by Loretta Lost
“It’s just up ahead,” the cabby says as he slows to a crawl. He glances back to me with a raised eyebrow, and then looks to the tiny wooden house in suspicion. “Are you sure this is your destination?” he asks skeptically.
“I’m quite sure,” I tell him, handing him cash from my purse for the fare. “Keep the change.”
Climbing out of the cab, I pull my suitcase out and begin walking across the unmaintained path leading up to the little house. Is this where my husband grew up? Or is it just where his mother lives? I have no idea. I was not able to find any information about the residence online. This might not even be the right address. Anxious thoughts begin spinning through my mind. I hope that I didn’t travel all this way for nothing.
I reach out to ring the doorbell, but it doesn’t work. I hesitate, and finally knock the old fashioned way. There is a flimsy plastic door and screen that covers the actual door to the house. Everything is filthy and broken. I hear noises inside, and I am a little afraid to discover who might answer the door.
I breathe a sigh of relief when a normal-looking woman peers through the curtains. She has dark hair and a pleasant face, with wrinkles around her eyes. When she smiles at me, I am startled to see my husband’s face in her features.
“Hello, dear. What a lovely dress! How can I help you?”
“I…” I swallow down a lump of emotion. Now that I am here, I don’t know how to begin. “My name is Carmen Winters. Are you Mrs. Scott? I… I was married to your son.”
The woman looks at me with puzzlement for a moment, and then her face shows recognition.
“Grayson?” she says breathlessly, and she immediately bursts out into tears. “My Grayson? Oh, where is he? Please tell me. I haven’t seen him in so many years. Is he okay? Is he doing well? Is he happy?”
The expression on her face is breaking my heart, and I feel tears prick the back of my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Scott. Your son died a few days ago. He had severe schizophrenia and depression. His final wishes were that I deliver his ashes home to you.”
The older woman stares at me for a moment without blinking. “No,” she tells me in refusal, completely denying the possibility. “I don’t believe you. I don’t know you. Please leave my home.” The woman shuts the door in my face.
I stare at the door in shock for a second, afraid that I have scared her off.
“Wait!” I call after her in a panic. “Please, I need to talk to you!” I knock on the door again, softly and then more aggressively. I look around frantically before stepping to the side and trying to peer in the window. “Mrs. Scott? Please! I loved your son. He never spoke about you, or about his childhood. If I had known, I would have encouraged him to visit you. Please open the door. I just want to know who he was!”
When there is no answer, I move to sit on the steps in exhaustion. Leaning against my luggage, I stare out at the derelict neighborhood with despair. I had a feeling this would happen: that I would come all this way for nothing. Maybe I should have just let Brad do it—or tried harder to convince him to take me along. Maybe Mrs. Scott would be more responsive if Brad were here, since he is someone she actually knows.
So what do I do now? Do I leave the urn on her doorstep and call a cab and just go home?
Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I move to call the cab company. Then an idea strikes me.
Maybe I can find a way to convince her…
Rising to my feet, I grasp the handle of my luggage and move back to the door. “I have pictures of Grayson!” I call out to her. “Pictures of your son from the last few years! And I can show you his college photos from when he was a star athlete. Did you know Grayson was an amazing quarterback? He was a champion!”
There is no response from inside the house, but I think I see the curtains move slightly in the window. I think the old woman is tempted.
“Please!” I call out to her. “I can tell you all about your son. Did you know how brilliant he was with mathematics? He got a degree in engineering! But he didn’t even need to use it, because he was so amazing at investing on the stock market that he made a killing. He was such an amazing man. Don’t you want to hear about him?”
I stare at the scratched-up brass lock embedded in the dirty white door. It occurs to me that the door is so flimsy that I could have kicked it in anyway, as a last resort. I’m not sure I would have done something like that, but I could have… Just as I’m thinking these thoughts, I hear the lock click and see the doorknob begin to turn.
“You loved my son?” the old woman says quietly, and I can see that her face is streaked with tears.
I can only nod in relief. “Yes,” I whisper softly, “so very much. I’m sorry, Mrs. Scott.”
The old woman stares at me hard for a moment. “Show me a picture.”
Flipping to the albums on my phone, I quickly skip over the photo of Grayson hanging himself and slide back to several months before when we were happy. I turn the phone toward his mother.
Gazing at the photo tearfully, the old woman finally nods. “Please come in, dear. Sit down.” She wipes the wetness from her cheeks and hands the phone back to me, taking a deep breath as she tries to maintain her composure. “I’m sorry I slammed the door, but it was just difficult to hear that Grayson is gone. I always liked to imagine that he was off having a wonderful life somewhere. I liked to imagine that he was happy.”
“He was,” I promise her. “For a few years, he was truly happy.”
“I doubt that, my dear. Nonetheless, I want to hear all about my little boy and what his life was like. I knew this day would come, I just…” She sighs deeply. Her face looks weary and defeated, but she still manages to be polite. “Would you like some tea or coffee?”
“No. Yes. Please, I just…” I find myself breathing in short, shallow bursts. “There’s so much I didn’t know. He lied to me about everything. And his friend Brad…”
“Brad!” the woman shrieks in revulsion. She steps back as though she has been struck. “If Grayson is dead, it’s that bastard’s fault! Do you know what he did to my son? Do you know?”
