I thought about what he said. Lost. I felt as if I was standing on a ledge, looking down at the world below. That my sanity could tip at any moment and off the ledge I would fall. Facing the truth was hard to swallow. I had been seeing things — things other people couldn’t. Sure, in the hospital and that night in my apartment, the sleep meds could have been to blame, but what about the other things? I had been lying to myself. I wasn’t sleep-deprived. My eyes weren’t playing tricks on me. I was seeing things in my head, hearing them talk to me.
Gazing at Dr. Brown, my throat tightened. Without contemplating the consequences of my actions, everything tumbled out.
“Tell me … how was your upbringing? Did you experience trauma?” Dr. Brown asked as if sorting through the information in his head and trying to put the pieces together.
Memories of everything I’d tried to block out assaulted me at once. The room spun. My fists went to my eyes to attempt to blot out the scenes parading before me. The feelings, oh the horrible feelings that went along with them. “My mother died when I was born, so I never met her,” I finally choked out. “My father, who was Frank McAdams’s son, raised me until I was seven. He disappeared one night. No one knows what happened to him. Someone came to the door, and then he was gone.”
“How was it living with your father?”
Putting my hands down, my stomach twisted. “It was torture. He locked me up in this tiny room … in the dark. That’s how I became petrified of it. A voice came to me. It talked to me about wanting me to join it. I was barely fed. I craved attention and approval that never came. I wanted to die.”
Dr. Brown’s face was blank, but his eyes conveyed sympathy. “Often when people undergo traumatic issues in their childhood, it affects them later in life if those feelings are never dealt with. I’m assuming you never sought medical counsel regarding what you went through?”
I shook my head. Pappy had offered to take me to someone many times, but I’d refused. He never pressed the subject.
“When you saw the man who broke into your friend’s home, that could have triggered these dormant feelings. You were in the dark. Alone. And scared. See how it resembles your experiences?”
I nodded.
“The visions of you and the children may only be a symbol of how you interpret yourself. Meaning, these repressed feelings have made you feel like you were dying on the inside, falling apart. The vision of your father and the man beneath ground represent the person who caused these feelings. Your father scared you. You created a voice and another version of him that terrifies but yet wants you, much like you deserved. And lastly, the birds. People often associate crows as a sign of death or an omen. Piper, just because you’re dealing with these things isn’t a reason to fear them. Fight through them. You’ll never know the satisfaction of beating them until you do. Don’t give up. Death is never the answer.”
I managed to nod again, but it took a few moments before I could talk. “Thank you,” I said in a hushed tone. “I don’t think anyone has ever put things the way you have. I’ve seen the way people look at me. Their stares made me feel like I’m going crazy.”
He stood, his expression light. “You’re far from crazy. But if I can make a suggestion, stop running from them. It’s time to face things head on. This place has seemed to amplify your visions. Maybe that has something to do with your grandfather’s childhood being here. Since your car is in the shop, and you’re on the mend anyway, stay here for a few days. Find out about your grandfather, and maybe you can break through your own feelings in the process.”
“So, you think I’m okay to get up and around today?”
“As long as you keep the running down to a minimal.” He paused, chuckling. “Maybe just no running in general. If you feel tired, rest. Don’t put too much stress on your body. Yesterday didn’t completely obliterate what had already healed, but it came close. Oh, and if you go out, layer up. Typical Alabama weather. Hot yesterday and freezing today.” He grabbed a bag from the floor and left me alone in the room.
The talk with him had done wonders. Despite the terror of the visions, at least I now had a reason behind them. I was ready to face my fears because frankly, I was tired of having them. So I decided to follow the doctor’s suggestion and dig through the history of my grandfather. Why hadn’t he ever talked about his place? What had happened here that was so bad? I reached over to the nightstand and pulled the walkie-talkie to my mouth.
“Jensen? You busy?” He had left me earlier to tend to his duties at the diner.
“Heading your way.” His reply came a moment later.
I slid from the bed and sorted through the clothes that had been brought to me. I finally found a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans at the bottom of the pile and dressed. There was a knock at the door as I wrestled with my hair, pulling it up. “Come in.”
“Well, you look more chippy today,” Jensen said. His eyes searched mine. The normally stress-etched lines around his eyes were gone, and in their wake were happy crinkles.
“You up for a little investigating today?” I closed the gap between us. My fingers tightened around his wrist and pulled him toward the door.
He cocked his head but allowed me to guide him outside.
“What do you have going through that brain of yours?”
“I want to find out about my grandfather, and you’re going to help me do it,” I said with newfound resolve.
We went to the diner and downed a hardy amount of eggs, bacon, and grits while we decided a game plan. Our first stop would be the library. Since the town was small, and the only person I knew still living who personally had known my grandfather hadn’t offered any information, it was the most reasonable starting point.
The drive was short. We could have walked, but Jensen didn’t want me to strain my injuries any more than necessary.
The bright morning became a swimming world of colors that lit the floors and tables of the cluttered library. A pencil-thin woman led us to a back room and flipped a light on. The hum of electricity intensified as the fluorescent bulb struggled to illuminate the area.
