Chapter five
1047 Words
The email had just five lines.
Five lines that completely changed Clifford Hamilton's life from that moment.
"I have to see you, Clifford before I die.
My name is Gracie Hamilton, your grandmother.
Something is about to happen. You have to come home quickly.
I've attached my address to the mail.
Please, come home, Clifford. Whatever you do, you must not open The Red Door."
Clifford swallowed hard. Something was not right. His hands trembled as he took
the phone. He dialed the first number that came to his mind and listened to it ring.
There was no response for the first three times the phone rang. His adrenaline shot
up. There was no way this was true. If this was true, then he'd been lied to his
whole life.
Clifford slammed the phone on his table after the fourth ring and held his head
with both hands. His head was spinning in circles. He tried to lift his body but felt
no strength in his limbs. The sick feeling that something bad was about to happen
returned to his guts. No! It cannot be, he kept saying to himself.
The sharp ringing of his cellphone on the table made him jolt up at once, bringing
him back to himself. Clifford looked at the caller ID. It was his father. He had finally
returned his calls.
Clifford took the phone to his ears at once and answered the call.
" Clifford," His father's baritone voice called. "What's going on? You almost killed my
battery. I was in class when you called."
Of course he was, Clifford thought. His father was a professor of symbology at a
community college in the city. Mr. Richard Hamilton was married to his job and
sometimes, Clifford could not help but wonder whether his father's strong devotion
to his job was the reason he did not have any other siblings.
"Dad, I need to talk to you. I'm afraid I can't do that over the phone. Can we meet?"
He waited for an answer.
"Are you okay?" His father asked, sounding concerned.
Clifford tried to steady his voice. "We have to talk dad. It's urgent."
There was a brief pause on the line. Then, he heard his father's voice come on again.
"I have a free period between 3 pm. If you can stop by my office before 3 pm, then
we can talk."
"Thank you," Clifford said quickly and hung off the call.
He took his coat at once and shuffled through the stairs. In a moment, he was
outside on the terrace of the police station. He strode across the street and boarded
a taxi to downtown Washington DC. Five minutes later, Clifford was outside the
community college where his father lectured the students on ancient symbology.
He jumped down from the taxi, paid his fare, and began to hurry down to his office.
Once Clifford arrived at the office, he stopped by the front door, realizing for the
first time that he had not thought about what he was here to say. His mind was
clouded with too many questions that he was not sure where to begin from.
The email that had incited this visit was carefully tucked away behind his coat. If
there was even the slightest chance that whoever had sent that email was real,
Clifford was bent on finding that out today.
The thought of that spurred him to action. He laid a firm grip on the handle of the
door and pushed it open. Mr. Richard Hamilton was seated behind a long mahogany
table, grading some students' scripts. Like his son, he was attractive with an erudite
face and thick black hair which was turning grey with age. He looked up as his son
entered and adjusted the thick-rimmed glasses that rested on his nose.
"Have a seat, Clifford," He said shuffling the scripts onto one side of his table. "What's
going on?"
Clifford took a seat wordlessly. He looked into his father's brown eyes and felt the
betrayal in them cut through his throat like a blade.
"Do you know a 'Gracie Hamilton', dad?"
The words stunned her father. He watched the color drain from his face as he tried
to find the right words to say.
"How__Who told you her name?"
Clifford 's eyes hardened. "So, you do know her."
Richard Hamilton's tone softened. "You don't understand, Clifford. This is not what you
think it is. I can explain what's happening but first, you have to tell me how you
came about the name."
"This!" Clifford said flinging the email he'd received before him. "This is proof that
you lied to myself and mum that your parents are dead. How could you, dad? You
denied me the love of my grandparents for what? Some selfish reason you cannot
get off your chest?"
Richard Hamilton began to rise to his feet. He looked more terrified than remorseful.
It only confused Clifford the more.
" Clifford, I promise you, this is not what you think it is. You have to allow me to see
what the mail says. It's the only way I can be able to tell you what's going on."
"What's The Red Door, dad? And what does it have to do with me?" Clifford asked
sharply. "I am not going to be led to believe that that too does not exist. Why is this
woman who claims to be my grandmother warming me about The Red Door and
why haven't you mentioned it to me before?"
His father stopped, a lost look on his face. "Whatever she asked of you, Clifford,
you must not answer. I can assure you that there is more to this than you know. So,
please, just give me the mail she sent."
Clifford was quiet for the next couple of moments, deeply immersed in thoughts.
The more he tried to ignore the gut feeling he had, the more it taunted him. His
father was concealing a secret from him, that was an established fact. There was
only one way to know what that secret was.
With a force that surprised even himself, Clifford rose to his feet and gave his
father a deadened stare.
"I'm catching the next flight to Boston. Don't try to stop me."
- Writer
