As We Are | Book 2

Ghosts of the Past

Chapter Thirty-One

Ghosts of the Past

I turn the key to shut off the engine of my car.

I look back over at the pastry shop. The broken-down building with grimed windows glowing dimly.

I stare through the windows for a moment, waiting to detect movement or any sign of someone's presence, to help me understand what I'm up against.

As the seconds tick by, my patience wears thin. I step out of my car, onto the wet pavement, steel baseball bat tightly gripped in my hand.

The sky thunders as heavy rain pours down, but still, there's not an ounce of fear in me.

I walk carefully towards the window. I lean my back on the cement wall beside it to avoid being seen and I listen closely for any footsteps or dialog.

After about a minute of silence, I approach the front door.

I gently swing it open as it creaks loudly. I step inside cautiously scanning the dark and dusty room for any lethal threats – the biggest one being Shane himself.

I walk around the area slowly, there is no sign of anyone, or any possible threats besides the dust polluting my lungs.

I loosen my grip on the baseball bat and sigh deeply.

I turn on the flashlight of my phone and I proceed searching for a door that may lead to wherever Desirae is.

I walk through the silver metal door that Shane walked through when he first introduced himself as 'Jack.'

I feel like such a fool for even believing him for a second, now look where it's gotten us.

I flash my torch in what's left of the kitchen, a broken-down mess which smells of rusty pipes and musty wooden furniture.

You know, this kitchen layout, as deteriorated as it is, it isn't far off from how my kitchen at the café is.

I look straight ahead and I see a door that I approach without a second thought.

I wrap my fingers around the round knob, attempting to turn it, but it resists.

I step back for a moment, then I see a padlock a few inches below the door knob.

As I inspect it, I notice the four empty spaces on the lock, I also notice that it's been attempted a few times and judging by the corrosion marks on it, I'd guess that not even Shane himself, could figure out the pin.

This means one thing, the pin to the lock was set by the man himself, the owner of this pastry shop, my father.

I feel slight nervousness.

Not even the very corrupt mind of Shane, could get past this, what chances do I have?

I take in a deep breath and I stare at the four empty spaces on the lock.

I barely knew the man, my father, I even questioned if I was even his only living child, how on earth am I going to figure out a four-digit number that he held close to his heart?

I shake myself out of it, now is not the time for self-doubt.

I think deeply for a moment, trying to remember everything my mother has ever told me about my father.

Even though I'm all her on the outside, her white-blonde hair, her ice-cold blue eyes, she would always tell me how much like my father I am, mentally and emotionally.

If thinking like my father, means thinking like myself, my guess would be that the four-digit code has something to do with... my mother.

My father, was as I am, a hopeless romantic.

I think deeply. I crouch down, staring at the lock and rest I the baseball bat beside me.

What was the year he and Mum got married? 1990.

I punch in 1-9-9-0, but the lock doesn't budge.

I then punch in the year I was born. 1-9-9-1 doesn't work either.

I rack my brains and then a get an idea.

I punch in 1-9-8-6, the year my parents met.

Almost miraculously, the lock clicks and forcibly unlocks.

I stare at it for a while, in shock and overwhelmed, as if I'd just had a conversation with a ghost.

I pick up my bat and I rise to my feet.

I open the door and it leads into a dark room.

I scan the room which appears to be my late father's office.

It's as messy as mine is. Papers everywhere, an overflowing trash bin, and photos of people he loves.

I walk around beside the chair. I pick up the largest frame on the desk and I dust it off.

It's a picture. Of a happy family on a beach.

Tears well in my eyes when I see the first photograph of me ever, as a child.

My yellow hair gleaming in the sun and my face red as I cry. Mum's holding me gently as she stares at the camera trying to quieten my toddler self with a loving and humorous expression.

Standing right beside her, with his arms around her waist and on my back, is my father himself.

Dark-haired, handsome, Patrick McKenzie.

I smile at the frame. I look around the room to see an abundance of pictures of myself, Mum and Dad in various locations, together, smiling, happy.

Tears fall down my face. I have no memories of my father and I together, but by God, I am so happy that he had great memories with me.

I stare down the cork wall where about 50 photos of us all are pinned. As I turn to explore it, my foot runs into something hard.

I curse under my breath and I flash the torchlight to see a dented safe at me feet.

I crouch down and I enter the same four-digit pin and it opens.

Upon my inspection, I find an envelope filled with money, a lot of money.

I turn the envelope to its side to see it marked with the words, 'Escape Money.'

I place it back in the safe and I pick up a few documents.

I read one dated March 3rd 1993.

'I'm giving you 'til the hundredth day Patty, you know what you owe me. I know you have a wife and child. Give what you owe, or I'll take what's yours.'

Jesus. I get goose bumps down my spine.

I pick up another paper, this one's dated April 4th 1993.

'You've had thirty days Patty, you're in no position to play hardball. You've got 30 more days left, the last 30 days of your life if you don't give back what's mine.'

I pick up the last document in the safe. This one's dated May 5th 1993. The day before my father died.

This one hits me the hardest even though it's the shortest out of all the three documents. It says simply:

'Times up.'