Buried Truth

by Caleb Whitaker

  Chapter 23: A Coward’s Plan

   

  I run my fingers through my hair while I stare into the falling rain. The rain splatters against my face, which acts as a mental regeneration mechanism—each drop clearing away the numbing shock of talking to my dead parents—each drop pulling me back into what has to be reality. Wow, what just happened?

  I should probably go inside, but I thought that’s where I had been. I’m losing my grasp on reality. Did someone drug me? That was a wild trip. It felt real—like it had really happened. “Wait!” I shout as I get up on my feet.

  I begin to pace back and forth in the mud and mist. “Let me think about this. I was with my parents. There was a file, and my dad was explaining the events surrounding the file and the Gate family. Could that whole encounter possibly have been the memory of what he told me in the study? Before I woke up out here, I was briefly in the study. Did something escape the horrid depth of my mind or was it an illusion?”

  My pacing leads me to the cabin door while water drips from my hair. I hesitate for, there could be anything on the other side. When I do open the door, what lies on the other side is both comforting and disheartening at the same time. There is not a single shred of evidence of mom or dad, not even the smell of bacon, meaning there was never a time where I was in the cabin with them.

  “I have to stay grounded with this. Because once I give in to hysteria, there is no coming back. Let’s say it was a vivid memory playing out as reality. Why didn’t it start with me in the study? Why would I have a memory from one particular place happen somewhere else? Am I crazy—have I already given in? Surely not.”

  I walk to the bedroom, leaving wet footprints behind me. I get my last set of fresh clothes out of my bag. Taking my wet clothes off stretches the cuts, bruises, and scars covering my body. The pain is hardly bearable and reminds me of a time when I was younger and burned myself on the stove, while helping my mother cook. “I burned myself on the stove!”

  I turn my arm over and stare at the scar on my arm from years ago. It’s the same scar that I felt burn during the memory of my parents. I feel like I’m so close to making a breakthrough, but I’m still missing it. What am I missing? There has to be a reason for everything that has happened. If there is no reason, then there is no hope. There would just be a senseless, random, terrible mess that happened without purpose. There has to be a purpose.

  In spite of my best wishes, I can think of no purpose for any of the chaos that keeps flying my way, or if there is any purpose, it is completely lost on me. In any case, it doesn’t matter right now because purpose won’t solve anything. It will only give meaning to something during and once its solved. I don’t need meaning right now I need a solution.

  My new clothes cover my injuries and help dry any remaining rain from my skin. I could use yet another shower to wash away the drying mud from various parts of my body, but my last run in with what I thought was a bath shuts that thought down in an instant. Instead, I do my best to wash the dirt away with a washcloth in the sink. When I’m finished cleaning up, I return to the living room couch.

  The rain has stopped and the sun has returned, which sends beams of sunlight throughout the house. The thought occurs to me that if rain can turn to sunlight in a matter of minutes, then maybe I can get out of this. The thought doesn’t really comfort me because I secretly know that it would be silly optimism.

  The phone rings at a startling volume, causing me to flinch. I had forgotten that Ryleigh had said the guy would be calling back with directions of where to meet. I answer the phone without looking at the number. I assume it will be Ryleigh or the guy, so the person that speaks confuses me at first.

  The voice of my sister rattles across the line, “Ryan, are you there?”

  “Alice? How did you get this number?”

  She responds. “Someone called me a couple hours ago threatening to kill me and you, if you didn’t give them the location of the Gate’s Fortune. They said to call you and convince you to give up the location.”

  “Who called? Was it a man or women?”

  “It was a man, but I think I also heard a woman screaming in the distance.”

  I ask, “Did you call the police about it?”

  “I’m sorry, but I had to. I made sure not to mention you.”

  “That’s fine. Just stay safe. I’ll find a way to get us out of this, I promise.” I wait for a response, but before she can respond, the line goes dead.

   Once again, I find myself bringing misfortune to the people around me. This time the helpless victim is my sister, but the phone call points out one huge difference between how I have felt since the death of my parents and how I feel now. Threatening my sister, who has absolutely no connection to any of the possible motives outside of being in my family, generates an immense amount of anger towards the individual who is doing all this.

  I’m going to kill him. I don’t know how, but he’s a dead man. Forget figuring this crap out, I just need to get in the same room as the guy. He will wish he never messed with me.

  The rage within me is much like a frog in water that is slowly being heated to boiling temperature—except it’s my desires for revenge that are increasing slowly as time ticks by while I sit in the water, unaware—until all I can think about is finding the guy who has murdered my family, which is ironic because I spent the last couple days trying to avoid him. But I’m not avoiding him anymore, I’m going to save Ryleigh, keep my sister safe, and avenge my parents all in one swift release of calculated rage.

