When Memory Fails Page 2

  The tattered curtains billowed as a breeze blew in through the broken glass. Bronson grabbed his wood slat and headed for the unknown. The door creaked as it swung open, the oppressive mugginess of summer hitting him in the face. “What the…”

  He stood on the porch of what once had probably been one of the better homes in this town. He glanced to his right and then to his left. He looked straight ahead. Mountains to his far right and left greeted him. The trees around him begged for water. He spotted a building here and a building there. One looked like what might have been a school. Another, with a crumbling steeple, was definitely a church next to a general store. All of the buildings stood in various stages of deterioration.

  The wood under Bronson’s feet moaned with the burden of his weight. He stepped off the porch and into the untended street. Pieces of copper ore, quartz, iron ore, and broken purple glass lay scattered throughout what once had been the sidewalk. Wagon wheels rested against some rusting metal pipes. An early electrical machine used to pull ore from the mines told Bronson all he needed to know.

  Shiiit. He was in a ghost town.

  Maybe that was a good thing. Some of these places had a caretaker. Did this town? Bronson considered this possibility. None of the buildings gave an impression that a hermit still lived here. Even so, Bronson carefully eyed each crumbling structure.

  Up ahead, maybe the equivalent of two city blocks, stood a three-story hotel. He headed that way. Once inside, he wandered through its halls. He found bits of relics, but nothing he could use, not even an old receipt with the name of the town printed on it. He had wasted over an hour seeking answers that weren’t there.

  Looking at the terrain, he imagined he was in the Old West. He studied the trees. A combination of sage brush, lodge pole pines, and cedar trees co-existed. Their wilted leaves, the dry grass under his feet, the oppressive heat, the sun sending its scorching rays—all of these told him he was somewhere in the western United States. New Mexico? Colorado? Utah? Maybe Arizona. That covered a wide territory, but at least he had made an advance. He might know where he was even if it came in the form of multiple choices.

  Not for the first time, Bronson wished he could find the answer to his hidden identity. He seemed to know a lot of trivia, but what good was that when he couldn’t remember his own name?

  He had neither food nor water. In fact, he hadn’t found anything useful in this Godforsaken place. All he knew was that he had to hustle. Find some water and then put the town behind him. He walked on what was left of the sidewalk, looking in the buildings, hoping to find something that would help him.

  He looked at the main street leading out of town. Which way to go? He did a one-eighty and studied the same road, opposite end. As he analyzed each object, a movement low to the ground caught his attention.

  Someone was watching him. Around the corner of the next building.

  Bronson’s grip tightened around the homemade club. What good would that do if his opponent held a gun? He sprinted forward, using the remaining walls as protection. He stood still, holding his breath.

  Waiting.

  Waiting. For what?

  For the gunman to make the first move?

  The best defense is always an offense.

  Bronson had no idea where that came from, but it made sense. He plastered his back against the wall and inched his way forward. When he reached the edge, he squatted and slowly peeked, only to encounter…

  Nothing, except more half structures. More empty spaces.

  He looked at the ground. No footprints. But then the ground was hard.

  He slowly stood and that’s when he heard it.

  Breathing behind him.

  Bronson was trapped.

  Gripping the club, he spun on his heel to face his opponent.

  One Week Earlier:

  Events Leading Up to Bronson’s

  Amnesia

  Chapter 5

  The lazy Pennsylvania days of summer stretched out like a never-ending ribbon. If only I could go outside and enjoy myself. But Sandy knew that the hot, muggy weather didn’t lend itself to outdoor fun.

  She had the house to herself today, and she had promised her mom, but mostly Aunt Bobbi, that sometime during her summer break, she’d clean the attic, set aside things the majority of the household members may want to keep and discard the rest. The hot, muggy day didn’t lend itself to working in a stuffy, sweltering attic either, but today was as good a day as any to start that task.

  She pulled the rope, unfolded the ladder, and climbed up. She flipped on the fan switch, grateful that someone had been smart enough to put a fan in this furnace.

