Silent Harbour

Chapter 16: Back From The Dead

For the moment, the world around me freezes upon hearing Harold–Jack's words. I don't know much about science fiction, but I do know that in the real world, the dead stays dead. And last I checked, Peter's father passed shortly after being imprisoned for a whole slew of crimes that I never gave much mind to memorize.

"Now I know for a fact you're lying," I retort as I straighten my back to level our gazes. "You're stupid to assume the identity of someone who's long since been dead. I'll ask you one more time. Who are you?"

"Look, pipsqueak, I hope I'm not the first person to remind you not to believe everything you hear. What would I even stand to gain from pretending to be someone you think is dead, anyhow?"

He's got me there. There are a million identities I'd steal before I ever considered adopting that of a deceased, incarcerated middle-aged man with no social capital. Furthermore, there was no denying the resemblance to Peter.

"Well, how do I know you're not just spewing one of those stories I'm not supposed to believe in?" I counter. "What proof do you have to offer?"

"I wasn't exactly planning to defend my identity so early in the morning, so forgive me if I can't just whip out my passport or DNA test results." He pauses before continuing. "Not to mention, you're pretty demanding for someone who hasn't even bothered to introduce herself after ambushing me at my own house. Who are you supposed to be?"

"I'm Emery Pierce. I, er, had some business dealings to discuss with Arthur Rochester, but he's been hard to get a hold of these past few days. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

He frowns and studies me. "Classic Artie. He talks a big game of juggling so many responsibilities, but the first chance he gets, he bolts. He's a flake, lady. You're better off taking your business elsewhere."

"You know what? You're probably right. Sorry to bother you, I'll be on my way," I offer before turning around to make a quick descent towards my car.

"Not so fast, young lady. Don't think I forgot about you mentioning my son's name."

Rats, I think to myself, I was hoping he'd be too agitated to bring it up. "Erm, who do you think suggested I work with Arthur in the first place? Peter. We're old high school classmates. He heard I was looking to source local farm produce for my grocery store, and put me in touch with his uncle."

"Please tell me you don't rely on lying to make a living, because you'd definitely starve. That's the worst lie I think I've heard, and I spent twelve years living with criminals who refused to plead guilty." He shifts his eyes momentarily to take stock of our surroundings, probably to check for potential eavesdroppers. The calculated stare he then directs my way renders me speechless. "Unless hell froze over, my boy never had a kind word to say about that uncle of his. I find it highly unlikely he'd go as far as to recommend my brother's services."

"You seem to know a lot about the dynamics of their relationship for someone who spent the better part of his son's upbringing behind bars."

"People talk. Word gets around. Plus, those two never got along. Rochester men butt heads. It's just the way it is. Doesn't take seeing it firsthand to know that."

He takes a step back into the house and opens the door a smidge further. "Get in here before I change my mind about calling the cops."

I warily accept the invitation and step into the foyer, before turning my attention back towards him. "An ex-convict calling the cops? Now who's lying?"

The inklings of a smirk flickers across his face before he returns his stoic and surly demeanor. He gestures towards a short hallway that leads into a small kitchen facing the backyard. Making my way over to a stool next to the kitchen island, I can't help but let my curious eyes wander around the house. It's an average, run-of-the-mill two-storey house in desperate need of some renovations. Despite the usual clutter and dishes piled up in the sink, it lacks the personal touches that would otherwise indicate someone resides there. Maybe if there were a picture or two on the walls to verify his relationship with Peter, I'd be more inclined to believe Jack's assurances.