BREAKING CURSED BONDS
Curses & Secrets Book One
A novel by Elisabeth Zguta
COPYRIGHT
© 2016
All rights belong to
Elisabeth Zguta
ISBN-10: 0-9894946-1-6
ISBN-13: 978-0-9894946-1-8
This is a work of fiction and the story contrived from the author’s imagination. All characters names, places, businesses, incidents and events are used inventively and any resemblance to actual people, dead or alive, is coincidental. Readers are encouraged to investigate the topics used in this work of fiction.
Do not encourage piracy of copyrighted material, which violates the author’s rights. Please purchase only authorized editions. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled or reverse engineered, or stored in a retrieval system for distribution without permission from the author / publisher.
Seek permission at:
EZ Indie Publishing
Table of Contents
BREAKING CURSED BONDS
COPYRIGHT
The Beginning
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Acknowledgments
From the Author
The Beginning
“A broken heart can never be perfectly mended, there are always scars.”
CHAPTER ONE
Thaddeus Riley's heart pumped faster as he grabbed a tight hold to his satchel, protecting his precious cargo. Sweating now, the old man picked up the pace as best he could on the deserted, rain-slicked street. As he neared his home, he loosened his collar to aid his breathing. He glanced back at the man trailing him, the same man he’d seen at the pub on High Street earlier that night. The same man Thaddeus and his nephew, Jeremy, had both taken note of. I’m sure he means no harm, Jeremy had reassured him.
Now, Thaddeus wished they both had been more mindful.
"Just another block," he said aloud to himself. Refuge was near.
Turning the corner, Thaddeus saw his front door with its old brass knocker, stark against the red paint of the old brick townhouse. A quick glance back confirmed the stranger still followed.
His throat tightened, swelling from adrenalin. Thaddeus pulled his keys from his pocket, fumbled for the right one, and continued walking. He found the correct key just as he arrived at his stoop. He inserted it and turned it in the lock with a quick jerk, then pushed the door with his shoulder. The door opened with a thump as it broke free from the swollen wood jamb. He entered quickly and closed the door behind him, latching the security bolt.
His entire body deflated. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he scurried to the window and peeked out the corner, moving the curtain just enough to view the empty street. He chuckled to himself as he combed back his disheveled gray hair with his fingers.
"Thad, you fool, you're letting your imagination run wild in your old age!"
He inhaled deeply once more, feeling like himself again now that he was safe in his home. He patted himself on his chest, then took off his scarf and weathered raincoat and hung them on a hook near the door. Thaddeus walked across the cluttered room and with careful hands, laid his worn satchel on the big roll-top desk where he stored his most recent work and research. He slid the book out and examined it with a triumphant smile.
It was a treasure: an old book, an ancient journal, and it had a tale to tell. A tale that would help him find the truth about his dear aunt's death so many years ago. Thaddeus admired the leather cover and the tattered spine, touching it with reverence. He remembered the story his friend had begun interpreting from this ancient journal. A tale about French seamen, Florida tribes, and ancient ceremonies.
He opened the book and made a mental note of the blue-inked emblem printed on the inside cover. It was a unique insignia, well worth investigation. His weathered hands turned the pages as he examined the primitive designs on the parchment, his excitement building. This new relic reminded him of his past, and the many other treasures he’d rescued during his long career as a history professor. He’d traipsed the globe seeking authentic and unusual documents, delving into the mysteries of the past, searching for his own family footprint.
He contemplated this new enigma, until something broke his reverie. Footsteps just outside his door, he thought. Surely not a visitor this late? His heart pounded, adrenalin pumping again. He stood. Before he could investigate, he heard the unmistakable sound of glass breaking in the back room. A split second later, the door slammed open, cracking against the wall with the force.
He swallowed past terror and the throb of his heart, pounding out of control now. He rushed across the room in a mad race for the phone but the stranger loomed in front of him, blocking his path. The man was common enough in height and build, it was his expression that unnerved Thaddeus. The stranger's glare sliced through him, with soulless, dagger eyes. Thaddeus cringed at the handgun pointed straight at his head.
"What do you want? Who are you? How dare you break into my home."
The stranger didn't respond. His dark eyes shifted from one corner of the room to another, surveying the space, searching for something. The room was comfy and used often, decorated in warm colors and paisley prints, with odd relics on display. Piles of papers and books were stacked on every surface. Thaddeus knew there was only one book the stranger wanted, though: the ancient journal. Enraged that the stranger had violated his space, Thaddeus found his voice as his temper flared.
"Get out of my house before the authorities arrive."
He stretched his arm around the man and strained to pick up the phone. The threat of the police had no effect; the stranger tore the phone off the table, ripping the cord from the wall, and threw it across the room.
