Gathering Shadows (13 page)

I would have stood up, but I couldn't actually feel my legs. “Are you telling me . . . ? Are you saying . . . ?”

“You're not our biological child, Emily.” Tears ran down his face. “It never mattered one bit, you know. You're my daughter. You were mine from the moment I held you in my arms.”

“I can't . . . I can't believe it.”

“I know this is hard, but you've got to let me finish. I need to tell you why this might have something to do with Ryan's
disappearance.” He clasped his hands together as if preparing to pray. “Everything seemed fine. Everyone was happy. Even though my heart was broken by the loss of our little girl, we had you. You were everything any parent could ever want. Eventually, I began to feel as if my baby hadn't really died, and the feelings of grief lessened. Your mother's mental health improved, and over the years, I lost any regrets about my decision that night. Our lives went on, and six years later we had Ryan. He was perfectly healthy. We had a happy family.”

“What about my birth mother and father?” I asked. “Did they ever contact you? Didn't they want to see me?” I felt such a deep wound in my soul, yet these were people I'd never met. Never known.

“No, I'm sorry. I did keep track of them though. They were both killed in a motorcycle accident when you were five.”

I nodded, feeling numb and stupid, as if I couldn't completely understand what my father was saying. My mind grasped the words, but somewhere inside, they didn't make sense. I couldn't seem to process them.

“When you were ten and Ryan was almost four, I got a call. It was a man who called himself Mac. He told me he knew the nurse who'd helped us. She'd recently died of cancer. But on her deathbed, she admitted to him what happened that night. She felt guilty about hiding the truth, even though she still believed she'd done the right thing. This man began to blackmail me. Threatened to call the authorities and tell them what we did. The results could have been devastating. You could have been taken away from us, and your mother . . . well, I knew she couldn't stand the strain. It would have destroyed her. So I paid. About a year later, he called again. And I paid again. For the first time, I began to wonder if what we did was wrong. Then
I'd look at you—you were so beautiful and so special—and I'd know, down deep inside, that you were always supposed to be ours.”

“Then you could have adopted me, Dad. Legally. None of this had to happen.”

“You're wrong,” he said sadly. “Before you were born, your mother was hospitalized for a while due to severe depression. Thankfully, after you were born, she started getting better. But any attempt at adoption would have revealed the past, and we would have been denied.”

“So you kept paying this man? For how long?”

“Until I couldn't pay him anymore. Until there wasn't any more money. Basically, I'd given him everything I had. Even though I didn't want to do it, I finally told him it was over. If he wanted to go the police, he'd just have to do it. But I warned him that they'd probably charge him with blackmail. The problem was, I had no idea who he was or how to find him. The only information I had was that he'd known the nurse who'd delivered you. Not much to go on.” He shook his head. “No matter what the consequences, I simply couldn't take the strain anymore financially or emotionally. I'd started drinking, just trying to get through the day. Every morning I woke up with the fear that this might be the day I lost you—and your mother.” He rubbed his eyes. “I know there's a hell, because I lived in it during those years.”

“That's why you changed,” I said, more to myself than to anyone else.

“Yes, I was so stressed, I couldn't keep it together. My drinking was supposed to numb the panic I faced every day, but it only made everything worse. In trying to protect my family, I failed you. The hurt I wanted to protect you from came anyway, and
I was the instigator of it.” He met my gaze. “I'm sorry, Emily. Truly sorry.”

At that moment, I couldn't deal with his apology. Nor could I sort through his story. I was bombarded with emotions, feelings, and thoughts that were too overwhelming to sort through. I struggled to find the one thing that mattered most. “What does this have to do with Ryan?”

He wiped his face on his sleeve. “After I refused to make any more payments, the phone calls stopped. He went away. Even though I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, it didn't. I came to the conclusion that my threat had worked. Bringing my sins to light would also illuminate his. He was afraid and that fear had driven him away. I'd just started to believe my nightmare was over when Ryan was abducted.”

“Could this man have been behind Ryan's disappearance? Could this be revenge for refusing to pay him?”

“That certainly crossed my mind. I'd decided to tell the police everything and let the chips fall where they may when they told me about Harland Burroughs. They were convinced he'd taken Ryan. Their evidence was so compelling, I believed them. In the end, I decided not to say anything about the blackmailer. Your mother was distraught. Her doctor told me she was close to having a complete mental breakdown. Since it seemed the man who blackmailed me had nothing to do with your brother's kidnapping, I couldn't add to her emotional instability.”

