by A. I. Nasser
Daniel knew had no choice, though.
He thought about how much it would break his daughters’ hearts if they knew what was required of Melington’s Chairman. It was a secret he had sworn to keep until the day came when he would have to hand the mantle over to his replacement. Daniel felt the burden more and more every day, and despite the Council’s belief, it was not a burden he bore lightly.
Sometimes he felt that he was the only one who understood the importance of what it was he had to do. He replayed his conversation with Rachel Adams, and found himself frustrated at having to deal with her constant badgering and condescending attitude, as if she were doing him a favor rather than saving this town from the evil their forefathers had brought upon it. And now his son was in bed with her daughter, and the mere thought of that made him angrier than anything else he could possibly think of.
Still, the founding families were allies, had been since the start, and it was vital that they all worked together. None of this would be possible without each and every Council member’s role, and despite their feelings towards the matter, they carried out their tasks to the dot.
Daniel switched off the car engine and braced himself against the cold winds that welcomed him as he stepped out of his car. He pulled the collar of his coat up and swiftly crossed to the front door of his house. Fumbling with the keys, he let himself in and quickly announced his arrival.
He knew his wife would be asleep, turning in early as she usually did to avoid having to talk to him. Their relationship had grown strained over the years, especially as they got older and the Council’s demands had increased. It was a growing town, after all, and so much was expected of him as Chairman. If his own family couldn’t understand that, then that was a problem they would have to deal with on their own. He didn’t need to explain himself any more than he needed their approval.
Daniel slipped out of his jacket and hung it neatly in the small coat closet next to the front door. This was a meticulous family, a family who cared about details, and he wouldn’t be caught dead breaking his own rules. Walking noisily into the living room, not caring whether he woke his wife or not, he reached for the bottle of scotch on the small dresser and poured himself a glass.
He had been drinking profusely these days, careful of course to maintain sobriety, albeit more than he was accustomed to. It was one of the many signs of the stress he was under, and he knew that he would have to find a way to control it before turning into the alcoholic his father had become in his later years.
Later. Right now the alcohol was the only thing keeping him sane.
Daniel made his way to the couch, contemplating whether or not to turn the television on. He decided against it, sat down heavily and closed his eyes as he took a sip from his drink. His head was throbbing, and he knew that he would have to take a pill or two to help him sleep later.
The lights of the living room flickered, and Daniel quickly opened his eyes as he felt the air in the room get colder. He felt a sudden flutter in his chest as his heartbeat quickened, his mind registering what was happening a bit too late.
Before Daniel could get up, a hand shot out from under the couch and grabbed his ankle. He dropped the glass in his hand and watched his drink spill all over the couch and carpet underneath, and all he could think about was the nasty argument he would have with his wife in the morning when she saw the stain.
The hand gripped him tighter, squeezing his ankle hard and sending bolts of pain up and down his leg. Daniel sat completely still, knowing that no matter what he did, he would not be able to break free of the grasp, and he clutched onto the armrest until his fingers turned white.
“Carter,” came a raspy voice from underneath the couch.
Daniel could feel the pounding in his chest intensify, as if his heart were trying to break free and race away. He opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out, only a slight whimper as the hand tightened its hold even more, nails digging into his flesh.
“Carter,” the voice repeated, firmer, urging for a response.
“I know,” Daniel stuttered. “We’re working on it.”
“Work faster.”
Daniel shuddered, the voice sounding like sandpaper rubbing against each other. “It’s not that simple,” he said, his voice low. “It’s more complicated this time.”
“I can’t take him,” the reply came from below. “He would have enjoyed coming with me. His sister enjoyed coming with me. We had so much fun.”
Daniel could sense the chill race down his spine at the mention of the little Carter girl. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what was really being said. He thought about his daughter’s twins, the only two people in the world he truly loved, and his body began to shake uncontrollably.
“Blake Collins had so much fun, too,” the voice cut through his thoughts. “Imagine the fun all the children in Melington could have.”
“Please,” Daniel begged. “Please, I’m going to take care of it.”
“Carter must go.”
Daniel nodded quickly. “I know,” his voice came out in a slight whimper. “I know.”
Suddenly, the hand gripping him let go, and Daniel Cole quickly pulled his feet up from the floor and onto the couch. He tried to control his shaking, his heart drumming against his chest in a torrent of beats that threatened to kill him, his hands cold and white with fear.
Daniel Cole fell asleep on the couch that night, his legs curled up and his feet off the ground where he was sure no hand could reach them.
***
Alan Carter had learned a lot of useful skills over the years. Most of them had to do with maintaining secrecy, a need he had quickly realized he needed when it had been apparent that being honest and open would get him absolutely nowhere. It had usually taken him a while to get used to most of the skills he would need for what he wanted to accomplish, but in the end, he knew that they would come in handy.
Surprisingly enough, picking a lock had been something he had almost picked up overnight. It had quickly become an important skill he had relied on heavily over the years, and tonight was no exception.
