Forgotten Legacy

Jocelyn Aitkin

Copyright 2017 Jocelyn Aitkin

Cover and divider art copyright 2017 Rebecca Miller

Dedicated to Robert Long

Aka Grandper

Because without his cars and the opportunity he gave me to ride in

and drive them, I would never have written this.

He’d always wanted to inherit something, though if he was perfectly honest about it, he had hoped it would be more like money or a valuable antique, not this. Dear Carson, love you. Have everything in the barn.

The barn. Great. Moldy hay and rusted old equipment. Some inheritance this was... He was going to spend weeks cleaning this out, and it wouldn’t even be worth it when it was done. Maybe the money from the scrap metal would be something, but not much.

Sometimes it just didn’t pay to be the favorite grandson.

He looked at the barn again. Someone shoot him. He should just pay someone to take it all away, not even bother to try and sort it out. The place looked like the nearest junkyard had been hit by a tornado and its rampage had dumped everything it picked up right here. For him.

Why had he been the one to get this crap? His brothers weren’t going to appreciate anything they’d gotten, but he had special memories of everything on the farm.

Dude, I thought the old man liked you. You got screwed.

Thanks a lot.

His older brother laughed, clapping him on the back. Everyone thought he was going to leave you the farm, not just the barn. You’re the one that put the most time into this place.

It is not about time. It was about Grandpa, about being with him. I didn’t come here and log hours or anything like that. It wasn’t so I’d get the farm.

Still sucks that he gave you this. I mean, his farm truck is a piece of crap, but I at least got something that moves. You got... junk.

Why does this matter so much to you? You got what you wanted. You will drive that old truck until it dies, and you’ll love it. Why not harass Nick about getting the dishes?

Because we all know that Nick got the dishes because of his wife. She wanted all that china. You did not want this.

I might have something in here that’s better than anything you two got combined. Besides, it’s not like any of us would really have gotten the house or the land. That’s all Uncle Tim’s because he still carries that oh so important name. We’re Mom’s kids, yeah, but we have Dad’s name.

Which makes no sense. Dad took off when you were born.

Gee, thanks for reminding me that I’m the reason our family broke up, Carson muttered. He knew it didn’t really matter, that his brother didn’t actually mean it like that. Larry was still angry with their father for leaving and their mother for being unable to move on. She used to wait up nights for her husband’s return, but he never came back. He may as well have been dead for the past twenty-nine years, since none of them ever heard from him again.

An image of his father’s face, one Carson had only ever seen in pictures, lying dead on the dirt floor of the barn came to him. He thought it unlikely that there was a skeleton hidden back in the barn, but it wasn’t the first time that crossed his mind. What if someone had decided his father should never come back? Maybe it was just that last bit of denial, a childish hope that his father had not abandoned them talking. He didn’t know why he cared. He had never known the man and could only regret the fact of not knowing him. His brothers and grandfather and even his uncle had nothing to say about the man except that he was a bastard for leaving.

What is that look? Larry asked, frowning a little. Carson looked over at him.

What look?

"That one, the one where you’re a million miles away. You’re being morbid again. For the last time, Dad did not die out here; no one in our family killed him. He was just a bastard who ran off and left us. You know that as well as I do. You’re not going to ask the sheriff for cadaver dogs again, are you? We already did that once."

I know. While he’d never felt like he was in danger, not once when spending time with his grandfather and he wasn’t afraid of the farm, the words did little to ease the cumbersome weight of those old fears. He didn’t know why he seemed unable to let go of that image of his father or the idea of the man being murdered.

Morbid, yeah. The sooner he emptied out the barn and dealt with his inheritance, the better.

Water?

Thanks, Carrie, Carson said, accepting the glass from his sister-in-law. She gave him a smile, pushing back some of her hair, looking more like she’d been the one sorting through the barn than he did. Then again, he hadn’t made a lot of progress, spending more of his time standing out here studying it like he expected inspiration to hit him so that he’d understand what his grandfather was doing by leaving him all of this.

If his grandfather had been behind his father’s death—if his father was even dead—then maybe this was his backward way of confessing, but why wouldn’t he just have put that in the will? In a letter for them to read after he was gone?

By the way, I’m dying so now I can admit that I killed him, and I’m not sorry. I did it for my daughter and grandsons, and I’d do it again. I’m only admitting it now because by the time anyone reads this, I’ll be dead.

Carson?

Sorry. Daydreaming again. Bad habit of mine.

I don’t think daydreaming is the right word for what you’ve been doing, she told him, folding her arms over her chest. She shook her head. That didn’t look like any kind of ‘dream’ to me, more like a nightmare, and it always does when your mind starts wandering. What makes you so quick to go to the darkness, anyway?

He shrugged. I don’t know. Maybe I’m a born pessimist. Why not? My father took off when I was born, so that’s not a very auspicious way to start life, now is it?

