9. Drew
DREW
I reach the door before Annie, planting my hand on it to stop her stepping outside to confront this guy.
“Annie, listen to me,” I insist. “He had a gun when we saw him before. I don’t know how far he is willing to go to get his hands on this, but?—”
“I don’t care,” she shoots back. “If he’s going around telling people that he’s my grandson, then he should be able to say it to my face.”
She throws the door open, and I step out in front of her, glancing back at Renee to make sure she does not rush out and get involved.
She still seems so stunned by the manuscript in the box, by the very same author she mentioned when she first came to me with all of this. Like she knew. Like it was always meant for her, on some level, whether she knew it or not.
The man steps out of the car, and he stands there in front of it for a moment, eyeing the two of us as though he can’t believe what he is seeing.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he demands, as he stalks towards us, his brow furrowed, fists clenched. His gaze darts to Annie, and he must know that she can see straight through him, through the bullshit he tried to spin to us.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I retort, making my way down the steps, lifting my chin and sizing him up. I can see the bulge of his gun through his jacket, but he has not reached for it yet, probably not wanting to show his hand too soon.
“I’m here because my grandfather’s notebook led me here.”
“Your grandfather?” Annie crows incredulously. “You mean Carrington Carruthers?”
He nods, taking a step forward.
“Exactly,” he replies. “I found one of his notebooks after he died, and I knew there was something here that needed to be passed down to the next generation.”
“He never had any grandchildren,” I reply. “We talked to Annie about it. His wife. And she says you’re making it all up.”
Anger flashes in his eyes, but he tries to contain it. He looks past me, to Annie, and moves towards her, past me, halfway up the steps.
“Grandma,” he greets her. “You really don’t remember me?”
He takes her hands in his, and she stands there, staring at him with an almost comical incredulity. He looks to me, furrowing his brow.
“She’s confused,” he tells me. “She’s not well. At her age, her memory is barely hanging on. She doesn’t understand that I’m the one who?—”
“I know exactly who you are,” Annie retorts sharply. “You’re one of the men who came to move that wardrobe all those years ago, aren’t you?”
And then, it clicks.
That's where I know him from, why I recognized him before. Renee’s hand flies to her mouth in shock, and his face turns near-puce with fury.
“You don’t get to?—”
He is reaching for his gun, but the angle I’m standing at, I’m able to whip out my hand and snatch it from him before he can get a grip on it. He leaps back from me, catching his foot on the stairs and stumbling back dangerously.
“You’re a fucking liar,” I tell him, gripping the gun tight; I am not going to use it on him if I don’t have to, but if he makes me, so be it. “And you need to get out of here and never come back.”
“I knew there was something special about that wardrobe when that old man sent us all the way out here to get it,” he mutters, backing towards the car. “I fucking knew it. I saw you on that CCTV leaving with the notebook, I knew it had to be that.”
He is glowering at Renee now, but he knows he’s lost. He lets out a derisive snort, shaking his head.
“You can keep whatever ancient shit he left there,” he spits back. “I’m not playing these fucking games anymore.”
And, with that, he climbs back into his car and tears off, and I watch until he vanishes into the distance. I swiftly unload the gun, dumping the bullets onto the ground, and head back inside to dispose of it.
I don’t want this thing in my hands any longer than it has to be, I can already imagine what my probation officer would say if they saw me hanging on to it, and I don’t want to risk getting busted with it.
Annie, a little shakily, pats her hair back into her bun.
“Well,” she remarks. “I suppose we should finish our tea, hmm?”
I can’t help but laugh, making my way up the steps to join Renee and resting an arm around her shoulders.
“I suppose we should,” I agree. And, as she leans into me, I know sure as hell that I have found more than just the buried treasure that Carrington Carruthers left for some intrepid adventurer to discover after his death. I have found her.
And that feels like the greatest treasure I could have asked for.