“But there were all kinds of discrepancies between the other children Burroughs took and Ryan. What if you were wrong?”

“Going through that, it was like my mind was frozen. I had some questions, things that didn't make sense, but the police explained every one of them away. I went along with them because I couldn't think. Couldn't process what had happened. I
was trying to take care of you and your mother, and that took all my energy.”

“If you cared so much about us,” I retorted, “why did you leave us? And why did you sell our home out from under us?”

The tortured look in his eyes almost took my breath away. “I sold the house because we couldn't afford to keep it, Emily. Our money was gone, and I'd spent so much time away from my company, I lost it.”

“I thought you sold it and made a lot of money.”

He shook his head. “I didn't make a penny. In fact, the company was in debt. I turned it over to my vice-president before we were completely ruined. He was able to turn things around and save it. I didn't have the energy or the will to do it. Losing Ryan took every spark of ambition out of me. I went into insurance just to keep food on the table. I make enough to get by, but I don't have the kind of money we used to have.” He ran his hand over his face. I could see the weariness in his expression.

“And I didn't leave you, Emily. Your mother is the one who filed for divorce. It wasn't my idea. I tried to change her mind, but she wouldn't listen. I finally left because she told me she couldn't stand to look at me anymore. I reminded her of Ryan. She blamed me for his kidnapping.”

I was stunned. “I don't understand. Why would she blame you?”

A tear snaked down the side of his face. “That morning . . . that awful morning, I yelled at your brother about something so . . . so trivial. I tripped over his bike when I went out to get the paper. I'd told him time and again to put his bike up in the garage at night. But he'd forget and leave it out.” He shook his head. “I was under so much pressure. Stressed out about how I
was going to keep us all afloat. I said something terrible to him. I didn't mean it the way it came out, but the look on his face—”

“What did you say?”

“I said my life would be a lot easier if I didn't have kids.” He covered his face with his hands, as if trying to hide from Reuben and me. When he took them down, I saw the guilt etched sharply into his features. “I know how that sounds. I'd just gotten off the phone with a client, and we'd been talking about the differences in our lives. He didn't have children. My remark was in reference to him and said out of frustration. But after Ryan walked out the door, I realized how awful it was. Like—”

“You didn't want him.”

“Yes. I planned to apologize when he got back. But he . . .”

He didn't need to finish the sentence. Ryan never came home.

“But Ryan wasn't taken because of something you said, D-Dad.” Suddenly, the word
Dad
felt foreign in my mouth. Like a word I didn't understand and didn't have the right to use.

“I know that, but your mother blamed me. She believed Ryan was gone because he thought we didn't want him.”

“That's crazy.”

“It might not be true, Emily, but it felt true. It still feels true. Those words echo in my mind every day. They've never left me. They probably never will.”

“Surely she realizes now that it wasn't your fault.”

“I think she does. But we don't talk anymore. I have no idea if she still blames me.”

The daughter inside me wanted to reassure him. Comfort him. But another part of me—the confused and hurt part—couldn't do it. Couldn't reach out. I looked sideways at Reuben, who had remained silent throughout my dad's revelation. I could see the compassion in his eyes, but he didn't say anything.

I swung my attention back to my dad. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“After talking to you yesterday, I began to wonder if Ryan might actually be alive. Maybe this boy really is Ryan.”

“What changed your mind? The picture I showed you?”

“The picture and . . . this. It was sent over a week ago, but I was out of town. I just opened it last night.”

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. He handed it to me, and I took out the folded piece of yellow, lined, notepad paper inside. I unfolded it. In rather awkward handwriting were the words:
Your son is alive and your daughter is in terrible
danger. There's no time to lose.

I left my father downstairs with Reuben. Although I needed time to deal with the truth about my birth, finding Ryan had to come first for now.

I knocked on Zac's door. It was opened by Esther.

“Everything okay, honey?” she asked.

I nodded. “Fine. I wonder if I could have a moment with Zac?”

“Of course. I think he's tired of my company anyway. Old women's stories aren't very interesting.”

“I'm sure that's not true,” I said, trying to paste a smile on my face. “I'll be downstairs in a few minutes.”

After Esther closed the door behind her, I went over and stood next to Zac's bed. He was sitting up, Clyde curled next to him. I was pleased to see that Zac's color was much improved.

