Chapter 29 #2
Fifteen minutes later, I’m tits deep in a pile of manila folders I retrieved from the bottom drawer on the right. The left drawers held nothing of interest—receipts, title to his motorcycle, tax forms, and boring stuff. However, I think I’ve hit the jackpot with the final drawer.
Before opening the first folder, I check both my shoulders. Unlike previous glances, I’m not looking to see if someone is behind me. This time, I’m looking directly at my shoulders. If I’m lucky, I’ll see a little angel who’ll tell me to put the paperwork back before I go any further.
Alas, my shoulders are angel-free.
Down the rabbit hole, I tumble.
The first folder is loaded with a messy bunch of random pictures. No apparent rhyme or reason to the groupings. Some on glossy photo paper and others on regular printer paper.
Flipping through the stacks, I find several pictures of Reed. Sometimes he’s with other people, but nobody I recognize.
A few of them seem to be recent. Others from years ago.
I tuck one foot underneath me and spin the chair with the other as I peruse this fascinating collection.
Man . . . Reed was such a cute kid. In one photo, he stands by a river, holding a tiny fish up for the camera like he’s proud of his catch. He’s missing a front tooth. Adorable.
I squint as I study the background. Huge trees lining the riverbank, shooting upward. Must have been taken on a vacation in the mountains. No views like that in Florida.
In a different picture, an older Reed is in a tuxedo with a boutonnière on his lapel. He’s posing in front of a fireplace with a pretty brunette girl wearing a gaudy dress. A flare of irrational jealousy burns in my gut. This must be from prom night. Odd that I don’t remember Reed going to prom.
When Reed was in high school, I was a permanent fixture at Kenzie’s house. By that time, being with my family was unbearable. Since Kenzie’s house didn’t have a fireplace, I assume this photo was taken at his date’s home.
Lucky girl, whom I hate instantly.
Not that he could have taken me, considering the age difference. But still. I don’t like this chick.
I lean closer for a better look at him. Something isn’t quite right. I have no recollection of his hair being this shaggy. And there was never a time when I didn’t notice Reed’s appearance. I’d remember if he went through a phase when he wasn’t perfectly clean-cut.
My memory must be playing tricks on me.
Exhaling, I shake my head and flip to the next photo.
This one looks more recent. Seems to be taken at a beachside wedding. In front of a decorated arch, Reed stands beside the groom—an enormous man with kind eyes and a thick beard.
The bridal party fans out on both sides of the arch. There’s something eerily familiar about one of the bridesmaids, but I can’t put my finger on it.
I tuck the photo in the back of the stack.
With the next wedding picture, my earlier flare of jealousy ignites into a raging ball of fire.
The focal point of the photo is clearly the bride and groom dancing; however, in the background, Reed and the blond bridesmaid are also dancing. No space between the pair.
The enamored way he looks at her threatens to break me in two.
He’s in love with her. No doubt about it. Nobody looks at someone like that unless they’re obsessed.
Is he still in love with her?
My chest burns, and my jaw tightens. There was a time I would have given anything for Reed to look at me that way.
Annnd I think that’s enough pictures for me.
I blink away the tears before they come, then return the folder of photos to the desk drawer. I’m tempted to throw the rest of the folders in there too.
Yet something tells me to keep going. Boredom? Morbid curiosity? Or perhaps a need to inflict self-harm?
All of the above.
The second folder contains newspaper clippings, internet articles, and printouts of social media posts. Is this related to an investigation?
I spread the pages out on the desk, searching for something despite having no idea what it might be.
The headlines on the articles don’t make much sense to me. I skim the details, hoping to glean something to soothe the sting from that wedding photo. Distraction is my new best friend. An upgrade from Kenzie.
Hero firefighter out of ICU and on the road to recovery
The article talks about a Tennessee firefighter who saved a pregnant woman and her two children from a burning home in the nick of time.
Unfortunately, the house collapsed on him when he went back in for the family’s puppy.
Oddly enough, there’s a picture of the dog, alive and well, but not the firefighter.
None of the names stand out, so I move on.
I find more random articles about various events, most of them closer to home.
A thwarted kidnapping and shootout at the executive airport here in Tampa. No photos with that one, and I don’t recognize any of the names.
A huge drug and weapons bust at the port in Miami under a picture of a car filled with bags of dope.
