Chapter 35
Noon had arrived and the glory of the morning sun was replaced by dark grey clouds which threatened to unleash a furious downpour on the streets below. Rebecca should have been home by now, but she was not. Her chest was starting to feel a little tight and a small cough escaped her mouth. It was the start of another asthma attack. But Rebecca was cool, her temper had subsided, and she still had her Ventolin in her backpack. Nothing she could not handle.
As the wind started to pick up, Rebecca found herself standing in front of an old, dilapidated building, tucked in the corner of a desolated street. The road leading up to the building was littered with rubbish and newspapers, and a greyish stained dumpster next to the entrance of the building reeked of urine; on the walls were graffities of nude women and obscene words.
Rebecca coughed again and pulled her backpack closer to her chest, wishing she had changed into something warmer. Her thin checkered blouse and khaki shorts were not doing anything to keep her warm.
She wondered if she had come to the wrong address. She was sure she copied down the address of an old printing press correctly. She looked up at the walls of the three-story building, the once cream-colored paint was peeling and though a few windows above were opened, they were hanging precariously onto fragile hinges.
She had come in hopes of finding more about the mysterious Silverman twin, but she had to wonder if this was truly the right place. Rebecca peered into the main glass door. It was unlocked, but it was so dusty and full of grime that Rebecca could not see beyond it.
A cat suddenly jumped out of the dumpster and startled Rebecca.
“Geez!”
The cat meowed at Rebecca and rubbed itself at her bare legs before sauntering off with what looked like a fishbone in its mouth.
Gingerly, she pushed the door open, it creaked loudly, as if announcing her presence.
“Hello? Is anyone here?”
No answer. The hallway was dimly lit by a lone light bulb that hung from its bare ceiling. The interior looked slightly better preserved than its exterior, and this allowed Rebecca to relax slightly. She inched forward and called out again, “Hello?” Her voice echoed through the hallway.
The door behind her creaked to a close and she instinctively turned her head back to see if anyone was behind her.
Silly me! she thought as she placed a hand to her chest. Her heart was beating wildly from all her imagination.
“Hello.”
“Ahh!” she cried out and immediately turned back towards the hallway.
An old man in a cotton brown cardigan and thick-rimmed glasses stood directly in front of her. He reminded her of the Hunchback of Notre Dame.
“How can I help you?” the old man asked, his voice hoarse but kind.
Suzanne smiled awkwardly, feeling embarrassed by her lack of courage earlier. She held out a hand and the man took it. His hand was cold and clammy, as they were bony and wrinkly. She wondered if he lived alone in this building.
“I’m Rebecca Grey from TNN. I’m looking for a George Whitmore?”
A warm smile spread across the old man’s face and his eyes disappeared into the wrinkles of his smile, “Ahh…that would be me.”
Oh! Rebecca had envisioned a smart and immaculately dressed elderly man, probably in the pink of health, but what stood in front of her was the total opposite. Suddenly Rebecca felt guilty, feeling as if she was intruding on his rest. The old man looked like he could bite the dust any minute now.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Grey?”
He let go of her hand, still smiling, waiting for her to explain herself.
Rebecca cleared her throat, “Um…I’m really sorry to intrude Mr. Whitmore but do you happen to remember an article you once wrote about the Silverman family? There was a twin mentioned in the article.”
At the mentioning of the Silverman name, the smile left old man Whitmore’s face and all friendliness flew out the window. It seemed to Rebecca that he suddenly became agitated.
“What do you want to know?” he gave a restless sigh even as his dull yellowed eyes shifted back and forth as if fearing an invisible enemy.
“Do you know what happened to the twin?”
His reaction made Rebecca even more curious. She could feel her adrenaline pumping, something she always felt whenever she landed on a big story.
The old man shifted his gaze to the building, “Do you know this was once a beautiful office, bustling with activities?”
Rebecca cocked her head, confused by his question. She had done a background check on the company before coming, the Whitmore Printing Press had been doing fairly well up to about three decades ago when they suddenly filed for bankruptcy and shut down.
She nodded her head, feeling her curls bobbing up and down. Rebecca coughed again and made a mental note to stock up on her Ventolin puffs.
“We were heading in only one direction, then we were heading up. We were even planning to get listed soon.” There was a faraway look in the old man’s eyes as he recounted his days of glory.
Then he shook his head bitterly and waved his hand in the air, “But as you can see, things did not turn out that way.”
Rebecca’s brows furrowed, she was genuinely curious, “What happened?”
The old man, who was slightly hunched over held out a crooked finger, motioning for Rebecca to come closer. She bent over slightly, and the man whispered into her ear, “It was a lie. The Silverman twin did not die.”
***
Lightning flashed across the sky as thunder rumbled in the evening sky. William was still in his room, and his phone still in pieces on the carpeted floor. The place felt achingly empty without Rebecca. He wondered where she was now.
He glanced at his watch and inhaled sharply; it was almost 6. Shit! Had time flown by so fast?
Quickly he sprang up from the floor and headed to his study, where a spare phone was kept in the drawer of his massive mahogany table.
He had thought hard and long the entire afternoon, weighing the gravity of the outcome of what he was about to do. And now, he had finally decided. He would do the right thing.
Forgive me, he thought as he started to dial a number.