Destroyed

Chapter 15: Two Truths And A Lie

"Hey Cleo," Mom greeted through the phone. "Are you okay? I heard another explosion." I stood near the door of the Security Room while my phone hoisted up to my left ear.

"Paige is in a coma, or so what Clyde says." I explained.  "You were right about Harold," Mom said. "It says in his files that Harold has been expelled from Stanford University for killing one of his colleagues."

I raised my eyebrow. "What, why?" I asked. "Let's just say that he used the wrong type of medicine to test on a student." Mom sighed. "Oh," I said softly. "Anyway, what have you found out?" Mom asked.

"Clyde and Allison had an affair behind Marie's back." I continued. "It was no wonder that Marie hates her so much." "How did you know about that?" Mom asked. I let out a sigh then told her that Dewey saw it and confessed the affair to me."

A long silence poured out of the speaker. "Why would he do that?" Mom asked. "Maybe he overheard my suspicions," I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know, can you or Dad keep reading more files, in case I had missed something? "

"Sure," Mom answered. "Where are you kids now?" "In the Security Room," I answered. "It has signal service there, so they'll be calling their parents."

"Good," she sighed. "I still don't know who the terrorist is," I said as a matter of fact. "Maybe, I was just pushing my luck." "No you weren't, Cleo." Mom argued. "It turns out that you are right once again."

I am? I thought. "The authorities showed us a footage of the terrorist happened to come in here the day of explosion," Mom explained. "He carried some sort of suitcase with him." "Could it be Harold?" I asked. "Maybe," Mom answered unsurely.

"Your father thinks it is someone from our past." "How come?" I asked. "I don't know if I am right," Mom began. "But the terrorist bombed certain buildings the same way the person did."

That's when something hit me: she is talking about Zach. He is one of Mom's friends and her dance partner until he grew jealous of Mom and Dad together then tried to tear them apart by setting off bombs in various buildings.

When he was going to set a bomb in Newton High, but long story short, his plan is foiled when Dad tossed it in a manhole somewhere in Chinatown. Zach tried to kill Mom, but he ended up shooting himself in the head.

"Why do you think that Zach would do this?" I asked. "He is already dead." A sigh came out of the speaker. "I have been having this feeling for seventeen years," Mom said. "I had always hoped that he would be alive, rotting in a jail cell. I knew he deserved worse, but it was a lot better than committing suicide in front of me."

I didn't know what else to say. "Mom," I insisted. "This isn't your fault. Dad would say the same thing." "Cleo," I heard Mom sniffed. "If you find Zach, please tell him that I am sorry."

"Of course," I beamed softly. "I'll make sure I will tell him. I love you, Mom." "I love you too, Mary Russell." Mom chuckled. "I'll call you later, okay?"

"Got it," I beamed. "Oh," Mom interrupted. "I had almost forgot! The authorities are already inside of the museum!" My eyes widened at the news then looked around for them. "Where are they?" I asked. "In the lobby," Mom answered. "Somehow the earlier explosion made a hole in the entrance."

My eyes suddenly went all watery. "We can finally go home," I whispered. "Be safe," she advised. "And good luck. I love you, Cleo."

After I hang up the phone, I slipped it back into my pocket then headed back into the Security Room. Noticing the granola wrappers on the floor, I was sure everyone had their last bite of food and drank their waterbottles.

The only thing we are hoping for is a way out of this nightmare. Bill is still typing on the computer, making sure that the cameras are up and running. Meanwhile, my classmates and tour guides were walking around the room, looking as if they are lost.

"We are going to be fine," I insisted. "I just called my mom and I told her about our situation." Excitedly, the dreary survivors looked in my way, except for Jerry who whispered something in Isabel's ear.

"What did your mother say?" one of the tourist guides asked. "Thanks to the earlier explosion," I began. "We can all get out of here!" Everyone's eyes widened at my news then cheered loudly, except for Bill whose eyes glued to the screen.

What is he up to? Jared looked up from Paige's conscious body then asked me where the police are. "They are in the lobby," I told him. "Everyone get your things ready and go to the lobby."

I didn't have to repeat my instructions again, people were packing their cellphones and electronics into their bags then scampered out of the room, like mice.

While the survivors ran, Harold and Bill remained in the Security Room. I watched as Harold looked at Bill with longing, guilty eyes. He seemed as if he had missed him for a very long time. Could this mean that Harold is his...

"Excuse me," I said slowly, walking up to Harold. "Is there something that you wanted to say to Zach?" Harold looked at me in confusion while Bill stared in the cameras.

"What do you mean?" he asked. I glanced at Bill then back at Harold. "Are you his father?" I asked. His eyes widened at my question. "I don't have a son," he said quickly. I looked at his hand and gazed at his fingers until I saw the ring around his index finger.

The dirt and grime mixed with the old, causing it to look rusty. I removed his ring and studied the inside. In the Benedict Cumberbatch version of A Study in Pink, Sherlock noted that the outside of the ring looked tarnished, but the inside looked clean.

I took my flashlight and shone it into his eyes. It was red and watery from crying. "Excuse me," he began. "But what are you-" "You don't get along with your wife," I explained. "Don't you?"

He bit his lip hard then blinked at me. "Your eyes were looking at Bill, as if you had loved him like a son." "He is not my son!" Harold cried. I reached into his pocket and pulled out an old photo.

It was a picture of a young boy with brown hair and blue eyes. He wore a boarding school uniform and a huge smile. Turning the photo around, I saw small cursive letters that spelled out Zach.

Harold swallowed a gulp then sighed. "If he isn't your Zach isn't your son," I began. "Then, why do you have a photo of him in your pocket?"