Chapter Thirty #3
“Whatever it was, it’s now being used as a distribution point.
These records haven’t been updated in several years, but the pattern tracks.
” Clayton points at the dates, smoothing his finger down the margin.
“The last Friday of every month, always mid-morning. The facility may be closed, but someone’s still using it. ”
“Mr. Kavanagh,” Harper nods. “Klara wasn’t lying.
” I don’t know if her relief is at finally discovering a break-through or finding out her faith in Klara wasn’t misplaced.
I, on the other hand, am having an internal panic attack.
A break-through means this is real. It’s happening, and my mother could be closer than I ever realized.
Slivers of air manage to pass through the tightening of my throat, my chest starting to pant.
Harper’s hand grips me harder, her voice becoming distant.
All I can see is my mother’s face before my eyes, frozen in time in the photograph I kept.
That’s the only way I can remember what she looks like, but even in my mind, she never seems to step out of the frame.
I can’t conjure up the stretch of her smile, the pitch of her voice, the feel of her arms. She’s a ghost to me, a fragment of my past I’ve long since let go of. Or so I’d thought.
I stare down at the blueprint, at the neat lines that map out a place my mother has been going, whilst I tore my world apart in the name of hating her. Anger flares, sharp and sudden.
“She’s alive. She’s so close, and she never once tried to see me.” My voice sounds distant to my own ears, the roar gathering momentum in my head, blocking out the ability to think straight.
“Rhys, she might be sick, or scared, or both. She might have her reasons.”
“Fuck her reasons!” I lash out, my arm skidding the papers and the box clean off the table.
I tug my hand free from Harper’s hold, not trusting myself to be near her when a rush of hot fury is consuming me.
It’s at this point that the old version of myself would have lit up a cigarette just to drive into my flesh.
That I’d trash everything around me, uncaring of the consequences when my rage finally passes.
A set of hands lands on my shoulders, and as I turn back to tell Harper to stay away from me, it’s Clayton’s ugly face I’m greeted with.
“No,” he states evenly, his eyes black as coals and his hands shifting to remain on my shoulders.
“We’re not doing this now. The last Friday of the month is this Friday.
It’s not the time for losing our shit. It’s time to get some answers, for Harper’s sake.
She was kidnapped and held hostage in your mom’s house.
We need to protect her from it happening again. Those are the facts.”
Clayton exhales slowly, and despite myself, I mimic him. Breathing deep, I briefly close my eyes, drawing on the composure I live my life hiding behind. It’s not as quick as I’d like to answer my call, but eventually, the tightness of my throat eases. Swallowing, I nod slightly.
“Okay. Okay, now stop touching me.” Clayton releases me immediately, holding his hands up as he retreats.
Without his bulky torso in the way, Harper is revealed.
I fall into the trap of her wide, green eyes, like emeralds of purity that I came close to tainting.
Again. There’s a split second where the weight of what I almost did presses.
My hand slips to the back of my neck, thumb digging in as heat crawls up my throat and stains my cheeks pink.
“I’m—” I start, regret already choking me. Harper doesn’t let me finish. Her mouth crashes against mine, stealing the words right off my tongue. I taste the comfort she provides, and it tastes like home. When she pulls back just enough to breathe, her forehead rests against mine.
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Harper says, and I believe her. That’s the terrifying part. I merely stand there, the cold of the basement feeling like a permanent feature of my limbs. I know I have to see this through, and that Harper will make sure I do.
Beneath the apprehension, she is practically buzzing in the way she does when there’s a problem she needs to solve.
So far removed from the running, the hiding and the way fear carved itself into her soul.
Purpose does that to her. I can only hope that after all of this, whatever the outcome, I can still give her that buzz of excitement.
“Time to go,” a voice calls out from the top of the stairs.
Mclean’s shadow peels itself away from the light, his keys jingling in warning.
Harper squeezes my hands once before turning, Clayton already moving instinctively to be beside her.
Carefully, they repack the documents, returning everything exactly as we found it before leaving. This time, I’m the one who hangs back.
With one last look over my shoulder, I glance at the rows of shelves we’ve disturbed.
Somewhere above, the academy sleeps, oblivious to the secrets we’ve uncovered.
Somewhere west, a building everyone’s forgotten about is opening up once a month to keep my mother alive, or to keep her contained. Both outcomes terrify me.
We slip out the way we came, stepping into the cool night air.
Mclean doesn’t hang around, locking the door before striding towards the parking lot where his van is waiting.
Harper wraps her arms around herself to banish the chill, but when she looks up at me, she’s smiling.
Tonight must seem like a huge success, and in the spirit of keeping her spirits high, I smile back.
Clayton watches me as if he knows better, tucking Harper into his side and guiding her down the stone steps.
I huff out a breath, pulling the collar of my sweater higher.
Deep down, I wished we hadn’t found anything tonight.
Coming up empty was the easy option, meaning we could forget about it and move on.
Move anywhere that’s not here. Instead, I must face the truth, face the desire of the young boy inside who always longed to see his mom again.
That’s the hard path, but at least it’s one I no longer have to walk alone.