“I know.” I try to sound as reassuring as I can. “But you gave her justice instead, plus she gets to keep her big brother around. That’s worth more than their blood, Wesley.”
We sit down and eat the meal he’s gone out of his way to prepare. I make a total pig of myself but I can’t help it, it’s so good. We make some normal conversation while we eat, which is a nice change from everything we’ve been dealing with. He looks like he’s thinking about something he doesn’t want to bring up, so I bring it up for him. “What are you thinking about?” I ask.
“Will you come back with me to the mansion?” he questions abruptly, like he’s been waiting to ask me the entire meal.
“Sure,” I say, “how come?”
There’s something I need to show you. One last piece of this whole thing with my sister. The second he brings it up again I get tense, and he notices right away. “Don’t worry,” he pauses, “it’s nothing like last night. Just something I need to show you to help get some closure.”
“Okay, then, let’s go.”
An hour later we’re back at his house. I don’t really want to be here again so soon after last night, but Wesley asked me to come for a reason, and I was anxious to find out what it was. Kane’s car isn’t there, and I’m happy that it’ll just be the two of us for once. Inside Wesley leads me over to a room on the second floor, at the top of the very large, very winding staircase. Once we’re outside the room he leans in and says to me, “I need to warn you, Mia, what I’m going to show you will explain a lot, but it may also be a little overwhelming.” I can’t imagine where he’s leading me, but his warning freaks me out a little. “It will definitely explain more about what led up to last night. Since I met you, I’ve fallen madly in love with you, and I want you to know me without being scared away.”
“I want to know everything about you, Wesley. That’s all I’ve ever wanted since the moment I met you. You can show me whatever it is, I won’t be afraid.” I’m trying to be reassuring but I am a little worried. Like all the rooms in this house, there’s a large, wooden door and a key lock. Wesley reaches into his pocket and pulls out the key. After unlocking the door but before opening it he turns to me.
“Are you sure you what to see all of this?”
“I’m sure, Wesley. Show it to me, whatever it is.” But I wasn’t so sure. In fact, I was downright terrified of what was behind that door.
“All right, then, follow me.”
The sight of what lies in front of me when he opens the door is as overwhelming as he said it would be. All the warnings in the world couldn’t have prepared me for what I’m looking at. My eyes scan the room, taking in all the stimuli and trying their hardest to process all of the artifacts that fill the room like a museum exhibit. The whole space is a tribute to Annabelle’s kidnapping. “Feel free to look around,” Wesley tells me.
The room is filled with all things related to the crime: notebooks, framed newspaper articles, police reports, newspaper clippings from local and national papers, screen shots of media coverage, photographs of Annabelle, annotated and push-pin covered maps, stuff right out of a detective show. The room is a living, breathing investigation, and the sheer quantity of materials must have represented years of research. I really can’t believe my eyes. “Wesley, what is all of this?” I ask, trying to wrap my head around all that’s in here.
“This is my father’s true legacy, Mia,” he says solemnly. “My legacy too, I guess.” He walks next to me and takes my hand. “But the real answer is that this is my life—or at least it was for the past several years.”
“This may be your father’s legacy, but it won’t be yours anymore,” I say. “You need to let this all go.”
“I know I do,” he says. “That’s way easier said than done, but I’m trying. That’s actually why I brought you here.” I’m not sure what he means, but I let him continue without interrupting. “I know that Kane mentioned my . . .” he stops himself. “My IQ.”
“I wasn’t going to bring that up,” I tell him. “But I was hoping that at some point you would. Why didn’t you tell me that you were a genius?”
“Genius is a label my father was in love with, it’s a name psychologists give to the way a mind works, but it isn’t real, Mia, it’s just a label, and I’ve never been comfortable with labels.” His explanation makes sense, but I still can’t imagine why he would be uncomfortable with a title most people would brag to everyone about. Maybe that’s why; Wesley doesn’t brag. He’s humble.
“But aren’t you proud of your intelligence?” I ask, genuinely interested. “I know that I’d tell anyone who would listen if I had your IQ. And of course your dad liked the label, all parents are proud like that.”
“It wasn’t pride, it was obsessive arrogance. After my father realized that I wouldn’t be heir apparent to his business, I kind of became my family’s shameful little secret.”
“Wesley, that’s not what happened, you know that.” I’m upset for him all over again.
“I know, but I spent years believing it.”
“Why?”
“Because, when you’re told something again and again by those you’re raised to trust, you’ll believe anything they tell you, even terrible things about yourself. But please, let me continue.”
“I’m sorry, go on.”
“My life has been shaped by a strange intersection of events. At the same time that my anxiety issues shamed my family legacy and embarrassed my father, he nonetheless realized that he could utilize me in a different way.” It suddenly clicked what Wesley meant, and it all made sense to me. His father had used him.
“Oh my God, Wesley, you mean that he . . .”
“Yes,” he interrupts.
“So he wanted to use your exceptional intelligence to catch the men who kidnapped Annabelle.”
