Shadow Games, Page 2

  Chapter 2

  Death, Life and Lies

  It was a day both beautiful and melancholy.

  The late afternoon sun filtered through early spring leaves, weaving a rippling pattern of light across the living room floor. I reclined on the couch, silently gazing at my twin sister, while she stared at the front yard through the picture window. The slanting sunlight streamed through her long, thick, chestnut-brown hair. Her amber eyes were red-rimmed from crying.

  “Let it go,” I said.

  She turned and replied, “This isn’t easy.”

  “No, it isn't.”

  “You don't understand. –I can’t do that again, Paris. I smelled them on everything I touched. – I felt like an intruder – as if I was violating them – Those things were their things. – It was their bedroom.”

  “I know – I felt the same way.”

  “They’ve only been gone for seven days, but I feel like it was the longest seven days of my life.” She turned back to the window.

  I swallowed, feeling a hard tightness in my throat. I remembered when I’d learned of their passing; deep, shattering sobs rocked like an earthquake inside my body.

  I think all men secretly fear grief. We experience it so deeply it makes us feel helpless. No, I would bury it deep, so deep, it could never find me.

  After a while I said, “We have to do this, Alex.”

  “No! – not their bedroom – not again.”

  Leaning forward on the couch, I clasped my hands between my knees, determined to break the gloom that surrounded us. “Alex, I'm having second thoughts about selling this place.”

  She turned to me with a somber expression. “There are a lot of good memories here, Paris. Maybe we shouldn‘t sell it.”

  I lived in Covington, Kentucky, about two hundred miles north of the farm, but I worked in Cincinnati, which lay on the other side of the Ohio River. Alex worked in the antique business. An expert in the appraisal of valuable antiques, she usually traveled all over the country.

  We’d already made plans. Alex wanted to move to my apartment while she studied for her MBA at the University of Cincinnati. It was a bachelor’s pad, but it had plenty of room.

  No, it would be impossible. We couldn’t manage both the farm and our lives. As hard as it might be, we’d have to sell it.

  I looked up at her. “I love this house and I love the farm, Alex. But how can we handle it?”

  Alex stood and paced the room with her arms folded across her chest. She ignored the question. “Do you remember living here when we were kids? Those were some of the happiest times of my life.”

  I remembered hikes in the park, swimming in the lake and exploring the caves, a child’s paradise.

  She continued, more agitated. “Then we left home to attend college, you joined the Army, and we grew up.” She turned to look out the window. “God. How I wish we could reset time. I’d reset it back eight days and throw away their damn car keys.”

  Alex and I never doubted we’d leave home and attend college since Mom and Dad had instilled that goal in us at an early age. But when the time approached, we were not certain how we would accomplish it. My choice was to accept an ROTC military scholarship. Dad seemed a little surprised, but didn't object. I should have known that Uncle Sam doesn't offer gifts without a price. That price was a commission as a second lieutenant in the US Army, and a tour in Iraq. Alex, on the other hand, had squeaked by with scholarships, student loans, and a job at an antique store.

  After we left home, our parents seemed happy and content. They readily adjusted to the idea of an empty nest, and were enjoying themselves, free of parental responsibility.

  A hit and run, on a narrow country road, ended their lives.

  I couldn’t sit still. I stood up, joined her at the window and hugged her. “I know what you mean. – It was a shock. – It was too sudden. I could never have imagined it.”

  She broke away, flopped back down on the chair, and threw her head back against the headrest. Her eyes dripped new tears. “I didn‘t – I couldn‘t – I didn‘t ever want to – How could I? – How can anyone–”

  I let her cry, then reach over to the side table and handed her a tissue. “Alex, we’ve got to finish this.”

  “Give me a little while,” she said, dabbing at her eyes.

  It wasn't until I’d left home and experienced other people's lives, that I realized that our parents were special. I’d been raised by two unique, loving people.

  I remembered when some of my friends had lost a father or mother. I felt sorry for them, but their pain didn't really register. Now it was my turn. No one had ever prepared me for this. No one could. My loss was like a bleeding sore on my heart, one that kept getting deeper. We were the only children of the marriage, and we both loved our parents better than anyone or anything in our lives.