Alan quickly pushed the door to the Collins’ apartment open and stepped into the darkness, locking it behind him. He waited a few seconds, making sure no one had heard him break in, and only turned on the lights when he was satisfied he was in the clear.
The apartment was completely empty.
Alan moved deeper into the apartment, taking off his gloves and pushing them into his back pocket. His eyes gazed upon the emptiness, already sensing that something was very wrong with this picture. He knew that movers worked fast, and it had been more than twenty four hours since anyone had last seen Blake or his father, but Alan couldn’t quite brush off the feeling that there was more to this than met the eye.
For starters, it looked like whoever had helped the Collins move had been incredibly sloppy, as if in a hurry to get everything out. Alan could see several scratch marks in different colors where furniture had obviously scraped the walls. In a few corners the paint had been completely chipped off, and threads from what must have been a carpet clung to breaks between the hardwood floors.
The Collins had definitely been in a hurry, but Alan had no idea why.
He made his way into the kitchen where he immediately saw a broken electric cord still stuck in its socket. Whatever it had been attached to had obviously been forcefully pulled out. Shattered plates littered the floor, and in a corner, soil from an indoor plant had been spilled and kicked about. If Alan hadn’t known better, it looked more like the Collins had been robbed than anything else.
Alan made his way back, following a small hall where nails that had once supported picture frames littered the red-colored wall. Two bedrooms opened into the hall, and beyond that, a bathroom with its door open.
Alan opened the first room, a large space that he assumed had belonged to the father, the shape of a large king-sized bed apparent by the soft dust on the floor. Alan looked about the room from the thresho
ld of the door, knowing that this was not what he had come for.
He immediately turned to the second room, already knowing that it had belonged to Blake before even opening the door. He stepped inside, and instantly felt a heavy weight on his chest, as if an invisible hand were forcefully pushing him out. Alan winced as he staggered inside, pulling out the small camera he had brought with him.
His eyes fell on the open door of a walk-in closet, the space beyond small and uninviting, reminding Alan of a similar closet he had when he was younger. He moved towards it, and almost as if there was another presence in the room, the closet door swung closed with a crash.
Alan stopped in his tracks, his arms breaking out in goose bumps as he stared at the closed door, waiting for something else to happen. When he realized how ridiculous he was being, he marched straight towards it, grabbed the knob and swung it open.
The empty closet greeted him with nothing more than the emptiness inside, and Alan exhaled in relief, only then realizing that he had been holding his breath in. His eyes scanned the small space, searching every corner for anything out of the ordinary, and when it was clear there was nothing to be found, he turned back and closed the closet door behind him.
The house had been cleaned out thoroughly, but Alan could feel that something had lingered. It was in the bedroom air, something slightly out of reach, as if on a different dimensional plane he was unable to perceive. It felt eerie, and he wondered if Blake Collins had felt the same way when he had occupied the room.
Alan quickly brushed off the feeling and began taking pictures, making sure he got everything. He started in the kitchen, photographing the broken cord and dishes, then moved to the living room and hall. His fingers snapped away quickly, taking shots of various angles, making sure he missed nothing. By the time he had returned to Blake’s bedroom, an hour had passed and he could feel the fatigue setting in.
Just this room, he thought. Just this room, and then I’m out of here.
He was just about to reach for the closet door when he heard a cough behind him. Alan turned around quickly and came face to face with a tall blonde in her mid-fifties, the star on her chest glinting in the dim light from the room as she stared at him earnestly. She had her gun aimed at him, and her head tilted to a side as Alan slowly raised his hands in the air.
“You better have a darn good explanation for your being here, Alan Carter,” the Sheriff said.
From the Journal of Jeremiah Carter.
Melington. September 30th, 1826.
This is a most wonderful day indeed.
Abbey has finally broken out of her shell and has spoken.
I admit, I had so gotten used to her silence that at first I mistook her whispers for the blowing of the winds. It has been so long since I’ve heard her soft voice speak to me, and I could not believe it until I was on my knees in front of her, begging her to speak again. The memory of that first moment will forever remain in my mind, her beautiful green eyes staring out into the fields, her soft lips barely apart as her voice came in a whisper through them.
She called for Allison. It was brief at first, my daughter’s name dripping like sweet nectar from her tongue. I cried profusely while I held my Abbey’s cold hands in mine, squeezing them, urging her to speak more. She had fallen silent for only a few minutes, but those minutes seemed like hours to a man who had been given a glimmer of hope just moments before.
When she spoke again, she asked for water, and I remember how desperate I must have sounded calling out for the boys, unable to leave my Abbey’s side, in fear that if I had, she would return to her former state and I would lose her forever.
She cried, for hours on end, her tears torrents on her face. I could not do more to comfort her than be by her side and hold her in my arms as she wept. She called out for Allison again and again, a non-stop chant that broke my heart. Oh, how I wished to see our daughter materialize before us, if just for a moment, to soothe my wife’s aches. I could not have missed my little girl more.
I dug a grave for my Allison today, a small grave by her favorite tree behind the house. I have no body whereby to fill it, yet I feel it was the right thing to do. My Abbey joined me, as did the boys, as I said a silent prayer for my lost child. We bid Allison farewell, once and for all, and that finality has hit me harder than any realization I have ever come across in all my years.