I suppose not, but you don’t have to let it rule your life, either. Plenty of people do just fine with only one parent, and your grandfather more than made up for your father taking off. Larry and Nick, they’re angry about the whole thing, but you, you turn it into something frightening. A murder.

I don’t know that it had to be murder. I know it’s crazy. I know they did everything to prove that I never saw what I thought I saw. Maybe it’s just my mind’s way of coping with the fact that he’s not a part of my life. I mean, he’s been as good as dead for almost thirty years. Picturing him that way isn’t that unreasonable. Carson took another sip of the water and then turned it around in the glass, feeling like he was stalling, but he didn’t know why he’d do that. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have, and he didn’t need Nick’s wife mothering him, either. He would get back to work in a minute. It’s just being out here again. It’s been a long time since I thought about it—too much work, never the time to spare to drive out all this way—and so I haven’t been here in almost a year. Hadn’t seen Grandpa in that long, either, and now he’s gone. Grief works in strange ways.

Carrie looked at him. "You work in strange ways, Carson."

He grunted, setting down the water and picking up the pitchfork. He had to deal with the hay first—he was letting his uncle keep anything that was worth using—and then he could start uncovering the stuff he would need to make a decision about. The worst part would be behind the doors in the back, a closet of sorts that he didn’t think had been opened in his entire lifetime. Anyone find the keys yet?

No.

Probably have to break the lock.

Your uncle won’t like that.

So he won’t like it. I know he’s pissed about me getting everything in the barn. It was the lawyer who said I got any of the animals in here, not me, and I already told him I’d give them to him since they belong on the farm. I wouldn’t have a place for them, and I don’t have time to care for him. I told him he could have the hay, too. Didn’t make him any happier.

It almost made Carson wonder if his uncle had secrets to hide out here, if that was why he was so upset about Carson getting all this, but he was tired of his own paranoia. He had no reason to believe that anything had happened out here. He did not need to make this situation worse by voicing any of his suspicions or even by thinking too much about them. He’d done enough to alienate his family already.

You don’t have to do this all today, you know.

Yeah, I know.

You’re going to try and do it anyway, aren’t you?

Yeah, I am.

I’ve got it figured out. I know why Grandpa left you the stuff in the barn.

You do, do you? Enlighten me, Carson said, wiping a rag across his forehead. He didn’t really care why his grandfather had done it, not anymore. Nick’s presence would have been a whole more useful if he’d done something to help with the giant mess that Carson had been dealing with for the past four hours. He didn’t want to look at any longer, but he had to be back in the city tomorrow, so the more he got done now, the better.

He at least wanted to clear a path to the locked door. If all he managed to do today was get that open, that was enough for him. He wanted to make sure he saw that before anyone had a chance to mess with what might be in there.

That door could hold the key to answers he’d wanted all his life. It could be hiding his father’s remains. At this point, Carson had no way of knowing what was in there, but at the same time, he didn’t plan on quitting before he found out.

And behind door number one... nothing, he thought, but he shook it off and looked over at his brother. With his light hair and bright blue eyes, Nick had the strongest resemblance to their mother, whereas Larry looked like a younger version of Grandpa and Carson got cursed—he was a near replica of the man everyone hated.

Maybe that was why he was so obsessed with this idea of his father being dead. Otherwise, the man he kept seeing out here was... himself. He’d never believed in visions, had no intention of starting, but he did think maybe he was going to crack under the pressure again. The first time had been a few weeks before the valedictorian speech he never made, and this could be similar. He was up for promotion, after all, and that meant more hours, more responsibility, more room for failure.

We should just have named you after someone who went into space. That’s all you ever do.

Hey, I told you to enlighten me. It’s not my fault you overplayed the dramatic pause and ruined everything. I got bored. So sue me.

That would be Larry.

No, that would be Larry’s ex. She was the lawyer.

Must you do that?

Bad habit, I guess. Come on, Nick. I’m tired. I don’t want to do this all day. I’ve got a bit left to go before I get to that door, and that’s where I’m quitting. I just want to get that door open.

Exactly.

Carson reached for a contorted piece of metal, not sure what it had ever been a part of, pointing it at his brother. Either tell me or go, but if you don’t spit it out soon, something like this just might connect with the side of your head because this is getting ridiculous.

"Fine, fine. Look, Grandpa gave you everything out here so that you’d have to go through every nook and cranny of this place, so that you’d have to see everything for what it is, but more importantly, for what it isn’t. It’s not evidence. It’s junk. Even if you get that door open, you’re not going to find a body. You’re not going to find a murder. Maybe this will finally allow you to put all those old nightmares behind you so that you can move on. You’ll get to be normal—well, for you that might be too much to ask—"

Carson lifted the scrap, giving it a swing that missed his brother, not that he’d meant to hit him. He didn’t want to hurt Nick, not really. He was just tired and frustrated, and he didn’t think anyone did well being teased when they were in a mood like this.

