The Dead Don't Lie

Chapter 1-2

Adam rubbed the sleep from his eyes and reached for the coffee pot, pouring a large mug, black and steaming. The welcomed heat was warming up his icy fingers. He made his way over to check the thermostat, raising the mug to his lips. A move he regretted when he burned himself on the scalding liquid.

“s**t,” he swore under his breath as he struggled to read the thermostat in the dark. Maybe some light from the street to aid him, he thought, pressing his tongue to his mouth’s roof. He moved aside the flowing curtains from the bay window, winding up the tattered blinds. Outside, his Brooklyn neighborhood woke up below him, the faint rumbling of garbage trucks. A few awake pigeons squawked in the distance. The skies inky black.

Footsteps out in the hallway caught his attention. Allison poked her head into the room, clad in her nightgown, robe, her feet bare. She paused, tucking a lock of curly red hair behind her ear, lovely face, stark white as she searched for him in the gloom.

“Adam?”

“Did I wake you?”

“Are you leaving already?” Allison asked, ignoring his question.

“I have a shift starting at six.”

She sighed, frowning. “When did you come in last night?”

“A little after one,” Adam answered, adding. “It’s so early, babe. Why are you up?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I’m worried sick over my dad.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, racking his brain and failing.

“You remembered, right?” Allison insisted. “I told you last week.”

“I remembered,” he lied.

She shook her head, disappointed. “You didn’t. Jesus, Adam, it’s like I’m not even here. Do you only stop home to change your clothes? Shower?”

“It’s not like that,” he tried reasoning, sweeping his hands over his face, groaning. “I’ve been running ragged day in and day out. I’m sorry I can’t remember—”

“My father having a lung removed today isn’t worth remembering?” Clearly furious now, tears falling. “Well, I suppose since he’s not one of your patients it doesn’t matter, does it?”

“That’s not fair—”

“I’m not sure what I expected,” she vented, fed up with his excuses. “You don’t even take the time to see your mother, let alone call her.”

“We’re not—not that kind of family,” he defended, but protests fell on deaf ears.

“I don’t care. It’s why you can’t possibly understand,” Allison wiped away her tears. “You’re not close to anyone, not even me.”

The remark stung. Adam struggled to brush aside the comment, finishing his coffee in a single gulp. All he wanted now was to put as much space between himself and her as he could. A habit that had led to this same argument time and time again but one he was unwilling to break.

“That’s not true,” he asserted, hoping to pacify her by leaning in for a kiss goodbye. But she turned away, leaving him to brush her cheek instead.

“Allie, come on,” he tried. “Look, I’ve got to go but I promise I’ll try to get time off. We’ll go see your parents once your father is home from surgery. We’ll make an entire day of it.”

“Forgive me but your promises have been for shit.”

“I’m doing my best,” Adam exclaimed, flinging his hands in the air. “I am. We’ll talk later, okay?”

He waited until she agreed before going to grab his coat and shoes. Allison dropped onto the love seat, a frail vision in a worn flowered bathrobe. Adam was overcome by a burst of affection for her. So strong and so deep, he almost turned around and went back to her, wanting to fold her into his arms. Instead, he did nothing as she bent forward, crying into her palms. With one last glance of her forlorn figure, he gathered his things, letting the door shut behind him.

* * * *

Ian hated waiting. His irritation grew as his stepmother Katherine continued with her phone call. Acting as if he hadn’t been sitting here for twenty minutes awaiting her. Instead, she carried on with her conversation with no end in sight, interjected her speech with lighthearted laughter. A queen on a throne seated behind a massive ornate desk in the center of the room.

Sighing, Ian tried for casual as he crossed one leg over his knee, seeking to make himself comfortable. To be honest, he’d always despised these stupid chairs of hers. The longer she made him wait, the more frustrated he became. He was well-aware she’d timed this visit on purpose. From what he gathered, the matter at the end of the line didn’t appear urgent. She prattled on, bright and cheerful as if she had nary a care, though the glares she threw his way indicated otherwise. No matter what he did. No matter how well. She was never pleased with the results. But regardless, it didn’t stop him from trying.

After another unbearable round of waiting, Katherine, finally, wrapped up her discussion. Standing up, hands spread out in front of her, her disappointment was evident as she scrutinized him with a harsh and clinical eye.

“You’re not doing your back any favors,” Katherine observed, forcing him to sit up straight. “Ian, Ian, Ian,” she mused under her breath, tapping her nails on her desk before making her way over to him. He fought the urge to flinch as she passed. “What am I to do with you?”

She took her time as she arranged herself in the seat across from him, crossing long graceful legs at the ankle. A regal, dark-haired woman, dressed in a champagne colored shift dress and tasteful pearls, Katherine Abbott radiated both class and authority.

“I asked you for discretion on this assignment and from what I’m hearing you must have misunderstood the meaning.”

