The Art of Going Home (The Art of Living series Book 1)

by Nicole Sorrell

“You need another beer?” he asked, getting up and going to the kitchen.

  “No thanks,” I replied. He came back with a soda and sat on the opposite end of the couch.

  “Please, stay over there for a minute,” he implored. I gave him an evil grin.

  After ten minutes of staring deliberately at the TV, he let me scoot over to him and put his arm around me. After I promised to keep my hands to myself.

  When the late show finished, he rose and picked up his keys. “Come on, I’ll take you back to the hotel,” he said.

  “Why?” I protested.

  “You know why. As it is, I’ll have to spend an hour under a cold shower when I get back. Come on, gorgeous.” He kissed my pouting lips as my cheeks turned pink.

  I knew it was best to forgo spending the night with him again. That didn’t mean I had to like it.

  Back in my room, I had to take a cool shower, too. It was either that or spend a marathon session with BOB, and it was too late at night for that. I needed some serious sleep.

  Chapter 21

  BEFORE I DROPPED my head onto the pillow, I sent Tabs a quick message, saying I took her advice to heart and Zac and I were now officially in a relationship. I actually giggled imagining how happy she’d be to get the news. I couldn’t remember ever being this giddy...

  “Admit it,” Angeline coaxes in a singsong voice. “You’re in love with Zac.” Her laughter drops over me like gentle rain as she teases me impishly. We’re sitting on a blanket in the grass by the pond, enjoying the warm evening under the nearly full moon. In the cloudless sky, it’s bright enough to make the trees throw shadows over us.

  “I wouldn’t go so far as to call it love.” I shrug. “I’m willing to see how it goes.”

  “You’ll get married someday,” she says, “and be happy forever.” Her beautiful face is aglow with a warm smile. “You’ll never have to be alone again.”

  “I’m not sure everything will work out with him,” I say, mulling it over. “Anyway, I did as you asked. I talked to Sheriff Rey to see what I could find out about…” My voice fades to silence. I can’t say the words out loud.

  “Well?” she asks. “What did he tell you?”

  “I also talked to Bobby Wittford. He said his father was by the pond that day. It was him, wasn’t it? He attacked you when he was finished with the lawn work?” I try not to break down, though my effort is useless.

  Angeline consoles me by patting my back with her small hand. We sit in the peaceful silence for a while until I contain my grief.

  Finally, I put my arm around her young shoulders. “Clayton Wittford’s dead. We’ll never be able to see him brought to justice. To punish him for what he did. Even if he were still alive, we couldn’t prove he did it.”

  “Don’t be sad, Maddie. I’m okay now,” she says, smiling. Gradually her childish features turn serious. She speaks slowly, “Maddie, do you remember when Daddy started taking lots of pictures of us?”

  “Sure,” I say. “He bought a new camera the summer we turned nine. For days he followed us around taking snapshots.”

  “Sometimes he took ones of just me. By myself.” I look at her uncertainly. “Doing things,” she says.

  “What do you mean? Doing what?” I ask.

  “I stole some of them. I hid them behind the boards.”

  “Boards? Boards where?”

  “In my room. Find the pictures, Maddie.”

  Groggily I came out of an uneasy sleep, remembering Angeline’s words. “Find the pictures...” Something like an electric shock surged through me. I bolted out of bed in alarm. Scrambling for my phone on the table by the TV, I almost dropped it, fumbling as I hit Zac’s number. Come on, come on! Answer, damn it.

  “Hey, beautiful. How did you know I was thinking about you?”

  “Zac! Please.” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. I didn’t succeed.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” His concern was immediate.

  “Can you come over? Now? I’m sorry to ask you. It’s important. I… I need you. Please?” I knew I sounded like I was about to lose it. I couldn’t manage to keep the fear at bay.

  “I’ll be right there. It’ll be okay, baby. Try to calm down. Take deep breaths. Stay put.”

  I moved around the room like I was trapped. Like my head would explode at any moment. My heart struggled to pound its way out of my body, and my lungs ached like I’d run for hours.

