The Unforgiven

by Irina Shapiro

  “You should have seen this place after Hurricane Katrina,” Brett said as he lowered his hold-all to the ground. “It’s a wonder any of these old tombs are still standing.”

  “They were built to last.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I love about those times,” Brett replied. “When people did something, they did it like they meant it. They were strong and determined, not like the people of today who are paralyzed by ridiculous social constraints. They simply got on with it.”

  “Well, that’s one way of looking at it, but social constraints were very much present in nineteenth-century society,” Quinn replied, barely paying attention to him. She stared at the crumbling stone edifice, her hands shaking. It wasn’t too late to walk away and leave this particular Pandora’s Box closed. She knew what had happened to Madeline. Perhaps that was enough. She could simply tell Rhys that she’d changed her mind and this story was too personal to air. They could find another grave, another skeleton, another story.

  “What other way is there? People today are so soft,” Brett went on. “I mean, if something needs to be done, just do it and deal with the consequences later.”

  “Let’s do it then,” Quinn said. Brett was right. This needed to be done. The truth had to come out, and consequences be damned. Madeline deserved to be acknowledged, and it was time Quinn made peace with her gift. If people ridiculed her, so be it. She was done hiding.

  “You sure?” Brett watched her closely, his eyes full of anxiety.

  “Yes, I am.”

  The double doors of the tomb, which at some point must have been painted dark green but were now faded and peeling, were kept locked with an old iron padlock. The chain that slithered through the handles was flaking with rust, but when Quinn gave the lock an experimental tug, it held fast. She brushed the orange rust off her hands and peered closely at the door.

  “Maybe we can unscrew the door handles with your screwdriver,” she suggested.

  “It’s easier to just clip the chain,” Brett replied. “There’s no one here. No one will notice.”

  He extracted a pair of large pliers from his bag and applied them to the rusty chain. It took a few tries, but he was finally able to cut through one of the links. The chain rattled to the ground, and the lock fell at Quinn’s feet. Brett picked up the lock and chain and tossed them behind the tomb. He stowed the pliers in his bag and opened the doors. The hinges whined with years of disuse, but the doors opened, revealing the inside of the vault. The tomb exhaled a breath of damp earth and decay.

  “After you, Madame Tomb Raider,” Brett said with a wicked grin.

  Quinn peered inside. The tomb was filled with gloom, even on this sunny day. Four shelves held the remains of the last Talbots to have been interred in the vault, thankfully still in their coffins. The wood had warped and rotted over the years, especially after the flooding caused by the hurricane, but it was still intact, holding its grisly contents in check. A dozen bags lined up against the far wall had what appeared to be tags attached to them, but the tags were yellowed with age and the ink faded and illegible. The bottoms of the bags showed evidence of water staining, which meant that water had gotten into the vault and had eventually drained away.

  “What are those?” Quinn asked as she peered at the bags.

  “These family vaults can only hold so many coffins, so after someone has been dead for two years, they move their bones to a bag and burn the coffin, making room for new arrivals,” Brett explained.

  “Not a very pleasant way to spend eternity.”

  “What does it matter? They’re dead,” Brett replied with a shrug. “And these customers have been dead for centuries.”

  Quinn turned on the flashlight on her mobile and shone a light into the tomb, illuminating its darkest corners. She wasn’t interested in the coffins or the labeled bags. No one would have bothered to label Madeline’s remains. She was looking for something that seemed out of place. It wasn’t hard to find. Beneath the lowest ledge was a burlap sack, or what remained of it. Most of the cloth had rotted away, revealing the white gleam of bone. Even without disturbing the remains, Quinn could clearly see the hand and the narrow, delicate wrist. They were small, like those of a child or a young woman. She exhaled loudly.

  “I think that’s her.”

  Quinn turned away from the sack to look at Brett. She expected him to ask questions, to demand to know who she’d been searching for, but he stood motionless just inside the vault. Even in the dim light, Quinn noted his pallor. He looked like he was about to cry.

  “Brett, are you all right?” Quinn asked. “I’m sorry if you find this disturbing.”

