Chapter 22: A Strange Encounter
It is believed by some that in the developing and most powerful stages of a storm system, energy can be so compacted into the central locality of the storm that the veil between nature and the supernatural can briefly disappear. I have never believed in such superstition, but given my recent experiences and the sight of a forming storm, the thought actually seems to be extremely logical. What else could explain what I have seen throughout the last couple of days? Surely, nothing else could even come close to explaining what I’m witnessing right now.
The slight drizzle from the developing shower outside pelts the house as I stare in amazement towards the kitchen. Trying not to interrupt the scene that is taking place, I hold my breath and stay completely still. The scene so defiles nature that I can’t even believe it. For a moment, my heart warms and my guilt-ridden thoughts float away.
In the kitchen, stands my mother cooking alongside my dad. I can even smell what appears to be bacon or ham frying on the stovetop. My dad is smiling with his chin just above mother’s shoulder with his hand on her waist. It reminds me of the better days, when I was but a child. The days when we were a happy, complete family.
Expecting them to disappear into a puff of smoke, I reluctantly take a few steps towards the kitchen. When my mother and father don’t vanish, I can’t control myself and call out to them. “Mom! Dad!”
The softness of my mother’s voice calls back, “Ryan! What a surprise. You are just in time—breakfast is almost ready.”
If I can hear her, I wonder if I can touch her? Without hesitation, I rush to my mother’s side and give her a huge hug around the neck. I’m oblivious to the fact my arm is right next to the pan on the stove until I recoil back as the frying pan touches the underside of my arm, leaving a small burning scar.
The pain is only minor in comparison to the joy of seeing my parents. I turn to my dad and shake his hand. “I thought I would never see you again, pops.”
He puts his hand on my shoulder and leads me to the dinner table. As he pulls out my chair for me, he replies, “We will always be with you, son. No matter what happens or what you do. We will always be with you.”
My mom is beginning to hum as my dad hands me the file. “We need to discuss some things about our family’s history. I know this may seem like a strange thing to discuss in such a blindsided manner, but I fear someone is trying to use our history against us and you best be informed.”
He clears his throat and points to the file. “In this file, hold all the keys to understanding one of the darkest points in our family’s long lineage. As you see by the title of the file and the first few pages, we jointly owned a plantation with the Gate family.” He points to a photo on the first page as I study it. “Back in those days, you were either born into a wealthy family or you probably were never going to find wealth. There weren’t many ways to make money if your family didn’t have connections with other people that well, made money.”
My dad tries to clear his throat again by coughing, but along with his cough come a few drops of blood that don’t seem to faze him at all. “Our family wasn’t so lucky as to be born into what was called old money, but that didn’t stop your ancestors. I don’t know if it’s in the file, but your Great-Great-Grandfather Jonathan married into the Gate family. Typically, in those days, the woman would marry into a wealthy family to escape her poverty, but in this scenario, the man married to escape poverty.”
Again, my dad is interrupted by a bloody cough causing him to get up and get a glass of water. When he returns, there are visible blood splotches on his shirt. I try to ignore it, but the sight of blood lingers in my mind while I shift uncomfortably in my seat. In order to distract myself, I stand up and stare into the file.
“To make a long story short, if you flip through a few of the pages, you will find a letter from our family to the Gate family. Through the marriage, the two families merged and together owned the plantation. Over time the Gate family siphoned off part of our share, so our family wrote the letter in response.”
I flip to the letter and read it to myself while my dad takes another drink. He then sets his glass down with one hand and with his other motions for me to hand him the file. Starting from the back of the file, he starts flipping through it until he settles on a particular page. He then hands me back the file.
I can’t help but be amazed at how real this whole encounter has become. My mother even brings over some bacon and ham for us to eat. It’s as if they are actually alive, but they couldn’t actually be alive, could they?
“So, our family wrote the letter hoping to get our share of the money back. But James Gate, which would be the brother to the woman your Great-Great-Grandfather married, took our share of the money along with a good portion of his own and hid it. Nothing that I could find, tells for sure why he would do such a thing.”
The page of the file that my dad had turned to has a picture of the Gate’s Mansion and a newspaper clipping. The newspaper clipping title reads ‘Two found dead at Gate Plantation.’ The heading instantly brings back the images of walking into my parents’ house and finding them bloodily lying on the floor in my bedroom. The shocking comparison is more than a bit unnerving, and as their bloody bodies sear the fringes of my mind, my dad’s cough draws my attention from the file and my memories.
My dad has blood leaking from his mouth. A red stain forms on his chest as a distasteful smell lingers around him. I turn to my mom in horror only to find blood seeping from her mouth and clothes as well. The images are confusing, because despite the blood, their mannerisms have not changed. My mom is cleaning up the stove and dad is chewing a piece a bacon. I’m the only one that sees the blood. Then again, my parents are supposed to be dead. I have no idea what the rules for this kind of encounter could be. It ain’t natural that’s for sure.
The only way to avoid the blood is to bury my head into the file. I find a page that gives more information on James Gate. He was the head of the Gate family enterprise. Both his parents had died young, leaving only him, a sister and what looks like an outcast of an uncle to run the family operation, so he basically did as he pleased without much of a fight from anyone.
There is a photo taken outside with James pushing a young boy in a rope swing hanging from a tree while a woman holds a baby in her arms. James has a joyful grin on his face, but his eyes are dark and empty. It could be the black and white color of the old photo, but the family’s expressions speak to me in a language all our own. It’s the face of secrets and sorrow.