There was a loud thud and trilling of bells as the phone collided with the wall and crashed to the floor, knocking a hung picture off its hook on the way down. It was a framed photo of Jeremy as a boy, the son Thaddeus had never had. Glass shattered when it hit the hardwood floor, splinters flying like shrapnel.
Thaddeus whimpered, well and truly terrified. He swallowed hard, gulping for air, and turned to escape. Before he’d gone a step, the stranger caught his arm and pushed the old man into a nearby chair. There was nowhere to flee. The stranger strode to the desk and took the old book, then placed the journal into a cloth bag he'd extracted from his coat pocket.
"No, you can't take th
at!" the old man screamed. "I searched my whole life for that book. Get your hands off it!"
Thaddeus rose from the chair, focused on his prized possession. The sudden movement made him stumble, snagging his foot on the rug as he tried to reach the desk. The room spun, nausea overtaking him. He crashed to the floor. He felt no pain at first, just a heavy pressure in his chest. The old man struggled to roll over onto his back, gasping for breath. His heart thumped faster and faster, as if his chest would explode.
Please merciful God, please forgive me my sins. Please Lord, take care of my Jeremy. With one last gulp of air and a slight tremor that rocked his weakened body, Thaddeus lost the battle.
The stranger looked down at the old man, showing no trace of remorse. Taking the journal, he unlocked the front door and left.
At just past midnight that same night, Jeremy Laughton’s phone rang.
"Mr. Laughton, this is Detective Mason from the Response Command. I'm at Markenfield Road. Sir, do you know a Mr. Thaddeus Riley? You're listed as the contact person."
Jeremy squeezed the back of his neck, his throat constricted. "Yes, why are you at my uncle's place? What's going on?" The words stuck in his mouth.
"Mr. Laughton, could you please come right over? There's been an incident."
There was a brief moment of silence.
Jeremy’s gut sunk in fear. Something must have happened to Uncle Thaddeus. His blood shot through his veins in a heated rush. Thoughts of his Uncle Thad dead raced through his head, incomprehensible, no, it’s a mistake, maybe a heart attack? He swallowed back the lump in his throat, pushing the panic from his voice.
"Sir, are you still on the line?"
"I'm on my way," Jeremy said.
Adrenalin kicked him into gear; he jumped into his Rover and rushed to his uncle's place. Everything flashed by in a blur as he drove on autopilot, arriving within minutes. He shoved the column into park, jumped out of his vehicle, and headed straight for his uncle's front door. There were constables all around, a cruiser with lights flashing parked in front of the house. The front door was wide open. A man pulled a stretcher from a yellow NHS ambulance's back hatch, and someone wheeled it toward the house.
Petrified by the surreal scene, Jeremy lost focus for a moment. It must be a misunderstanding. He breathed in deep gasps as he approached the house. A detective constable with tired sagging eyes, dressed in rumpled clothes, scratched his tilted head as he walked over to meet Jeremy.
"Are you Mr. Laughton?"
"Yes, how is my uncle?"
The DC hung his head as they approached the front door. He extended his arm, steering Jeremy into the house. The place was a mess. Jeremy scanned the room in disbelief as a gurney rolled close. The wheels crunched over splinters of glass. Jeremy looked down at a bleached sheet, fixated on the contrast of bright white against the darkened room. There was something beneath the sheet. He didn’t want to know what. Didn’t want to know who. The detective held up his hand and the men with the gurney stopped.
“Mr. Laughton, I’m very sorry about this. But we need to know for certain…” He pulled the sheet back. “Is this your uncle, Mr. Laughton?”
Jeremy's insides twisted, all hope sunk. He looked down and shook his head. “Yes, that's my uncle. Thaddeus Riley."
The detective covered Uncle Thad's face again. They rolled him into the truck, closed the doors, and drove away. Jeremy stood in the doorway and watched until the ambulance was out of sight. He turned his attention to the room. The place looked sad, depleted, without his uncle. He sat in a chair, quiet for a few moments.
Uncle Thad had been his support system; he’d helped his nephew believe in himself over the years. Even though he was an old man, Jeremy had never considered Thaddeus would die. He looked around the disheveled room. Something bad had happened. Who was here? He got up from the chair, checking the shelves before he moved on to the desk to rummage through his uncle's papers. The detective had already been looking through the clutter.
"Mr. Laughton, can you tell if anything is missing?"
Jeremy looked over his shoulder to answer as he searched.
"He had an old book he’d just acquired; he showed it to me tonight. He said it was a relevant find. He always put his current work right here, on this desk."
He moved more piles around, searching. "It was important, and now it's gone. I can't find it anywhere."
"Do you know anyone who would want to steal that book? Is it worth a lot of money?" the detective asked.
"I have no idea its worth. Like I said, he’d just acquired it. Maybe some of his friends would know? He did say it needed translating."
A sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach and a face flashed in his mind. Jeremy remembered a man from earlier that evening: he’d gawked at them while he and Thaddeus inspected the book. The man had clearly been eavesdropping on their conversation, and Jeremy caught him staring. The man had no manners and never averted his eyes, just glared back at them. Jeremy had dismissed it then, but now… He had learned from his uncle a long time ago to follow his instincts.
"Wait, Inspector, there was a man earlier this evening. He was staring at us and—"
"Do you know his name?" the detective said.
"No, never saw him before tonight."
The detective shook his head. "Why do you think it was him? A complete stranger?"
"Something was off with this fellow. He was brazen, no, he was suspicious. I just have this gut feeling he’s involved."
"Sorry, Mr. Laughton, that's not enough to go on. I work with facts, not gut feelings about staring strangers. Perhaps the book is just misplaced and will turn up somewhere in this mess. Don't let your imagination run away with you in your grief."
The detective patted Jeremy's back and lowered his head like a humble servant. Jeremy understood that the police needed evidence and motive; they needed facts. Well, if it was facts they wanted, he told himself, he would get that and more.
CHAPTER TWO
Another Memphis in May Festival had come and gone, and now it was back to work. The French business visitors had a great weekend trolling Beale Street with the other music lovers, but now the paperwork for the new merger for PDG Inc. needed approvals.
Emilie entered the large conference room and sat in the first empty seat. She kept to herself as she riffled through the documents, focused on the project instead of the others in the room. Stray strands of hair fell across her face and veiled her dark brown eyes. She gathered and wrapped tendrils behind her right ear with a hurried hand, but her fingers lingered and fell away slowly. She leaned forward, squinting to read the pages in front of her, but the dim lighting from the wall sconces wasn't sufficient. She appreciated low lights on most days, as they helped alleviate her frequent headaches, but today it was only a nuisance.
She heard laughter and pulled herself from her paperwork. At the other end of the long mahogany table, her older brother Robert was seated with a few other businessmen as they waited for the meeting to begin. Comfortable in the overstuffed leather chairs, they prattled on about nonsense that had no bearing on the business at hand. Don't they realize how important this merger is?
Irritated because she’d lost her concentration, Emilie rose to turn the lights brighter when her father, Pierre de Gourgues, walked into the room. He stopped for a moment in the doorway. His lean frame filled the entrance, and the light from the hall created a glowing effect around his silhouetted shape. He turned and switched on the overhead light. Pierre stood with command, dressed in a tailored Wain Shiell suit, his dark hair peppered with silver. Emilie found his presence at once intimidating and yet comforting. Everyone in the room quieted and looked his way. Emilie wondered if they respected her father for his business sense or feared him because of his power.
"I know I called this meeting to discuss the final points of the merger, but an urgent matter has come to my attention and we’ll have to reschedule."
Mumbles filled the room. One of the men objected,
speaking up in a French accent.
"But Pierre, our flight leaves this afternoon. We won't be able to make a trip again for some time. I was under the impression that we wanted to get this project wrapped up as quickly as possible."
Pierre moved into the room and leaned on the table, his weight balanced on his fists.
"I am sorry, Louis, it can't be avoided. We will continue with a virtual meeting at a later time. Please accept my apologies, gentlemen, but I must leave. Meilleures salutations jusqu'à ce que la prochaine fois que nous nous rencontrons."
Pierre left the room. Louis and the other men bent their heads together and whispered anguished laments laced with French obscenities. Robert stood, and they turned their attention to him. Tall and lean like their father, he sported dark wavy hair and deep brown eyes that seemed to laugh at the world. He took a moment to adjust his suit jacket, a tactic meant to draw the men's attention toward him. Emilie admired his showmanship.
"Gentlemen," her brother said, using his hands to calm their chatter. "Please, don't worry. We'll schedule a virtual meeting when you get back to your offices. I promise no more delays, and I assure you that next time I will have all the pertinent information so we can finalize the terms. Get your things together, gentlemen, and I will take you out to lunch before you have to catch your flight." He turned to the man who’d protested before. “Okay, Louis?"
Robert's charm appeased them all. The men were smiling once again as they filed out of the room to gather their belongings, each acknowledging Emilie with a brief nod as they passed. Robert stayed back. He pulled out a chair across from her and sat down in one swift gesture.
"So, Em, what do you think of that? The old man is off his rocker."
He leaned forward, bent elbows on the table and his chin positioned snug in his hands. His dark brown eyes were just like Father's, except Robert mirrored a different kind of sadness. Emilie straightened the paperwork in front of her as she spoke.
"I'm surprised by Father's last minute cancellation just like you, but there must be a reason for calling it off. I'll talk with him and find out what's so important that he’d cancel such an important meeting."
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