  Brett continued to stare, his gaze fixed on the sack and its contents. “What do you plan to do, Quinn?”

  “First, I must label and pack the bones. Then, I will take them to a forensic archeologist, who will examine the skeleton and tell me everything there is to know about her, from what she ate for breakfast to how she died.”

  “Leave her be,” Brett said. His voice shook with emotion as his gaze traveled from Madeline to Quinn and back again.

  “I must tell her story, Brett. She was murdered when she was sixteen.”

  “I know,” Brett said as he moved a little closer to Quinn.

  “You know?” she asked, but then recalled that she’d mentioned she was looking for proof that a murder had been committed as they were leaving the hotel.

  “Yes, I know. Leave her be, Quinn. Please, just walk away. No one needs to know about this.”

  “Of course they do. Madeline’s story will be the subject of the Echoes from the Past finale,” Quinn replied as she crouched to snap photos of the remains. Since Jason wasn’t there to film the process, she’d have to supplement her narration with photos of the remains in situ. She then stood and faced Brett.

  “Quinn, I know about her. I know who she is and why she’s here,” he exclaimed, shaking with rage. “I saw her. I held her fan many times, before Dad locked it in the safe.”

  Quinn stood frozen, staring at Brett as realization dawned. He had the same gift. He could see into the past. “You saw her?” she whispered. The gift wasn’t passed only down the female line after all. Seth had denied all knowledge of it, but maybe it had bypassed him, or he simply had no wish to acknowledge it.

  “Yes, I saw her, just as you obviously did. I hoped I was wrong. I thought I was the only one. Neither of my parents are psychic, and I had no idea this ability came down the Besson line, but once you started talking about breaking into the tomb, I began to suspect. I kept probing to see if you actually knew about Madeline or if you were on the scent of something else. I agreed to come with you for a reason. I needed to see for myself.”

  “And now you have.” Quinn was still bemused, but excitement was building within her. They shared the gift. They were connected on a deeper level. They were two halves of a whole.

  “Quinn, I need you to delete those pictures and walk away,” Brett said. His tone turned threatening, his face all harsh lines and shadows.

  “Why would I walk away now, when I just found her?” Quinn asked. “Are you afraid your ability will be revealed if Madeline is discovered? No one has to know.”

  “I’m afraid that my heritage will be revealed,” Brett said, bearing down on her. “This is the South, in case you haven’t noticed. Prejudice is alive and well, and I have no desire for the world to know that I’m descended from a black slave. You might not care, but I do. I will not have the world know there’s a stain on the family name.”

  “A stain? Did you really just say that?”

  “Yeah, I did. I have no intention of living with this shame. Nor do I want to pass it on to my children. It’s bad enough that we lost the war and all those slaves were set free to desecrate the South and its traditions. Families like ours lost everything, and had to bow and scrape just to survive. I won’t have it be known that I’m the spawn of some ignorant witch from Trinidad.”

  Quinn stared at Brett in shock and disbel
ief. How could she have misjudged him so spectacularly? We lost the war, he’d said, as if the war had happened in his lifetime and he’d been personally vested in its outcome. He participated in reenactments, but Quinn thought it was just something he liked to do for fun, not because he truly believed in the lost cause of the South.

  She backed away from him, appalled and disgusted by this young man she’d been proud to call her brother only a few moments ago.

  “You’re mad,” she said, noting the maniacal gleam in Brett’s eyes.

  “I’m the sanest person you’ll ever meet,” Brett replied. “I’m also the last person you’ll ever meet.”

  Quinn cried out as he pushed her with all his strength. She crashed to the stone floor of the tomb, landing against the bags of bones lining the back wall. Something jabbed in her back and her knee turned at a weird angle, making her gasp with pain. Her head shot up as she heard the doors slam.

  “Brett?” she cried. “Open the door.”

  No answer.

  Quinn sprang to her feet and rushed toward the door, pushing on it as hard as she could. The door wouldn’t budge. “Brett, please,” she cried. “Open the door. Let’s talk.”

