Here is a story I wrote and had to publish on the web. Hope you like it.







The Secrets of a Dead Man



By: Lauren Hayden







Chapter 1



As I sat in the back seat of my grandfather's car, I watched the open fields pass by in front of me. The weather was overcast and dreary, much like the emotions I was feeling. I sat there replaying the events that had unraveled over the last three days. I was unsure of what was going to happen now. I still remember the exact moment I received the call from my mother. I had no idea that my life was going to change forever. There was no way around what was about to happen.



I had just finished breakfast, and was trying to get the kids dressed and ready for school. When the phone rang I was a little shocked that someone would be calling so early in the morning. I picked it up on the second ring, hoping the sound didn't wake the baby, "Hello?" I asked, unsure of who could be on the other line.



"Grace, it's your mother, I have some bad news. Your father has died. I just received word from your stepmother." Her voice lacked emotion. Maybe it was the fact that my father was pretty much a dead beat, never taking care of his family, that is, until he started a new one with his mistress. I don't think my mother ever got over his betrayal.



"What happened mom?" I asked.



"They don't know for sure. They found him in the garage with the car running. They think he committed suicide. Maybe he couldn't live with all the mistakes he had made in his lifetime. The guilt of being a bastard finally caught up with him."



She was right; he wasn't the best example of a decent man. His past was full of secrets, many, I'm sure that would put any man to shame. "Well mom, you don't sound too broken up over the news." Honestly, I wasn't too broken up either. The last time I had spoken to my father was at my high school graduation 20 years ago. The only reason he had shown up in the first place was because the guilt of being a dead beat must have been too overwhelming. He must have felt that he needed to attend at least one of the important moments in my life.



"When and where is the funeral?" I asked.



"Well it's going to be in Chicago, two days from now. You and your brother should go, even if he was a horrible father." She sounded almost a little sad that he was gone, but I could tell she would not be flying out to Chicago with us.



"Okay, thanks mom. I'll call Grandpa Art (my father's dad) to see if I can stay with him for a couple days. Talk to you later, bye." I hung up the phone, trying to remember where my address book was, so I could call Grandpa Art.



By noon I had made all the arrangements to fly out to Chicago. I would be there first thing in the morning. The only good part about this trip would be the fact that I hadn't seen my grandfather since my first child had been born, almost eight years ago. I wasn't looking forward to the funeral, but I was interested to find out why my father had possibly committed suicide.



Chapter 2.



Well, the funeral was everything I expected it to be. Seeing his other family sit up in the front of the church was a little hard because I wondered why it wasn't mine that could be up there. It should have been, but I couldn't change the past. After the funeral, Grandpa Art, my brother, and I drove over to the local pub, where the wake was being held. It was no shock that this was my father's favorite place to hang out, since most of the patrons were a lot like him, losers.



After the wake, my grandfather, brother, and I said our goodbyes, and gathered our belongings. Before leaving, my father's oldest son, Simon, pulled me aside. "Grace, I know that we have never gotten to know one another, but please don't blame us for that. Our father had many faults, but he was a good man. Maybe I know this because I spent more......"



"Please spare me the excuses. You and I both know he was bad." Before he could finish the conversation, I turned and walked out the door.



"Grace, wait! I have something for you. It belonged to him and he wanted you to have it." I had a hard time believing my father would leave me something behind, but the desperation in Simon's voice made me turn around and see what was left for me. He handed me a small book that was pretty tore up. "He had this on him when he died. Attached to the front was a note that instructed this book to be given to you. I'm not sure what it is because it has a lock on it, but I hope it helps you somehow. Maybe it will give you the closure you need." I suddenly felt bad for the rude words I had spoken to him minutes before. I could see the pain he was feeling. He must have really loved our father.



I took the book and thanked him. "Maybe we can meet up again someday, under better circumstances of course. Take care Simon." With that, I got into my grandfather's car and drove toward the airport. The ride was quiet and long. I kept thinking about the book, wondering what was inside. Obviously it was important, if my father had it in his hands before he died. I tried to open it, but the lock was secure, there was no way of trying to pry it open. I would have to wait until I got home to figure a way of popping the lock.



