Buried in Sunshine (18 page)

“Is that because you possibly murdered him?”
Emma asks as she places down the note from the box that used to
contain the silver knife.

“You know about the knife…?”

“So you did it then?” Emma asks, as she reaches
for her phone in her pocket.

“Wait, Emma, you don’t understand…” Brian says
as he holds his hands out in protest. “Don’t make that call—please.
Just give me ten minutes to explain, if you still think I did it
then go ahead and call the police. Just…you know me—I could never
kill anyone. I was there to help you.”

“Guilt…?”

“I loved your mother. I never meant to hurt your
father but you have to understand—their relationship, your father,
Stephen…and your mother…it meant nothing to her. He wasn’t even
your real father.”

“Wasn’t my real father?”

“Your mom was left by your real father after
only one year of marriage. I would tell you his name, but she never
mentioned it. She had a hard time and I was not able to financially
help as I had my own family issues…my wife was not well—and we had
to pay a great deal in order to get her help. So your mother met a
rich man and married him so that you would not have to suffer.
There were days when your mother would not eat, so that you could
eat. There were times when you had no power or water—months when
you lived out of a car. When Stephen Langford came into her life,
she did not love him. She was with him out of necessity—because she
cared for you.”

“Then why did you kill him?”

“I did not kill him,” Brian says as he reaches
for his laptop and types in a few words. “He killed himself…or at
least that’s what we think happened.”

“Because he caught you…?”

“Yes,” Brian says with a heavy sigh as he buries
his large face in his hands. He then turns the computer to face
Emma, “Here’s the article.”

Emma quickly scans the newspaper report stating
that Stephen A. Langford set his boat to lake Michigan during a
thunderstorm and disappeared—wreckage from his boat was recovered a
few days later, however, a body was never found.

“What about the knife?”

“You don’t know about the knife?” Brian asks as
though he is deeply puzzled.

“Why would you hide it?”

“I didn’t hide it,” Brian says as he folds his
hands together against the table. “Your mother never wanted Stephen
Langford to find it, so she hid it in our special place.”

“What about the room with the concrete?”

“I did that work, I resurfaced the entire
greenhouse. That old place was broken down, cracked floors and
broken glass—I bricked up the hole in the wall, your mother
convinced Stephen that it was a waste of electricity to keep such a
drafty long tunnel connected. I made it so that it was our special
place. I never, in a million years, thought he would ever find
it—or us,” Brian says as he shook his head and looked nearly on the
verge of tears. “He was always on his computer—he cared very little
for being outdoors, he was never meant to go there. He never had a
reason to.”

“After my father…after Stephen Langford left—why
didn’t you follow through with your plans?”

“Guilt,” Brian says as he wipes away tears from
his eyes. “Your mother and I could not follow through after what we
had caused. She never saw me again outside of work.”

“Why didn’t she just quit then?” Emma asked,
confused at the idea that they had ended their relationship.

“That’s the scar that being in such a desperate
situation left her with. No matter how much money she had—she
always worried that it would never be enough. Your father had left
quite a large inheritance, but she never wanted to touch it—she
never wanted you to go through what she had endured. Despite the
fact that I still loved her, and perhaps she still loved me—she
never said anything about it after that.”

“You’re cheating on your wife now again
though.”

“How do you know?”

“You mentioned dinner plans two hours north—I
know your wife doesn’t leave the house.”

“I’m a depressed man,” Brian says as he lets out
another heavy sigh and punches himself in the side of his head.
“She never leaves. I never… I have no joy in this life. I live in a
house that ever since Ethan left it— is full of depression and
sadness.”

“What happened to me? I know this past few years
haven’t been the first of my issues.”

“After your father left…we never told you it was
a suicide—we figured it would be too difficult. You kind of broke
down and refused to leave the house for a few years. You got better
on your own.”

“How do I know that any of this is true?” Emma
asks as she attempts to piece together all the pieces in her mind.
She is so confused by the entire situation that she does not know
what is true and what is not. His words seem sincere, but Emma
knows that he has kept many secrets.