Ian winced. “I didn’t have a choice.”

Katherine reached for the teapot in front of her, pouring them each a drink. She took a dainty sip before setting both cup and saucer on the table, manicured eyebrow raised in disbelief.

“Continue.”

“He didn’t respond well to more, shall I say, traditional threats,” Ian offered with a shrug. “I had to get creative.”

“I see. I suppose we should blame that impetuous temper of yours. Lord knows Liam had a similar temperament, but even your father had enough sense to rein it in on occasion.”

Ian stiffened. He hated displeasing her, reduced to a child in her presence when he didn’t meet her expectations. An orphan by the age of seven, Katherine was the only family he had. As such, Katherine, his father’s second wife, was the only mother he could remember. And though their relationship was often strained and distant, he wasn’t immune to the sting of her disapproval.

Suitably chastised, Ian agreed, eager to leave. “I’ll do better.”

“Will you?”

He shifted, bristled, and replied through the clench of his jaw. “Yes. May I go now?”

Katherine shook her head. “Not quite. Turns out the information you and Mei received, yet unorthodox, checks out. Mr. Mallory has indeed become the lucky recipient of a new heart. Quite a shame, he won’t need it much longer.”

“When do you want it done?”

“Tonight. I trust you’ll have this taken care of?”

“Consider it done.” He turned to leave, but she wasn’t finished.

“And go alone; you can manage on your own, can’t you?”

“Not a problem,” Ian reassured, surprised she’d even need to ask.

“Good, that’ll be all,” Katherine added, waving him away with a dismissive hand.

“Oh, and one more thing…”

“Yes?”

“Don’t disappoint me.”

The icy chill in those words froze him from the top of his head to the soles of his feet; he shivered.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Ian responded, belying calm as he hurried from the room and her ever observant stare.

* * * *

“Excuse me, Dr. Morrow? Dr. Morrow?”

Adam stopped in his tracks, turning to the nurse panting for breath beside him. “Yes?”

“Can I trouble you for a moment?”

“I’m heading into surgery and running late. Laura, is it? I’m sorry, but can this wait?” He hurried off before she was finished, forcing her to follow.

“One second! There’s a young lady at the visitor’s station asking for you. Your fiancé, I believe.”

This surprised him. Allison never visited him at work. His schedule didn’t allow him the luxury. “Oh, did she say what she wanted?”

“I’m not sure though she said she’s called several times. She’s quite upset.”

Adam scrambled for his cell and found a flurry of text messages and missed calls from Allison. She must have called or texted every ten minutes for the last several hours. Without an answer, she had come here to confront him. Regardless, he didn’t have the time for it, a fact he tried to explain to Laura, still waiting.

“I can’t now. Please tell her I’m sorry but it’ll be another few hours.”

Adam jammed the button for the elevator, desperate to escape the conversation. He heaved a sigh of relief when it opened and closed right away. Laura’s disappointed expression disappeared as the doors shut, leaving behind the distorted image of his worn out face, guilty eyes staring back.

* * * *

Adam didn’t check in on Allison for another two hours. After a quick search, he found her sitting in an empty waiting room, staring at the floor. Adam paused at the door and observed her, unaware. As if sensing him, Allison glanced up, eyes hollow, lips pulled into a thin, white line.

“Allison? Are you all right?”

The words shook her from her reverie. Allison leaped up, pulling herself to her full height, all five feet of her. She stormed up to him and shoved him with all her might.

“How dare you?” she shouted, poking a rough accusing finger into his chest. “How can you be so cold?”

Adam threw his hands up, taken aback by her open hostility. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, I had a surgery scheduled.”

But she’d hear none of his apologies. Allison exploded in a rage, usual jovial features contorted, screaming at the top of her lungs. “My father nearly died today, you insensitive prick! I needed you! And you kept me waiting here for hours, hours, Adam!”

“Oh babe, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Adam tripped over the words in his effort to make it up to her.

Too late. In her wide, hurt eyes, the only thing he saw was the lifetime of regret they’d share. Regret that’d only fester until nothing remained but bitterness and resentment. Still, he cared for her; they had spent years together, happy years. It ought to have stung more when she ripped his ring off, shoving it into his palm.

“Allison, please—” But the plea rang hollow.

“Save your sorry,” she hissed, tears spilling over freckled cheeks. “I can’t—I can’t spend my life with someone who doesn’t notice I exist.”

“That’s not true,” Adam protested, reaching for her. “I love you.”

“You don’t,” she argued, shaking her head, stopping him. “But I wanted to trust you when you said you did. Oh, Adam, I wanted that so much for us both.”

“Don’t do this.”

“You’d be the one doing this if you had the slightest bit of conviction,” Allison professed, picking up her coat and bag.

When she turned, her spine was straighter, her voice stronger, steadier. “I’ll move out. I’ll have my things gone by the end of the week.”