  This person has been one-step ahead of me from the beginning. How do I flip the script on him? I don’t know where the hidden fortune is, but he thinks I do. What if I act in a way that makes him think I know where its hidden? By taking Ryleigh and then threatening Alice, he is obviously upping the ante and that leaves me no choice but to fight fire with fire.

  I pick up the phone and call Ryleigh’s phone. The line rings and rings. I’m about to hang up when the line is picked up, heavy breathing at first, then Ryleigh answers. “He says you better have the location or your sister is dead.”

  “Tell him to stop being a coward and get on the line himself.”

  The phone goes quiet, the man undoubtedly shocked by the firmness of my accusation. Then the fear and pain of Ryleigh’s distorted voice break the silence. Her wails resemble the cries of a defenseless wounded animal being hunted, eaten, and killed by a ravenous beast. At this point, her pain is nothing more than collateral damage. In order to save her, she is going to have to take the brunt of the coward’s anger. It’s the only way.

  After a few seconds of loud commotion on the line, Ryleigh returns, out of breath and whimpering. “He says all in due time. Ryan… please do you know where it is or not?”

  “Yeah, I know where it was hidden. You hear that? I know where the bloody money is!”

  Ryleigh replies, “You do?”

  “My dad did tell me. I just want all this to end.”

  “Ok, stop! He says to meet him at the place where it all started tonight and come alone or everyone you love will die.”

  I’m expecting to hear the line cut off, but instead, Ryleigh’s voice can be heard away from the phone. “Ryan, you still there?” she asks.

  I reply, “I’m still here.”

  “He said I have two minutes, I’m alone. Are you still at the cabin?”

   “Yeah, it’s the only place I can stay. Are you ok?”

  “I’m fine. I have a cut on my lip and some bruises, but I’m fine.”

  I say “Ok. I’m going to get you out of this. I promise. No one else I love is going to die.”

  “Do you really know where the fortune is hidden?

  I can tell her the truth and risk the guy overhearing or I can lie, which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. “Yeah, I remembered my dad telling me where the guy hid it.”

  “So, you remember that night?

  “Not exactly. I only remember some of the stuff my dad said i
n the study.”

  In a rushed tone, she says, “Ok. I have to go. He’s coming back. He told me to be off the phone when he got back. Bye.”

  I really hope this works, I’m betting everything that this will work. How do I find out where it all began, where what began? Did he mean, where my parents were killed? That is where it began with me. But, that doesn’t fit. I’m thinking he probably meant where the story of the Gate’s Fortune began.

  Now, how do I find Gate’s Mansion? I hope there’s a map in the file or this might be the end of the line for my plan. I know it’s on the outskirts of town, but that doesn’t help much. The file is still on the couch where I last left it. I slowly turn through page after page, skimming the text for any possible reference of the mansion.

  As I flip through the file, one thing becomes clear. In comparison to the file my dad handed me in my memory, dream experience, this file I’m holding has pages missing. So, the encounter had to be a recollection of a past event from his study. Deep down, I had really hoped the encounter had been something more than buried memories. It is hard to admit to myself, but I wish I had never woken up. If I could have stayed in the cabin with them even with the blood, I would have stayed. I would give anything just to stay with them.

  Towards the end of the file, I come across a page that has some promise. It doesn’t have a map, but it does have multiple references to the Gate residence. It mainly describes the plantation operation and procedures. One particular description gives me a reference point for finding the mansion. When the fields needed new workers, they would use the Mt. Olive Church, just out of town, for a meeting point.

  The file explains how the church that stands at a four-way intersection is close to the plantation. The intersection allowed people in every direction to meet and follow one of the plantation owners to the fields. From the church, they would travel north a few miles until they come across a very modest trail as it is described in the file. The residence had a simple entry hidden down the trail and could only be seen from a small portion of the plantation. Apparently, the Gates loved their privacy.

  Luckily, for me, the Mt. Olive Church is somewhat of a historic building in Everton. One that is actually kept in prime condition. When it was originally built, back in the early 1800s, it was one of the most pristine churches in all of Georgia. Unfortunately, Everton’s dark side would eventually get the better of the church. There is some evidence that suggests it was used as a place to trade slaves to plantation owners before the civil war, and now I know possibly even to the Gate family. Sadly, it has only been in the past couple decades that the church has once again been used for holy worship.

  I actually attended a few services there after I was involved in a few legal incidents. My parents thought it would help, and maybe it would have if I had kept going to service. At any rate, I know where the church is located. Which means, I should be able to follow the old plantation worker paradigm to find the mansion. The hard part is figuring out what to do once I find it.