  Pictures? Photos taken by Father? This was terribly significant for some reason. But why? I shivered. I felt a prick on my hand and found I’d clenched my fists so tightly, my nails had cut into my palms. I started to pace, counting my steps as I did so. Inhale for six steps. Exhale to the count of six. Turn, count each footfall again.

  When I heard a truck door slam, I ran to the door and yanked it open. I hurled myself into Zac’s arms and started babbling.

  “He did it, I know he did it. It was him, he must have covered it up. Somehow he had a hand in it. I know it’s true.”

  He shushed me, holding me tight and stroking my hair. I slowly relaxed, knowing my behavior would make him question my mental stability.

  He led me to the bed and sat me down, asking me to explain why I was upset.

  I made myself speak as slowly and evenly as I could. “I know Father is involved somehow. I know he did something. Or hid something.”

  “Is involved in what?”

  “Angeline’s murder,” I replied.

  Zac breathed in sharply. “What are you talking about?” His confused expression became neutral as he seemed to conceal his thoughts. “Your father was at work when she was murdered.”

  “I know. I have a gut feeling that there’s more.” Another lie. “I’m certain he had something to do with it.”

  By the time I’d taken a quick shower, dressed, and gulped some coffee that Zac made for me, it was midmorning. He finally agreed to drive me to Father’s house after I said I would walk if I had to.

  As he drove, he asked, “Why don’t you call him? Why is it important to go to the house right this minute?”

  “I don’t want to see him or talk to him, and he’ll be at work now. If I’m lucky, he’ll be out of town. I need to look for something.”

  “We can’t go inside if he’s not there. What is it you need to look for?”

  “He invited me to come over,” I said, refusing to elaborate further. “And I’ll know what I’m looking for when I find it.” Again, it wasn’t the truth. I’d been so dishonest with him. I wasn’t prepared to give him any more answers at that moment.

  My reply made Zac glance nervously at me, and I realized I was wringing my hands. I forced my palms flat on my thighs and sat back against the seat until we arrived at the impressive neo-classical red brick house.

  It sat on three acres about a mile outside the city limits. The two-story columns at the front were white, as was all the trim. I wondered briefly who cut the lawn and weeded the flower beds. The trees between the pond and the house had grown larger. Other than that, nothing had changed in the ten years since I’d last seen it.

  “What are you going to do?” He shadowed me as I walked hurriedly to the front door. When ringing the doorbell brought no answer, I turned the knob. It was locked as I expected it would be. I searched under the mat and along the top of the solid wood double entry doors. I didn’t find a key.

  Next, I went to the sliding glass doors off the back deck. Also locked. I went down to the exterior French doors of the basement living area. Locked. I pushed on the double doors to the utility garage in the basement where the lawnmower, gardening implements, and a few tools were put away.

  Aha! They were open, as was the door connecting it to the unfinished part of the basement used for storage. I grabbed a hammer from its hook on the pegboard to use if I needed to pull up the boards. Seeing a mini pry bar, I snatched it and put the hammer back in its place.

  Once inside, I raced up two flights of stairs to Angeline’s room. Zac followed close behind, no longer
asking what I intended to do.

  At the door to the bedroom, I stopped short. Nothing was different. Every toy, open book, scrap of paper, full trash can, magazine, picture, poster, stuffed animals, pink ruffled curtains, bedspread with pansies, and white furniture—all the miscellaneous trappings of a ten-year-old girl’s life were there. I knew nothing had been removed before I left home. I’d expected most of the items to have been discarded by that point. It was eerie.

  I glanced around the room. Behind the boards. What did that mean? I noticed there was nothing around the window. The only thing that struck me as a “board” was the four-inch-wide trim molding along the floor. Was that it?

  Kneeling down between the bed and the dresser, I tried to push the pry bar between the baseboard and the wall. It wouldn’t go. Zac bent down to see what I was doing. I’d raised my arms to jam the pry bar down hard when he seized my wrists to stop me.

  “If you want to pry it off, you should cut through the caulk first. Otherwise, you might damage the paint,” he said.

  “The caulk?” I asked.