  Sandy’s eyes widened at the enormity of the task. Boxes upon boxes piled up, the top ones touching the ceiling. Antique, dilapidated chairs, tables, dressers and desks occupied most of the available space. A hope chest—

  A hope chest. Weren’t hope chests supposed to be stuffed with the owner’s hopes and dreams? Sandy’s world brightened. This might turn out to be fun.

  The hope chest’s top creaked as Sandy opened it. She pulled back the cotton sheeting that rested on top, revealing a faded yellow wedding dress. Sandy fingered the silver lace and pearls so lovingly sewn into the dress. She could only imagine how one of her long-gone relatives stood before a full-length mirror and, with a smile plastered on her face, thought of her husband to be.

  Now, Sandy definitely felt better. She might learn a lot about her family, something that had always fascinated her. She carefully picked up the dress and set it aside.

  Under the dress, an over-sized Bible caught Sandy’s attention. She carefully picked it up, sat on the floor, and opened the book. A tingle ran up her arm as she read the inscription: Property of Isaac Sechrest. Isaac Sechrest! Her great, great grandfather, a legend in the family history.

  Sandy turned the page, revealing an incomplete family tree. Grandpa Isaac had two sons and one daughter who had married into the Lazzarone clan. And now, over one-hundred years later, they ruled the entire clan and anyone unlucky enough to cross their path. Sandy wondered which of these two families—the Lazzarones or the Sechrest—had been the strongest.

  Ah, Sandy loved these kinds of secrets. Family feuds. She knew she’d never find the answer to her questions. But the one thing she knew was that if you were either a Lazzarone or a Sechrest, you stood united under one banner. Blood ran thick among them.

  Whoever had started the family tree had stopped there, and Sandy’s smile disappeared. Maybe the Bible would offer other clues. She thumbed through the pages, but much to her surprise she found not a single mark anywhere else in the book.

  As Sandy shut it, she noticed that the back cover of the Bible was thicker than the front cover. She ran her finger along the edge. She felt tiny bumps all lined up in a straight row. She focused on that. They were tiny, white stitches. The thread blended perfectly into the Bible cover and unless you were specifically looking for them, they remained invisible.

  Why would anyone want to stitch an extra cover on the back of the Bible? Wanting to use the finesse of a highly skilled seamstress, but instead with movements as awkward as that of a dodo bird landing, she undid the stitches at the top, reached inside, and pulled out several neatly folded papers.

  Sandy bit her lip as excitement intertwined with apprehension ran through her body. She began to read.

  Chapter 6

  Daniel’s cell buzzed, alerting him to a text. He read Sandy’s message: I need you. Come over ASAP.

  Daniel’s heart jumped to his throat. He typed: You okay?

  No answer. A moment passed. Daniel tapped nervous fingers on the phone. Then, Yes. Just hurry.

  Daniel grabbed his car keys and scribbled a note: Went to Sandy’s. Don’t wait dinner for me. He set the note down by the TV where he was sure Nanny would see it. He sped out of the house.

  Less than half an hour later, he sat next to Sandy, one arm wrapped around her. With his other hand, he fanned himself. In spite of the fan’s feeble
ventilation, the attic remained hot. “Calm down. Everything is fine.”

  Sandy pulled away from him. “How can you say that? I’ve just found out that my family is nothing more than a bunch of thieves. Murderers, even.”

  “You don’t know that. All you’ve got to go on is a bunch of old letters that could all be lies.”

  Sandy cast her eyes downward. “Somehow I know those letters speak the truth. I don’t know how I know, but I do.” Her hands continued absent mindedly to shred the Kleenex she held. “You can’t possibly know what that’s like.”

  Daniel closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He tried to give her an encouraging nod, but knew he had failed. He looked away.

  Sandy threw her arms around Daniel. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to compare my family woes to yours. I mean, your dad was running for President. Everyone was sure he was going to win. Heck, I was even going to vote for him. Then—” She stopped when she saw the anguish in his face. “I never know when to shut up, do I?”

  Daniel smiled, and Sandy snuggled in the crook of his arm. “Better?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Best to let the past remain behind us.”