“I have to ask you a couple of questions,” I said, keeping my voice low.

“You look like you've seen a ghost,” he said. “I thought I was the sick one.”

“I can't get into everything now, but this has been quite a day, and it's barely begun. You picked a really bad time to get sick.”

“Sorry. Next time I'll try to pick a more convenient time to almost die.”

“I'm glad you're okay, Zac. Now shut up and listen.”

His eyes widened, but he didn't say anything.

“First of all, did you hear from your friend last night?”

He shook his head. “Wow. I forgot all about that. I seem to remember hearing my phone ring, but I was too sick to answer it.” He gazed around the room. Then he pointed at the dresser. “There it is. Hand it to me.”

I grabbed the phone and took it back to the bed. “Before you check your messages, tell me something. The fudge I gave you last night. Do you remember it now? You didn't earlier.”

At first Zac look confused. Then awareness changed his expression. “Oh yeah. The fudge. I do remember. I ate a couple of pieces, but it wasn't very good. I threw the rest of it away.”

“I looked in your trash. The box wasn't there.”

“I emptied my trash can before I went to bed. It was overflowing, so I took it downstairs. Tossed everything in the big metal trash bin on the side of the house.”

“Okay. I'll have to look out there.”

“Why in the world . . .” Realization dawned. “You think the fudge made me sick?”

“I have no idea, but when I asked Esther about it, she said she didn't put that box in my room. There was a note too that said, ‘Welcome.' I threw that away. Wish I'd kept it now.”

“Wow. That's interesting.”

“Yes, and a bit scary.”

Zac nodded. “I'll be checking out everything I put in my mouth from now on.” He frowned. “What else did you want to ask me?”

I pointed at his phone. “It was about your friend. Check your messages.”

Zac punched several options on his phone and then looked up. “No message, but he did call. I'll call him back now.” He immediately pressed a button, put the phone to his ear, and then waited. After a moment, he shook his head. “It's going to voice mail.” I listened while he left a message and then hung up. “Sorry. We'll just have to wait for him to call back. What's going on?”

Trying hard to keep my emotions in check, I quickly told him about my father's revelations and about the note stating Ryan was still alive.

“Wow, Wynter,” he said when I finished. “I can't believe it. Are you okay?”

I shook my head. “No, but I've got to think about Ryan now. That note makes me think that Elijah really is Ryan.”

“Maybe, but it only said your brother was alive. It didn't say he was Elijah.”

I sat down on the edge of Zac's bed. “You're right. The one thing I don't understand—”

“You mean there's only one?”

Even though I didn't feel like it, I smiled involuntarily. “No, you're right. There's a list of things I don't get, but one point really bothers me.”

“And what is that?”

“If the person who sent the note knows what's going on—I mean, if he knows where Ryan is—why doesn't he just tell us?”

Zac sat up a little straighter in bed. “Good point. It's like he's playing a game.”

“Or like he wants to help us but yet he doesn't.”

Zac fell back against his pillows. “It's too much for me to
figure out. I'm too weak. My brain is barely functioning.” He frowned at me. “Did you call Ed?”

“Yes, and we have some extra time.”

“I'm sure he wasn't happy about it.”

“No, but what could he say?”

“I guess my near-death experience isn't all negative.”

“Funny.” I pulled my legs up and clasped them with my hands. “I've got to get back downstairs. I have no idea what to say to my father.”

Zac sighed. “Look, Wynter, I'm the last person to give advice on family. My father took off when I was a kid and never came back. There's a man downstairs who went through a lot to be your father. And he's still trying. I know all this has been a shock, but if he didn't love you—and your brother—he wouldn't be here now, right? And he certainly wouldn't have told you the truth about what he did.”

“Maybe. I don't know. At least I understand some things now that I didn't before.”

“Like why everyone else in your family has dark hair?”

“No, but good point. I was thinking about why my father changed so much. Why he sold our house. But—”

“But what?”

I turned to look directly at him. “He said my mother asked for the divorce. It's the first time I ever heard that. Why didn't she tell me the truth?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes it's easier to blame others for what we do. Maybe she holds him accountable for what happened.”

“That makes sense. I guess he yelled at Ryan that last morning, before Ryan got on his bike. My mother blames him because my brother never came home.”

“But it wasn't his fault, Wynter. The real blame lies at the feet of the person who took him.”

“I know that.”