Abbey still cries. I sit here at my desk, as I have for several nights now, and can hear her in the bed behind me, weeping softly. It is a heart wrenching sound that she emits, yet I will not stop her. She mourns our child, and she deserves the comfort that will soon follow. I dare not soothe my wife, for fear that she may relapse into her former state. I will let her cry, as I have, and I will be by her side.
My Abbey has returned to me. That is all that matters.
Chapter 7
“It’s the scar that gave you away.”
Sheriff Fiona Bright sat coolly behind her desk, arms folded, and a half-smile on her face. Alan sat quietly in his chair opposite from her, less amused and feeling a slight relief that the precinct had been almost empty when he had been brought in.
Fiona pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered him one, Alan shaking his head before watching her shrug and light one for herself. Fiona blew smoke out in rings as she sat back and eyed Alan carefully, sizing him up as he put on his best poker face.
“I should book you for the night,” Fiona said, pointing at Alan with her cigarette, “but I won’t. You want to know why?”
Alan shrugged.
“Because I have a feeling you’re going to be honest with me and tell me what you were really doing in that apartment.”
Alan sighed and scratched the back of his head. He had explained on the way here how he had heard about Blake Collins dropping out of school, and had wanted to check up on him to make sure he was alright. He had lied of course, explaining that when he had arrived, the door to the apartment had been unlocked, and he had gone in to investigate.
“Do you know how much of your story makes absolutely no sense?” Fiona asked, her cigarette hanging from the side of her mouth as she fiddled with the statement he had given her.
“I really don’t know what else to tell you, Sheriff,” Alan said. “You can call Deborah Adams and confirm that I had promised her I’d pass by the Collins apartment and check up on the boy.”
Fiona smiled and gave Alan a wink. “Oh, I’m sure she’ll confirm the so-called reason why you were there,” she said. “What I don’t understand is why she wasn’t there with you. I would assume since she’s worried about the boy, she would have at least accompanied you on your hero’s journey.”
“I guess she was busy,” Alan offered.
Fiona nodded, mumbling his reply under her breath in disbelief. “That still doesn’t explain the camera.”
Alan sighed. “I told you, Sheriff, it’s just research for a book I’m working on,” he said. “I’m a sucker for forensics, and when I saw the marks on the walls and the broken dishes in the kitchen, I played with the idea of using the setting for one of my detective stories.”
“You write a lot of those detective stories?” Fiona asked. “I only ask because I’m fond of a little James Patterson and Jo Nesbo every now and then. Maybe I’ve read something you’ve written.”
“You probably have, but you won’t find my name on it.”
“Oh?” Fiona smiled, raising her eyebrows in a way that made her look quite comical. “Why is that?”
“I’m a ghostwriter,” Alan said. “It’s something I do on the side to earn a little extra money. It keeps my wheels turning and the imagination going, which I need when teaching middle school English.”
Fiona took a long drag from her cigarette and smacked her lips. “That’s a shame. It would have been nice to read something written by a local.”
Alan shrugged. “Can’t do, sorry. Contracts and all that.”
Alan watched the Sheriff smile and gaze up at the ceiling. He could see that sh
e wasn’t convinced by his story, but he knew that all he needed was to sound believable enough.
He remembered Fiona Bright well, back when he was younger and she was still a deputy. She had often passed by his parents’ house, and he remembered how enthralled he had been by her. She had obviously done well for herself, following in her father’s footsteps and carrying the mantle of Sheriff. Alan began to wonder if every job in Melington that belonged to a founder family member was passed on to one of their children. So far, it seemed pretty much the rule around here.
Alan assumed that he was lucky that she had been the one to catch him. However, he was a little wary as to why she had been at the Collins’ apartment herself. Had someone actually heard him breaking in and had called the police? Alan doubted it. He knew the extent of his lock picking skills, and it definitely did not involve making a lot of noise.
“Alan Carter,” Fiona said to herself, eyeing him closely from behind a curtain of smoke. “Little Alan Carter. Where have you been all these years?”
“Here and there,” Alan replied, forcing a smile he hoped looked genuine. “Mostly there.”
“How are your parents?”
Alan hesitated before answering. His parents. He had expected people to ask about them, and although he had been able to dance around the topic with Deborah, never really giving a straight answer, he didn’t think that would work with Fiona.
“My mother died a few years after we moved away,” Alan said, clearly hearing the tone of his voice change from calm to anger. Fiona seemed to notice, too, and Alan did his best to control himself. “My father a few years back. Heart attack.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Fiona said, sounding genuine enough. “They were great people.”
“Thank you.”
An awkward silence fell upon them as they sat there, each waiting for the other to say something. Alan knew that Fiona was probably going to fish for more information about his past, maybe try to make him comfortable enough to change his story, but Alan could see right through it. He had been around enough doctors to tell when someone was trying to play him, and he was more than happy to play along. It was a game he had gotten pretty good at before he decided he had enough.