“Please, Emma,” Brian pleads once more as he
begins to cry. “I am not a killer. I did cause someone to take
their life—I admit to that, and I will forever carry that burden
with me. It kept me from being with the one I loved. I now care for
my wife who has also caused harm, which is my punishment. I am not
a perfect person; I am not even a good person. Please do not tell
Ethan. Our relationship is already strained. If you care about him,
which I think that you do—he called me earlier, he cares about
you—then please, just keep this from him.”

“It’s all a cycle of lies then isn’t it?”

“It is what we felt we had to do,” Brian says as
he looks down to the table which is wet from his tears. “It was
wrong, but it was love. Just please, don’t tell Ethan about my
mistakes. If he were to ever find out that I was planning on
abandoning him—I fear he’d never talk to me.”

“Do you ever wonder that you might deserve
that?” Emma asks as she places her hands upon the table and narrows
her eyes. She had no idea that she could be so cruel until now.
“Don’t we all deserve a little truth after all the lies you’ve
told?”

“Please Emma…don’t do this.”

“I won’t be a part of your lies—I’ve already
kept the letters from him and I feel terrible about it. I won’t do
it any further.”

“It will destroy me.”

“Like it destroyed my stepfather?”

“He wasn’t a good person—“

“Are you any better?”

“No,” Brian says as he hangs his head down low.
“I’m begging, I’ll give you anything you want—just don’t tell
Ethan.”

“What I want…” Emma begins as she slams her
fists against the table. She grabs the stack of letters from the
table and clutches them against her chest, “…is to not be a part of
this. Maybe Ethan will forgive you. Maybe he won’t. I doubt it will
destroy you—you’ve got other women I’m sure. You’ve made your bed,
lie in it like the dog you are.”

“Emma…”

Emma turns and heads towards the door.

“Please…”

She ignores the desperation in Brian Metcalfe’s
voice and unlocks the door. She turns to look at him one last time
in disgust. “Go to hell.”

As the door closes she can hear the sounds of
the man sobbing. She returns to her car and sits for a moment,
gathering her breath. The encounter had taken a lot out of her—but
she did it. She had confronted her monster.

Emma retrieves her cell from her purse and
clicks on Ethan’s number. It goes to voicemail. “Ethan…this is
Emma—I just wanted to give you a call. I need you to come by as
soon as you can. I need to talk to you. It is very important. Just,
please come to the house as soon as you can.”

*

Emma rushes up the concrete stairs and opens the
door to her house. She pauses before entering and she shields her
eyes with her hand and looks up to the midday sun—it is unbearably
hot. So hot, that a large black crow lies dead against the gravel
of her driveway; a death likely due to heat stroke or lack of
water. The air is so hot that it burns her throat and dries her
nostrils with each breath she takes in. Unable to endure the heat
any longer, Emma steps in and closes the door behind her.

“Elizabeth?” Emma asks out to the quiet
house.

“I did it,” Emma adds. “I confronted him—“

As Emma enters the kitchen she spots the
necklace that she had given to Elizabeth sitting upon a folded
piece of paper on the wooden table. Emma pushes the piece of
jewelry aside and unfolds the piece of paper. It simply reads,
‘
You’ve changed
.’

“Elizabeth!” Emma shouts as she makes her way
from room to room in search of her friend. “You don’t understand.
He was responsible for my father’s death—I had to do what I
did.”

“Please Elizabeth…” Emma whispers as she
collapses upon the couch in the living room. Emma begins to wonder
if she handled the situation correctly or not. There was no doubt
in her mind that Brian did not directly kill her stepfather, but he
was ultimately responsible. However, no more so than her own
mother—she had not really thought about that. Elizabeth’s words
came to her mind—something about leaving his family out of this as
it would only cause them pain as well. Emma buries her face in her
hands as she realizes, this was not the way that Elizabeth had
wanted Emma to handle it. As she replays the way she acted towards
Brian in her mind, she realizes that she was just as much a monster
as he was. When he begged for kindness, she only offered him
cruelty. Although what he did was terrible, he helped Emma in her
worst times. Did he really deserve everything Emma had said to him?
She felt so conflicted. Her stepfather was dead—there were secrets,
terrible secrets. He intended to leave his family. Was it wrong to
not want to be a part of his lies?