  “Yes, it seals the seam between the wall and the trim, filling the gaps to give it a nice finish.”

  Shit! Shit! Shit! Angeline couldn’t have hidden pictures behind the baseboards if the gap was sealed. What else could she have been talking about?

  I stood up, dropping the pry bar on the carpet. I checked all the base molding, not finding any area that wasn’t caulked. I checked the casing around the doors to the room and closet. They were caulked, too. I stepped inside the closet and turned on the light. Though there were wood shelves in it, none were big enough to hide pictures behind.

  I sank down to the floor. What now? My mind sped over my conversation with Angeline. I was certain I remembered correctly. She said she hid photos in her room.

  I tapped my forehead on my drawn up knees. Zac came in and knelt beside me in the cramped space, lifting my head and kissing my brow.

  “You going to tell me what this is all about?” he asked.

  Chapter 22

  I LOOKED INTO THOSE beautiful eyes and turned my head away, reluctant to explain. “I… wait.” I looked closely. “It looks like caulk wasn’t used in here,” I said. He stepped back as I moved along on my hands and knees, closely examining the space between the walls and baseboards. I found a small gap on the far side, with the corners of what could be pictures barely sticking out.

  “Please hand me the pry bar,” I said. When he gave it to me I stuck it between the trim and the wall a few inches from what I hoped were the photographs. I levered the wood away from the wall far enough to get my pinkie finger in. I slid what turned out to be two prints up until they cleared the baseboard, let go of the pry bar and grabbed them.

  ~~~

  Blackness smothered me. I fought to clear it. “Maddie. Can you hear me? Maddie?” Zac’s voice seeped into my brain as sluggishly as cold honey. I turned onto my hands and knees and vomited. Coffee and bitter bile were expelled amid my sobbing gasps, like my body was attempting to eject the memories the pictures had evoked.

  One photo was a close-up of Angeline, apparently with Father, though his face wasn’t the part of his anatomy that was in the frame. The other was of her and me with him. Terror clawed its way through me. I grappled with the feeling, flailing my arms, struggling to get up. I couldn’t find my footing and slipped back to the floor.

  I heard weeping. Angeline! You have to find her. Father… he’s hurting her!

  “Shh. It’s all right, baby. I’ve got you.”

  I inhaled and the crying stopped. I registered arms tight around me, of being moved slowly back and forth. Moans bubbled out of my throat like lava. I clutched at Zac with the need to physically hold onto something that could keep me above the surface of the fear that threatened to drown me.

  “Angeline,” I groaned. “Help her.”

  “Shh. Angeline’s gone. Her suffering has ended now, Maddie. Shh. He’ll never hurt either of you again.” He continued rocking me.

  I gradually quieted and finally opened my eyes. He’d dragged me into his lap, and we sat on the floor of the bedroom. He hadn’t left me; muttering comforting sounds, he’d held me as I wept.

  ~~~

  Zac brought a glass of water. When I didn’t take it he put it on the coffee table then sat beside me on the sofa in Father’s pretentiously furnished living room.

  Despite the fact the photos were tucked out of sight in Zac’s pocket, I saw them in my head. I remembered it all clearly now—the night the picture was taken of the three of us. We’d all been naked on the bed. The camera had been on a tripod at the foot with a timer that automatically captured an image every few seconds. Father had positioned Angeline and me leaning back on our elbows with our bent legs splayed apart. He’d sat between us with a smile as huge as his erection, probing us with his fingers. I’d been red-faced and sobbing, spoiling the shot.

  I shivered, and Zac again pulled me into an embrace.

  “Please, talk to me. Say something. Anything,” he pleaded. I released a breath.

  “I didn’t recall it till I saw the print of the three of us,” I whispered. “I was so upset, I couldn’t stop crying. He had to take me to the hospital to be sedated. Later, I’d overheard Angeline tell him that he shouldn’t include me again. She’d tried to protect me.” I ignored my flood of tears. “He must have been abusing her for a long time. I should’ve been the one safeguarding her. Not the other way around.”

  I again lapsed into silence. He pressed my head to his lips.