  Quinn’s heart hammered wildly when she heard a metallic sound from outside. “Brett, open this door right now!” she screamed. And then she heard the click of a lock. This wasn’t the old lock Brett had thrown aside. He’d come equipped with a new one, ready for every possible outcome. He’d planned to lock her in all along if she proved to know the truth and failed to agree to his terms. “What are you doing?” she screeched as she pounded on the door with her fists.

  Brett’s voice was muffled, but she heard him clearly enough. “Did you really think you could show up out of nowhere and ruin everything? Not only are you about to reveal a secret that will destroy my family, but you’re about to take half of what’s mine. I’ve had to put up with my father’s bullying my whole life. I’ve had to live with his incredibly high expectations and criticism, thinking that I only had to make it until I was twenty-one and could access my trust fund, and then you appeared. Beautiful. Perfect. And pregnant. You are everything he’s dreamed of in a kid. And you’re going to give him a grandchild. He’s obsessed with you. So obsessed that he’s changing his will—in your favor, no doubt. He will leave you everything: the house, the business, the investments, and I will be left with nothing. Well, not going to happen, Miss Britain 2014. I’ll tell him you left, and when he doesn’t hear from you or get an invitation to the wedding or get to see your kid, he’ll start to hate you and turn to me, as he did when Mom finally left him after all his affairs. He’ll need me again, and he’ll appreciate me being there for him.”

  Brett’s words came out in a torrent, as fears he’d been harboring for years came to a head.

  “Brett, I don’t want your father’s money. I only wanted to know where I came from. Look, I won’t tell anyone about Madeline. I’ll erase the photos and we’ll forget this ever happened. I’ll call my boss and tell him he can’t use the story.”

  “It’s too late, Quinn. I gave you an out. I was willing to forgo half my inheritance to save your life, but you made your choice. You chose some half-breed over me, and now you’ll spend what’s left of your life with her. Goodbye, Quinn. I hope it doesn’t take you too long to die.”

  “Brett!” Quinn shrieked, but no reply came. He was gone.

  Chapter 47

  “Brett!” Quinn cried again as she put a shoulder to the door. The wood was old, but the doors were thick, and as Brett had pointed out, built to last. She tried several more times before giving up. Her shoulder throbbed, her breath came in ragged gasps, and her heartbeat grew more erratic as her panic escalated.

  “Calm down and think rationally,” Quinn told herself as she leaned against the door for support. She took several deep breaths and waited for her heart rate to slow down before formulating a plan.

  She would find her phone and call for help. She’d have some explaining to do, but she’d much rather get into trouble with the law for breaking into a tomb than wait for Brett to come to his senses and return for her. He would come back; she was sure of that. He might be angry and misguided, but he wasn’t a murderer. He’d meant to teach her a lesson, and he had. She should have taken his feelings more seriously, even if she didn’t agree with his way of thinking, and she would tell him that as soon as she got the opportunity. If he felt this strongly about Quinn sharing Madeline’s story then she would give him her word that the episode would never air. Rhys wouldn’t be happy, but he’d respect her wishes. After all, he had offered her the option to back out only a few days ago.

  Quinn crouched down and searched for her mobile. She’d dropped it when Brett locked the door, but it had to be nearby. She just had to make sure not to step on it. She breathed a sigh of relief when her hand closed around the cool metal case of her iPhone. She was one step closer to getting out. She pressed the button and stared at the screen. The phone was almost fully charged, which was a blessing. Quinn decided to try Seth first. He’d be angry, but he’d probably want to avoid involving the police. She selected his number and waited for the call to connect.

  ‘Call Failed,’ the screen read. She tried again with the same result.

  She swallowed back her panic and decided to try calling the police. Sometimes emergency numbers went through, even when the phone had very little charge left or there wasn’t a good signal. She began to tap in the numbers 999, but remembered the number for the police in the U.S. was different, and called 911 instead. She held her breath as she prayed for an operator to answer.

  ‘Call Failed.’