“Elizabeth…I’m sorry,” Emma whispers as she
begins to cry uncontrollably. She feels as though she has lost her
only close friend. Elizabeth would have just wanted her to find
answers, never threaten—never cast out so much hatred. Had she
listened to Elizabeth and paused a moment, had breakfast, and
thought it over, Emma probably would have come up with a more
civilized plan of action.

A knock came upon the door. Emma jumped up from
the couch and made her way to the entryway. She hesitates in as her
hand is placed on the door. It must be Ethan, she figures. However,
she is no longer so resolute in revealing everything that she knows
to him. She has to tell him something, after all, she left quite an
urgent message. Emma lets out a heavy sigh as she opens the door.
To her surprise it is not Ethan, but his father.

Emma attempts to slam the door on the large man
as he bursts into the entry.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Emma shouts
as she attempts to flee.

“Just stop for a moment,” Brian shouts as he
tightly grabs a hold of Emma’s arm. “Calm down.”

Emma’s back turned to her assailant; she twists
her arm in an attempt to escape his bear-trap like hold upon her.
She strikes blindly at him with her free hand. He quickly
overpowers her and wraps his arm around her body tightly grasping
her by her waist. Her attempts to struggle further are halted as
she spots a steel knife against her arm. “I… I thought you weren’t
capable of killing anyone.”

“I have never killed anyone…” Brain says as he
places the blade against Emma’s wrist. “You don’t understand. This
is for your own good.”

“Please don’t,” Emma whispers as she feels a
piercing pain as the Brian runs the blade across her wrist. Her
hand feels warm as blood begins to cover it. He then wipes the
handle of the blade and places it in Emma’s lap as he gently lowers
her to the floor. Emma feels weak form the blood loss as she
attempts to dig out her cell phone from her purse that lies nearby.
“Please…don’t leave me like this.”

“Where was your sense of compassion earlier?”
Brian asks as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a
handkerchief, he places it over his hand as he drops the phone from
the cradle, allowing it to strike against the floor, and dials a
few numbers. “You aren’t going to die. I could never do that to
you—I just won’t allow you to destroy my family.”

“I’ll tell them the truth…” Emma mutters weakly.
“When they get here, I’ll tell everyone you did this…”

“Who will believe you?” Brian says as he steps
over her and heads for the door. He pauses, and picks up the stack
of letters that are resting upon a table by the door. “I’m at work,
and you’re the one with the history of suicide and mental
illness—good luck with that.”

“You fucking pig,” Emma whispers as the door
slams shut. Emma looks down to her wrist, the cut is deep. A pool
of blood has formed on the floor around her. She attempts to inch
her way to her purse. She manages to make it a short distance
before she passes out.

*

7/26/12

12:45pm-9:02pm

MISSING TIME

*

Emma awakens to the sight of fluorescent white
lights above her. She is lying against her back; an unfamiliar
textured ceiling hangs above her. She groggily looks to her
wrist—it is bandaged up. Worst of all, she is restrained. She knows
her location by smell alone; it is a familiar, sickening, clean,
terrifying hospital. She turns her head to face the line of three
windows on the far end of the room. It is dark—she has no memory of
coming here. Her last memory was of…Brain Metcalfe.

“Help me…someone,” Emma says as she finds her
words difficult to form. She feels as though she has been heavily
sedated.

A nurse that looks eerie familiar walks into the
room. “You’re conscious, that’s good—we were worried for a while
there.”

“No…” Emma protests as she buries her face from
the vision. “You’re not me.”

“I understand that life can be really hard
sometimes,” the nurse that bears her resemblance replies as she
places a hand upon Emma’s shoulder. “You will get better—you’re
lucky to be alive.”

“Is she awake?” A familiar voice asks.

“She is not to have visitors,” the nurse replies
as she attempts to turn the woman away.