Captured Lies (6 page)
Authors: Maggie Thom
The single closet door opened easily. Bailey grabbed
blankets, sheets and towels and pushed them into a bag. Cleaners, shoe polish,
bug spray and stuff she didn’t want to know about, went into a box. She left
the vacuum-cleaner sitting there as she knew she’d need it later on.
Next she went into the bathroom.
Squatting, she opened the double doors under the sink. “Full” didn’t describe
it accurately. It was packed so tightly that not even another bobby pin would
have fit. Grabbing some of the soft items, she pulled on them. Several things
tumbled out. Nylons, cotton balls, pads of a brand that were no longer made,
hair spray, room freshener. Behind that were old cleaners, more hair spray,
hair products and other junk she didn’t feel like digging through. All went in
the garbage. In the back were full bottles of shampoo, lotion, hair goop and
other stuff she really didn’t want to go through, so she dumped all of it in
the bag. Her knees cracked as she stood. The toothpaste, toothbrush, soap and
containers were all used and not worth keeping, so everything on top of the
counter got thrown out. Turning she leaned over the tub and grabbed all the
rest of her mom’s products and tossed them out. She stepped into the hallway,
her immediate gaze locked on the doorway just down the hall.
“I can’t go in there yet,” she
whispered but that didn’t stop her from moving towards it, her mom’s room. The
door was wide open giving her a clear view of the immaculately made bed. She
had always teased her mom that she could have bounced a coin off the pristine
white comforter. Her mom had reminded her that there was no one to look after
her and she better remember that. It was one of the few reasons Bailey was
quite glad she hadn’t come to visit her. She’d have had to clean for two weeks
just to make it look livable. It would have taken a couple of weeks and an army
of housecleaners, to reach her mom’s standards.
There was no barrier stopping her
from walking in but she couldn’t step across the threshold. She stared into the
place that she was going to have to find the strength not only to clean out but
to enter. She wondered if people who went to visit a castle ever stood outside
the front doors and wondered if they were good enough to go in.
Spinning on her heel, she walked
to the living room. A flower-patterned love seat and rocker-recliner – which
might have looked hip in the seventy’s – and a china cabinet that held items
purchased from garage sales, were the bulk of the furniture. She stood in front
of the cabinet, looking through the glass at all the different salt and
peppers, the cream and sugar sets. All were quite nice but had no meaning for
Bailey. Her mom had collected them over the last five years. A white sugar bowl
covered with several tiny dark red roses caught her attention. She opened the
door and carefully picked it up. It really was beautiful and looked to be in
perfect condition, no cracks, no dulling of color. Something rattled as she
brought it closer. Reaching inside, she pulled out two items.
Gasping, she stared at what she
held. Both were valueless and useless. She’d been seven when she’d given her
mom the tiny, plastic rose and the clam shell she’d found on the beach. It had
been her gift for Mother’s Day. It had made her mom so happy. Tears had run
down her face.
Mom kept these.
It truly stunned her that her mom
had kept them. Carefully, she tucked those two items in her pocket, before
putting everything back. The collection of twenty or so dishes had been the one
thing her mom had spent hours polishing and sometimes just staring at with a
sad look. Like she’d lost her best friend. It had never made sense to Bailey
but then her mom had never shared what it was about, she debated about whether to
keep the items. Deep down she knew she would. They were one thing her mom had
been connected to. Stepping back she closed the door and ignored the rest of
the items in the living room that she had no desire to keep – two faded TV
trays, two scratched end tables, a heavy solid wood coffee table and tons of
knick knacks – but she had no idea what to do with any of it.
Pack it up. I’ll have to get
some newspaper, I guess.
Bailey snorted. That was
something her mom had collected a lot of and had a need to devour, every single
one she came across. She watched every news program from sun up to sun down.
Bailey had tried to teach her mom how to use a computer but that had become
another fight between them. Her mom believed it was the government’s way of
keeping tabs on people. She’d begged Bailey not to ever be on it. Another
puzzle she had given up trying to figure out. Pressure built behind her eyes.
Her nose got that burning sensation. She closed her eyes and took a few slow
deep breaths. Her fingers rubbed across her forehead until the overwhelming
feeling went away.
Not wanting to think anymore she
headed for the kitchen. She needed to find some phone numbers to call. The
corner drawer, behind the door, is where her mom had always kept that stuff.
