Chapter 31

*Twenty years ago….*

“James, you about ready, bud?” I heard my dad calling for me from the kitchen. As I walked in, I found him and my mom talking in hushed tones.

“Yeah, dad. I just loaded the last of the fishing rods! Let’s roll!” My mom laughed at my enthusiasm. Dad and I had been taking this trip for as long as I could remember, and he’d finally convinced Marcus’s dad to let him come with us, too. I didn’t like Mr. Johnson, but Marcus was my oldest friend and I couldn’t wait to go camping all together.

“Take this and pack it in the truck, too, please.” My mom held out a small ice chest. “I packed you guys some sandwiches and drinks for the road.”

I grabbed the ice chest from her, then with a hopeful voice asked, “brownies?” My eyebrows lifted in anticipation as I awaited her response. She looked down at me the way only a mother can, and softly pressed her lips to my forehead before confirming the presence of my favorite baked treat. I scurried through the side door of the kitchen that led to the garage, and put the ice chest in the back seat of dad’s truck. Upon re-entering the kitchen, I found my parents wrapped in a loving embrace, sharing a kiss goodbye.

“Gross, dad. Come on, lets go!” I groaned as only a ten year old boy can, utter disgust at the thought of kissing any girl dripping from my voice. Noah entered the kitchen with Chris on his heels. My little brothers had begged to go on the camping trip, but this one was just for the big kids.

“MOM! Can we camp in the back yard tonight?” Chris was already rummaging through the pantry, loading snacks into his backpack to take on their “camping trip.” My dad laughed heartily at his youngest children, looking at his wife, “want me to get the tent down in the garage?”

“No, sweetheart. Thank you, but you’d better get going before your oldest son explodes from excitement.” She leaned up to give him one more kiss, before turning to give me a quick hug and a kiss on the top of my head. “Mind your father, and have a wonderful time!”Dad followed me to the garage, and as we were pulling out of the driveway I glanced back to see my mom pulling out the tent for my younger brothers. I smiled knowing they would have a great time, and so would my dad and I.

“Can we go fishing as soon as we get there?” I asked my dad excitedly. “Its Marcus and my favorite thing! We have worms right? And maybe we can make a fire and cook our catches!” My thoughts were on rapid fire coming out of my mouth, the energy of my ten year old self bursting at the seams.

“James, one step at a time. Remember we have to unload the truck and get everything put away, then get the beds set up. Once everything is done then you can fish til your heart’s content.” He smiled back at me through the rear view mirror. We pulled up to the cabin about thirty minutes later, and I bounded out of the car and into the cabin dad rented for us year after year. I was disappointed to hear that Marcus and Mr. Johnson would be staying in a cabin down the road, rather than with us, but dad promised we’d have lots of fun.

“Dad I made my bed! I yelled as a ran out the door, grabbing my tackle box and fishing rod. Can I go fish now?!” Dad pushed through the screen door, meeting me on the porch. “You can go on the dock, but do not get in the water until I am down there.” I was already half way down the dirt path to the dock before he finished talking. “Send Marcus down when they get here!” I hollered back.

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I shot up out of bed. The dream, a long forgotten memory, brought forth a moment of clarity. Maybe I didn’t know what really happened that weekend. I was only ten years old. I couldn’t shake the image of Marcus from my mind. His deep teal eyes and dark hair. A face that carried a weight far heavier than any ten year old should. I didn’t understand it at the time, but the years of abuse aged him well beyond our years. What else hadn’t I seen? His face continued to haunt my mind, and as the image rolled around behind my eyes I realized who I needed to talk to.

I needed to pay a visit to my mother. There had to be more to the story. Nothing made sense. Why, if dad knew, had he not come forward? Why cover for Nick? What did this have to do with Liv? I looked over at my wife, sleeping soundly next to me. The trauma of the past six months etched on her face, as even in her sleep she looked pained. Coming home to find my wife in a puddle on the floor of our bathroom three days ago was the final straw. She had lost her entire family in the span of a few weeks, and while I vowed to spend the rest of my days trying to fill that void, I knew she was shattered.

Nancy hadn’t know about the abuse or what really happened that night either. James is going to help me run away. The line from the journal entry from the mysterious package that was left on our door continued to bounce around my thoughts. We had made a pact to get Marcus away from Nick forever. I had no idea he’d have another child to turn his wrath towards. While Nick didn’t take the same pleasures with Liv as he had Marcus, I knew she’d grown up in hell, and I had to accept my role in that. If I had not found the journal, or had refused to help Marcus, maybe he’d still be alive. Maybe Liv would have had another person to protect her from Nick.

I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake my sleeping bride. It seemed she didn’t sleep often or well these days, so when she did I made every effort to not disturb her. In my home office, I fired up my laptop, then opened a web browser. I took a deep breath, carefully considering my next move. I pushed back from the desk, walking to the bar cart in the living room, pouring a healthy dose of scotch in a glass. Liquid courage was necessary to do what I was planning on doing. Part of me desperately wanted to be wrong, but too many things just didn’t add up. I needed more information before I talked to Liv about any of this, though.

Sitting back at my desk, I sipped the scotch, absentmindedly making notes about each unexplained item.

*Autopsy report?

*Police report?

*The journal?

*Dad covering for Nick?

*Attack on Liv?

*Who was Liv’s real mother?

*What had Nick told Nancy about Marcus?

*What did Detective Shepherd have to do with any of this?

I had so many unanswered questions, but the dear detective bothered me the most in this moment. A few days after the incident with Nancy, Liv told me about her encounter with Carl Shepherd at the tequila bar. I had wanted to trust him the day he came to the house asking about Nick. He seemed genuine, but its been impossible to trust anyone with the secrets that have haunted me for two decades. His question for Liv, though, was the strangest of all. Are you happy? What an odd question. Liv insisted he didn’t ask out of malice, and he seemed truly relieved by her answer.

I continued sipping on the scotch, staring at the list of questions I needed answers for. I knew I needed to talk to my mom, but I also had to find out more about the dear detective. He was overly invested in what was going on in our lives, and I suspect his run in with Liv wasn’t an accident. Emboldened by the scotch, and desperate for answers I wasn’t sure I really wanted, I put my fingers on the keyboard and began to type in the browser search bar.

**Detective Carl Shepherd**

I hit the enter key, afraid of what I would find. As the result loaded, I downed the last of my scotch and dove head first down the rabbit hole.