I am stunned by this reaction. My whole body grows tense. “No. Please tell me.”
“That Brad was a lowlife drug dealer. He used my son as his ticket out of here, piggybacking on his success. Poor Grayson was an innocent pawn—Brad’s little patsy.” The old woman is shaking as she speaks, and points a withered, bony finger at me. “That boy drugged my son for years. Years! That’s why Grayson got an athletic scholarship. Because Brad kept dosing him with steroids. Grayson didn’t even know it, and there was nothing I could do. Brad threatened to kill my younger children if I did anything. My poor little girl was only five years old, and I couldn’t put her in danger. But if my son had schizophrenia? It was a side-effect of long term steroidal use. Grayson was a good boy. We were poor, but he was healthy and happy until he met that Brad! That cruel, selfish lunatic!”
“I didn’t know,” I say softly. “I didn’t know.”
“Grayson was such a wonderful boy. He was handsome and kind, and he was going to be happy,” the woman says bitterly. “I’m sorry, dear. Do you want to come inside and sit down?”
“No,” I say firmly, tightening my grip on the handle of my luggage. “Please tell me everything. I want to know who my husband was.”
“He was everything to me. A mother’s pride and joy,” the woman says softly. “There was no smarter young man around, and everyone knew he had a bright future ahead of him. I know this sounds biased because I’m his mother, but you can ask anyone. You can ask all the neighbors, his old teachers. Grayson was a shining star. He was a skilled artist, a musician, an athlete. He had that golden touch; everything he did was perfect. And then… there was Helen.”
“Helen?” I repeat quietly, as my stomach clenches. “Who was Helen?”
The old woman smiles in memory, bringing her fingers to her lips. “Oh, she was a beautiful young girl. Grayson was so deeply in love with her that you couldn’t tear t
hose two apart for a minute! Helen adored my son, and they were simply the perfect young couple. They were only sixteen when she became pregnant. Of course, they were far too young, and they weren’t even close to being ready. But how can you stop love?” The old woman shakes her head sadly. “I am glad to hear that my son was able to move on and get married again, but he could never love anyone the way he loved Helen. They were soulmates. They were going to raise the baby together. She was a good girl, from a Christian family, and she made him a better man. He would have moved the sun and the moon for that girl!”
“What happened?” I ask quietly. There is a suffocating weight on my chest, and I’m not sure that I’m strong enough to hear the answer. “I’m so sorry for badgering you, Mrs. Scott. I just really need to know what happened.”
The old woman wraps her arms around herself as though she has suddenly become very cold. “It was Brad. I don’t know why wanted to rip Helen away from Grayson and end their happiness, but he did.”
“How?” I ask fearfully.
“I’ve never told anyone this, my dear. Do you really want to know what Brad did?”
I can only nod.
“He drugged that poor girl.” The woman pauses, as if the words are too unbearably awful to speak. “He only intended to make her lose the baby, but Helen was young and her body was weak. The poor girl ended up dying, and Grayson never got over it. It haunted him for years. He tried to kill himself at least half a dozen times so that he could be with her. I tried to take care of him, like any mother would, but Brad turned him against me. That… that heinous, vile creature. Brad is not a human being!” The old woman is shaking as she speaks, and spit is flying out of her mouth with her rage. “So you want to blame someone for my son’s death? Blame Brad! That man is a fucking demon. He’s a fucking demon and a murderer!”
My fingers have lost their grip on my suitcase and it falls from my hands, clattering harshly to the ground. My jaw is clenched so tightly that it sends blinding pain through my skull. I find that my knees have suddenly gone very weak and my ankles are wobbling slightly in my heels. I am very faint, and unable to stand. I grasp the doorframe for support, but I find myself sliding down anyway.
“Oh, dear? I’m sorry! Are you okay?” says Grayson’s mother with worry. She moves forward to offer me support, but I find myself just staring ahead blankly, gripping the doorframe with both hands. My knuckles are white and my fingernails are digging into the wood.
“He drugged her to make her lose her baby?” I repeat quietly. “He killed Grayson’s child?”
“Yes,” the older woman says.
“Why?” I ask in a whisper, as all the connections click into place in my brain. Jolts of electricity shoot through my brain and spinal cord like little explosions of fireworks, causing my whole body to tremble. “Why?” I say again hoarsely, and the word seems to get caught in my very constricted throat. My eyes begin to hurt, and I imagine that my pupils have become dilated as I frantically look at the woman.
I remove my hands from the doorframe and seize her by the shirt collar. “Why?” I demand forcefully. When she doesn’t answer, I find myself screaming into her face. “Why?!”
Now available:
End of Eternity, Book 3
After a shocking revelation, Carmen declares war on the man who is responsible for all the horrors in her life. She dives full-throttle into a mission to take revenge and obtain justice for the death of her husband and unborn child.
Continue to the next book!
Thank you for reading this book!
To be notified of new releases, sign up for Loretta’s mailing list today:
Subscribe
You will receive a FREE book as a gift ($2.99 value)
www.LorettaLost.com