She rifled through the junk but couldn’t find the stack of envelopes which should
have been there. Slamming it, she opened the deep second drawer and grabbed the
yellow pages sitting on top and pulled it all the way out. It jerked loose in
her hand and since she wasn’t prepared for that, it fell to the floor, with a
loud bang. Bailey jumped back, glad her pink toes were still that. A few inches
more and they’d have been a bright red and she’d have been dancing around on
one foot.
She set the papers and book on
the table and started to clean up the mess – papers, pencils (enough for a
first grade classroom), paperclips and lots of menus – mostly pizza places. She
threw out just about all of it and then shoved the drawer back in.
That’s weird.
She was sure
that her mom said she kept all her important papers in those drawers. But there
was nothing there.
Deciding not to worry about it,
she realized that the kitchen wouldn’t be hard to do. There were only eight
cupboards. She started to unload them. Everything fit on the six foot counter.
Bailey frowned as she looked at the meager belongings her mom had. Chipped
plates, plastic glasses, pitted bowls, stained containers - all went in the
garbage.
A horrible feeling overcame her -
she seemed to be throwing out just about everything her mom owned. Her mom
would be devastated.
Maybe the second hand store
would come, pack and pick it up?
Her eyelids dropped down, her
head flopped backwards on her neck and a heavy sigh escaped her lips. There was
no way she would get through this if she stopped to analyze everything she did.
She needed fresh air. In her bedroom, she flipped open her suitcase and grabbed
her running shoes. Once she had them on, she didn’t hesitate to race out the
side door. A cool breeze swept over her. She shivered. Her t-shirt did little
to ward off the morning air. She retreated to grab her grey and blue spring
jacket.
Back on the sidewalk, she headed
north. The neighbor’s rose bushes were covered in buds - pink and peach. The
scent was so strong she didn’t even have to slow down to get the full smell.
She breathed in deeply. Pansies, irises, petunias and many other flowers she
didn’t know filled the front of the house. The woman didn’t seem to want to
follow the Alberta rule, not to plant until after the long weekend in May.
Frost was sure to kill off most of her plants. The next house had flowering
trees and many varieties of flowers as well.
She’d been fifteen the last time
she’d begged to have some flowers in their yard. Her mom’s first excuse had
been they moved too much. The next one had been that they were too much work. The
third one had been that she was allergic but Bailey had seen her many times
stopping to admire and smell other people’s gardens. The last one had been that
all those pretty colorful blooms did was attract attention and it wasn’t just
ants and bugs.
No flowers.
No pets.
No friends.
No pictures.
No home.
No life.
Her pace increased as the
memories flooded back.
She never seemed to know what her
mom wanted from her. She never seemed to please her or give her what she
needed. There were times she wasn’t even sure her mom liked her.
As a sob tore past her lips, she
clapped her hand over her mouth. She was running now, barely paying attention
to the few vehicles traveling by on the streets. At the end of the block she
turned left for half a block and then raced across into the park beyond. Big
poplars loomed over her, as she ran down the empty walking path. She was
thankful that it was mid day, middle of the week. There was no one.
Her hand clutched her chest as
she sprinted on. How long she continued she didn’t know but at one point she
became aware of the sound of pounding feet behind her. Stopping, she whirled
around. The person following behind grasped her shoulders as they collided. He
spun landing on the ground with her on top. Bailey shrieked. Her elbow dug
deeply into a well muscled belly as she scrambled upwards.
“Ooommph.” He jerked upright and
then flopped backwards, his arms cradling his gut.
She backed up as the person
curled on his side, gasping for breath.
“Sorry,” he finally managed to
croak out.
“You’re the guy from yesterday.”
Bailey moved back a few more steps, balancing on the balls of her feet.
“Yes. Give me a minute.”
“You’re stalking me.”
“No.” He shook his head
emphatically as he sat up and draped his arms over his bent knees.
“Uuugggghhhh.”
“Why are you following me? Was
there a problem with my mother’s funeral?”
The guy frowned.
“You’re from the Funeral Home,
right?”
Wary, sky blue eyes stared back
at her. Secrets were hidden in those depths.
That
she would bet on. She
was sick and tired of the games people played. Her mother had been a master
player. She moved a few more steps back and spun on her heel.
“Wait. Please don’t go.” He
sucked in some air and rolled onto his back. “I promise I won’t hurt you... at
least not physically.”
She paused, the toe of her right
foot barely touching the ground. She glanced around before slowly turning.
There still wasn’t anyone around. It was a rather secluded area of the park, which
wound down towards the river that ran through the city. Her mom had told her
that it was so popular she’d been thinking of moving again. There was traffic
all day on that path. Not once had she been able to go for a walk and not run
into someone.
Great. So where in the hell
are they today?