She darted to a corner and read box labels.
“These here are what you’re looking for,” the woman said, keeping her back to us. “Don’t leave them out. I hate it when people come in and mess things up that I have to clean.”
Somehow, I managed to hold my laughter at her obvious bitterness regarding her job duties. It was clear that she liked to come in, get paid, and do nothing.
“Thank you. We’ll make sure to pick up after ourselves,” Jensen told her.
There was a beat of silence as the lady studied his lopsided grin. She gave one nod and left the room.
He grabbed several boxes and carted them over to the table where I sat. After placing them in the middle, he moved to the opposite side and sat. We connected eyes, and Jensen’s smiled widened.
“Hope you’re ready for a fun morning of going through some town history.”
“I’m used to digging through people’s pasts.” I lifted the lid off the top box to find it stacked high with black and white photographs. “Can we move these other ones to the side and dump this pile across the table?”
He nodded and moved the boxes to the floor.
“That’s right. Should be no problem for a reporter to find what she’s looking for.” He gently turned the cardboard container to its side, making sure nothing hit the floor.
I picked up a few photos and tossed them to the side. “That’s the problem. I don’t really know what I’m looking for. Maybe just some sort of knowledge of what my grandfather came from and what he went through? He had an entirely different life that I knew nothing about. He rarely mentioned his brother, and forget about his parents. I didn’t even know this place existed. I just assumed he had lived in Summerland his whole life.”
He stopped, his eyes darting down to the pile in front of us. “Maybe there’s a reason why he didn’t want you to find out. It might be a past he didn’t want t
o relive by telling you about it.”
I hadn’t thought about it like that. I could relate to that. Maybe Jensen was right. Maybe his past was too unbearable to share with anyone. His brother obviously had died at a young age. Maybe his parents had also. He might have been all alone in this world until my grandmother. He wasn’t here anymore though. I wanted to know what had happened to him to make him think he should hide it. Hell seemed odd, including the people in it, but it didn’t seem so bad as to keep it a secret.
An hour and a half later, we had made it through about half the photos.
“I’m going to grab some coffee from the front. You want any?”
“Sure,” I said, completely in the zone. When I did research, I didn’t like to stop. My mind zeroed in on what I needed to do to get the job done. I continued to flip through the old photos. The faces seemed empty and void of any emotion. Life was obviously hard for the people of this town, and it showed in their solemn features. I stopped and leaned back, clutching one that held faces I recognized. I flipped it over, reading the name McAdams written across the back.
“Oh, wow,” Jensen said from over my shoulder as he placed a white foam cup next to my arm. “Have you ever seen a picture of your great-grandparents?”
I shook my head. “Never.” The man looked a lot like my grandfather had when I first moved in with him. A strong jaw, prominent brow, and a warm smile that reached his eyes. The woman had the same high cheekbones as I. Her smile was crooked, but it only gave her more character. Her hair was piled atop her head. Despite the other photos, this family looked happy. The four of them grinned earnestly at the camera. “Can I keep this?”
Jensen looked through the doorway of the room. “She won’t know it’s gone. Stick it in your bag.”
Without making any suspicious movement, I slid it away into my purse.
The next box we tackled held old newspapers, dating back for decades. Nothing was of interest, until a small article caught my attention.
McAdams Family Missing
John and Lorene McAdams were reported missing when neighbors noticed their fields going unattended. “John was always out by 6:00 AM. You could practically set your watch to him. Never missed a day. We noticed his tractor hadn’t moved, and his daily routine looked as if no one had touched it,” Gerald Harrison said. He then drove over to the McAdams’ house at the end of Old Carlen Road and found the door unlocked, but no one would come to it after his knocking. “I didn’t know what else to do. I just had this bad feeling, so I went inside.”
Harrison searched the house several times, looking everywhere. It wasn’t until he heard sobs that he realized someone was hiding in the barn. “Them boys were scared to death. It took me at least an hour to get them to come out.”
Frank McAdams, age 11, and Thomas McAdams, age 6, refused to answer anything regarding their parents. Authorities are now searching the area for the couple with high hopes of finding them. Since the boys have no other living relatives, Hell Children’s Home has agreed to house the boys until their parents are found. If you have any information regarding their whereabouts, please let the local authorities know.
I sat back and let out a deep breath. My forehead had become slick with perspiration. I wiped it away with the back of my hand before digging deeper into the box. There had to be a follow-up. I needed to look more. I reached the bottom of the box and couldn’t help the frustrated growl that erupted.
Jensen raised his brows but didn’t say anything.
I stood. My back ached from sitting in the chair so long. I walked around the room, my mind still reeling from the article. My grandfather had been a foster kid. No wonder he was so adamant about me staying with him when my father disappeared. He hadn’t wanted me to end up like him. My chest clenched, and more than anything, I wished he was here so I could hug him and tell him thank you.
“Well, that looks like all of them. Did you find anything else?” Jensen asked, standing. He moved the boxes from the table and placed them in their rightful spots. “Can’t make the dragon lady mad. Seriously, that woman would probably body slam us.”