Zac reached over and put his hand on my arm. “Maybe you should point that out to your dad. It might help him.”

“He doesn't feel like my dad right now.”

Zac pulled his hand back and shrugged. “Then who is? The man who sold you?”

His comment felt like a slap in the face. I couldn't form a response. Instead, I started to cry.

“Oh, man. I'm sorry.” He struggled to sit up again. “I'm such a jerk. I didn't mean to be so blunt.”

“No, it's not you,” I said between sobs. “It's just such a shock. Feels like my life has been turned upside down.”

“I understand.”

“I know you're right, Zac. It's all just too much to handle right now. But I need to focus on Ryan, not me.” Suddenly, a horrifying thought popped into my mind. “I'm not really Ryan's sister.” The words came out in a whisper.

Zac grabbed my hand. “Wynter, look at me.” When I did, I saw determination in his face. “Answer this question without thinking first. Without pausing. Will you do that?”

I nodded slowly.

“Is Ryan your brother?”

I started to hesitate, but Zac shook his head. “No hesitation. Is Ryan your brother?”

“Yes,” I blurted out. “He's my brother. He always will be.”

“Then doesn't that make you his sister?”

I squeezed his hand. “How does a smart aleck like you get to be so intelligent?”

He shrugged. “I like to keep my super intellect a secret.”

I smiled at him. “I don't think that will be a problem.” I tried to pull my hand away. “You can let go of me now. I'm okay.”

He released me. “All right, but if you need me, you know where to find me.”

“Yes, I do. In bed, milking all the attention you can get.”

“Hey, as you said, I'm no dummy.”

I looked into his eyes. “No, you're not a dummy; you're a good friend. I doubt anyone else on this planet could get me to smile right now—except you.”

“Thank you for that. I know I don't really deserve to be your friend. I was ready to betray you, but you understood and forgave me. That's a rare quality.”

I knew he was hinting about my father, but I didn't say anything. I hadn't moved anywhere close to forgiveness yet. It was too soon. “Just let me know when you hear from your friend. I'd really like to know if Elijah was born in Jamesport before we go any further with this.”

He nodded. I turned to go, but he called my name.

“Yes?”

“Hang in there, Wynter. You'll get through this. I just know it.”

“Better be careful. You're starting to sound like one of those religious nuts you hate so much.”

He traced a pattern on his quilt with his index finger. “Maybe they're not all as nutty as I thought.”

Not knowing what to say, I just nodded, closed the door behind me, and headed downstairs. Instead of going into the living room, I cut through to the kitchen and went out the back door. I found Esther's large metal trash bin next to the house, but it was empty. The trash had been picked up, probably earlier this morning. Now there was no way to find out if the fudge was responsible for making Zac sick.

When I went inside I found my dad pacing back and forth across the living room floor. I heard Reuben's voice, but he became silent when I walked into the room.

“Don't stop talking on my account.”

“It can wait,” Reuben said. “How's Zac?”

“Doing good. He sent a friend of his to Jamesport to check out Elijah's story, but we haven't heard from him yet.”

“What story?” Dad asked.

“Supposedly Elijah was born there. If that's true, obviously he can't be Ryan.”

“I would be shocked if he's not,” Reuben said. “You've apparently stirred up something.”

I sat down in the rocking chair. “I guess you're right. So at what point do we call the police?”

“I don't know,” Reuben said, shaking his head. “We don't really have anything to give them yet.”

“Even if this friend of Zac's says Elijah wasn't born in Jamesport, it doesn't necessarily mean it's true,” Dad said. “Unless his information is something more than hearsay, it can't be trusted.”

I sighed. “You're right. I hadn't thought of that.” I frowned at Reuben. “Maybe we need to go there ourselves. Now that I've got a little extra time—”

“No,” Dad said. “I'll go.”

I started to protest.

“Emily, I need to help. Please. This is my son. Let me be involved.”

Before I could respond, someone started pounding on Esther's door. I went over to open it and found a woman standing there. “I'm Janet Dowell, a friend of Esther's. Is . . . is Reuben King here?” She was younger than I'd imagined, with sandy-blond hair and blue eyes that were wide and full of tears.

Reuben stepped up behind me. “Hi, Janet. What's going on?”

“It's August.”

“What about him? Has he come back?”

She shook her head as tears spilled down her cheeks. “No, Mayor. They found him in a field outside of town. He's . . . he's dead.”