Page 110 of Finding Us
I follow, but instead of going towards the front door, I slink back into the darkened hallway. I can feel my little heart beating out of my chest as I hide in the shadows.
“What have I told you about not being here to greet me when I return, you ungrateful, selfish woman. I’ve been out working all day, and this is how you treat me? This is the thanks I get?”
His arm rises, and I can see he’s still holding his keys in his hand as it connects with the side of my mum’s face. She whimpers and the force behind his hit almost knocks her off her feet. I can feel the warm tears running down my cheeks as I watch on. I feel helpless, and wish I was bigger so I could protect her from him.
My father calmly places the briefcase he’s holding by his feet, shrugs out of his jacket, and tosses it in her direction. She quickly scurries to pick it up, and when she turns to hang it in the hall closet, I can see the trickle of blood running down the side of her face. The keys must have cut her. I hate him. I hate him so much.
He opens the side drawer on the hall table, dropping the keys inside. Bending slightly, he picks up his briefcase. “My dinner better be ready,” he barks.
“I just need to dish it up, Warren” she replies, and I can hear the fear in her voice.
“Hurry up, I’m starving.”
When he starts walking in my direction, heading towards his office, I quickly duck into the half bath off the hallway and slide my small body behind the opened door.
My eyelids flutter open, and I find Connor watching me with a strange look on his face. “He used to keep his keys in the side drawer of the hall table by the front door,” I say.
He nods once, and as soon as he leaves the room, I tilt my head back, digging the heal of my palms into my eye sockets. I shouldn’t have come back here; the sensory overload this place brings with it is way too fucking much.
A minute later, he returns jiggling a set of keys in his hand. “You were right.”
Of course I was; that scene that just played out in my head was way too detailed not to be real, and my father may have been an abusive piece of shit, but he was also a creature of habit.
I watch as Connor tries the keys he’s holding, and on his third attempt, he finds one that fits. “Bingo,” he says, sliding it open. He pulls out the large yellow envelope that’s sitting on top. “This one has your name on it.”
Closing the distance between us, I take it out of his hand. I’m not sure what I’m expecting to find inside, but I highly doubt it’s a confession or an apology. And I’m right. Instead, I’m sickened by what I see inside. There is a stack of eight-by-ten photographs, all of me. The anger inside me grows as I flip through the pile. They are images of me living on the streets, and although I’m wearing the same clothes, because that’s all I had, I can tell by the locations that they were taken over a series of days, because in the beginning, I moved around a lot. He must’ve had someone track me down and follow me.
My dark mattered hair his hanging in my face; it had been many months since I’d had my hair cut. The last time was prior to my mother’s disappearance. I look so young, so frightened, so lost. Fuck, those first few days, weeks, and months on the streets were the hardest. I was starving, cold, and so damn scared.
Connor takes one of the images out of my hand. It’s of me sitting by a brick wall, my eyes are wide, like I’m on guard. My knees are pulled up to my chest with my arms wrapped tightly around my legs, I have a black eye and I’m not wearing any shoes. I remember someone had beaten me and stole them right off my feet.
“Jesus Christ, Mason,” he says as he stares down at the photograph. The compassion and pity I hear in his voice chokes me up. “You were so young.”
“It was taken after I ran away … when I was living on the streets. I can’t believe he knew where I was and did nothing. Granted, I was probably safer out there, then being here with him, but this just shows how cold-hearted he was.”
“Exactly … what a cunt.”
“Oh, so you agree with me now?”
“This,” he says, holding up the picture in his hand and shaking his head. I watch as he swallows thickly, and when his eyes glisten, I have to look away. He steps forward, wrapping his arms around me and squeezing tight. “I’m so fucking sorry you had to go through this.”
I clear my throat when I feel tears sting the back of my eyes. “You’re acting like a chick again,” I mumble, pushing out of his hold. I can’t deal with his kindness or compassion right now. Losing Red, and now this … it’s all too much. I feel like I’m ready to break, and that’s the last thing I want. I need to keep it together …I’ve got to stay strong for my son.
Dropping the photos and the envelope onto the desk, I rummage through the drawer. My heart drops when I find a second yellow envelope, withRebeccawritten at the top. Is she still alive? Did my father have her tracked down and photographed as well?
I flip open the lip and peer inside. I don’t find any photos though, just paperwork. I pull it out and see a receipt sitting on top. It’s for a slab of concrete. I glance up at the date, it was around the time of her disappearance. I flip to the next one and find the plans for a shed. I remember when that was built; he had it erected down in the rear of the backyard on top of the slab. In the bottom of the envelope lies a single key. Why would these items be in an envelope marked with her name? Then it dawns on me.
Fuck.
I fish out the key and rush from the room. “Where are you going?”
“The backyard,” I answer.
I can feel my body trembling from the adrenaline as I storm across the grass. I stick the key into the lock when I reach the shed, turning it. There are no windows, so it’s dark when I step inside. Pulling out my phone, I click on the torch, shining it around the space. It’s completely empty.
“What did you expect to find in here?” Connor asks.
“The envelope that had my mother’s name on it had the plans for this shed, and the receipt for the concrete slab inside it … nothing else, apart from this key,” I answer. “This was erected not long after she went missing.”