  Zac eventually persuaded me to drink the water. Sip by slow sip, the physical act of lifting the glass and swallowing the liquid helped ground me in the present. I wanted to convince myself I was no longer that helpless child. To believe Father couldn’t hurt me anymore. Zac was right: Angeline had escaped the singular hell Father had twisted her life into. At least her suffering had ended. She was in a better place.

  I jolted out of his arms and jumped up. Awareness of where I’d heard those words before scorched me. The heat turned instantly to rage. How did you miss it?

  Zac looked at me, his features showing complete surprise as he took in my anger. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “You said, ‘Angeline’s suffering is over.’” I bit out the words. “You knew, didn’t you? And Sheriff Rey. My God! You all knew.” Shame forced me to hate them for possessing that knowledge. “How could you? It’s been a lie, all of this. Our relationship. The years of your family’s care and concern. It’s nothing but pity! Charity for the poor little abused girl,” I screamed.

  The look on his face, the astonishment, was something I would never forget. He truly hadn’t believed I’d figure it out.

  “Maddie… I don’t, I mean… We never…” His words dried up as he looked into my eyes and understood the depth of my fury.

  The sound of a car in the driveway wrenched my attention away from him. I ran out the front door, red hot wrath spurring me on.

  Father had driven up in his Mercedes convertible with the top down. He’d parked behind Zac’s truck and walked around the front. I barely registered another person getting out as I was grasped around the waist from behind and lifted until my feet were off the ground. I struggled against Zac to get to Father. I wanted to hurt him. Crush him as he had crushed Angeline.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. He appeared to be amused at my anger. I noticed the person with him was Lauren. She was standing by the car, looking at me with hesitant curiosity.

  “I know,” I cried. “I remember it all now.” His amusement faded, and his eyes began to glitter with scorn.

  “Remember what, Madisen? After all this time, you think you’ve dredged up some imagined grievance? Some misplaced memory blown out of proportion by years of grief eating away at your emotional and mental stability?”

  Hearing this practiced spiel, I stopped writhing, and Zac put me down. Father seemed to truly believe that he could get away with it. Maybe he would claim I’d made
it up and, like my mother, was emotionally and mentally unbalanced. Would he also try to get me declared incompetent and have me committed, in order to discredit me?

  “You won’t escape punishment,” I said. “I have proof. If I can’t send you to prison, at the least I’ll ruin your reputation. I’ll get you disbarred. You’ll never practice law again.”

  “How do you think you’ll accomplish that?” he jeered.

  “I have pictures. You didn’t know Angeline hid some away, did you? I’ll have them all over the Internet in a matter of hours.”

  Zac stepped from behind and turned me by the shoulders to look at him. “Maddie, don’t,” he whispered urgently. I jerked away, refusing to be deterred.

  “And the newspapers will want the story,” I continued, “about the respectable attorney who was actually a pedophile abusing his own daughter. The one who kept the rapist out of prison so he was free to murder her. You shared her with Wittford, didn’t you? Passed her on to him to abuse, too?”

  The thought of Wittford raping Angeline caused Father’s countenance to morph into an ugly mask of hatred. He turned and quickly strode back to the car, shoved Lauren aside, and bent over to reach into the glove box. When he turned back, his face was calm. He pointed the gun straight at me.

  “You aren’t going to accuse me of anything,” he stated flatly.

  “Father. NO!”

  My cry of pain was the last thing I heard.

  ~~~

  Darkness. More pain. It was agony. A voice, faraway and desperate, tried to reach me. I couldn’t hold onto it and was pulled back into the blackness…

  "Mother? Mother, wake up.” I shook her shoulder as she lay in bed. “Angeline’s having a nightmare again. Please, Mother. I don’t know what to do.”

  She sprawled across the top of the bedspread, and I smelled the vodka on her breath when I bent close to her. I gave up, knowing nothing would rouse her. I padded back to Angeline’s room, scared and uncertain. I crawled under the covers to give her a hug. She turned from me without waking and groaned. I whispered to her that it would be okay, that it was only a dream. Eventually she quieted, and I fell into a sound sleep beside her...