The Patient from Silvertree: Book One in the Silvertree Series

by Marian Dribus

  Josh left before she could continue, and Arthur followed him with a sigh that was audible to everyone in the room. Sabrina managed to sit up, wincing as she did so, and Lisa’s father examined her to make sure she hadn’t injured herself.

  “I don’t mean to criticize, but you were a bit cruel to Josh,” said Richard. “From Arthur’s passive-aggressive reaction, I assume this isn’t the first time you’ve treated him that way.”

  “I’ve never known what to do with Josh,” said Sabrina. “I remember when he was six years old and he fell off his bike and broke his arm. He came into the house with tears rolling down his cheeks, and I actually shoved him away—of course, I didn’t know how badly he was hurt at the time, but I felt terrible about it later. He was so confused. I wanted to comfort him, but I didn’t.”

  “Why not?” said Richard.

  She gave him a peculiar look.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” she said. “I want him to be able to take care of himself so he won’t be hurt when people disappoint him. He knows I won’t accept any weakness from him. It seems harsh, but it’s good for him. He’s not scared of anything.”

  “Or maybe he is, but he hides it,” said Richard.

  He helped Sabrina to her feet. Lisa’s father and Agnes steadied her, and the four of them went upstairs together, leaving Lisa and Yvonne behind. Lisa looked down at the baby. She wiped the tears off Yvonne’s cheeks, and as she gazed at her contorted face, she felt a tender sense of compassion for Yvonne that took her completely by surprise. After all, it wasn’t Yvonne’s fault Sabrina was so horrible. Lisa leaned over and kissed the baby on the forehead. To her amazement and delight, Yvonne stopped crying.

  Chapter 6

  The next day was the last day of the winter break. Sabrina had worsened to such a shocking extent since the previous afternoon that she was unable to get out of bed. Breakfast was a gloomy affair, and Arthur’s attempts to reassure his children fell on deaf ears. It wasn’t long before Richard was the only one at the table.

  After breakfast, Lisa’s father and Agnes prepared Sabrina for the bone marrow extraction. The procedure took almost two hours, and when they were done, Lisa’s father told Richard it was his responsibility to figure out what to do next. Richard abandoned his newspaper with some reluctance and went to look for Josh. He found him in the living room gazing down at his cell phone.

  “I need to go up the river to conduct some business,” said Richard. “Since you aren’t doing anything productive, you might as well come with me. Your parents obviously don’t have any use for you at the moment, and you won’t accomplish anything by sitting around the house all day feeling sorry for yourself.”

  Josh looked up without much enthusiasm. He hadn’t spoken since Sabrina had thrown him out on the previous day, except to reassure his father that he was okay. His mother’s reaction to him was frustrating, but it wasn’t unexpected. She had always been abrupt with him, and he knew not to take it seriously, even though it hurt. He studied Richard’s face, but it was inscrutable.

  “Where are we going?” he said.

  “You’ll see,” said Richard. He removed his keys from his pocket, threw them at Josh, and went out to his truck without another word. Josh joined him a moment later with every intention of making the best out of a bad situation. His upbringing by Sabrina had taught him to conceal his feelings, but he had the sneaking suspicion that Richard wasn’t easily fooled by such deceptions, and it made him uncomfortable. He liked being invincible. Life was easier that way.

  “Start driving,” said Richard. “I’ll tell you where to go.”

  They drove away from the beach and followed the river through the town until they arrived at the entrance to a neighborhood. The houses were small, and although the yards were neat, the place looked shabby. It got progressively worse as they went along until the road eventually ended in a wide circle of gravel.

  “Stop,” said Richard.

  Josh looked around. On his right, he saw a forlorn little house on a neglected plot of land. The front yard was filled with weeds, and the roof was covered with pine needles. The house was in a dreadful state of decay. Green mold stained the shutters, and moss grew on the bricks. The windows were dark, and the driveway was empty.

  “Now what?” said Josh.

  Richard was gazing at the house. As Josh watched with growing alarm, Richard’s eyes became suspiciously misty.