“It was the only thing in an entire life of accomplishments that he could never accomplish, and ironically the thing he wanted the most; to catch the men who kidnapped his little girl. Say what you will about the man, but my father loved his only daughter more than he loved himself, and it drove him mad that the men who had perpetrated this crime against his family never saw justice. I told you how he lost his mind trying to solve the case; how he spent a small fortune, at least by normal standards, to hire the brightest minds he could find to catch these men?”
“Yes.”
“Well, as luck would have it, he didn’t need money to find the brightest of minds, all he had to do was look in his own home.”
“Oh Jesus, Wesley, I’m so sorry.” I felt terrible. Even though I had figured out what Wesley was telling me, the expression on his face as he verbalized it made the sadness even more real for me. I could see teenaged Wesley in my mind, locked in a room by an obsessed father, paging through old police reports and newspapers for “clues.” It all sounded insane and abusive, but his story still left something unexplained. “But I don’t understand. If he used you like that, why continue with the investigation long after your father’s death? I don’t get it.”
“No, I don’t imagine that you would, and it’s a very good thing that you don’t. I may have been my father’s puppet, and he may have exploited me for his own purposes, but his purposes were also my own. I hated what he made me do, but I also wanted to find these men as much as he did.” His face is intense as he speaks, and I can hear his frustration.
“This may sound crazy, but his obsession became mine, it was unavoidable. I could have stopped looking after he died; I could have locked this door and never stared at another police report, hoping that I could see something that no one else had. I could have walked away, but I didn’t, I took it to a whole other level, Mia. I spent day and night in this room, convinced that my so-called ‘genius’ could see some pattern, or connect some imaginary dots that would lead me to these monsters. I never thought I’d actually find them like I did.”
“No, Wesley, you don’t sound crazy. You’re Annabelle’s loving older brother, and you want to p
rotect her.”
“This room has always been the place that gave my life a sense of direction, you know? It’s where I came to use my mind in a productive way. But none of that matters anymore. I never believed that I would find a purpose greater than this one, but I have. I’ve found you, and I love you so much that I won’t let anything jeopardize that love.” He reaches out and grabs my hand. “I need your help to gather everything in here.”
“Okay,” I say, not knowing exactly what he’s doing.
“Let’s go then.” We walk around the room and begin collecting everything; Wesley pulls maps off of the wall, while I gather notebooks and folders that are sitting out and in the draws of his desk. “Put everything here,” he says as he makes a pile in the center of the room. After about five minutes the floor is covered in documents.
“Now what?” I ask when we’ve finished.
“A fire,” he says looking down at the pile, “now we light a fire.” At first I think he’s going to take out a match and drop it on the ground, and then I realize that I’ve seen too many movies.
“Where?” I ask.
“There’s a fireplace downstairs,” he tells me. “It’s time to make the things in this room a part of my past. I love you and that’s what I want to focus on now.”
“I love you too.”
We gather everything in boxes and carry it all downstairs, where Wesley lights a fire in the largest fireplace I’ve ever seen. The blaze is comforting and warm, and even though it’s daytime the room still glows. “Will you help me?”
“Of course.” And then, one item at a time, we cast everything into the fire and Wesley just stares as his obsession turn to ash. Once the boxes are empty we continue standing there, and I hold onto his hand so that he knows I’m here for him.
He had never been allowed to heal from the guilt of letting his sister get abducted, and on top of that his father had perpetuated that cycle by convincing Wesley that he could somehow make it all right by catching the men who did it. Now he was ready to let it all go. I’m sure he’d still think about the time he spent in that room, but it would only be a memory. “Let’s move on together, okay?” I say to him.
“That sounds like the best plan I’ve heard in a long time. You sure that you aren’t the genius?” He laughs. It’s nice to see him lighthearted, and it makes me laugh along with him.
“You never know, I’ve never been tested. For all you know I could be even smarter than you.”
“I don’t need some test to tell me what I already know.” We go back upstairs and he reaches into his pocket and takes the key out again. As he turns it in the lock I realize what he’s sealing up in those four walls. He puts it back in his pocket, and I hope he never use it again.
“Was that difficult?” I ask him.
“More than I could ever explain. But not nearly as difficult as it would be to lose you. I failed my sister once and it almost broke me; I won’t fail you, Mia.”
AFTER MY LONG, stressful weekend I’ve been dreading this moment, but there’s no avoiding it any longer. I’ve triple checked my presentation to make sure it’s appropriate and professional looking, and more than anything I just really hope it can make a difference. The boardroom has a different feel to it over the last few months. When I walk in our director, Dr. Fisher, doesn’t look nearly as somber as she normally does at the start of these meetings. Actually, she looks weirdly happy. I look around the room and notice that the other board members have the same sense about them; some of them are actually grinning. The whole thing is weird because I walk in like it’s a funeral, my sad little flash drive in hand, and I’m all ready to give my presentation, but I seem to be the only serious one in here and I have no idea why.
“Dr. Fisher,” I greet walking up near the presentation screen. “Should I get set up with everything?”
“Actually, Mia, that won’t be necessary. In fact, I’m going to do a small presentation to start the meeting.”
