PART 3 — THE MAN I BURIED TWENTY-TWO YEARS AGO
I stared at the photograph until my vision blurred.
My father.
Thomas Carter.
The man whose funeral I had attended when I was twelve.
The man whose casket I had touched with both hands because my mother told me I needed to say goodbye properly.
The man whose death certificate had hung inside a frame in our hallway for years because Linda said she never wanted anyone to forget what we had lost.
He was alive.
Not only alive.
Living in a house purchased partly with money stolen from me.
I looked at Detective Blake.
“That picture could be old.”
“It isn’t.”
“You could be mistaken.”
“We aren’t.”
“My father died twenty-two years ago.”
Blake’s expression didn’t change.
“I know what you were told.”
That sentence made my stomach turn.
“What does that mean?”
My mother suddenly stood.
“This has gone far enough.”
Two officers moved immediately.
Blake raised one hand.
“Linda, sit back down.”
She ignored him.
“You have no idea what you’re interfering with.”
Her voice wasn’t arrogant anymore.
It was desperate.
I looked at her.
“What happened to Dad?”
She said nothing.
“Was there ever a funeral?”
Her lips tightened.
“I did what I had to do.”
My chest felt like it had been struck.
“So he wasn’t dead?”
“Ethan—”
“ANSWER ME.”
The entire house went silent.
Even my relatives outside stopped whispering.
My mother stared at me.
Finally, she said:
“No.”
One word.
Twenty-two years of grief destroyed by one word.
I took a step backward.
“No?”
She began crying.
“He wasn’t dead.”
I laughed once.
It sounded broken.
“I watched them lower his casket.”
“I know.”
“I stood beside you.”
“I know.”
“You held my hand.”
“I know.”
“What was inside the coffin?”
Linda looked away.
“What was inside it?”
“Nothing.”
My knees nearly gave out.
Blake reached toward me, but I waved him off.
I didn’t want anyone touching me.
I couldn’t think.
The cemetery.
The black suit.
The priest.
The flowers.
My mother’s hand squeezing mine.
The dirt striking the coffin lid.
All of it.
A performance.
I stared at her.
“You made your twelve-year-old son bury an empty box?”
“I was protecting you.”
“From what?”
She shook her head.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it.”
She didn’t.
Patricia suddenly began sobbing harder.
I turned toward her.
“You knew?”
She looked terrified.
“I found out later.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“And you said nothing?”
“Linda made us swear.”
“Swear what?”
Patricia looked at my mother.
Linda shouted:
“Patricia, don’t.”
Detective Blake stepped between them.
“Let her speak.”
Patricia wiped her face.
“Your father got involved with people he shouldn’t have.”
“What people?”
“I don’t know all of it.”
“You knew enough to help hide him.”
“I didn’t help at first.”
“At first?”
Her eyes dropped.
“Years later, Linda told us Thomas was still alive.”
My uncle Raymond suddenly cursed under his breath.
I turned toward him.
“You too?”
He raised both hands.
“I found out maybe six years ago.”
“Six years?”
“Ethan, I swear, I thought it was for your protection.”
“That seems to be everybody’s favorite sentence.”
Blake picked up the photograph.
“Thomas Carter has been living under another name.”
“What name?”
“Daniel Mercer.”
My mouth went dry.
“What does he do?”
“He owns several small businesses.”
“Using stolen money?”
“Some of it, yes.”
My mother interrupted.
“He built those businesses himself.”
I turned on her.
“With whose identity?”
She froze.
That reaction told me enough.
Blake continued.
“Some of the shell companies are connected to accounts opened using your information.”
I looked at Linda.
“You weren’t stealing for yourself.”
She said nothing.
“You were funding him.”
Still nothing.
“Why?”
Then she whispered:
“Because he came back.”
I stared at her.
“When?”
“About nine years ago.”
“And you never told me?”
“He told me not to.”
I laughed bitterly.
“So the dead man gave orders and everyone followed them.”
“You don’t know your father.”
“I DON’T KNOW HIM BECAUSE YOU TOLD ME HE WAS DEAD.”
My voice shook the room.
Linda flinched.
Good.
For once, she looked small.
Blake opened another folder.
“There is more.”
I almost didn’t want to hear it.
But I nodded.
He placed a document on the table.
A death certificate.
Thomas Carter.
I recognized it instantly.
Cause of death:
Motor vehicle accident.
Date:
June 17, 2004.
Blake pointed at the bottom.
“This document is fraudulent.”
I stared.
“How?”
“The physician listed here never signed it.”
My mother closed her eyes.
“The funeral home?”
“Also falsified.”
“Who did that?”
Blake looked directly at Linda.
“We believe your mother arranged it with help from at least two other people.”
My aunt Patricia covered her mouth.
Raymond stared at the floor.
I looked at both of them.
“Who?”
Neither answered.
Then Blake said:
“One of them is already dead.”
“And the other?”
His eyes moved toward Patricia.
She broke immediately.
“My father.”
I froze.
“Grandpa?”
Patricia nodded.
My maternal grandfather.
Harold Benson.
The man who taught me to fish.
The man who took me to baseball games after Dad “died.”
The man who told me repeatedly that my father would have wanted me to grow into a strong man.
He had known.
Maybe he had helped orchestrate everything.
I sat down.
For the first time since entering the kitchen, I physically couldn’t remain standing.
My phone buzzed.
Olivia.
My heart jumped.
I answered immediately.
“Olivia?”
Her voice was shaky but clearer.
“We’re at the hospital.”
“How’s Mason?”
“They’ve got his fever down a little.”