  “It’s still here,” he said. “I can’t believe it.”

  “What is this place?” said Josh.

  Richard didn’t look at him.

  “I lived here a long time ago,” he said.

  “What?” said Josh.

  “This was my first house,” said Richard. “It’s surreal—almost like going back in time. I hate seeing it abandoned like this. There used to be a garden in the front—just a few flower beds with red geraniums. It was perfect. I made so many memories in this place. Your dad was born right there on the porch. We were planning to go to the hospital, but he didn’t wait long enough.”

  He got out of the truck.

  “What are you doing?” said Josh.

  “I’m going inside,” said Richard. “We abandoned the house rather suddenly, you see, and I left something behind—something important. I meant to come back for it, but things were complicated, and I never got the opportunity. I hope Peterson hasn’t beaten me to it. I wouldn’t put it past him, the clever old brute.”

  “How are you going to get in?” said Josh.

  Richard ignored him.

  “Ditch the truck in the empty lot across the street and meet me back here as quickly as you can,” he said. “I would rather not have to explain myself to the neighbors, and I might need your help tearing out some drywall.”

  He slammed the door and trudged up the driveway with his hands in his pockets. Josh was too bewildered to argue. He followed Richard’s instructions and joined him on the porch a little while later, but despite his quick return, Richard’s agitation had become almost palpable.

  “Did anyone see you?” he said.

  “I don’t think so,” said Josh. “What difference does it make?”

  “I wasn’t the most popular man in town after Peterson ruined my reputation,” said Richard, removing a key from his pocket. “You’d think I’d be allowed to come and go as I please on my own property, but you’d be wrong.”

  “So this place still belongs to you?” said Josh. He couldn’t decide if Richard owned the house or if the locks simply hadn’t been changed.

  “You sure ask a lot of questions,” said Richard. “Let’s get what we came for.”

  He unlocked the door and went inside. Josh followed him, viewing his surroundings with a growing sense of apprehension. There was something distinctly uncanny about the house, and he felt like an intruder. A small table with three chairs occupied the far end of the kitchen. It was set for two adults and a child. Richard picked up one of the plates and polished it with his sleeve. It was made of white ceramic with a border of pink roses.

  “There were so many things Peterson stole from us—things that seemed trivial until they were gone,” he said. “These were your grandmother’s favorite plates. She used to wash them by hand with a soft cloth every night after dinner. I’m sure she missed them when we left, but she never complained. She knew what was important. I wish you could have met her, Josh. She was a wonderful woman.”

  He replaced the plate on the table and went into the hall. Removing a cigarette lighter from his pocket, he held it above his head like a torch. In the dim light of the tiny flame, Josh saw a vent on the wall. It was warped as if someone had tried to pry it open.

  “Here it is,” said Richard in a conspiratorial manner. “It looks innocent enough, but like most things in life, there are two sides to the story. You see, the vent isn’t the right size. There’s a space at least an inch wide in the plaster along the bottom. We used to hear horrible whistling noises coming out of it until I plugged it up with old newspapers. I stashed
a lot of things in there, and when I needed to hide the evidence, I just loosened the screws, chucked it in, and forgot about it.”

  “Forgot about what?” said Josh.

  “You’ll see,” said Richard. “Please try to be patient. Here, hold the light for me while I see if I can demolish this wall.”

  He kicked the wall. Josh watched Richard with growing disbelief. He wondered if he was having a hallucination triggered by the stress of his mother’s diagnosis. Everything had felt unreal since he had found out she was dying.

  Richard kicked the wall again, and the plaster cracked. He knelt down, pulled out several handfuls of insulation, and reached his arm into the gaping hole. He retrieved a wide variety of items, many of which had no discernable value, and with each passing moment, he became more frantic. At last, he gave a tremendous sigh of relief and pulled out a notebook. The cover was stained with mold, and the pages were discolored with age.