  Sandy drew closer to Daniel, and he didn’t need any more prompting. He kissed her.

  When he looked at her, he noticed the teardrops in the corner of her eyes. “Are you okay?” He kissed her forehead.

  “I’m not trying to out-do your pain,” she said.

  “Never said you were.”

  She put her index finger up to his lips. “Shh. Let me talk. Just listen, please?”

  He nodded.

  “As horrible as it was for you, you found the truth about your family. The people you grew up calling Mom and Dad were never your family. But you loved them anyway, even after you learned about their evil ways. But as bad as it was, knowing the truth allowed you to put it behind you. You’ve done an excellent job of doing that. I’m so proud of you. You’ve moved on.”

  Daniel couldn’t meet her eyes. “Not sure about that, but I’ve tried to put it in the past.” He gave her hand a small squeeze.

  “That’s what I want for me, too. I want to put this ugly truth behind me, and if my ancestors deprived all those people of their rightful possessions, I want to right their wrongs.” She worried her lip. “I really need to do this.”

  “I understand.” Daniel let a moment pass before speaking. “Have I ever introduced you to the Bronsons?”

  Sandy shrugged. “Sort of. I’ve only met Aunt Carol. But the way you talk about your uncle makes him sound like a super sleuth.” Sandy’s eyes widened. “He is a super sleuth. He could help us. Do you think he will? Is that what you’re getting at?”

  Before Daniel could answer, the stairs to the attic creaked. Someone was coming up to join them. Sandy quickly folded and stuffed the letters into her jeans’ pocket just as Bobbi Lazzarone’s head popped into view.

  “Hi, Aunt Bobbi,” Sandy said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I heard your mom, against my advice, sent you up here to the attic to clean. I told her that’s not a nice way to treat a daughter at home during her college summer break. I was sure you had better things to do.” Eyeing Daniel, Bobbi winked and said, “But now I see why you’d choose to do this tedious chore.”

  Sandy pulled her hand from Danny’s grasp and blushed. “We’re not doing anything. We’re just… Just—”

  Bobbi smiled. “Don’t mind me. You’re not high school kids anymore. What you do is your own business. I was teasing.” Bobbi approached them. “But seriously, you two. Scat. Go out and enjoy yourselves. Sometime I’ll call a family meeting, and we’ll all come up here and do this chore together. As a family.”

  Sandy nodded and stood. Whenever Bobbi spoke, every member of the family—including Sandy—listened and obeyed. The family’s deeply rooted tradition dictated that Bobbi’s command would never be questioned.

  “Thank you.” Sandy grabbed Daniel’s hand and led him out. “It’ll be good to breathe some fresh air.” Like soldiers marching to a command, they descended the shaky stairs one at a time, careful not to overload the old wood.

  Chapter 7

  Bobbi’s smile faded as she followed Daniel and Sandy down the stairs. Soon as all reached the bottom, Bobbi led Daniel to the living room while both waited for Sandy to freshen up. “Care for a soda?” Bobbi headed toward the small refrigerator by the bar.

  “Sure. I’ll take anything you have. Surprise me.”

  Bobbi retrieved a can and handed it to Daniel. “It’s a Coke. I’m not very imaginative.”

  Daniel smiled, opened the can, and swallowed a big gulp. “This works perfectly.”

  Bobbi sat on the couch. “I hope your adventure in the attic was at least a bit enjoyable. Did you find anything interesting?”

  Daniel looked away. “No, not really.”

  Liar. Bobbi smiled. “That must have been disappointing.”

  Daniel shrugged. “Not really. We weren’t expecting to find anything. We were just there to somehow straighten out the place.”

  “That’s too bad that you didn’t find anything of interest. Sometimes attics reveal all sorts of fascinating information.” Bobbi stood up when Sandy entered the room. “There she is.” She gave Sandy a kiss on the forehead. “Now go out and have fun.” She watched them drive away.

  As soon as Daniel’s car left the driveway, Bobbi whipped out her cell and punched some numbers. “Leonardo,” she said once the connection had been made. “Daniel and Sandy just drove off. I want you to follow them. I want to know exactly where they go and who they talk to. Don’t let them see you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Sandy’s got her cell.”