  But the aftermath of their funeral combined elements of the mundane with agonizing choices. Intellectually, I knew that others had survived it, but it would be harder without my sister’s support.

  Now it was my turn to pace the living room. “It's been a long, hard week. I’m hot and I smell like a horse. I’d take a shower, but we still have lots of work to do, and I’ll just get sweaty again.” I stopped and faced her. “We don’t have to do the bedroom if you don’t want to, but we do need to go through Dad’s study.”

  Alex looked stubborn. “Tell me again, why?”

  Frustrated, I struggled to keep my voice even. “The lawyer at the funeral said that there was a will, and we were to inherit everything. He recommended that we inventory the house, and decide on the things we wanted to keep, and the things we wanted to sell. – I know it's cold Alex, but I don‘t have much time, and as hard as it’s been, we need to finish.”

  She shook her head. “It’s too bad you can’t remember his name. We could postpone.”

  I rubbed my temples. “Sis, a funeral is not the best place to remember people. He gave me his business card, but I misplaced it.”

  She sighed. “So here we are – stuck – inventorying the house.”

  I shrugged. “If I can find him, I’ll call him and tell him we need more time. Meanwhile, I’ll take care of their bedroom, but we need to do the study together.”

  She gave me a sad smile. “Okay Paris, The study. But first I want something to eat.”

  We sat at the kitchen table, munching sandwiches made of ham left over from the food at the wake. As we sat and ate, each immersed in our thoughts, the country night settled over the farm.

  Alex stopped chewing and looked at me earnestly. “Do you ever get the feeling that something is missing? I mean – something is missing from your life? Sometimes I wonder where I'm going. I've got a good career. I've got money and a good home, but something's missing. Do you know what I mean?”

  I paused, about to take a bite. “Maybe. I think my problem is that I've never found a woman who I want to share my life with. I don't mean just sex – although that's part of it – I mean the big things – like love and children. I want a woman I can grow old with. I want a reason to plan and have lifetime goals.” I shrugged. “I suppose I want to be like Mom and Dad.”

  They had the perfect relationship. Anyone could see that they still loved each other passionately, after nearly thirty years of marriage and two children.

  I laid the sandwich down and leaned back in the chair. “Alex, its natural when you’re hurting to reach out for someone, but neither of us has anyone else to turn to. There's just you and me.” I shrugged. “Also, we’re probably both suffering from a little survivor’s guilt.” I leaned back to the table and parked my elbows on it, folding my hands and staring into her eyes. “But think about the future. I firmly believe it will come with time. Mom and Dad were proof of it. There‘s really nothing to worry about.” I grinned. “Meanwhile, you've still got me.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “But – what if something happens to you? I mean, I never, ever thought Dad and Mom –”

  I laughe
d. “Alex, I spent two years in Iraq. You can’t do that and not learn what it takes to survive. I’ve got your back, Sis.”

  Her face changed, looking skeptically amused. “Somehow, I don't think that a time spent in Iraq is a good model for happiness. Or have you forgotten what kind of mess you were when you returned to the states? You were jumping at every sound and suspicious of everyone who walked by. You couldn't walk past a parked car without sweating.” She grew thoughtful. “What was it like over there?”

  Her question triggered memories; Iraq; beauty, ugliness – Iraq; drinking beer with my buddies, hostility and hate – Iraq; lazy afternoons, soul-stealing terror and fear – and always the loneliness, yearning for home and family. It was as though all the anger in the world had been bottled up and poured all over one small, desert-ridden patch. My tour in Iraq had provided a window to a completely different world, one in which hate was the norm, slaughter and retribution were a way of life, and fear and danger crouched around every corner.

  The sad part was that the constant exposure to the tension had hardened everyone, including me. It cheapened human life. When I returned home, I had a huge hole where the old Paris previously existed. In Iraq, I had a purpose, to protect my men, and see them safely home. Now, I no longer knew who I was. Alex and my Mom and Dad had peeled away some of the shell that had hardened around me. They helped me return to some semblance of my former self, but I still had a long way to go.

