AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Teague,” Sebastian urges. “Say it.”
At a small distance, I can see the EMERGENCY ROOM sign of a hospital that I have only seen and never visited before. There’s an ambulance standing nearby and Steven drives right up to the place.
“Teague.”
“I didn’t kill anyone,” I say, unable to stop the tears. “That guy was alive when we left.”
“Give me your phone,” Sebastian says.
“Why…”
“Give me your fucking phone I need to call Vince!”
I hand my bloody phone to Sebastian and he starts dialing.
Sebastian is still talking when the limo comes to a stop.
The Photographs
HOLDEN
I pick a time when I know my mother isn’t going to be around and use it to raid her room for anything that might give me a clue as to whether that man who calls himself my father was speaking the truth. Ever since I’ve come back from that meeting I’ve done nothing but think. And I can’t keep going through life without finding out the truth anymore. If my mother won’t talk about him then I have no choice but to do this. I take one swallow from the flask I’m holding and try to forget about the fact that I’m invading her privacy. I have to find something, some connection to my past, something she’s been keeping from me.
But I’ve been searching that room for hours and haven’t found anything.
I’m about to give up when I discover a false cabinet in her walk-in closet. I throw down all the clothes that are hiding it and make way to the false bottom, lift it to discover a vintage box that looks like someone might place jewelry in it. But the box is so beautiful I can’t imagine why someone would store it away and not display it proudly on her dresser like my mother usually displays beautiful things. The thing has no lock, nothing to prevent me from going in but I still have to find some courage to be able to look through the contents. When I’m finally over my fear, I open it.
Photographs.
Lots and lots of them.
And odd trinkets.
A hospital wristband stating my first name but the last name as Heliot.
I don’t know why I start crying.
There’s other stuff in here, ticket stubs from a movie, a dried up flower, a corsage—and then there are those photos. I start going through them and I’m taken back to a time that I didn’t even imagine existed, a time before I was born: my mother in a prom dress with a boy who looks a lot like me; my mother showing off a pregnant belly next to the same kid; my mother and the same kid holding a baby with the same hospital wristband.
And then there’s one picture that knocks the wind out of me.
“Holden, what’re you doing in here?” My mother’s voice breaks my trance.
She sees me with the box. “Holden,” she snaps. “You’re not supposed to be in here!”
I drop the box to the floor and everything spills.
Everything except for that photograph that I still hold in my hand.
“Holden answer me!”
I turn to face my mother. “This picture,” I say, showing it to her. “Is of my father and us.”
She has something on her face, but I can’t tell if it’s annoyance or anger. Probably a bit of both. “So?”
“Mom,” I say. “You never even told me his name. I asked you a million times if you had any pictures of him and you told me you didn’t. You lied to me, Mom.”
“So what?”