  Quinn tried again and again. She pressed herself to the doors in the hope that she might get even a weak signal from the outside, but call after call failed to connect.

  She was trapped inside a stone box, and her only mode of communication could only be used to illuminate her surroundings for an hour or so before the battery died. Quinn sat down against the wall closest to the door, wrapped her arms about her legs, and rested her head on her knees. She tried to remain calm, but the panic was rising and bubbling to the surface like lava in a volcano.

  Quinn sat up straighter, so as not to put any pressure on her diaphragm, and tried to breathe deeply and slowly. She managed to calm down a fraction, but the dust they’d disturbed had permeated the air and she doubled over in a fit of coughing. Tears ran down her face and she felt lightheaded and nauseated.

  The coughing finally subsided and Quinn calmed down enough to check the time on her mobile. It was just past 2:00 p.m., hours until the cemetery closed. Perhaps if she screamed for help someone would hear her, but it was a longshot. There had been few people in the cemetery when she’d arrived with Brett—was it really only a half-hour ago? —and they’d all been milling about the main avenue, taking photos and reading the names on the vaults. There were guided tours of the cemetery, but the Talbot tomb was too far removed from anything of interest, such as the tomb of Voodoo priestess Marie Laveau, a major draw for tourists, or the pyramid-shaped vault that Nicholas Cage had purchased for himself a few years back, planning to make New Orleans the site of his final resting place. There were other attractions, such as the tomb of the pirate Barthelemy Lafon, and the grave of Paul Morphy, a world chess champion, but they were on the other side of the cemetery. The path to the Talbot vault was so derelict that it was clear no one had ventured that far in a long time.

  Quinn turned off the phone to conserve the battery and leaned her head against the cool stone wall. Would anyone even look for her? How long would it take for someone to realize she was missing? If Brett had told Seth she’d gone home, Seth would try to call her, and maybe wait a few days for her to ring him back before trying again. Gabe would call; he rang every day, but would leave a message and wait for her to get back to him. He’d have no reason to suspect anything was wrong and she wasn’t just spending time with Seth and Brett. Jason Womack wanted to go over the footage they’d shot in the
bayou, but he would hardly come looking for her. He might even go back home and send her a video file in an email to be viewed when she had time.

  Quinn’s panic mounted as she analyzed her situation. Even if someone realized she was missing, no one would think to look for her in an ancient tomb. She would die here, and so would her baby.

  Almost as if it had heard her thoughts, she felt a light kick. Quinn’s hand went to her belly.

  “Is that you?” she asked.

  Another kick. It was feeble, but it was there, a sign of life.

  “I’m so sorry I got you into this,” Quinn sobbed. “I was such a naïve fool.”

  She looked at the phone again. It was now nearly three in the afternoon. What if Brett didn’t come back? What if he really meant to leave her here? Quinn’s thoughts tumbled and tripped over each other, the panic returning in full force as the reality of her situation finally sank in. Would Brett really leave her to die? Would her child never be born? Would Gabe never find out what happened to her and spend the rest of his life wondering and blaming himself for not coming to New Orleans with her? Oh, she should have listened to him. Why had she been so stubborn, so driven? They could have come to New Orleans together after the wedding. During the summer maybe, when Emma had summer holidays. They could have even visited Disney World. The TV advert had said it was the happiest place on Earth, Quinn remembered, as manic laughter bubbled inside her, but came out as a desperate sob.

  She probably wouldn’t even be lucky enough for some archeologist to discover her remains. Who would look in here, and why? She’d rot here for eternity, with Madeline for company. Two foolish, naïve women who had met their end when they least expected it because they underestimated the depth of their adversaries’ fear and hatred.

  You must remain calm, Quinn told herself as her pulse raced and she fought to catch her breath. She clasped her hands in front of her and began to pray. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d asked God for anything, but this wasn’t for her, this was for her baby. Quinn prayed that Brett would come back and let her out, since that was her only realistic hope of rescue. Surely he’d cooled off by now and begun to comprehend the ramifications of what he’d done—or did he feel safe, thinking he’d never get caught?