“Do you know where Old Carlen Road is?” I asked without thinking. For some reason, I needed to see it. That and the foster home where my grandfather had been put. But we would start with the house first.
Jensen leaned against the boxes and put a finger to his chin. “Old Carlen Road? It doesn’t ring a bell. I’ve lived here my whole life and never heard of it.” He snapped his fingers together as his eyes widened. “But I think I know who might.” He grabbed my arm and towed me from the room toward the front desk. “She’s old as dirt. If that road was here, then she would know about it.” He propped against the counter and waited for the old lady to acknowledge him. “Miss Tipmann…” He batted his eyes and gave her a wide grin.
Her head lowered as a scowl spread over her wrinkled face. “What do you want?” Her voice was venomous.
Jensen didn’t seem to notice or care. He leaned closer to the woman and continued his attempt at charming her. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Old Carlen Road is, would you?”
Her chin dropped and trembled for a second. She stepped back and put a hand to her chest. “Why would you want to know where that is? I haven’t heard that street talked about in years.”
“So, you know where it’s at then?” he pressed.
She nodded but didn’t divulge any other information.
“Miss Tipmann, we really need to find it. My friend’s grandfather lived there when he was little. She wants to visit.”
She looked to me as if seeing me for the first time. For a second, I saw pity in the eyes that just a second ago had loathed everything about us.
“Frank?” she mouthed his name. She cleared her throat and rolled her shoulders. “I should have known. You have the same eyes. We only knew each other in grammar school, but I can still remember exactly what he looked like.” She turned away and smiled without showing her teeth. “Always so polite.”
“He was like that even after he moved away,” I said. “Is there anything else you can tell me about him from when he was younger?”
“No, I’m sorry. We weren’t close.” She blinked, looking back at me after a moment, her eyes glassy. “Old Carlen Road was renamed after his parents went — missing,” she said, stumbling over her words. “Since their house was the only one down that dirt road, the town decided it was too painful of a memory. The road was renamed to Mazer Trace Road.”
Jensen’s head tilted as he slapped the counter.
Miss Tipmann jerked back.
“You’re telling me I’m asking about the Mazer House?”
She nodded.
I looked between the two of them for some type of explanation. When neither said, anything I had to ask. “What’s the deal with the Mazer House?”
“It’s nothing really,” Jensen said.
Miss Tipmann opened her mouth and closed it. She reached for a file that already looked to be organized and started reorganizing to no doubt making herself look busy.
“Growing up, we would go out there during Halloween. You know, just stupid teenagers trying to freak each other out.”
I shook my head, trying to understand. “Why would that house freak you out?”
Jensen gnawed at his bottom lip, and with a flick of his tongue he licked it. “Because people used to say it was haunted by the people who were murdered there.”
“But they weren’t murdered there. I just found the article saying they went missing,” I interjected.
Miss Tipmann’s posture changed. She stiffened and excused herself to the back.
“It’s all make believe. We didn’t know what happened there. It was stories people passed around to scare each other. It’s nothing to get worked up over. I know exactly where the place is. Not far from here really.”
“We should get moving then.” I reached for my bag, draping it across my shoulder. “I want to visit Hell Children’s Home afterward.” We walked toward the
door.
“Whatever you want,” he said, holding it open for me to exit.
I could understand why the teenagers would come to this place to scare themselves. The house sat deserted in the middle of nothing. It was tiny with broken windows and a front door that barely hung on the hinges.
Jensen visibly shivered, staring at the abandon building. “Place still gives me the creeps, even though I now know nothing went on here. Funny how we can build something up so much in our minds.”
“True. Do you think it’s okay to go inside?”
His eyes widened. “You want to go in there?” He coughed, shifting uncomfortably as if the truck had become unbearable. “I mean, we never did, so I’m not sure what the inside is like. There’s a barn in the back. How about we start there first?”
“Sure.” I searched the grounds around the home, wondering where the neighbor could have lived to have noticed the oddness here. Trees could have blocked any other houses, I supposed. The land was in desperate need for work. Overgrown with vines, and thick with weeds. I pushed through, finding what was left of the barn. The metal was rusted through in some parts with vines growing up the side and disappearing into the holes. Cautiously, I stepped amid needlepoint briers reaching nearly my knees. They snagged at my pants leg as I trudged onward.
“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” Jensen said, close behind.
Without turning, I could picture his twisted face. For a moment, I felt bad remembering he was wearing shorts.
“You can turn back if you want.” I knew he wouldn’t. No guy would. It would be a blow to his manhood to retreat when a woman forged on.
“Nah. I’m fine. I was just worried about you.”
I stifled a chuckle as I neared the door. It was probably locked. I gripped the handle, which turned surprisingly easy, and pushed in. I walked inside, taking a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. It was bare with the exception of a chair sitting in the middle of the room. I went forward then paused to look in each room to the sides. Nothing was in any of them, until I reached the odd piece of furniture.
Chosen (The Urban Legends Series Book 1) Page 14