Leather Bound Read online

  “And what do I do on the weekends when I go home?”

  “I’ll stay in a hotel, or in the truck, either way.”

  I hesitated but something about her seemed right. I shook my head but my voice took over. “All right fine, we can try this but we have to be careful I don’t want my wife and kids finding out about anything.”

  “Trust me, your secret is safe with me.”

  ****

  Tom sat there with the book in his hand. It was closed but laying against his knee. He hadn’t realized that the world had moved on around him and he sat quiet. He almost jumped when he heard Jennifer talk to him from the outside of the room.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I read something in this book that kind of rocked me.”

  She walked over and sat down and looked at him. “What’s wrong?”

  “I think I know how and why I got this book now.”

  She looked at him puzzled.

  “There’s a chance I’m related to William Hall, even if by accident.”

  “How?”

  “Nothing is for sure, I have to see if I can figure it out first. But, for now I need to process this. I'll go to the office for a while.”

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  “I think so, I need to wrap my head around some stuff.”

  Without another word he got up and went to the office, closing the door behind him as Jennifer watched him from the couch.

  Chapter 24

  Tom sat in the office chair staring out the window into the woods. He rocked back in the chair and laced his hands behind his head. His mind was racing a million miles an hour.

  “There’s no way.”

  What makes you think there’s no way, anything in this world is possible.

  “Anything is possible, but that.”

  The world is full of interesting, sad, legitimate realities. The voice in his head laughed. It was gruff, almost angry in a way he didn’t understand.

  “What makes you think this is a reality?”

  What makes you think it isn’t?

  “Because I don’t believe I can be related to a mass murderer.”

  What do you know about your family?

  There was silence. He didn’t have a response, instead he sat there and stared out the window. The wind blew through the trees and he watched the leaves and the branches move with nature. As he leaned back and put his feet on the desk, he heard a knock at the door.

  “Come in.”

  Jennifer came through the door and sat down in a chair. She sat trying to read his face. He didn’t know what to say, so they both sat there staring almost into space.

  “It could be a coincidence.”

  He flashed her a look.

  “Okay, so you don’t believe that for sure.”

  “How can I? I got this book in the mail out of the blue. It said in the beginning it was going to Williams’ family. Now, I find a woman named Valerie Mason in this book? It seems a little, what’s the word, ironic?”

  “How so?” She said.

  “Because I spent my entire life not knowing my family. I spent most of my life always wondering where my family was and why they didn’t want me around. Now, I’m learning that I could be a relative of some serial killer.”

  She had little to say. Instead, she sat there as he collected his thoughts. She waited for a few minutes. “What are you thinking?”

  “I don’t know. I room,want to be alone for a while.”

  She got up and patted him on the shoulder. “That's fine, I’ll be out in the living room if you need me.”

  “Okay.”

  She leaned down and gave him a kiss. As she left the room, she closed the door behind her. He listened as he heard the footsteps fade away down the hall. When they died away, he reached up on his desk and grabbed his legal pad that had been gathering dust for a while. He hadn’t written something on paper since he couldn’t remember when.

  He stared at the blank lines for a while. His mind drifted back to when he was a teenager.

  ****

  Tom was at a desk sitting there with the lights flickering overhead. The sun had went down. He stared out the window as the previous exchange played through his head.

  Tom, you're useless, no one in this home does less than you, and at the rate you’re going you're never going to achieve anything.

  The insults were nothing new to him, they drove him. The leader of the orphanage always reminded him how horrible of a life he lived.

  He sat in his room, the rest of the boys were you'reyou'reyou'reyou'reyou'reyou'reyou'regone, or downstairs. His mind went to work trying to put his feelings into words on the paper in front of him. He settled on something and he began writing.

  The world around me is cold,

  It’s lonely, and I’m alone,

  But among the darkest parts of my mind,

  The bell sounds and they tell me it’s time,

  Time for everything to come undone,

  Time for everyone,

  To go back home,

  Every day they tell me I’ll never be amazing,

  I know it’s all just things they say,

  To keep me crazy,

  One day I’ll show them the real me,

  Maybe then they’ll see,

  That my words mean more,

  Then the hurt they try to feed me.

  He looked at the paper and re-read his words. They brought a smile to his face. Though it was dark, it was a good poem for him. As he was reading them a second time, he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He tried to fold up the paper fast and put it in his pocket but he couldn’t hide it before Angie, the headmaster’s wife had topped the stairs.

  “What’s in your pocket?” She asked.

  “Nothing.” He told her.

  Without hesitation she reached back and slapped him across the face hard. His head snapped back and then he looked at her.

  “I won’t ask again. What’s in your pocket?”

