going to go away unless I tell you, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Then come inside. No point in causing a scene.”
To Marshall’s surprise he motioned for him to enter. The old man must have caught his hesitation because he gave a smirk. “Well, come in. This is what you wanted, right? Trust me, I don’t bite. I’m not the one you have to worry about.”
Marshall opened the aging screen door and stepped into the front room. The floor was made of old creaky wood and ancient furniture added to the decor. The room was large, decorated with pictures along the walls and a vase of flowers on the chipped coffee table.
The old man noticed Marshall’s gaze settle on the flower arrangement and scoffed. “It’s Samantha’s work. She insists that the place needs more color and life.”
Marshall nodded. “What’s your name, anyway?”
The old man looked him up and down, hesitating.
“Come on. You know mine. You even know my dog’s name.”
“I’m—Jonah.”
Jonah walked to a dark green reclining chair that had seen better days and slowly sat down. Marshall didn’t think he was going to get an invitation to sit, so he took the initiative and settled on a matching green couch. The fabric was thick and he sunk in further than he anticipated.
“Well, here we are. You managed to weasel your way in, and now you even know my name. What do you want to know?”
Marshall thought he had made it clear to Jonah what he was here for, but he cleared his throat and started again anyway. “I want to know what you know about Barbara Summers’ death. You must have seen or heard something. Maybe the squeal of brakes. Maybe you saw the headlights of a car late at night. Anything.”
“You’re asking all the wrong questions, boy. Barbara Summers’ death is a very small part of what has been playing out for well over a century.”
Marshall leaned forward as much as the saggy couch would let him. “What are you talking about?”
“Are you still sure you want to know? After knowledge has made itself known, there is no unknowing the truth. You’ll be forced to choose a side or fall victim—collateral damage, like Barbara Summers.”
Marshall felt goosebumps prickle his arms. The doors and windows were closed, but he could swear a cold breeze caressed his skin in a sinister way. “I want to know what you know. I want to know what happened to Barbara Summers.”
Jonah leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. He looked at Marshall, still weighing whether or not he should divulge the information. “Okay. Okay, I’ll tell you.” Jonah’s face took on a pained expression as he looked over Marshall’s shoulder and into the past.
Chapter 11
I was just a small boy when my parents died from a strain of God knows what. I was taken to an orphanage in this same county. It was a dirty place with leaking roofs and soup for almost every meal, but it was better than the street, or so I thought at the time. I couldn’t have been more then seven years old when I arrived at the orphanage.
I can still remember it like it happened last week. The other children and I hoped every day we would get adopted. Every once in awhile, prospective fathers and mothers would visit the orphanage to see that special child that had been matched to them. I was a skinny boy growing up with wild blond hair and a freckled face. Let’s just say I wasn’t most parents’ first choice as a new son.
I don’t hold it against them, though. I know what I looked like then. As the days, weeks, and months passed, we all hoped. We prayed every night that we would be brought a mother and father that would take us away from the orphanage to a warm, cozy house with a dog, a cat, and a white picket fence. We would make up stories and imagine what our new parents would look like and the new lives we would lead when we were finally chosen.
During these months there was one person who would come to meet children and
“Nope.”
“Then come inside. No point in causing a scene.”
To Marshall’s surprise he motioned for him to enter. The old man must have caught his hesitation because he gave a smirk. “Well, come in. This is what you wanted, right? Trust me, I don’t bite. I’m not the one you have to worry about.”
Marshall opened the aging screen door and stepped into the front room. The floor was made of old creaky wood and ancient furniture added to the decor. The room was large, decorated with pictures along the walls and a vase of flowers on the chipped coffee table.
The old man noticed Marshall’s gaze settle on the flower arrangement and scoffed. “It’s Samantha’s work. She insists that the place needs more color and life.”
Marshall nodded. “What’s your name, anyway?”
The old man looked him up and down, hesitating.
“Come on. You know mine. You even know my dog’s name.”
“I’m—Jonah.”
Jonah walked to a dark green reclining chair that had seen better days and slowly sat down. Marshall didn’t think he was going to get an invitation to sit, so he took the initiative and settled on a matching green couch. The fabric was thick and he sunk in further than he anticipated.
“Well, here we are. You managed to weasel your way in, and now you even know my name. What do you want to know?”
Marshall thought he had made it clear to Jonah what he was here for, but he cleared his throat and started again anyway. “I want to know what you know about Barbara Summers’ death. You must have seen or heard something. Maybe the squeal of brakes. Maybe you saw the headlights of a car late at night. Anything.”
“You’re asking all the wrong questions, boy. Barbara Summers’ death is a very small part of what has been playing out for well over a century.”
Marshall leaned forward as much as the saggy couch would let him. “What are you talking about?”
“Are you still sure you want to know? After knowledge has made itself known, there is no unknowing the truth. You’ll be forced to choose a side or fall victim—collateral damage, like Barbara Summers.”
Marshall felt goosebumps prickle his arms. The doors and windows were closed, but he could swear a cold breeze caressed his skin in a sinister way. “I want to know what you know. I want to know what happened to Barbara Summers.”
Jonah leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. He looked at Marshall, still weighing whether or not he should divulge the information. “Okay. Okay, I’ll tell you.” Jonah’s face took on a pained expression as he looked over Marshall’s shoulder and into the past.
Chapter 11
I was just a small boy when my parents died from a strain of God knows what. I was taken to an orphanage in this same county. It was a dirty place with leaking roofs and soup for almost every meal, but it was better than the street, or so I thought at the time. I couldn’t have been more then seven years old when I arrived at the orphanage.
I can still remember it like it happened last week. The other children and I hoped every day we would get adopted. Every once in awhile, prospective fathers and mothers would visit the orphanage to see that special child that had been matched to them. I was a skinny boy growing up with wild blond hair and a freckled face. Let’s just say I wasn’t most parents’ first choice as a new son.
I don’t hold it against them, though. I know what I looked like then. As the days, weeks, and months passed, we all hoped. We prayed every night that we would be brought a mother and father that would take us away from the orphanage to a warm, cozy house with a dog, a cat, and a white picket fence. We would make up stories and imagine what our new parents would look like and the new lives we would lead when we were finally chosen.
During these months there was one person who would come to meet children and
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