I closed my eyes.
“Thank God.”
“They’re running tests.”
“I’m coming.”
“Ethan.”
Something in her tone made me pause.
“What?”
“There’s something else.”
My stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
“When we got here, the nurse asked me what medications Mason had been given today.”
“Okay.”
“I told her children’s acetaminophen.”
“And?”
“She asked how much.”
I looked at the dirty kitchen counter.
“How much did you give him?”
“I didn’t.”
Silence.
“What?”
“Your mother did.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“When?”
“This morning.”
“What did she give him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Olivia.”
“I swear, I don’t know.”
My mother heard enough to understand.
Her face went pale.
I stood so quickly the chair nearly fell.
“What did you give Mason?”
She stared at me.
“Nothing dangerous.”
The room exploded.
I slammed both hands onto the table.
“WHAT DID YOU GIVE MY SON?”
Detective Blake stepped toward me.
“Ethan.”
I ignored him.
Linda stammered.
“He was crying.”
“What did you give him?”
“Just something to help him sleep.”
My blood turned to ice.
“What?”
“It was a tiny amount.”
Olivia was still on the phone.
She heard everything.
Her breathing changed.
“Ethan…”
I whispered:
“What was it?”
Linda hesitated.
Then said:
“An antihistamine.”
Blake’s face hardened.
“What kind?”
She named it.
Olivia gasped over the phone.
I felt sick.
“How much?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You DON’T REMEMBER?”
“He wouldn’t stop crying.”
“He’s ONE.”
“I was trying to manage twenty people and—”
“You drugged my son so he wouldn’t interrupt your party?”
“No.”
“That is exactly what you did.”
“I didn’t know he’d react badly.”
I stared at her.
For a second, I saw nothing but rage.
Then Detective Blake’s voice cut through it.
“Ethan, go to the hospital.”
I turned.
“What?”
“Your son needs you.”
I looked at Linda.
“I can’t leave her.”
“You can.”
He looked at the officers.
“We have enough to keep everyone here while we sort this out.”
Linda stepped forward.
“You can’t detain me.”
Blake faced her.
“We’re past that conversation.”
My mother stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’re going to need a lawyer.”
Silence.
Patricia began crying again.
Raymond whispered:
“Linda, what did you do?”
She snapped:
“Shut up.”
I grabbed my keys.
Blake stopped me before I left.
“There is one thing you need to know before you see your father.”
I turned slowly.
“What?”
“He knows you’re looking for him.”
My chest tightened.
“How?”
“We believe someone warned him this morning.”
Every face turned toward the relatives.
Someone in this house.
Someone at this party.
Had contacted my supposedly dead father.
I looked from Patricia to Raymond to Derek.
“Who?”
Blake shook his head.
“We don’t know yet.”
I stared at my mother.
Her expression gave me nothing.
Then Blake said:
“And Ethan?”
“What?”
“The house in the photograph is empty now.”
My stomach dropped.
“What do you mean?”
“Thomas left sometime today.”
I looked at Linda.
She smiled faintly.
For the first time since the police arrived.
And that terrified me more than anything.
“You’ll never find him,” she whispered.
I stepped toward her.
“Why?”
Her eyes met mine.
“Because he was never hiding from you.”
I froze.
“What does that mean?”
She smiled again.
“He was hiding from the people looking for you.”
The entire room went still.
I felt my pulse pounding in my ears.
“Looking for me?”
My mother immediately seemed to regret saying it.
Detective Blake caught it.
“So that’s the missing piece.”
Linda said nothing.
Blake looked at me.
“Go to the hospital.”
I didn’t move.
“What people?”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“What people are looking for me?”
Blake hesitated.
Then his phone rang.
He checked the screen.
His expression changed.
He stepped away and answered.
“Blake.”
We all listened.
His face became increasingly serious.
“Where?”
Pause.
“When?”
Another pause.
Then:
“Don’t touch anything.”
He ended the call.
I stared at him.
“What happened?”
Blake looked at me.
“We found your father’s car.”
“Where?”
“Abandoned near Lake Ray Hubbard.”
“Was he inside?”
“No.”
Relief and dread hit simultaneously.
“Then where is he?”
“We don’t know.”
Blake paused.
“But there was something inside.”
“What?”
“A package.”
He looked at me.
“It has your name written on it.”
My mother whispered:
“No.”
Blake turned toward her.
That was the first time she looked truly terrified.
Not nervous.
Not worried.
Terrified.
“What is in that package?” he asked.
Linda shook her head.
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“Mom.”
She began backing away.
“You cannot open it.”
“What is in it?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then tell me.”
She looked at me with tears running down her cheeks.
“Your father promised he destroyed it.”
“Destroyed what?”
She whispered:
“The proof.”
My heart pounded.
“What proof?”
Linda looked toward Detective Blake.
Then back at me.
And said:
“The proof that Thomas Carter isn’t your father.”
I couldn’t breathe.
Nobody spoke.
My entire childhood seemed to collapse for the second time in less than an hour.
I stared at her.
“What did you just say?”
She covered her mouth.
Too late.
I moved closer.
“WHO IS MY FATHER?”
Linda started crying.
“I never wanted you to know.”
“WHO?”
Detective Blake looked between us.
My mother sank back into the chair.
Then she whispered a name.
A name I knew.
A name almost every person in our family knew.
And when I heard it, my uncle Raymond went completely white.
Because the man my mother named wasn’t a stranger.
He wasn’t dead.
He wasn’t missing.
He was standing inside my house.
I slowly turned.
And looked directly at Raymond.
TO BE CONTINUED…
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