Chapter 3



It had been a week since I left Chicago, and the book still intrigued me. After I got the kids off to school, I pulled the book from my nightstand. It was a very old book, but it didn't seem like a normal one. It looked almost like a diary. I examined the lock and noticed four tiny screws holding the lock in place. They were so small; there was no way a normal screwdriver would work. Suddenly I remembered an eyeglass repair kit my husband had that contained a tiny screwdriver. I searched through his nightstand, and found it under some fishing magazines. The screwdriver looked small enough, so I gave it a try. The screws were on tight, but finally one gave and I was able to take it out. With a little more elbow grease, I removed the remaining three. I opened the book and realized that the writing on the inside was my father's. This must have been his diary or journal of some sort. There was something funny about the diary though. There were several pages missing, they seemed to have been torn out. In fact, there were only five entries total. And by the dates on top of each one, they were written over a span of 30 years. The first entry was dated November 2nd 1967. It read as follows:



I am ashamed of the person I have become. I feel horrible for the sins I have committed during the last few years. I have lied, cheated and stolen from my wife. She has no idea that I have emptied both of our saving accounts and I have taken the money that we have been saving up for Grace and William's college fund. In the morning she will know that I have taken everything and left her with two kids to raise on her own. I can't live with the guilt of having two separate lives, so I need to choose between the two. I am choosing to start over with my new family. The woman I have been seeing for the last year has told me she is pregnant with my child. I am hoping to be the father that I could not be with my other family. Seeing Grace's face is too painful. She conjures up too many bad memories. I need to leave now or I will go crazy. I hope one day I will be able to face them, but for now this is my only option.



I set the book down on the coffee table in front of me. I found myself staring out the window, trying to comprehend what I had just read. Outside, I could see several kids playing in a pile of raked leaves. Their actions seemed so innocent. They seem to have no care in the world. I wish I could have a fraction of their worry free life. Instead I grew up in a more difficult situation, a broken home.



I glanced back at my father's diary. I was confused with the first diary entry. Why would my father have no choice but to leave us? Why did I cause so many bad memories for him? There were so many questions that would forever go unanswered. Not only was I confused, but I was also angry. I never knew the conditions that he had left my mother in. He not only cheated on her and left her alone, but he stole all of her savings, so that she was left penniless with two kids. I continued to read, hoping that I would find the answers to my questions. I picked up the diary again and opened it up to the next entry. It was dated a few years later, June 26th 1972:



As I look at my children growing up, I am riddled with guilt for not being part of my other kid's lives. What are they doing right now? Do they remember me? I know that Grace was only 3 and William was just a baby, but maybe Grace remembers.



I had another dream last night. Her face haunts me and reminds me of my past. Sometimes the guilt is so overwhelming that I just want to crawl into bed and never wake up. I wonder if Grace knows about my secret? Would she ever forgive me for what happened? I try not to think about it, but I know the dark shadows are looming overhead.



I wanted to continue reading about the secret he was talking about, but the second entry was partially destroyed. It looked as if water had ruined the remaining entry, making it impossible to read the rest. My brain was working a million miles a minute trying to figure out what he was talking about. What could his secret be? I tried to think of all the possible situations he could be talking about, but I kept coming up blank.



Maybe my mother could help me. Dragging up old memories for her may not be the best thing for her mood, but I had to find out. I picked up the phone and dialed, but there was no answer. I looked at the clock and realized it was 11:30 am on a Tuesday; she probably was at her scrap book club. I would have to wait until later to ask her what the diary entry meant. Although his questions kept racing through my head, there was nothing I could do about them. My only option was to keep reading more entries.



I picked up the diary again and began to read the third entry. I was shocked to see that it was dated on the date of my high school graduation, June 6th 1987:



Today I went to Grace's graduation. She looked so beautiful, but I could feel the coldness she projected toward me. I don't blame her for being mad at me. I have been a horrible father to her and her brother. Ever since my therapist told me I needed to face my past to move on with my future, I have tried to see my other family.



Today was hard because I knew she didn't want me there, but I needed to see her. I needed to see if the pain I had left them with was still there. I thought I would be able to handle it, but the feelings overwhelmed me and could not stand to look at Grace. I left before the ceremony started, and headed to the one place I should not have gone.



I went to a small hole in the wall bar, and took my first drink in over 15 years. Alcohol has always been my biggest enemy. I had been battling the temptation more than ever, these last few months. Alcohol was what caused my sorrow in the first place, but it could never take away my secrets. Someone was going to find out what I did. I almost needed for someone to find out that I............



Once again the print was illegible. What in the world was my father talking about? Why was it so hard for him to even look at me? Did I cause him to leave? Was I a bad child? My heart sank because thoughts of me being the cause for my family's sorrow came to the surface. I needed to get a hold of my mother. I tried again, but there was no answer. I continued to try, and finally she picked up.



"Hello?"



"Mom, it's Grace. I need to talk to you about dad."



"Well, what do you need to know?" she responded.



"After the funeral, I was given a book from dad. I was told that he had it on him in the car, with a letter attached telling whoever found him, to give the book to me. When I got home I was able to open it and read what was inside. It looks like it was his diary, but there are only 5 entries remaining, and they are a little confusing to me. He keeps referring to a secret of his and how painful it is to look at me. Do you know what he is talking about?"