Bailey swung her gaze back to the
guy, realizing that she probably shouldn’t be taking her eyes off him. If he
made a move she wanted at least a little bit of warning.
“Look. I need to talk to you.”
“So you tackled me?” Bailey
glared at his bent head. “Are you freakin’ nuts?”
“Right now I’m thinking so.” He
continued to breathe as though he’d had the wind knocked out of him. He lifted
his head. “Look, you were upset and I guess I’m a sucker for a damsel in
distress.”
She refrained from putting her
finger in her mouth and make gagging sounds. But just. She studied him a little
closer.
Cute.
He’s cute. Why are all the nut jobs cute?
He placed his hand behind him,
pulled his feet up to his butt.
“Don’t get up.” Bailey’s hand
flew up like a traffic cop directing traffic. “If you want to talk stay there
or I’m out of here.”
“My butt’s getting wet.” He raked
his hand through his thick hair but it fell back into place as though he hadn’t
touched it. “I don’t know how to say this.”
“Good. Then I’m gone.” Bailey
spun around and started walking quickly.
“You’re not you,” he called out
after her.
He quietly lifted the cane from its resting place across the
desk. The walking stick was old but there was nothing spectacular about it,
other than maybe that one side of it was well worn and didn’t match the maple
brown of the other side. The rubber end was maybe a bit larger than most had
but nothing to draw attention to it. That’s why it had taken him so long to
figure out where she’d kept her key hidden all these years. Setting down his
flashlight so it faced him, he pinched the rubber end of the cane using his
fingertips and gently pulled. His large garnet ring flashed in the light. He
smiled at the gift his first lover had unknowingly given him. He wasn’t sure
how she’d explained to her husband that it had gone missing. The stopper slid
off the wood with a gentle pop. The devil’s smile crossed his face as two keys
fell into his hand. He walked around the desk.
There was a creaking sound from
just outside the door.
He froze, one foot firmly on the
ground, the other half raised to step forward. He knew it couldn’t be the old
bat – that’s how he’d always seen his sister even though she was only a few
years older than him - she slept like a drunken sailor. The snort that
automatically rumbled up from the back of his throat was barely muffled by his
hand. Two minutes went by before he dared to move. Since no more noises came,
he put the sound off to that of an old house settling its bones. The mansion
had been built in the 1800’s and although it was as solid as any mountain it
still had its moments. When he’d been younger, he remembered thinking that the
house’s ghosts were waking up, to take vengeance for all the wrongs that had
been done.
He knew of many of them. Actually
he was responsible for a lot of them. And was part of too many. There was no
question in his mind he was going to hell. That just meant his time on earth
was going to be anything but that. He sat down, in her chair. He sank back into
the luxury of the soft leather, his mind wandering to what he would have done
had he had this role. It didn’t matter that in theory he was in charge of
everything. He’d never been given the title or acknowledged as ‘the one’.
She’d always gotten the credit.
He ignored the voice from the
past reminding him that he had no real right to even be there. To even be given
an opportunity to run the family business.
He pushed away his thoughts
before sliding the key into the lower left hand drawer, pulling it open.
Knowing what he would find, he quickly flipped through the files – My Will,
which he’d read many times; account ledger – again something he’d reviewed and
was only glad that she had no idea that it wasn’t totally accurate; Baby
Cassidy… He jerked back as though a snake had struck at him. He pressed his
hand to his chest trying to still the frantic racing of his heart as he stared
at the open drawer.
Baby Cassidy
. That hadn’t
been there before. Slowly leaning forward, he pinched the document between his
thumb and two fingers and lifted it out with a straight arm. He carefully laid
it on the desk, before reaching into his inside breast pocket and pulling out
his handkerchief. He wiped his damp forehead; not feeling the cool, seventy-two
degree air conditioned room temperature.
Grabbing the top side of the file,
he gently flipped it open. Guy’s name jumped out at him.
That bastard is out to ruin
me!
He knew she’d been hiding
something from him. His hands clenched, his body rigid, his breathing shallow
and rapid as he sat there staring at what he had feared for almost 30 years.
Somehow, the old bat had found
her.
He had thought that maybe he was
home free. That since nothing had surfaced in such a long time, nothing would
now. After all, no one knew his secret and it was much older than that. Sitting
back, he took a few deep breaths before reaching into his jacket pocket for his
cell phone. It had been a call he’d rehearsed ten to twenty times a day for the
first couple of years.
When nothing had happened, he’d
accepted that he’d gotten away with it. He’d gotten complacent. Now he had to
pay.
