point decades ago and decided to fight back, forcing the persistent roots down into the darkness to tangle amongst themselves. Determined to hold its own, the sidewalk put on a daily show for the humans above, pretending that everything below was peachy keen, thank you very much. Nothing to see here, folks. No seedy underbelly thrashing beneath. The citizens of Lavitte, North Carolina, kindly returned the favor. They traveled over the façade every day, smiling and waving and warning kids on training wheels to watch out for the bumps. They jogged over the fractured surface to the beat of their music, pretending that life offered up wishes and dreams, rainbows and sprinkles. No need to stick fingers into the cracks or peel back the surface to examine the source of the sour rumblings beneath. But everybody knew they were there.

  If the old physics truism held, that every action was met with an equal and opposite reaction, then what kind of forces jumped back and forth between the man and the sidewalk on Maple Street sixteen years ago? Did the sidewalk absorb his depravity when he grabbed a young girl off her bike on that sweltering August evening, projecting it to the gnarled roots below, or did the evildoer absorb the pretense from the sly footpath that life was nothing but a grand cabaret?

  Probably the latter. Seemed to be the choice of most everyone in Lavitte.

  “Ding, ding!” A little girl, so Gerber perfect that she looked like a hologram, rang her bicycle bell at me. “Excuse me, Lady.”

  “Mattie,” her mom said, “it’s ‘excuse me, ma’am’.”

  Thanks, but I’ll take lady over ma’am any day. Christ, I was only a few years older than the mom. Still, I couldn’t fault the teaching of proper manners in good ol’ Lavitte. Manners were our foundation, our sidewalk. Until they were discarded altogether and replaced with rage.

  “Sorry about that,” the mom said, her mineral powder make-up and bright denim jeans mirrored by every other mother at the park. “She’s still wobbly. Just got her training wheels off. I didn’t think she was ready, but you know how dads are, always ready to push ‘em out of the nest a little earlier than we are.”

  I looked around, desperate for her to be talking to anyone other than me, but her reflective lenses aimed squarely at mine whenever she wasn’t scanning the area for her daughter.

  “Which one is yours?” she said.

  It took me longer than it should have to realize she thought I was a card-carrying mom. “I don’t have one. Or any, for that matter. I’m not a mom.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Her eyes strayed to the ground before she lifted her slim face back up, a plastered smile concealing her grief. For what? The possibility that my ovaries lacked viable eggs? The presumed melancholy thump of my heart over not having a vulnerable child to screw up for the next eighteen years? If anything, she should be sorry if I did have a kid. But I couldn’t afford to alienate anyone on my first day back, so I played nice. Besides, odds were I knew this chick in some capacity or other. It’s not that Lavitte wasn’t big enough for two big guns; it’s that Lavitte wasn’t big enough for any two people to remain strangers. If you didn’t know a person directly, you sho’ly knew their cousin.

  “I grew up here and used to play in this park,” I said with more saccharine sweetness than my mother’s Sweet Sunday Sugar Fudge. “I’m back to, uh,”—uh oh, hadn’t worked out an excuse for being back in town yet, but as it turned out, I hardly needed one.

  “You’re visiting family, of course.” She proffered a hand, all bird bones and stickiness from the freeze-pops she’d served the kids earlier. “I’m Abby. Abby Westerling. You probably know the name.”

  She meant the Westerling part, no doubt. The original Mr. and Mrs. Westerling had owned the big general store in town, then sold some land to a developer and used that money to buy up half of Lavitte. They had a penchant for naming things after themselves, so we were saddled with Westerling Medical Center, Westerling Children’s Museum, and Westerling Theater. For all I knew, a raunchy truck would pass by boasting Westerling Trash and Disposal. Why not? Plenty of garbage here in Lavitte.

  “Yes, I’m familiar,” I said. “You married a Westerling?”

  “Unfortunately, not a direct one.” She giggled. “Well, that sounds plain wrong. What I mean is, I married a Westerling cousin. We’re the poor relations.”

  The three-carat diamond on her left hand screamed otherwise, but might also suggest a desperate cousin, scrambling to keep up with his surname.

  “I was a Murphy before that,” she said.

  I knew a huge Murphy family in middle school. Nine kids, with several delinquents among the academic standouts. The boys were mostly ugly, the girls auburn-haired and cute. More than a few hated my family. She might be one of them. I didn’t pursue it as she seemed the type to volunteer plenty.

  “So, who are you visiting?” she asked.

  “My mom still lives here but she might put her house on the market. My dad passed away a while back, so I try to come and see her a little more often.”

  Hey, it was almost the truth. More than the lo
cal sidewalks offered.

  “Sorry about your dad. Your mom must appreciate the visits. What’s your name, by the way?”

  I realized I hadn’t introduced myself. Guess it was time to watch the dark shadow crawl over pretty Abby Murphy Westerling’s face as she tried to recall the outcome of the trial. She’d have to sort the truth from distorted childhood memories. Surely, her recollection of events had grown sinister and inconceivable, like a cancer, until it was something best not spoken of, best not acknowledged, treated as folklore. But here it was in the flesh. Or at least its descendant. I could lie. No skin off my back. But I had come here to do exactly the opposite. Might as well start the ball rolling through the dirt, muck, gossip, and disgust, dredging up all the denials until it snowballed into a big pile of rottenness, untenable and best disposed of at the Westerling Dump. The very ball I’d come here to stick a big fork in. Dig in, everybody!

  “I’m Allison.”

  The first name alone gave her a small start as she searched my face for clues. The nose, definitely the same perfect nose as the mother, so elegantly sloped and dimpled at the tip that even mannequins envied it because theirs looked so plastic. But I was never envied by other humans. At least not in Lavitte. Not after that night.

  Abby repeated my name, possibly without realizing it. “Allison.” Quietly, it slipped from her lips, like a secret, a whisper of a memory. I took off my sunglasses and wiped them with the thin blue tee-shirt I’d thrown on this morning, giving her a glimpse of my eyes. That usually did it for people. The eyes. Because my father’s eyes had been nothing less than mesmerizing, right up until the day he died, when they bulged a bit more than usual. Regular pieces of onyx, his eyes were, shined to brilliance. And they were big. Big as puddles. Disproportionately large for his face. Doe eyes, the ladies used to say. Unexpected, one of the Charlotte newspapers had reported. And I’d inherited them as if they’d been transplanted. At least they fit on my face somehow. Balanced by my full lips, my mother would retort in the old days when I complained I looked like an alien. Nowadays, peering into the endless pools of chocolate liquid swirling deliciously on my face, my mother probably felt sick to her stomach. She never made her Sweet Sunday Sugar Fudge anymore. Who would eat it if she did?