“Oh, okay,” I say, confused as all hell. Dr. Fisher was the one who personally asked me to come up with ideas and make this presentation in the first place, and at the time she sounded sad and almost desperate. Now she seems weirdly jovial. Something must be going on that I’m not aware of.
“You can just take your seat at the table, Mia,” she says, motioning me to sit down. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised at what I have to say.” Now I’m really curious. This boardroom has been about as cheerful as a funeral home since the school year began, and everyone who walked in here on their lunch hour almost expected to walk out depressed for the rest of the day. But today was different; there was just something in the air. When Dr. Fisher starts the meeting I can’t imagine what’s going to come out of her mouth.
“Everyone, can I have your attention, please, the meeting is about to begin.” Dr. Fisher is one of the founders of the school. Her severely autistic son, Robbie, was her inspiration for starting this fight she’s been involved with for the past several decades. Robbie’s a grown man now who lives in an assisted living group home, but she continues to run the day-to-day operations, fighting for other people’s kids and advocating for the cause of autism. She’s been like a mentor to me; a hero in many ways, and the sight of her smiling instead of near crying is great to see, even if I have no clue what’s going on.
“I know that these meetings have been, well . . . less than enjoyable over the past few months, for me as much as for you. But I know that we’re in this battle together, and every single one of you in this room has been instrumental in helping make this school what it is, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for that.” It sounds like a retirement speech, but I seriously doubt that Dr. Fisher would step down at a moment of crisis like this; she’s too much of a fighter to do that. “As you all know, we’ve been in some major financial trouble. Since the recession of 2008 donations have steadily gone down and costs for our kids have gone up due to more enrollment. In a strange way we’ve been a victim of our own success, but that success has allowed countless students to be educated in a safe, loving, and protective environment that they wouldn’t have been able to find elsewhere.” She pauses her speech, and it seems like she’s getting emotional. The room gets very quiet because none of us have ever seen Dr. Fisher this sentimental and near tears, she’s usually a rock.
“Everyone here knows how the prospect of closing our doors, of taking away that protective learning environment, has been more and more of a reality. Mia was nice enough to work all week on a presentation for new ideas; one that fortunately she won’t need to present to us today, though I would like to hear those ideas in private, tomorrow, Mia.”
“Of course, Dr. Fisher,” I answer.
“You know, I’ve never been particularly sentimental, at least not in front of anyone. And I certainly don’t believe in things like miracles, but it seems that a small miracle has been visited upon us, and I wanted to share it with you all first, since you’re the ones who’ve shared in my stress.” Everyone in the room is honed in on Dr. Fisher’s every syllable, and we all wait with baited breath for what she’s going to say next. “Last night, I received a phone call from a privately operated, non-profit organization with both the passion for our cause and the means to help support it for some time to come. It’s called the Elizabeth Foundation, and it’s a philanthropic not-for-profit that donates money to all sorts of worthy causes. Not only are they going to single-handedly make up our budget deficit this year, but they’ve pledged their support for another five years after that if there is ever a shortage.”
No one believes their ears. Dr. Fisher isn’t even trying to hold back her tears anymore, and pretty soon we all join her. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I throw my hand up in the air like I’m a student in a classroom. “Dr. Fisher, how did this foundation even hear about our school?”
“I’m not really sure, I guess maybe networking, Mia. This board and these meetings are crucially important, but I have a larger network outside of this room
. I’ve been reaching out and making contacts with faculty at other schools all around the country, asking for their ideas. I’ve been leaving my contact information all over the country through emails and personal visits to other buildings. Someone must have reached out and directed them to me.” It’s true, Dr. Fisher has been away at least a few days a week since the school year began; way more days than I ever remember her taking off in the past.
“That’s amazing,” I say in response. “I don’t even know what to say. I’ve never been so happy to throw my own work in the garbage.” A few laughs break out in the room, but Dr. Fisher puts up her hand.
“Absolutely not, Mia, your work belongs in front of everyone, and I meant what I said about that meeting. You and I, tomorrow, I want to hear all of your ideas and implement as many of them as possible. I know what this job means to you, and I wouldn’t have asked you to sacrifice your time and effort if I didn’t want to see the results. Let’s meet after school tomorrow.”
“You got it, Dr. Fisher,” I say, teary-eyed. “And thank you, for everything you’ve done for us.”
The rest of the meeting is surprisingly boring, but no one cares. We’re all on cloud nine with the news that our school isn’t in danger anymore. Out of habit I check my phone to see the time, and I see that I have a text from Wesley.
Wesley: Know it’s been a rough day. Hope presentation went well, I know you did great. Let me pick you up and take you for dinner. I really want to see you and I’m sure you could use a drink.
I text him back as soon as I get the message.
Mia: Sounds amazing. Take me someplace good. We need to celebrate. Got some good news, I can’t wait to tell you all about it.
I finish the day lighthearted, even though I walked into a full-out bathroom tantrum when I got back to the class. Sara was in rare form. I needed Wesley there to calm her down. I smile at the thought, and how much all of the kids really took to him. Once that was under control the second half of the day was as normal as normal gets for me, and I couldn’t wait to see Wesley afterward to tell him all about the meeting.
Impressions of You (The Impressions Series Book 1) Page 19