Dialing the number that he knew
would go to the grave emblazoned on his brain, he waited for the several clicks
that let him know it was being rerouted. He never understood all that techno
junk but he’d been smarter than the old hag and he’d kept up with at least how
to use it. This call would be hard for someone to trace, even for the FBI with
all their fancy equipment.
He’d been leaving the man
messages on a regular basis for thirty years but he never thought there’d be a
need to change their relationship. John had come into his life at a time he’d
needed him. And John had taken care of his problem. Or so he’d thought.
After Mary and baby Cassidy had
died, or supposedly had died, he and John had struck a bargain. He still wasn’t
sure how they’d gotten to that point. But he did know that John brought him the
best whores there were. Discreetly, of course.
His hand shook as he dialed. They
hadn’t talked face to face in twenty-nine years. Their weekly arrangement was
done by leaving messages for each other on an untraceable voicemail. One that
deleted all information once listened to. No one would have understood the
weird messages anyway. It was a code they’d worked out. And it had served him
well for a very long time. This call would change all that. This time he called
the number that was for emergencies only. One he’d never had to call before.
“John, it’s me.”
There was silence for a long
time. “I take it there’s a problem.”
“Yes. Babies are cute, aren’t
they? After twenty-nine years, having one come back from the grave is a little
disturbing.” He filled John in with all he knew. His anger was palpable over
the phone.
“She took Mary’s life. She won’t
be an issue for long. But this will cost you.”
With reluctance he agreed to
John’s exorbitant fee, knowing that after this they’d be severing ties. Which
meant he’d have to find someone else to feed his particular habits.
The line went dead.
His hand was shaking so bad, he
had a hard time hitting the end button. He mopped his forehead again cursing
his mother and father. It was their fault he was in this bind. If his father
could have kept his pants zipped, he wouldn’t have had to keep his secret from
the world - he wasn’t pure Caspian blood. He wouldn’t have been treated like a
leper. He put the folders back in the drawer, closed and locked it. The keys
slid easily into the end of the cane.
All of a sudden, there was a
steady hum sound. Startled, he flinched and the rubber end shot out of his
hand. Listening he realized the house staff were polishing the front foyer. To
keep the house spotless and to intrude the least during the day, they worked
after everyone was in bed. Swearing silently, he looked around the dark room.
He picked up the flashlight and shone it, slowly sweeping the light across the
floor. It was dark and hard to see much of anything with his thin beam of
light. He was tempted to fully open the full length curtains that were only a
couple of inches apart but knew that would draw attention in the middle of the
night. The curtains remained closed every night and the guard that prowled the
place would surely notice if they were wide open. Not knowing how else to find
the stupid thing and find it he knew he must, he made his way to the door and
flipped on the overhead light. If someone came in, he’d make up something. Then
he’d make sure that the servants were still scared of him and wouldn’t even
think of breathing a word to Dorothea about his being in her office.
Wherever the rubber piece had
gone, it wasn’t sitting out in the open. Cussing he went to the far corner and
slowly walked forward looking from side to side. There was a snapping sound
that came from outside and caught his attention. He stepped over to the window
and peered through the small crack in the curtains. The light from several lamp
posts lit the area well. The well groomed expansive gardens looked immaculate
and beautiful. Although in the dull light the colors weren’t as brilliant as
they were during the day. Nothing seemed to be out of place. There didn’t appear
to be anyone there. He waited several minutes but nothing stirred. It had
probably been one of the twenty or so cats that ran amuck around the place.
He was ready to get down on his
hands and knees - something he’d never done in his life - to look for the dumb
piece. Being 6’2” and twenty pounds overweight wasn’t something he was looking
forward to but he didn’t know where else to look for the stupid thing, except
under something. He stepped back wanting to stay away from peering eyes that
might be lurking outside. Something hit his shoulder. He jerked around, almost
falling over. The large rubber tree he’d backed into sat there no worse for
wear, almost mocking him. Hacking the thing down was his first choice but he
knew he’d be the one they’d come looking for, since he’d said on more than one
occasion what a grotesque, disfigured plant it was. He was about to turn away
when he looked down and there sitting in the pot, was the rubber end.
“I guess I shouldn’t hate you
after all. You just saved my ass.”
He quickly replaced the end,
gently set the cane down on the desk, walked to the door, shut the light off and
stepped out of the room.
He never looked back. He’d never
needed to. Being sneaky was something he prided himself on. After all, that was
how he’d found out the real truth about himself. And now he knew he had to get
rid of baby Cassidy. Again.
