Remember Me

by Rainwater, Priscilla Poole

  ********

  The day of the memorial service, he shut himself up in his father’s study, tormented at what he had done. He didn’t want to hear from one more person how his father had been so proud of him, or how they knew he would turn out to be just like him. “If only they knew the truth about him……and ME.” he muttered.

  Walking to the bar, he picked up a bottle of bourbon, his father’s favorite, grabbed a glass, hesitated, then put both back down.

  Walking to the huge desk instead, he flopped down in the overstuffed leather chair, feeling small and overwhelmed. Resting his elbows on the desk, he ran both his hands over his face and muttered, "I don’t want any of this, I didn’t ASK for any of this. My God, some of my father’s supposed friends, who should be mourning the loss of him, are here trying to tell me about investments they want me to fucking consider. Bottom feeders, every last one of them."

  Swiveling the expensive chair around to face the balcony, he stared at the falling snow listlessly.

  “The desk suits you, you look like a true Mortensen.” a voice startled him from his gloomy thoughts.

  Turning back around, he saw his mother standing there, beaming, still clutching the key to the study in one hand.

  Closing the door and locking it, she approached the desk and took a seat directly in front of him. “Since you’re the head of the family, I think you should just leave the school you’re attending now and come back here. After all, there’s a wonderful private school only thirty minutes from here. That lawyer said you have to approve all transactions if I want to spend anything more than what I’m getting with that ridiculous allowance. I don’t want to have to wait around for your approval, when I have every right to spend as much of that money as I want. Do you know what else he told me? That I couldn’t hire or fire any of the staff! ME, the lady of the house. Imagine that! That bastard had even made sure that the running of the household is out of my hands. I hope he rots in hell!”

  Knowing her as well as he did, he was acutely aware that she was trying to make a command sound like a request. He also knew that this was just the beginning of what would be a struggle for power between the two of them. He had seen her do the same with his father.

  Suddenly desperate to be away, he stood and said, “I’m going to finish my senior year at the academy, not here. After that, I’ll start college immediately, this summer, instead of the fall. Everything will be fine here. Between now and then, just hope and pray our lies and deceit won’t catch up with us, and we both end up in prison.”

  A strange, puzzled look crossed her face, and for once, he wasn’t certain it was an act, which puzzled him even more.

  “Yes, well…stop worrying dear. I told you I would protect you. We have each other, no one can change that or come between us, as long as you remember I‘m the one protecting you. Everything will be fine. We need one another, always remember that. You need me, and I need you, it’s a two-way street.”

  Snapping out of it, and suddenly feeling as if he was being suffocated, Granger exploded from his chair and rushed to the balcony, flinging the doors open. Running outside, he began taking deep, giant breaths as he leaned on the railing. Closing his eyes, he focused on controlling his erratic breathing, then opened them again as a bitter thought surfaced. I traded one prison for another. My mother…my jailor…. the voice said. Gripping the railing tightly, he looked down at the beautiful courtyard. I could take just one step and end all of this. I could stop the pain that has been eating at my soul like a cancer… he thought, and on the heels of that, No, I can’t leave Cass and Regan. I’m Granger Mortensen, and it’s time to face the past. “You’ll never be a Mortensen!” his father’s words cut through his thoughts like a surgeon’s scalpel. “How wrong you were, you would be proud of the bastard I‘ve become. I may not have been brought to life by your seed, but you bred me into the SOB that I am. I told you that one day I would be a colder bastard than you ever could be. Guess when I see you in hell, you can finally tell me how proud of me you are, and actually mean it, FATHER.” he muttered angrily.

  Bleakly, he thought that he truly had became cold and ruthless over the years, but there had been one exception to that, his Cassandra. The only person he had ever opened up to and allowed inside. She was a balm to his emotional wounds and tortured soul, and he could not, would not, give up on her.

  Closing his eyes again, he smiled softly, remembering the simple things. Until the day he died, he would never forget one day in particular when she showed up at his office, interrupting a heated board meeting. Up till that point his roaring could be heard throughout the building, as he was threatening to fire anyone and everyone who had a hand in an oversight that had cost the company millions. She had convinced his frightened secretary to let her inside, where she had caught his attention, then beckoned to him with a sweet smile. “Can I have a word?” was all she had said. He had been surprised and caught off guard, seeing her dressed in a bathing suit, and her trademark short shorts. And to the bewilderment of everyone present, he had calmed down instantly and left, turning the meeting over to his relieved second-in-command.

  She had driven him to a local state park, saying that he needed a break from the headaches once in awhile. Taking two lawn chairs from the trunk of the car, they sat and watched children swimming and having fun in the public pool. Grabbing a cooler from the back seat, she had opened it and took out two small, frozen ice cream cakes, and handed one to him. As they ate in silence, he remembered thinking that they must have looked like the ultimate odd-couple, him wearing a thousand-dollar Armani business suit, and her clad in a bikini with short-shorts, eating ice cream cake.

  “Ok, so what brought all this on?” he had asked.