There was silence on the other line. Finally I heard a small voice. "Grace there is something I need to tell you." There was another long pause, "Grace you used to have a twin, but she was kidnapped when she was two years old. She was taken at the park next to our old house." Again there was another long pause as if my mother was trying to find the best words to use. "Your father had taken both of you to the park one day. He said that you had fallen on the sidewalk while chasing a ball. When he was finished tending to your scraped knee, he realized she was gone. We searched for months, doing everything we could to find her. Your father seemed to take it really hard. He spent all his spare time looking for ways to assist in the search for her. Finally after six months the police told us there was a slim chance we would ever get her back. We had to go on with our lives. We were both devastated, but your father seemed to crumble when he received the news. He was never the same again, he always seemed so distant from us. Your sister's kidnapping seemed to be his catalyst for leaving us. I'm sorry I never told you, but it was too painful to bring up after all these years. We agreed that it would be better if you never knew about her."



There was silence on the line. I didn't know what to say nor did I even know what to think. "Grace? Grace are you still there?"



I hung up the phone, not realizing that I had ended the conversation with my mother without even responding to what she said. I had a twin. How could I have a twin and not know about it. Isn't there suppose to be some deep connection between twins? Despite my confusion, something didn't seem right. Why would my sister's kidnapping be a shameful secret for my father? It wouldn't be shameful unless he was at fault for her kidnapping. I picked up the book, hoping the remaining two entries would help. The fourth entry was dated March 18th 2005:







My addiction is ruining my life. My family can see I am spiraling out of control and they are doing everything they can to help me. They don't understand what is going on with me, and I could never tell them about my secret. I just want to die. All I think about is ending it, ending the pain that has taken over me. But I know I can't end it yet because I have to tell someone the truth. I know I should tell Grace what happened. Sometimes I wonder if her mother told her about her twin sister. Does she ever have memories of her? How can someone grow up their entire life and not know about having another sibling;let alone a twin? I have to tell her it's my fault for what happened. She has to know how sorry I am for the kidnapping. My only problem is that she doesn't want to see me. I have to figure a way to get to her and make her listen.



I put the book down and my lap, and started to recall the phone calls I started to receive last year. My father kept trying to talk to me, but I would never give him the chance to tell me what he needed. I remember my mother telling me that he kept showing up at her house, begging her to convince me to talk to him. We both concluded that he was full of it, and that he was finally feeling guilty for being the deadbeat father and husband that he was. I changed my number, so that I wouldn't have to deal with his excessive phone calls. But now I realize that he was trying to tell me his secret. All this time, he was trying to confess, but I wouldn't let him. I wiped the tears from eyes. I felt a wave of guilt flood my emotions. It was a very good possibility that I had contributed to his suicide, because I wouldn't let him confess. Despite the guilt I felt, I couldn't let go of the fact that I had a twin, and she was no longer part of my life. I felt like part of me was missing. I flipped to the last entry and was shocked at when it was written. It was written the same day he died, October 14th 2006.



Grace,



If you are reading this than you know I am dead. I can no longer live with the guilt I have. There is only one way to no longer feel the pain that I have carried all these years, but before I go I need to tell you the truth. You had an identical twin sister. When you were two I had lost my job, so your mother had to pick up a second job to make a living. I was responsible for taking care of the two of you while she was at work. Most of the time I couldn't recall what had happened during the day because I spent it drinking, ashamed of the sorry excuse for a husband and father I had become. Drinking was my biggest downfall; it is what led to the incident. It's my entire fault your twin is gone. The three of us had gone to the park. On the way there I made a stop at the liquor store. The last thing I remember was going back to the car to take another drink. On my way to the car, I slipped on the wet sidewalk and hit my head. I must have fallen into a spot where no one noticed me. When I woke up I realized we were still at the park. Despite a pounding headache, and the need for another drink, I started to realize that I had left you girls alone. In a panic I got up and ran to the area where both of you had been playing. I could see you near the swings making a sand castle, but I couldn't find her. I looked everywhere for your sister. If I hadn't been drinking, she never would have been kidnapped. I never told anyone what had happened, until now. I did everything I could to help with the investigation, but we never could find her. I know this is a long stretch, but I hope you can forgive me for what I have done. I am so sorry Grace.



I placed the book down and couldn't believe what I had just read. My father had killed himself, because of a painful secret he could no longer live with. He was responsible for losing my sister and never told anyone what had happened. I hated him more than ever, but I also felt sorry for the guilt he must have been going through in the past 30 years. He had tried to confess, but I wouldn't give him the time of day. I guess the guilt became too much for him to live with anymore.



Although many of my questions had been answered, I knew that it would take a long time to adjust to my new life, a life that contained only half of me. I knew I was my father's only voice. I had to tell people what he had done. I knew this was a burden I would carry for the rest of my life, but I had more important things to worry about now. Maybe my other half was out there. Maybe she was still alive. This was my first and only priority. I reached for the phone to call my mother; the search for my sister was on.