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“COME WITH ME, JONAS. I want you to see and hear the truth for yourself.”
He glared at Linsey through untrusting eyes. “All these years and you’ve never come for me.” His voice bellowed, “Never even let me know you were alive?” Jonas’ face contorted into a grotesque Halloween mask. He was furious. “My mother’s name was Jillian Jackson.”
“Yes, Jonas. My name was Jillian, but not Jackson. Your father and I were never married.”
“My parents were married,” he protested. “My father told me they were.” Jonas hadn’t noticed the clock above the door earlier, but now he saw it. Six-fifteen.
“I have to go. I have to meet someone.”
Meeting Rose had slipped his mind. His life was becoming like a television soap opera. A dead mother now undead. A father who hid the truth from him his entire comprehending life. A father who may have raped his girlfriend and possibly gotten away with it. He was still on the fence about this until Linsey Logan Jillian, whoever she was, had entered his life. Lies, lies, and more lies. He wanted his questions answered, but meeting Rose was the most important date on his agenda right now. Linsey Logan Jillian could wait. She waited 15 years to seek him out. She could wait longer to explain it all to him. His hand was on the knob again. The cool, knob was turning in his palm.
“Jonas, let me give you an address to where you can meet me. At this address, all your questions will be answered. Midnight, Jonas.” She ripped a sheet from the pad on the table. Scribbled the address. Handed it over. “Midnight, Jonas.”
********************
THE KID WATCHED AS Jonas pushed through the doors and tore down the steps, burning a trail to his car. He heard the car door open and slam shut. He guided his attention back to the entrance, waiting for his quarry to emerge.
Inside his car, Jonas bumped his head back against the seat. He did not have far to go to reach the special meeting place. He just wanted out of that room. It was suffocating him. He tapped Rose’s number into his phone, hoping she would let him pick her up. The call went straight to voicemail. He abandoned the library lot, reaching the special place early. It was only six thirty-five. He parked, got out and looked around. No Rose.
The thought of sitting in the car and waiting was exhausting. He was not going to sit around and wait. He figured he could drive the path she would have to take coming from her house. There were only two ways in from her house, and he was sitting at the first entrance located at the end of the bridge. He drove slowly past the second entrance at the beginning of the bridge. No sign of Rose. His foot stayed lightly on the gas pedal as the car drifted toward Rose’s neighborhood. Jonas double parked with the car idling in front of the house. His eyes swept over the home. It appeared eerily abandoned. No cars. Doors closed. Windows dark. Curtains drawn.
He opened the car door and left it ajar with the engine running, and the tailpipes sounding like a motorcycle. Usually, Rose would have run out when she heard his car. This time she did not come. He stood on the walk, debating if he should ring the bell.
“Hey, boy, you looking for the Canters?” The voice came from a house across the street. It was that of a man sitting on his porch.
“Yes, sir.”
“They ain’t there, son. They’re at the hospital.”
Jonas was stunned. Not quite sure he had heard what the old man had said correctly. He crossed the street. “Sir, did you say they went to the hospital?”
The elderly man stood up, shuffling to the porch’s edge. “Some kind of accident. The street was all lit up with ambulances and fire trucks. They took young Miss Rose away. The poor girl has been dealt a rough hand.”
“Do you know which hospital?”
“Not for sure, son, but I would put my money on the closest one.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jonas said as he ran off to his car. The door slammed after him. He gunned the engine, polluting the air with noises from the tailpipes sounding like a convoy of tractor trailers passing through. The elderly man leaned over the porch railing, head cocked, and eyes focused on the tailpipes billowing white smoke and a deafening, roaring cacophony. He cupped his hand to one side of his mouth and yelled, “Hey, get that darn muffler fixed!” His suggestion didn’t reach the target.