  “I knew this would be useful someday,” he said with a triumphant chuckle, clutching the notebook tightly against his chest as if he were afraid someone might try to take it away from him. “Mark my words, there’s nothing more important than keeping meticulous records. Let’s go into the other room.”

  They sat down at the table. Richard laid the notebook between them and opened it with a flourish. Josh could tell at a glance that it had been prepared with the greatest of care. The pages were covered with what he assumed was Richard’s handwriting, and sketches in exquisite detail were scattered throughout. It was a work of art.

  “This is my personal account of the work Peterson and I did together,” said Richard in a solemn voice. “It contains all his secrets and all my misgivings. With this information, it will be child’s play to follow in his footsteps.”

  Josh didn’t reply. Peterson had always existed in his life as something that couldn’t be discussed—a subject to be avoided at all costs. He remembered the name from the earliest recollections of his childhood, like a bad dream that had faded over time. He knew Peterson was somehow connected with his family, but the details remained a mystery. Had circumstances been different, he would have been delighted to discover the truth, but with his mother on death’s door, he found the entire subject repulsive.

  “You’re speechless,” said Richard. “I knew you would be. You’ve failed to grasp the significance of the situation, but I brought you along for a reason—a reason that probably isn’t obvious to you at the moment. You’ve lived your whole life in a fantasy. You deserve better. I could explain everything to you right now, but you wouldn’t believe me, so I won’t waste my time.”

  “You’re not making any sense,” said Josh.

  “Probably not,” said Richard. “Suffice it to say, your mom loves you more than you know. She just isn’t very good at expressing it. I’m afraid that sort of thing runs in the family. Your dad isn’t any different, and neither am I.”

  “My parents never even talked about you,” said Josh.

  “Unfortunately, I can’t discuss the subject,” said Richard.

  “Why not?” said Josh. He thought it was ironic that Richard had showed him the house and the notebook if he intended to keep him in the dark.

  “I’m sorry, Josh,” said Richard. “Your dad made his wishes very clear. If you’re curious, you’re going to have to ask him. It’s not my place to tell you anything else. Come on, let’s get out of here before Peterson shows up.”

  He shook the notebook. An envelope fluttered from between the pages and fell on the floor. Josh leaned over and picked it up. He held it out to Richard, but Richard didn’t take it.

  “I can be oblivious to almost anything,” said Richard. “It’s no joke getting old. I hope you live long enough to understand what I mean. My memory is so bad that I might not even admit to bringing you here.”

  Richard’s behavior baffled Josh. He turned his attention to the envelope. There was nothing written on it except the address. Someone had torn it open, leaving a jagged edge of wrinkled paper. He saw a letter inside. He pulled it out, unfolded it, and looked at the salutation. The letter was addressed to Richard.

  “Go ahead,” said Richard.

  Josh began to read. By the time he got to the middle of the page, he couldn’t continue. The letter was full of threats against his father—vivid descriptions of raw brutality that made him feel sick, even though he knew none of the things had actually happened. Looking at the date at the top of the letter, he calculated that his father had been a young child when it had been written. As his eyes wandered down to the bottom of the page, he already had a premonition of the name he would see there: sure enough, it was Peterson’s.

  “The man could have been a poet if he hadn’t been consumed by hatred,” said Richard. “He had a way with words. He was creative, too, but not in a good way. As you can imagine, I was terrified. I took my family and fled, but Peterson found us every time we moved, and letters similar to the one you just read arrived on a regular basis, no matter where we went. I alerted the authorities, but they couldn’t prove he was responsible, so nothing was done. We lived in a constant state of fear.”

  “I thought he was in prison,” said Josh.

  “He was, but that didn’t stop him,” said Richard. “It just gave him more time to sit around and think. He wanted revenge. After he was found guilty, while they were leading him out of the courtroom, he looked straight at me. ‘You took everything away from me, and I’ll take everything away from you,’ he said. It wasn’t an idle threat. I’ll never forget that day. His wife was sobbing in the background, and his daughter was staring at me with the coldest expression I’d ever seen in the eyes of a child.”