  “Oh, I think you just need to stop and smell the roses once in awhile. Watching the kids play might teach you how to have fun again. You’re always working, and I bet when you get back there, your board meeting will go easier and your employees will thank me for making you a sweeter, kinder, Granger. "

  Although he had never told her so, he wouldn’t have traded that day for anything in his life. It was like she was helping him be the child he was never allowed to be when he was a boy. And just as she had predicted, he went back to work grinning and being so agreeable his employees didn’t know what to think.

  That had been just the beginning of her little surprise visits to the office. He found out later, much to his amusement, that after they married, his secretary would call her on the sly, when he was in an unbearable mood. Just being in her presence gave him so much joy, made him feel alive, made him feel wanted.

  Closing his eyes again, tears began streaming down his cheeks as he thought about how he hadn’t know a thing about love, until he had met her. She had taught him. She had given him her unconditional love, a thing he never knew existed. She gave him so much more than that. She gave him, taught him, not only about love, but faith, and hope. And he had selfishly taken all she had to offer, believing it was his due. His selfishness had cost his wife her stability, and he had turned a blind eye to it just like all those years ago when he had killed his father. Now he was like a junkie hurting from the craving of a drug, her love had become an addiction he couldn’t live without, he needed her just to feel alive. When her mental health began to decline, as she grew more paranoid, suspicious and angry, instead of standing up and trying to help her, it had frightened him. Thinking he was losing her, he had retreated into his shell, becoming the frightened little boy once more, instead of the man he should have been. He had shut down. He had failed her when she needed him the most. He really had ended up just like his father. When it came to business, he could move mountains, but at home, where things mattered the most, he couldn’t even manage to keep his wife safe and happy.

  As he opened his eyes and wiped the tears away angrily, another thought hit him, one that nearly made his knees buckle. Could his mother have played a role in his beloved wife’s disappearance? ‘ If she did have anything to do with it, th
e hell father put her through will seem like a tip-toe through the tulips by the time I’m finished with her… he thought grimly. Staring off into space, he began analyzing the possibility. He knew the only reason his mother wanted him to marry Martina was because she wasn’t threatened by her, they were peas in a pod. Cassandra, on the other hand, would be just the type of woman she feared. Outspoken, independent, and able to influence his every decision. In short, the type of woman dear old dad hoped he would marry some day, just to spite her.

  It’s time to do the right thing. For Cassandra, my son, and for me. It’s time I paid for my sins… he decided.

  Composing himself, and with determination in every step, he went back inside, closed the balcony doors, and snatched his cell phone from the desk. His first call was to his accountant, telling him he wanted an itemized, detailed account of his mother’s spending six months before, and six months after his wife’s disappearance. The next call was to his attorney. When the man (Alex Caldwell) answered, he wasted no time with pleasantries and got straight down to business. “Alex, I want my will changed, ASAP. Grab a pen and paper."

  “Sure, hold on a sec…alright, go ahead.”

  “The bulk of my estate will go to my wife and son. Regan’s money will go into trust, until his mother determines that he’s responsible enough to use it wisely. Five hundred thousand, and the family vineyard, will go to Edoardo and Gianne Spano. To my mother-in-law Jocelyn Ames, I want to bequeath two million. To my aide, Malcolm, you know his last name, one million, and my late father’s vintage car collection, which as you know, is in my possession. You already have a list of charities I donate to regularly, see to it that they’ll always receive the same amount annually. My mother has stocks and bonds, and she can have the family estate, but make it ironclad that she’ll never be able to sell it. When she dies, it goes back to my son, and he can do with it as he pleases. The rest of the property and homes go to Cassandra. I also want you to draw up a Power-of-Attorney for Cassandra to act on my behalf in case anything ever happens to me, something that will prohibit my running the family businesses. The living will: I want to Cassandra to make all future medical decisions on my behalf, if I‘m incapacitated. Got all that?”

  “Yes, every last bit. But Granger…." the voice hesitated, “…are you sure about all this? Why, just this morning your mother came and spoke to me about how fast you could get a divorce. She said you were ready to move on.”

  “You listen to me, and you listen to me good. My mother isn’t the one that pays your hefty retainer, I AM! Furthermore, I’ll remind you that what I discuss with you is private, and will remain that way. You are not at liberty to discuss it with anyone else, and I mean ESPECIALLY my mother." he replied in a cold voice.

  “Granger…I …I’ve never discussed any of my client’s personal matters with anyone, that would be unethical. Your mother was simply making small talk, that‘s all! I would never violate the trust you‘ve placed in me.” he stammered.

  “Well, I’m not making small talk. I want that will and power of attorney drawn up, like, five minutes ago.”

  “It…it may take more than one day if you want it, you know, uncontestable.”

  “You have forty-eight hours. If it’s not done by then, I’ll find someone who CAN get it done quickly. Someone who will appreciate a monthly fee equal to what most blue-collar workers see in an entire year.”

  “You can count on me. No matter what it takes, it will be done.”

  “Good. Just one more thing."

  “Yes?"