  “Nothing.” He had finished the word when she slapped him again. He fell to the ground. She reached down and patted his pocket. Inside, he'd rolled up the little ball of paper just enough to be noticeable. She reached in and took it. Without another word she turned and went toward the stairs.

  “You will pay for lying boy.” She said as she went down the stairs. He picked himself up off the floor and crawled into his bed. The tears were stinging both his eyes and his cheeks. He laid there and cried himself to sleep.

  ****

  Tom sat there staring at the blank paper in front of him. All his thoughts were swirling around in his head. Everything went back to his parents, or lack there of. He stared at the blank piece of paper in front of him and drummed his fingers on the desk. He heard the thud echo into his ears before putting the end to a piece of a paper and wrote.

  Everything I’ve ever believed in,

  Was something that ended up leaving me behind,

  Now the world that I’ve known,

  Is turned upside down,

  Everything I know,

  Might be wrong,

  I’m lost,

  And I’m afraid,

  I don’t know what will happen with me,

  But today,

  I write for the same reason,

  That I did all of those years ago,

  To calm me,

  Soothing me,

  To make things better,

  He looked at the poem on the desk. It wasn’t great. In fact it was worse than that, he didn’t have words. He reached down and picked up the piece of paper, crumpled into a heap and then tossed it into a trashcan.

  He stared at the wastebasket expecting something to happen, but nothing did. Instead he spun around and put his feet on the ground. Sitting there for a while trying to figure out what it was he wanted to do. When nothing would come to him he decided that he would lean back and try to empty his thoughts. It was a process he didn’t do often, but when he did, it had a tendency to led to a new ide
a.

  Chapter 25

  Tom sat in the house alone. As he did, his mind was racing with images from the book. In the back of the house he thought he heard laughing again. Tom shook it off and took a seat in the office looking at the empty screen. He’d spent the last few days trying to get further along, but he seemed to have hit another block. One he couldn’t shake his way past.

  He opened the file and set to work. At first, he felt the words flow through his fingers. It surprised him, but it didn’t last. He was about six-hundred words in when everything dipped off. As he neared the end of a paragraph, he threw his hands down on the desk.

  “Damn it, why is this so difficult!” He felt frustrated and angry. In the years he’d been writing, he’d never had an issue creating a story until now. What was it that was holding him back?

  “Is it the deadline?” He asked himself out loud.

  I doubt it. The voice came up inside his head.

  “Then what the hell is pulling me away from this?”

  It’s because in your head, you can’t get out of the book, my book.

  Tom sat frozen. “My book?”

  Well, it is now, I mean I’m living inside of you.

  “I…”

  You’re lost…

  “A little.” He felt stupid that he was talking to himself in the manner he was.

  The voice in your head is mine. I mean I suppose it’s you, but because of that book I now have a place in your mind, that means I voice opinions and thoughts. That means that in terms of reality we both wrote that book, lived that life, whatever you want to call it.

  “That’s not possible.”

  I suppose not, but from a real standpoint? Oh yeah, it’s possible. You may not remember things, but you’re learning them through that book and because of that book, you’re becoming more and more linked with me. I’d say it almost makes us one.

  “If that’s the case…”

  That’s not an answer I will give you the voice cut him off.

  “What the hell?”

  There's a lot for you to learn on your own. This was one of those things.

  Tom left the conversation alone there. He stared at the screen and the words he’d just written almost didn't register with him. Instead he pushed back from the computer and got up. He went back into the living room and sat down in the chair. He picked the book up off the table and got back to reading.

  ****

  The weeks went by and I hid Valarie from everyone. It helped that I had loads that took me away from home for longer stretches. I’d assume you’re asking yourself why it was I kept her around so long? Fair question. It’s because there was someone in my life who accepted me for me, and maybe on some level was just as screwed up in the head as I was. I can tell you’re curious so go ahead, read on.

  “So there’s something I want to share with you.”

  She looked at me.

  “What if I told you there’s a darker side that I haven’t let someone in on before? I haven’t shown anyone because I’m afraid of what they might think.”

  “You? Afraid of what people will think? That doesn’t sound like the man I know. You never struck me as someone who cared much for other’s opinions.”

  “To be honest, I don’t. But, this is one thing that will always push people away. If they don’t walk away, they’ll want me locked away.”

  She was curious I could see that, but I didn’t know what she was expecting. I took a breath arranging the words in a way I hoped was most effective.

  “What’s going on? You’re kind of scaring me.” She asked.

  “Look, I’ve done things I’m not proud of. The worst of which, is killing someone.”

  She laughed. “You’re joking right?”

  I expected a lot of things: For her to run away, to go find the police, to scream and beg for me to let her go. All of that seemed rational, what wasn't was the retort I got.