  “Good. I can use that to track them.” Several years back, Leonardo had befriended a police detective who wanted to retire but didn’t have the means. Leonardo paid him a huge amount to show him how to track phones. Leonardo had never regretted that decision.

  “You do that.” Bobbi shut the connection and tapped her fingers against her cell, her eyes small slits in her face. She grabbed her keys and headed out. Pablo was supposed to be the family historian, but what exactly did he know and how much? She needed answers before she got him involved.

  Less than five minutes later, she stood in front of her nephew’s front yard. Pablo must have seen her as he swung the door open before she had a chance to knock. “Are you alone?” she asked as she stepped in.

  He nodded, closed the door behind her, and led her to the living room.

  “You’re aware of the family history, right?”

  Pablo nodded. “Like yeah, man. I know a lot, maybe not as much as the Hermit. But I know enough. What gives?” He sat down and pointed to the recliner in front of him.

  “Tell me about The Ledger.”

  “Whoa!” Pablo threw his hands in front of his face and leaned back on the couch. “What brought that on?”

  Bobbi glared at him and flopped down on the recliner in front of him.

  Pablo cleared his throat. “Okay. I get it. You don’t have to tell me nothing.” He paused for a moment as though gathering his thoughts. “I dunno what to tell you that you probably don’t already know.”

  “Start at the beginning. I want to see if what you know and what I know coincide.”

  Pablo shrugged. “This dude down the line, Isaac Sechrest—”

  Bobbi stiffened. “That’s your great, great grandfather. Show some respect.”

  Pablo shrugged. “Yeah, whatevers. That dude, uh, Great-Great-Grandpa knew he was dying. So then he like tries to buy a ticket to heaven, so he wrote down all of the bad stuff he and his family—dead or alive—had done.”

  “The Ledger.” Bobbi folded her hands and rested them on her lap.

  “Yeah, The Ledger. He gives it to his beloved granddaughter, Victoria. Seems he trusted her, only her. But then, a couple of days later, she like disappears and so does The Ledger.”

  Bobbi bit her tongue. He was holding back. “
And that’s the end of the story?”

  “Nah, there’s more. Some say she like wrote a couple of letters to her boyfriend where she says she’s afraid. She thinks someone is going to, you know, kill her.”

  Come on, spit it out. Tell me all you know. “And that’s all?”

  “Nah. These letters, if you could like find the secret message hidden in them lines, it tells you where that ledger is. Ol’ Joe, the Hermit, may know about this.”

  And finally, the big question. “These letters. Where are they?”

  Pablo shrugged. “Some say Ol’ Joe has them. But nobody knows for sure. Nobody’s asked him because he’s as crazy as a bedbug. No dude with any brains would listen to that hermit.”

  Bobbi remained quiet for a long time, glaring at Pablo. “Let’s look at this from another angle. Let’s assume that these letters aren’t with Ol’ Joe. That maybe, perhaps, they were hidden in the Sechrest’s attic.”

  Pablo bolted to his feet. “Shut up!” He scratched his three-day beard growth. “You’re saying those letters are like real? Man, oh man. Then The Ledger is real, too?”

  Time to hook him in. “I believe so. I also believe the Hermit isn’t quite the senile old man he seems to be. He knows more than he’s saying. All we have to do is find the right person to question him. Someone he can trust.”

  “Yeah? Like who? Me?” Pablo’s face lit up.

  “No. Like the person who found the letters.”

  “Yeah? Really? Someone found them?”

  Bobbi nodded. “Yeah, someone found them.”

  “Like who?”

  “Sandy.”

  Pablo threw his arms up in the air and waved them around. “That’s like—like huge. Have you read them?”

  Bobbi shook her head.

  “Then maybe it’s like nothing. Maybe Sandy found some letters, you know? Not the letters.”

  Bobbi stood up. “They’re the letters, all right. I overheard her talking to her boyfriend. They want to find The Ledger and expose the truth.”