Was Reed involved in these cases? And what is Redleg Security? That company’s name is all over the place on these.
Weird.
Moving on.
The next page appears to be from a military website.
75th Ranger Regiment Annual Medal Ceremony
Oh. There’s a photo of the honorees.
As I scan the faces of the men being given various medals for meritorious service, my heart jumps into my throat, and my eyes bulge.
It’s Reed. Standing at attention in the middle of a large group of soldiers, all of them decked out in full dress uniforms. Hubba, hubba.
Hold the phone. This doesn’t make sense.
Reed wasn’t in the Army. He went from high school to college to law enforcement.
And doesn’t the military have a minimum four-year enlistment?
While we’ve been estranged for the last few years, I've always had a vague idea of what's been happening in his life through Kenzie and her mother. There isn’t enough time in his past for military service.
So what in the world am I looking at here? Is this an AI-generated article and photo?
Wait. That’s dumb. Reed wouldn’t do that, and if he did, he wouldn’t keep proof of this type of tomfoolery.
My eyes follow the track of my fingertip as I skim through the article to find the names of the soldiers. Reed’s third from the left, so I check the caption.
In the spot where Reed’s name should be, it says: P. Sawyer.
Huh?
I count the men again, matching each name in the caption to the photo to ensure I’m not losing my mind.
A. Lancaster, L. Mason, P. Sawyer, and so on. Definitely no mention of Reed Hayes.
The man in the photo looks exactly like Reed, albeit a few years younger. Why doesn’t it say his name?
It’s as if Reed’s leading a double life. Unless . . .
No, no, no.
After staring at the article for another few seconds, I shake my head dismissively as if attempting to dispel the facts before me.
You know what, I’m done.
D-O-N-E.
Snooping was a terrible idea. I never should have listened to you. Bunch of bad influences, the lot of you.
While returning everything to his desk, where it should have been all along, my anxiety spikes. It’s not only from guilt. Facts pelt me like a medieval flogger, refusing to give my thoughts any respite.
A Reed look-alike with a different name.
Military service that doesn’t add up.
A prom I don’t remember him attending.
His hair shaggier than it ever was.
Articles about crimes with no reference to the FBI or the police department he worked at in Orlando.
I don’t think these folders are only about Reed.
And something still nags at me about those beach wedding photos. My gut keeps pointing me back to the blond woman with Reed.
Then it hits me why she looks so familiar.
She’s the same woman I saw in a lip-lock with Reed in that photo from five years ago. The picture Kenzie showed as proof of Reed’s unfaithful deeds.
Why didn’t I ask her for proof of when it was taken? And how did she get the picture in the first place?
I never asked those questions, and I should’ve. I bet she had an explanation ready, but maybe I would have seen through the lies if I put her on the spot.
No, I wouldn’t.
For years, I’ve held Kenzie in the highest esteem. I put her on a pedestal, convincing myself that she was the sister Zara must have sent to take her place.
Codependence at its finest.
I ate up her lies because the idea of disagreeing with her was too frightening. What if we fought and I lost her?
Regret isn’t a strong enough word for how I look back on my life.
All of it.
Not only with Kenzie, but with Zara, my parents, and even how I thought about myself.
And especially with Reed.
If my hunch is accurate, he’s more like me than I ever could’ve imagined. He’s living each day without a vital piece of himself. Things could have been so different between us if I had known. Together, we could have filled our matching voids.
Is this really happening? Could it be true?
Unfortunately, no matter how many possibilities I envision, no other explanation holds water.
Nothing in this folder was about Reed. That’s his brother. A twin.
Reed’s a twin.
Why aren’t they together?
Then his words from today in the car answer that question for me. This must be the brother he said he was ripped away from.
A pit opens at the bottom of my stomach.
Tonight, when Reed returns, he’s gonna press me for details about the casino crime ring. And I’ll tell him.
All the while, I’ll have to pretend I don’t know his painful secret.
If I tell him how I found this out, he’ll know I was searching his drawers.
He’ll assume I did it to find information about the case for Silas, and it’ll cause him to distrust my honest confession about my role in the casino theft.
Isn’t this peachy? Even when I’m finally able to confess, I still have to lie to him.
This is an absolute crap storm.
Strike that. This is a shit storm.