Con Artist Legacy

Chapter Ten: The Truce

Chapter Ten: The Truce

I really didn’t want to be a ghost…

And by that, what I actually meant was that…I absolutely did not want to die. There were probably loads of people that felt the same way, but I was positive that they didn’t “not want to die” as much as me. There were just too many things that I still needed to do.

The bucket list that I started at age ten was only half checked off, but apparently I was running out of time already. I wondered how easy it would be for me to go bunging jumping or even set foot in another country, the first (and most important) thing on my list.

Then there were the items I added during some of the crazier moments in my life, like some mushy fairy-tale romance and kids (maybe).

Hopefully grandma’s prophecy meant that someone else was dying, preferably someone I didn’t know or care for (like the real killers or Sheriff Clark). As much as my family drove me crazy, a second death would extremely inconvenient right about now.

… But I just had to go and visit my grandmother.

I really should’ve known better, the visit was bound to be a disaster. But when Gray mentioned that my grandfather had recommended him to Carlo, it made me think that my grandmother must have known about it as well.

Those two were seriously glued at the hip, partners in crime, my grandfather use to say.  

She clearly knew a lot more about the whole Carlo/Henry situation, but for some reason she wasn’t willing to share it with me. It didn’t surprise me too much though, the Reynaldi’s weren’t known for their helpful nature. Mostly they just didn’t like to share information.  For one it would take away any personal advantage, and it would also just kill all the fun.

Oh well.

My brain was quickly overloading with information anyway, the mother of all headaches taking permanent residence. I had never been able to properly turn off my thoughts, and so all the way home images of horrific deaths played with my emotions.

I was lucky to make it home in one piece, completely exhausted but safe nonetheless. It was a good timing as well, because my eyes were closing involuntary. All I wanted to do was crawl into my comfy bed and not wake up for days.

But little ol’ Nate had other plans for me; the dashing officer was sitting on my front steps, a giant coffee cup in each hand. It was pretty funny because his eyes were also struggling to stay open. Apparently, it had been a long night for everyone.

I sat quietly in my car, wondering if there was a way to get inside without being noticed, but there didn’t seem to be any way to post-pone this meeting. Nate was standing directly in front of the entrance, and the back door had a special key that I normally didn’t carry with me. I suppose that I could have run around back and climbed into my bedroom window, but I didn’t know if I would be able to move like that.

I stalled as long as possible, but he eventually spotted me. Nate got up and began to wave the coffee cups around suggestively. The silly boy even took big sips from his own cup, enjoying it all way too much just to piss me off.

As my best-friend, Nate knew my weaknesses and was putting on a show just to persuade me to get out of my car. We all knew that coffee was my life elixir, so I reluctantly trudged towards the front porch.

“Dude, it’s midnight. Can’t this wait until tomorrow?” I asked, snatching my coffee away from him. The smell alone lifted up my spirits, one sip and I felt slightly rejuvenated. Luckily, the caffeine never interrupted my sleep like for other people.

“Nope,” Nate responded.

“Ahhh fine, what is it?”

“I need you to go pack a bag. We’re taking a little field trip.”

“Why?…and where are we going?”

“Just do it Ollie, I am too tired to argue. I’ll explain on the way.”

“That sounds like one bad life decision.”

Nate sighed, and his shoulders dropped as he explained that the sheriff had finally conceded that there were other viable suspects in the Reynaldi cases. Apparently a quick search through facial recognition (courtesy of some fancy New York law enforcement pals of the sheriff), resulted in two positive matches for the men following my uncle.

The big oafish man from the photographs was currently in prison, serving a twenty-year sentence for unrelated kidnapping and theft charges (sounds like a pattern to me). His partner, who was clearly in charge, was still a ghost.

The third man, the one following my uncle alone…the man who was probably my biological father also turned up in the search.

“Same man, but his name isn’t Henry Stone,” Nate explained.

“Obviously, so what’s his real name?”

“They wouldn’t say, something weird is going on and they asked to meet with us in person.”

“Us?”

“Well I’m sure they meant just me, but I thought you would like to go,” Nate said. He ran his fingers through his hair, clearly uncomfortable that he was smudging the imaginary line of police ethics. It was kind of cute, but I felt no qualms about it…I was born on that line.

“What do you think the secret is?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think he is dead?”

“He isn’t. That I did manage to get from them.”

“Hmm, so do you think he did something horrible and they had to cover it up?” What if he was the “blast from my past” and the “death” in my future?

“Maybe and that would explain so much,” Nate muttered under his breath.

I wasn’t sure what he was trying to insinuate with that statement, but I punched his arm anyway.

“How long will we be gone?”

“The weekend and leave a message for your aunts…wouldn’t want to find a search party when we get back.”

“Give me fifteen minutes,” I replied.

“You have five, and please don’t forget the note.”

I didn’t think there would be a search party, they probably wouldn’t even notice that I was gone, but I taped a note on Elena’s face anyway. I also left a shorter letter on the fridge, just in case the first one got lost.

It only took me only a couple minutes to get my things together, mostly because I had bags specifically packed for situations just like this. The habit started the first time I ran away from home at age five, but this would be the first time that the bags would be useful as an adult.

Throwing my duffel bag in the back, I jumped into the passenger seat next to Nate. We were both silent for the first ten minutes of the ride, lost in our own thoughts.

“Hey Nate.”

“Mmm.”

“Do you think I’m going to die?”

“We’re all going to die.”

“Yea, but do you think I am going die soon?”

Nate’s silence did nothing to ease my worries…in fact it just fueled me. My eyes closed, and my worries about all the family secrets transformed into nightmares.