  I check the time and find it's just after noon. The day has already stolen nearly all my energy away from me that I had left. I know I probably should be more in a panic, and blindly rush out the door to save the damsel in distress. But… I’m exhausted. There is no way I have enough energy to duel it out with a maniac.

  I sprawl out on the couch, closing my eyes in the process, but I can’t really fall asleep. My eyes are closed and my body is at rest, and that’s close enough to sleep for me. I shortly find myself in that semi-conscious state. Not asleep but not really awake, mildly aware of my surroundings, but numb to them at the same time.

  When my eyes open from my state of rest, I find that the room is bleak and there aren’t many streams of light coming through the window. I walk to the door and peer outside. The skies are getting dark, with stormy clouds, threatening more than a light shower like before. The sun is playing peek-a-boo with the horizon, letting me know the darkness is near. Ready to rid myself of this nightmare, I get the file and my phone and head to the car.

  Once seated in the car, I text the unknown number ‘Headed to meet the guy at the Gate’s Mansion. I told him I knew where the fortune was hidden, but I don’t. Any suggestions would be appreciated.’

  I crank the car engine and begin driving away from the cabin. The drive to the church is anticlimactic at best. No rain, car trouble, texts, or police interfered with my driving. I was expecting more of a fight, but I guess that will have to wait until later.

  I pass the church only looking at the high arching shadow formed by the steeple. I suppose I should have stopped and said a prayer or something, but my mind is solely preoccupied with finding the mansion and killing the guy who ruined my life. I’m aware that my passion for revenge is blocking everything else out including love or sympathy for anyone else at this point. There will be a price to pay for my actions and mental ineptitude, but it’s nothing but collateral damage for me.

  I head due north from the church. My eyes scan the side of the road for a few miles until I find a narrow road splinting off into the woods. The road appears to have at one time been bigger, but the weeds and grass have overtaken it from both sides. My car creeps along through the bumpy terrain until I reach a pair of old rusted iron gates.

  The gates are open slightly in such a way that my car should be able to slip by them. I get out the car and inspect the gap to make sure my car would actually fit through. There are tree branches and overgrown vines, keeping the gate from opening all the way. It is apparent that nobody has regularly traveled this way in a long time. On the right gate, hangs an iron plate that reads 'Gate's Plantation and Mansion'. The words are faded and worn, but the lettering is still visible.

  Before I drive through the gate, I pull out the file and read my dad’s shorthand. While I read the note, a small smirk finds its way to my face. I wish I knew the exact location of the fortune, but this should be good enough. It's risky, but it might just work.

  While I drive down the wet dirt road, I survey the surrounding landscape. If, I didn't know a cotton plantation had once been there, I would never have guessed I was driving through a cotton plantation. Young trees and shrubs have completely overtaken any of the once fertile farmland. There are spots where the forest thins out and low grassy areas have formed, but for the most part, it's nothing but budding trees.

  The road twists its way past a swamp to the right and then back into a conventional forest. The road straightens out and the land to my left flattens out into high stalks of grass intermingled with a few trees. A runway created by two intersecting tree lines slowly begins to emerge.

  In no time at all, I'm driving through the mouth of the runway. The two tree lines have edged themselves away from the road creating about ten feet of clear space on both sides of the road. The trees and road lead my eyes straight to the mansion. It is quite an intimidating sight. Fear and nausea circulate through the car vents into my nostrils.

  I stop the car briefly to compose myself, before my bleeding wrecked body drives straight into the lion infested den. I look forward to the mansion and then look behind me. I pick up the file and turn the pages until I come across the photo of Jonathan and James in the field with the mansion behind them. I look behind me and try to picture the field looking like the field in the picture. Based on the view of the mansion there is no question the picture was taken from the field directly behind me, but the differences are striking. Tall stalks of grass have replaced the cotton in the picture, and trees have scared the once calm field. Do I even want to know what the mansion looks like?

  As I drive closer, my mood darkens and my intensity rises. The mansion comes into full view and I can't help, but stop again, this time just short of the gravel walkway leading to the mansion. I close my eyes, trying to gather myself in preparation for the evil I'm about to undertake while searching for the truth.

  When I open my eyes, the car begins to shake and the mansion blurs out of focus. Like wolves howling at the moon, the wind w
histles by the car puncturing my eardrums as it carries me towards the emptiness of space. Out of nowhere, my head begins to pound and my world dissolves away while the cold blackness of nothingness engulfs my vision completely. The little I am aware of is that my arms feel raw as tension builds around my wrists. Then, even those senses are lost in the darkness.