  “Why?”

  I looked at her a little surprised. “Why what?”

  “Why did you kill them?”

  “It gave me a feeling I can’t explain.”

  “Were they innocent?”

  I thought about this question, not knowing the answer, just knowing they hadn't done anything to me. “I suppose you can say that. Though I must admit that all of them seemed to be looking for a way out.”

  “You mean, like me?”

  I hadn’t thought about that but I nodded.

  “Tell me this, was I on your list to kill?”

  I hesitated for just a second, but she caught it. She stared almost through me before speaking again.

  “So what made you change your mind?”

  “We got to know each other. Somehow that unlocked another feeling I hadn’t had in a long time.”

  She thought it over. “So what happens now?”

  “We figure out if you’re staying or going.”

  “Since I’ve been on the road with you I feel like…” She trailed off. “I feel like I’ve fallen in love with you.”

  I hadn’t expected any of this, and the last part hit me the hardest. My brain and mouth went into autopilot. “I feel like I might love you too.”

  She smiled at me. “With that said, I don’t agree, or even like the situation. But, I don’t want to destroy what we’ve built.”

  I took a breath. “There’s a reason I brought this up.”

  She hesitated. “Because you want to do it again?”

  I nodded.

  There was another moment of hesitation. “If we’re not going to get caught, then we may want to make sure we don’t make mistakes.”

  I smiled, leaned in, kissed her, and leaned back. In the fading sunlight I saw a woman standing alone, I pointed out the window at her.

  “Let’s see if this young lady could be our next plaything.”

  ****

  Tom sat the book down. He replayed the last few sentences in his head, then it hit him. He felt his stomach churn, and he ran to the bathroom. As he hit the toilet he threw up everywhere. When he finished, he sat down and leaned back against the sink.

  “I can only hope I’m not related to that monster.”

  I feel you already know the answer to that.

  Tom leaned back over and threw up again.

  Chapter 26

  Tom stood at the bottom of the steps staring up into the old building he once called home. On the two-hour drive there he had debated turning around a few times, but his curiosity overrode the rest of his thought process and he finished the drive. But, now as he stood there looking up into the building it brought back a flood of bad memories. One, in particular, involved the man who ran the place, the only name Tom knew him by was Mr. Fitch.

  ****

  “Tom, what are you doing over there?”

  Tom was sitting at the desk working on another new poem. It was another long night, and he wanted to drown out everything around him. He hadn’t heard someone talking to him.

  “Tom, what are you doing?” Mr. Fitch said.

  The footsteps neared him and caught his attention. He looked and saw Mr. Fitch above him.

  “What are you doing Tom?”

  Tom just looked at him. All he could do was blink before Mr. Fitch’s hand slammed across his face almost knocking him out of the chair. He felt the tears well in his eyes but he could stop them.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m writing.” Tom mumbled.

  “What are you writing?”

  “A poem.”

  Before he could react, Mr. Fitch snatched the paper from him. He spent time trying to read the handwriting on the paper. It took a few minutes but then he stepped back. “This is one of the worst things I’ve ever read.” He crumpled up the paper and threw it across the room. “I wouldn’t waste any more of your time doing any of this. Find another hobby.”

  Mr. Fitch turned without another word and left the room. Tom watched him go while he rubbed the now swelling spot where Fitch had hit him. Tom felt anger, h
atred, and resentment. He walked over to the piece of paper and picked it up off the ground, debated on keeping it, then changed his mind and tossed the waded up paper roll into the trashcan.

  He went to the bed and laid down, letting cool of the pillow message his sore face until he fell asleep.

  ****

  Tom stood on the stoop after knocking on the door. He’d almost debated leaving, but the door opened before he could. On the other side a woman in a set of robes stared at him.

  “Hello, can I help you.”

  Tom glanced from the seal on the building, back to her, making sure he had the right place. “I used to live here. Though I don’t remember nuns.”

  She chuckled. “Yeah, the sisters took over this place about 10 years ago. What brings you back here?”

  “I’m wondering if there might be any records, or maybe someone who might help me find information?”

  “What kind of information are you looking for?” She asked him.

  Tom hesitated. “I’m trying to find information on my birth parents. I know it’s a long shot but I want to try.”

  She patted his shoulder. “We’ve got a records room that holds a file on every child that’s ever stayed here. There’s a chance we’ll find a file for you. Come on inside and we’ll see what’s there.”

  She turned and walked in. He followed her closing the door behind him. As they walked through the house, she spoke up. “What made you decide to start looking for your parents now?”

  “I’m trying to do a project for work. I’m looking for any information I can find about my past to help.”