  “I’ll also be needing the best criminal defense attorney your firm can find. Money is no object.” he replied, taking the final plunge.

  “Defense lawyer?” Alex replied, the shock in his voice evident. “Is there something you wish to discuss? I’m sure whatever it is, I can take care of the problem myself.”

  “No, just put him on retainer, and have him call Malcolm to set up an appointment to meet with me as soon as possible.”

  “But what…”

  “That’s all.” he answered, and flipped the phone shut.

  Going back to the table he sat slowly, and began forcing himself to eat. Just keep it together a little longer… he thought.

  Chapter 16

  Charlie stood quietly, closely studying the tall young man who was strolling out of the hospital. Waiting until the man was a only a few feet away, he stepped out of the shadows and said, “Excuse me.”

  Startled, Raidon stopped dead in his tracks and looked him and up and down, taking note of the old, worn clothing, and ragged, oily box he was carrying. Pulling some loose change from his pocket, the man‘s strong, steady voice caught him off guard.

  “I don’t want your money, young man,” he said.

  Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, he took a step back in preparation to defend himself, if necessary.

  “You won’t be needing that gun you got strapped behind you either.”

  “Who are you?“ he asked suspiciously, thinking that in spite of the man’s frail appearance, there was still considerable strength in the way he simply carried himself.

  “People call me Box Charlie.” the man replied, and nodded towards the old box he had nestled underneath his right arm. Reaching inside the box with his left hand, he withdrew a brown folder and handed it to him with a knarled, but steady hand. “Before you dance with the devil young man, know the song. Doctor Parker comes from a long line of dangerous kin, and he’s not one to be taken lightly.”

  Still wary, he took the envelope from him without answering, opened it, and withdrew several old newspaper clippings. The first to catch his eye was a clipping that dated back twenty years, taken from ‘The Bluefield Carrier’, a long defunct newspaper from Bluefield West Virginia. At the top of the article there was a photo of a handsome, middle-aged couple, and the headline read, Local Couple Found Dead By Son

  Quickly scanning the rest of the article, his frown deepened. From what he gleaned from it, Doctor Vincent and Sharon Parker, Brett Parker’s parents, had been found dead in their kitchen, by him. It seemed the couple had accidentally ingested poisonous mushrooms, ones he later told police they had all picked together, several days prior. Although he was present in the house at the time of their deaths, no suspicion fell upon the clean-cut young boy, who had been hysterical when the ambulance and police had arrived. After discovering the bodies, he had been briefly hospitalized for psychological trauma, then sent to Virginia to live with his Grandmother.

  Flipping through other, even older newspaper clippings, his alarm grew as he discovered that only months prior to that, the deceased couple had lost their young daughter in a swimming accident, one that took place as she swam with her older brother, Brett Parker.

  Did the little bastard off his own parents, and sister? He wondered as he made a mental note to check to see if the grandmother was still alive. “How di……” his voice trailed off as he looked up only to see the old man had vanished. “What the fuck?” he muttered, a little spooked. It had been a very long time since anyone had escaped his watchful eye so easily.

  Looking back down, he began flipping through the articles again, and discovered follow-ups to the initial articles and investigations. It seemed that later the police actually did suspect him in the poisoning deaths of his mother and father, but lacked enough evidence to charge him. “So the little shit started killing at a young age.” he mumbled.

  Reaching back inside the envelope, he pulled out more documents and read in silence. One document was a court order to seal all the juvenile records on Brett Parker.

  Yet another newspaper article about the death of a young, African American female, Shelly Harris, fourteen, whose body had been found in a wooded area near the Parker residence. She had been a friend of the family, and a childhood friend of Brett’s.

  Flipping out his cell phone, he dialed a friend of his who worked with the Attorney General’s Office. “Hi Allie, how’s it going?” he chirped hopefully when the female voice an
swered. Please, don’t let her still be pissed at me… he prayed silently as he walked to his Hummer, opened the door, got inside, and placed the envelope and clippings on the passenger seat. Closing the door, he waited with baited breath.

  “Well well, if it isn’t the great Raidon Bishop, gracing little ol’ me with a phone call. You’ve got a lot of nerve, you know that? The last time I’m with you, you rock my world, I wake up thirty minutes later, and you’re gone. And never return my calls.”

  Sighing, he didn’t think it would be prudent at the moment to remind her that he had told her time and time again that he wasn’t the settling-down type. Clearing his throat, he tactfully replied in a smooth, silky voice, “Come on now, don’t be like that. Look, next time I’m up your way I’ll not only holler at you, but we can go out dancing and…stuff."

  “Yeah, well…that stuff better be an all-nighter, if you get my meaning.” she purred.

  “You’ve got it!” he breathed, relieved, yet still amazed at how quickly she always gave in to him. “Listen, think you can get some information on a sealed juvenile record, one for a Brett Parker? He lived in Bluefield West Virginia, until his parents passed, then he was sent to live with his grandmother, who lived in Virginia. The Hall County family court approved the order. Also, if you could give me anything on his mother and father too, that would make our next little get together an all weekender, whaddya‘ say?”