  No one would ever understand.

  I looked out the window at the darkness. “It was just a job, Alex.”

  She leaned on her elbows and stared at me. “Right –You know, I’m not one of those soldiers you bossed around in the Army.”

  I could see a hint of the old Alex returning.

  “Too true. If I’d had you in my platoon, I would have never been able to keep discipline. You’re too ornery.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “And you’re not?”

  At one time I might have been, but experience had changed me. “Not true. Not in the Rangers. Besides, an officer’s got a heavier burden.” I winked at her. “So, I've got your back.”

  She finally seemed to accept me at my word and smiled. “You know? Sometimes it’s good to have a handsome twin brother.”

  I returned her smile. “Not to mention a beautiful twin sister. –To the study?”

  She saluted. “The study it is, sir.”

  I laughed, in a better mood, but the short walk to the study dragged on my soul. I felt like we were on our way to sever our last few remaining ties with our parents’ lives. Pausing with reluctance at the entrance, I led the way with Alex trailing behind.

  The study had been my father's domain, his workroom. It was large, but filled with history books and artifacts. Although the place was not actually disorganized, there was barely room to squeeze through the jumble.

  This is going to take more than a day. “I think we're going to get dirtier, Sis,” I said as I eyed the clutter.

  “I remember when we used to play in here. Dad had all kinds of weird, scary stuff. It was a little intimidating,” she said.

  “I remember when I was into mystery novels and we’d hunt for buried treasure. You’re the antiques dealer. Look for some of the good stuff.”

  “Yeah, right. – In your dreams. So, where do we start?”

  “At the beginning – and that would be right about – there.” I pointed to the nearest file box.

  We worked silently as the night deepened.

  “Alex?”

  “Hmm?”

  Examining some of the personal files, I’d noticed something missing. Something I’d never before even considered. “Have you noticed that there’s nothing in his stuff about Mom and Dad’s relatives? I mean, do we have a grandmother or grandfather? Did our parents have brothers and sisters?” A chill came over me. “I wonder why I never thought of it before?”

  Her look became introspective. “Come to think of it, they never mentioned any relatives. That would be sort of unusual, wouldn’t it?”

  I grew apprehensive. It wasn’t just unusual, it was downright bizarre. “If you find any old letters or birth certificates – documents – stuff like that – let me know. Okay?”

  “Okay.” She stopped and looked deep in thought. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that in this house – not even our birth certificates.”

  I sighed. “I know. That’s why I’m asking. I remember when I turned fifteen. I wanted to get a part-time job at the drug store. That was the first time I found out that I didn’t have a Social Security number. Without a birth certificate, I couldn‘t get a Social Security card and without the card, no job. When I asked Dad, he said it was one of those things that he had been meaning to do, but he’d been too busy.” I paused staring at nothing and thinking. “Anyway, the problem seemed to vanish. We both suddenly had Social Security cards, but I don't know how, and I don't remember any birth certificates."

  I wondered why I’d never thought to question my parents before their deaths. It just seemed that whenever they were involved, all of my doubts vanished. Now they were gone and the questions loomed in importance. Who were we and where lay our history? Maybe we’d never know, but why had we never thought to ask?

  Alex stood from the box she searched and brushed dirt from her hands. “I know you can’t get a card without a birth certificate or, in rare cases, a notation in a family bible, so some documents have to be here. Didn’t they always say we were born in the house? Look for an old bible or birth record. Also, look for anything with a Social Security number.”

  We worked for a few hours, late into the night, and we still had not made more than a dent in the contents of the study, so I stood up. “I think we ought to call it a day, I’m getting tired and I want to take a shower. What do you say?”

  She stood and nodded. “You know, Paris, this is starting to worry me. It’s like we appeared out of nowhere.”

  She’d apparently had the same thoughts I had. “Let’s sleep on it and discuss it tomorrow.”

  We stowed the remaining boxes back out of the way. As I went to turn off the light switch, I happened to glance at Dad’s desk. I saw a glint of something metal behind the desk. It winked at me in the light from the floor lamp.