  He took the letter from Josh and stuffed it back into the envelope.

  “Do my parents know about this?” said Josh.

  “Not in so many words,” said Richard. “I never showed your dad the letters. Maybe I should have, but he never took me seriously when I warned him about the danger, and I didn’t want to prove him wrong. I just wanted him to believe me. Unfortunately, there’s very little chance of that happening now. In his eyes, I’m nothing but a delusional old fool who can’t let go of the past.”

  “He wouldn’t feel that way if he knew you were trying to protect him,” said Josh. “Maybe you should talk to him.”

  A cynical smile appeared on Richard’s face.

  “Perception is everything,” he said. “Nothing else matters. When all is said and done, you’ll be remembered for what you did and how you made other people feel—not for what you meant to do.” He went to the window, pulled back the shade by a mere fraction, and peered out.

  “We’re too late,” he said.

  Josh looked out. A gleaming black car with tinted windows sat in the driveway. Two men emerged, wearing formal attire. They were engaged in a genial conversation, punctuated by occasional laughter. The taller one was aristocratic, with white hair and a dignified demeanor; the shorter one was ordinary, but he seemed to be in charge. He gestured excitedly at the house. For reasons Josh couldn’t explain, the innocence of their approach made them all the more terrifying.

  “Do you think they know we’re here?” he said.

  “I certainly hope not, for your sake,” said Richard. “You’re a terrible liability. If they knew you were onto them, they’d cut your throat and throw your body into the river.”

  “You’re crazy,” said Josh. “Why would anyone want to kill me?”

  “Because you’re the future of this family,” said Richard.

  “So what?” said Josh. He couldn’t bring himself to accept Richard’s assertions, even though he had to admit the evidence was beginning to pile up. “We’re not the targets of some diabolical scheme. We’re just ordinary people. No one is plotting against us or trying to hurt us. It’s all in your head.”

  “You’re just like your dad,” said Richard. “Stubborn, oblivious, arrogant—but none of that matters. We can’t let them see us. On the other hand, we need to figure out what they’re
doing here. We’ll hide in the attic until they leave. We won’t be able to get a good look at them, but we’ll be able to hear them if we’re lucky.”

  He grabbed Josh’s arm somewhat more roughly than necessary and dragged him to the end of the hall, a feat he couldn’t have accomplished if Josh hadn’t been badly flustered and naturally cooperative. Josh looked up and saw a trapdoor in the ceiling.

  “This is insane,” he said. “I’m not going up there.”

  “Josh, stop denying the truth,” said Richard. “I’d rather not have to knock you over the head and drag you into the attic against your will, but I’ll do what’s necessary to keep you safe. I owe it to your father. He would never forgive me if anything happened to you, and I wouldn’t blame him. Don’t underestimate me.”

  “Fine,” said Josh. “Which one of them is Peterson?”

  “Neither,” said Richard. “The taller one is a local business owner named Uriah. He made a fortune in the hotel industry, and he’s supposedly the wealthiest man in Silvertree. I met him at a social event a long time ago. He’s a politician at heart, but he’s friendly enough on the surface. The shorter one must be Graham. I saw him on the beach yesterday afternoon with his head going around in circles.”

  With this bizarre description, he lowered the trapdoor and climbed into the darkness. Josh didn’t want to be left behind, so he followed Richard, feeling rather ridiculous. Richard hauled the trapdoor closed until a narrow outline of light was all that remained. Josh could hear everything going on downstairs. The front door rattled for a few moments, and then there was a loud click, followed by the creaking of hinges and the sound of footsteps.

  “Please make yourself comfortable, Uriah,” said a voice. “I apologize for the clutter. Let me shove this junk out of the way.”

  Josh heard the sound of ceramic shattering on the floor. He was glad he couldn’t see Richard’s face.

  “No worries, Graham,” said Uriah. He spoke with a dignified drawl. “I didn’t expect a fancy reception, but all of this could have been avoided if you hadn’t insisted on bringing me here. I hope you have a good reason for it.”