Never Tell Them by N.L. Hinkens (android e book reader .TXT) 📕

“Do you want me to keep Henry a little longer?” Sonia offered.

“No, not at all.” Ray let out an embarrassed laugh. “I’ll put some coffee on. That should do the trick.”

Sonia gave a dubious nod as she released Henry’s hand. She got down on one knee and looked him in the eye. ”Be sure and tell your daddy to bring you over for some cookies tomorrow.”

Ray closed the door behind her and exhaled a rough breath. His brain felt like it was on fire, the wiring reconnecting, flashing bits and pieces of important information at him—too swiftly to assemble into a meaningful sequence. But he had to figure it out. He needed to know everything that was stored in the recesses of his mind. Even the dark, disturbing things. More than anything, he desperately needed to know what he’d done. He could scarcely bring himself to entertain the possibility that he had something to do with Katie Lambert’s disappearance. But how else could he explain how he’d come to be in possession of her driver’s license? He had to get to the bottom of it—and quickly. He would start by writing down everything that came to mind, no matter how disjointed. He could figure out how to put the pieces together afterward.

His gaze drifted down to Henry. First, he needed to find something to occupy his son with. Stationing him in front of the television wasn’t the most desirable option, but it was a surefire way to hold his attention. “Come on, Henry. I’m going to turn on the TV. You can watch some cartoons while dad finishes up his work.”

Henry trotted obediently into the family room and positioned himself on his knees in front of the television, his toy truck peeking out of the pocket of his jeans. Ray opened the heavy, velvet drapes to let in the light he had blocked out earlier to nap. After settling on a suitable channel, he pulled the door partly closed behind him and left a mesmerized Henry to watch his shows. Back in the kitchen, he fumbled with the coffee pot, barely able to focus as fragmented memories drifted by like wispy clouds in his brain, vanishing the minute he tried to catch them. He grabbed a pen and a pad of paper and sat down at the kitchen table to jot down some notes.

As he began to write, it felt like a dam in his brain suddenly burst. The memories came fast and furious, tumbling over themselves to be heard. Ray’s forehead grew slick with sweat as a picture began to build. He glugged down a second mug of coffee, his fingers shaking so violently he could hardly read his own writing.

When he was done, he set down his pen and skimmed over the words he’d put on the page. A shiver shot down his spine. He’d been writing about his dream last night. He’d described the hand-built log cabin in intricate detail: the saddle notched interlocking beams framing the roughly twelve by sixteen-foot space, a gable roof built from spruce and covered in sod and moss, the eight-point deer antlers nailed above the rough-hewn steps, the painstakingly crafted front door, and the bench beneath the south-facing window. A smell of damp bark and smoke greeted him as he stepped inside, his eyes sweeping over the unpretentious furnishings. Next to the stone fireplace, staring into the crackling flames, stood the cabin’s sole inhabitant—his younger brother, Tom!

Ray leapt to his feet and plowed his fingers through his tousled hair. His body tingled all over as the certainty of it sank in. Tom was alive.

In a trance, he walked over to the coffee pot and poured the dregs into his mug with shaking fingers. He grimaced as he swallowed a bitter mouthful, before dumping the rest in the sink and returning to the page of notes he’d left on the kitchen table. He rubbed his aching forehead as he tried to absorb the enormity of it. After years of searching for his brother—even going so far as to hire a private investigator—he had given up all hope that he was alive. To think that all this time Tom had been living only a short distance from their mother. Evelyn had mentioned that Tom used to call Celia regularly. His mother must have known all along where he was.

Ray folded his arms on the table in front of him. He had probably found the coordinates to the cabin among her belongings after she died. And, at some point in the past few weeks, he had hiked up to Tom’s cabin. He could see it clearly in his mind now—inhale the scent of it even when he closed his eyes. He glanced over at the counter, furrowing his brow when he spotted the pile of paper clipped bank statements he’d been going through. Why had their mother been sending Tom such a large sum of money each month? What could he possibly have been using it for? He certainly wasn’t spending it on his cabin—everything in it had looked handmade or recycled.

Ray scrunched his eyes shut in a desperate bid to remember what had gone down at Tom’s place. All at once, the fight scene flashed to mind again. And this time, he distinctly saw the face of the man he’d punched to the ground. His fingers curled into fists as the truth hit home. It wasn’t his father he’d been fighting with at all—it was Tom. But what had the fight been about? Had he confronted his brother about the money he’d been taking from their mother?

Ray stood and began pacing the floor. Another memory sprang to mind, stopping him in his tracks. This time he was in his truck, heading to the cabin, the black backpack on the seat next to him. He had driven up the mountain as far as he could and parked in the closest campground to the trail.