  “Wait a minute Alex, I see something.” She paused and looked back. I crouched down behind the desk. Something was there, an old leather case, somewhat like a briefcase. It had an ornate metal clasp that appeared, upon first examination, to be made of gold.

  Alex removed it from my hands to give it a closer look.

  “Where did that come from?” I asked.

  “I don't know. It‘s old,” she said. “It could be eighteenth century.”

  “I wonder what’s in it. Open it.”

  She seemed to consider my demand for a moment. “No, I think we’d better wait ‘till the morning, after we’ve had some sleep.”

  I reached for it. “Don’t you want to know what’s in it?”

  She snatched it out of my grasp. “Yes, but this case is old. If we want to preserve the provenance, we need to open it carefully.”

  “Just a peek inside?” I asked.

  She hesitated. “Alright, a peek, but let me get my notebook first.” She left the study and returned with what appeared to be a well-used day planner.

  She leaned on the edge of the desk. “Go ahead, open it.”

  I opened the clasp, peered inside, and removed what appeared to be a hand written letter.

  “Looks like a letter from Dad. What‘s it doing in here?”

  She shrugged. “I don't have a clue. Read it.”

  I unfolded the letter and read it aloud.

  Paris and Alexandra,

  If I succeed as I hope, you will never see this. I will rip it to shreds and burn it. If you are reading this, then something has gone terribly wrong. I write this in haste, because I do not have much time. I do not know how to say this, but if I were physically present, I would beg your forgiveness..
Since I am obviously not there, you will just have to understand. I would rather tear my heart out than hurt either of you, but I need to be blunt. I am sorry. I never meant for this to happen, but recent events have convinced me that we, all of us, are in great danger.

  I stopped and we both looked at each other.

  Alex flushed. “What the hell..?”

  I shrugged and continued reading.

  For that reason, you must both learn things that your mother and I have kept hidden, dangerous secrets that have put all our lives in jeopardy.

  First, as hard as it may be, for your safety, you must know that my beloved wife, Jenny, the person who you have called mother all your lives, is not your birth mother. She is your mother, in every way that counts, but she is not the woman who gave birth to you.

  At that point my vocal cords grew paralyzed. I glanced over at Alex. Her face looked blanched.

  She violently shook her head. Her voice hissed “Nooo.”

  Needing to know the rest of the message, I gathered what remained of my resolve, cleared my throat and continued.

  There: It is done, brutal but finally honest. Jenny knows the truth and suspects more. She will tell you everything. Protect her. She is precious to me.

  Before Jenny and I were married, while a graduate student at college, I met a beautiful young French exchange student named Sybil. She was wild and free, and she excited me. Touching her was intoxicating. I do not know if she had a last name, I just knew her as Sybil. We lived together for over a year in a state of mindless lust until she became pregnant and gave birth to you. Both of you were born from this union.

  After your birth, one day, she disappeared. I frantically searched for over a year trying to find her. I was desperate. Fortunately, for my sanity, and our happiness, I met Jenny. She was the moral foundation that restored my mind and my soul. If there is a God, I thank him for her.

  Jenny was barren when we married. We agreed that she would be your mother in all ways but one, and we would never, ever, mention the past.

  I looked for someplace to sit in the study because my legs seemed unable to support me. Alex had already sprawled on the floor, leaning back against the doorframe. I looked around and sat on one of the boxes. Unable to stop, I finished the letter.

  Events have proven that for your safety, you must learn who you are.

  In this briefcase, are some items that may help, but knowledge will be required to use them. Your mother knows where to seek the knowledge and aid. Listen to her. She is wise. I feel, wiser than me. I have included a list of addresses and places with this letter where you may seek answers. They are allies. You will need them.

  I love you both. I will always love you. I love all of you more than life. My fate means nothing to me if you are alive and safe.

  With each word, the blood had drained from my head. Alex looked pale. She staggered to her feet and lurched from the study. I heard the sound of her footsteps on the stairs and the slam of her bedroom door.