Adam argued, but she stopped him by leaning forward, planting a tiny, chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Goodbye, Adam,” she whispered as she left.

Adam sank into the chair she vacated, the ring dead weight as he closed his fist around it, hating himself for the overwhelming relief that flooded over him at that moment.

* * * *

Ian’s concerns weighed heavily on his mind as he headed back to the living quarters he shared with the others. Mei awaited his return.

“What did Katherine say?”

“Information checks out.”

“Cool. When do we leave?” She cracked her knuckles.

“Katherine wants me to go alone.”

Mei’s expression said it all, but before she had the chance to question him, Mei’s lover, Regan, interrupted. A stunning sight with her thick blonde hair and large brown eyes, and nearly as tall as Ian in her bare feet. She offered Ian a quiet hello, wrapping her arms around Mei before bending down to press a kiss behind her ear.

“You going out tonight?” Regan asked.

Mei sank back into Regan’s arms keeping her focus on Ian, studying his expression. “I guess not,” she replied, untangling herself before pressing a quick kiss to her knuckles. “He’ll be well-guarded.”

“I can handle myself.”

His explanation didn’t please Mei one bit, but she didn’t argue the point. Instead, she turned to Regan. “How about dinner? Where’s Vince?”

“Around someplace. Ian, are you staying long enough to eat?” Regan asked. “Ian?”

“No, I have things to do,” he answered, preoccupied. Conversation over. Ian headed down the hall toward his room.

Alone now, Ian sat down at the edge of his bed and considered the night ahead. He didn’t appreciate the urgency of the hit; he preferred to take his time planning out every angle first.

Ian lay back against the pillows. Struggling to even his breathing, clear his muddled thoughts. All he wanted was a few blissful hours of rest. Yet, he wasn’t able to relax; he didn’t know why but Rhys was on his mind a lot. His mother too. It disturbed him. Years ago, he had learned to push both aside, into the deepest parts of himself, never to open or examine. Yet, here they were, his two most bitter ghosts back to remind him he would never be free of either of them. That they carried with them the power to come back to life and haunt him at will.

* * * *

He remembered his mother was delighted by music, recalled she hummed under her breath when content, and smiled a lot. Once in a while, he’d catch a whiff of the roses in bloom and he’d have a quick flash of how her hair had smelled. Yet, the only genuine recollection of her he carried was the day he lost her. Ian remembered running through the halls of their huge empty house, shouting for her. He’d been outside with Rhys playing catch in the gardens. He carried his ball, wanting to show her how far he was able to throw it. He raced through the silent rooms, calling out, “Mommy, Mommy” as he searched for her.

In those days the guards stayed outside, always at least three posted at the front gates, and two more circling the perimeter. The mansion itself had been brighter, lighter. His mother’s soft touch woven throughout the interior of the massive estate. He dashed into the library, the room his mother spent most of her time in. He searched for her, disappointed when he didn’t find her.

A stray breeze blew in, turning him toward the entrance to the walled in patio. The large double glass doors stood open; the white billowing curtains his mother adored blowing back in the wind. As they drifted, something on the ground beside the potted roses caught his eye. A body, one sprawled out on the Spanish tiles, raven curls obscuring her face from view.

“Mommy?” he called out, tentative.

The ball falling from his hand, bouncing out toward the figure, still not stirring. He stepped forward, getting as far as the patio door when Rhys caught up to him.

“Don’t run off like that, Ian,” Rhys scolded him but stopped as he drew up behind Ian. He gasped as his gaze landed on the horrific sight before them.

“Oh my God, Rachel? Rach—” Rhys shoved Ian aside as he sank to his knees, turning her over in his arms.

Her face had gone blue, eyes closed. There wasn’t a single noise, nothing. “Come on, breathe, Rachel, breathe,” Rhys pleaded as he laid her on her back, desperate as he worked over her.

“Mommy?! What’s wrong with Mommy? Why is she sleeping outside?”

Rhys looked up, as if he had forgotten Ian. “Go get help!” he shouted at him, expression twisted ugly and red. “Find Jackson at the gate and tell him to call a doctor.”

Ian stood there, stunned, fixated between Rhys and the inert form of his mother not moving. His vision blurred, his chest hot and tight. Why didn’t she get up?

“Now! Go!” Rhys screamed at him, hysterical as he leaned over her, covering her mouth with his, breathing for her. “Please, Rach—get up, come on.”

Ian turned and ran, straight through the library, down the hall, and toward the driveway. His feet raced, tears stinging, lungs burning. Pleading with everything he had for his mother to be okay. But she wasn’t, and neither was he. That day was the first time he’d experienced it, fear—unrelenting, chaotic fear. The rest of his life after spent desperate to escape the memory, the pain it carried—the sting, the scars. It was the hardest lesson he ever learned, and he wasn’t even four years old yet.