Without any discernment whatsoever, my dad begins to speak, “When James’ sister, Isabelle, found out about the stolen share, she and Jonathan went to the mansion one night to confront James. Nobody in town really knows what exactly took place during the confrontation, both families distanced themselves from it and even left town. The mansion went into foreclosure because everyone who maintained it was gone. The bank divided the plantation into several lots and sold it to the highest bidder. The Gate family took the blame for the events that transpired that night and nobody wanted anything to do with the property surrounding the mansion even though it was built before the civil war. With no public or monetary interest, the bank washed its hands of the residence all together by selling it to the city, for almost nothing, about twenty-five years ago. There were rumors a distant relative of the Gate family that worked with the city in an effort to keep the mansion put together, but there is no evidence of it.”
I ask, “Why hasn’t anyone ever told me about this.”
“Like I said both families distanced themselves from that night. Jonathan had a tough time dealing with it and eventually he left Everton altogether, along with his two adolescent kids. He never talked about that night to them or anyone else. So nobody within the family talked about it and nobody in the town knew enough to want to discuss it. In fact, I knew relatively nothing about it till I was your a
ge when I started researching and digging through any documents and family lore I could get my hands on.”
“So what happened that night?”
He motions to the file as he says, “The letter ignited a fuse between the two families. This file is complete with everything I have researched, take a look.” As I read through the documents and my dad’s hand written notes and assumptions, pieces of that unfortunate night in 1889 play out before my eyes.
Jonathan stands by a fountain pointing at James with one hand. Isabelle is holding his hand while she screams across the foyer at her deceitful brother. The candle light flickers ominously across James’ stern face. He is holding the letter in one hand while his wife walks up from behind him and grabs his arm.
Jonathan and James get into a face-to-face altercation, which extends to an uncivil argument about where the money was hidden. James denies ever touching any money but his own. Isabelle takes exception to the blatant lies and rushes to Jonathan’s defense. The intense argument spirals out of control and someone from behind shoves Isabelle. Her head flies downward and crashes into the marble fountain. Jonathan rushes to her side and scoops up his wife’s limp body. He struggles to get her to a doctor, and by the time someone finally checks her head laceration Isabelle is dead.
My dad breaks the silence as I set the file on the table. “There are reports that suggest right after she was presumed dead he ran out of the doctor’s house in a mad rage. A few sources say he returned to the mansion to seek revenge on the Gate family, but there has never been any evidence that he ever actually returned to the Gate’s property. The local authorities were called to the Gate’s residence and apparently, found James strung up in a tree and his wife and kids were gone, sadly there was never a ruling on whether it was murder or suicide. Both Jonathan and the wife were suspected of murdering James and Isabelle, but nothing ever came of it. Regardless of who killed them, with James’ death the hidden fortune was lost, and the citizens of Everton cast a dark shadow on the Gate name. Why it came to be known has Gate’s Fortune I don’t know because most of it is rightfully ours. I guess that’s where the small town legend gets involved and luckily, our family has never had to relive the events of that night. My grandfather once said that the loss of his dad’s mother in such a fashion changed the very soul of Jonathan. It is clear Jonathan suffered through many delusions in the latter stages of his life which made it utterly impossible to even mention that night without sending him into a panic.”
“What does any of this have to do with us now?” I ask. “I do feel bad for all those people that suffered because of something so trivial. But that was years ago, and if the Gate family left and so did Jonathan… What’s the big deal? I haven’t heard of this until now, so it couldn’t be that vital to us. What’s in the past is in the past, right?”
He takes another drink as more blood drips down his neck. “Well, that brings us to today. I think I might have found the location of the hidden fortune. But just as I discovered the key, I also discovered someone lurking around my office. I have no doubts about it; someone else is trying to dig into the past, and I’m afraid their motives are far from pure. I think it could even be someone we trust.”
When he finishes talking, I try to get up, but notice I am now sitting in my dad’s study. I’m holding a file, and my dad is motioning for me to set the file on the desk and follow him out of the study. As I leave the study, the walls tremble and shake, and then I’m in my bedroom looking into the blank eyes of my mom.
There is blood everywhere, and my parents that were just alive are now dead. Fear takes hold of my heart and tears begin flowing from my eyes. I kneel down, in an attempt to embrace my mother. While on my knees, I take my hands and move them towards her face. Before my hands can reach her, I have to move them through a puddle of blood. The blood is thick and cool against my palms. Sweat begins to drip down my back and brow, drenching me in a bath of warm liquid.
I am about to touch my mother’s face when the ground and walls begin to tremble all around me. Immediately, I’m sucked away from her and everything blurs into nothing. I throw my eyes open. In a flash, my heart sinks as my eyes focus on my surroundings. What in the hell is going on with me? Why… Why?
My nose and chin seep into a slop of mud, and my eyes are looking up from the ground at Ryleigh’s car a few feet away. There is a light down pouring of rain slowly drenching my body. The thickening mud coats my hands and arms in a brown layer of grime, while my eyes glaze over with tears and mist. My mind searches for answers but finds none. The rain pours down as I raise my head towards the heaven, and the truth sets in. My mind had deceived me. At some point, what once was a mild inconvenience had become a mega disaster.
Buried Truth Page 22