All right, truce, you two. I can’t believe I have to play peacemaker again, Larry called as he walked up to them. He yanked the metal from Carson’s hand, and Carson glared at him. Don’t. You’re too wound up to argue.

Nick already told you his theory, didn’t he?

Of course.

So you think that’s why Grandpa did it, too, don’t you?

Maybe.

Carson shrugged. He picked up the old lopper and carried it over to the door. He studied the old lock for a moment, not sure if a moment like this needed some kind of... ceremony. He could just put the blade on and see if it was sharp enough to do any damage. Somehow he felt like he was on the verge of some big discovery—and yet this could be one of those moments where the vault was empty and he got nothing but humiliation for the rest of his life. Since he’d done that enough already with two older brothers, he figured it wasn’t worth the risk.

You don’t have to do that tonight.

Yeah, I do.

You sure you don’t want to sleep on it? You’ve got no idea what’s in there, after all, so...

Carson shook his head. No, it’s past time I do. If Nick’s right, and this is going to get me past all those old questions and nightmares and help me let go of all those images in my head, that’s what I have to do. Here goes nothing.

He put the blade to the padlock, forcing it shut over the thinnest part of the metal, and it gave, cutting through. The old lock fell into the dirt, and Carson stared at it before setting down the shears. He pried the bar up, moving it clear and then tugged on the handle, pulling the door toward him.

After so many years of disuse, it didn’t move fast, not until an extra yank gave it a sudden momentum that knocked him on the ground. He heard his brothers laughing, but he forced himself to ignore it.

Not that it was hard to do. All he could do was stare at the gaping darkness in the doorway before him.

Is it a body?

Carson, you still alive over there? Did it scare you to death? Come on.

"I suppose it can’t be a body by now. It would have to be a skeleton, if there was one. Oh, if I’d have known that Grandpa was planning this, I think I might just have stashed one. Look at how he reacted when there wasn’t one. I should have been recording this."

Shut up, Nick. Carson pulled himself to his feet, using Larry to support him as he did. Somehow, he’d been convinced that when he opened that door, he’d have all the answers he ever wanted. He’d lay to rest all the old doubts—they’d have their father’s body and they’d know not only what happened to him but where all the ideas had come from. It wasn’t that far-fetched. He could have seen his father here sometime. If he’d come back when Carson was older, still a child but old enough to burn that memory into his mind, it would explain everything, take away the doubts and the fears from so long ago, give him a peace he’d never known.

Every time he thought that he had put this behind him, it would come back, just as strong as ever.

He didn’t know why he found it so easy to believe his grandfather was a murderer or that his father was dead, and he didn’t know why that he would have assumed the answer was behind that door. It wasn’t like they couldn’t have come out here and emptied it out years ago.

Oh, yeah, and when the nightmares were at their worst, his grandfather had persuaded the sheriff to do him a favor and they’d gotten trained cadaver dogs out here to search every acre of the farm. They hadn’t found anything, and if there’d been something shut behind that door, they would have known before now.

Well, look at him. He’s acting like he just saw Dad’s ghost or something, but we both know he didn’t. There’s no skeleton, Larry. Nick shook his head as he forced the door further open, letting more light into the shed. "Not a human one, at least. Damn, is that... a car?"

You think that thing ever ran? I’ve got to say, I have my doubts, Larry said as he walked forward, bumping Carson as he did. Come on. You don’t have to keep staring like the bogeyman’s going to come jump out at you. It’s just more junk. Sorry.

Blame it on the heat, buddy. Just blame it on the heat and working all day.

Yeah, like you two would let me do that, Carson said, stepping forward to put his hand on the brass, knowing it was way past tarnished already. "What kind of car is a Maxwell, anyway?"

You’ve got me. Never heard of anything like that. The parts might be worth more, though, so hey, maybe you lucked out a little.

Not so loud, Larry said. If Uncle Tim thinks Carson got anything of value, he’ll be even more pissed off. You’d think it wouldn’t matter, giving up a few things, but he just about lost it when he heard Carson’s bequest.

It’s not like he was fighting over this, though. I don’t think it has all its parts, not with the hood missing, and look at those seats. I bet rats have been at them. It’s only going to be worth something to a collector, if at all.

Well, there’s still his small fortune in scrap metal. That’s worth more than the dishes you got.

Shut up, Carson said, frustration getting the better of him. I don’t care about the money. Maybe a part of me wanted an inheritance, but I was hoping for some kind of... legacy, something that meant something, not a fortune. I know there’s not one of them out there for any of us, and we all knew that going into the will reading. If there was anything I wanted out of here, it was answers. All I’ve got now is more questions.

Larry put a hand on his shoulder. Maybe the answers you need were never here.

Here.

What’s this?

The name and address of the closest antique car specialist I could find. The website had a picture of a car like the one you just found, so maybe that’s enough, Carrie said, sitting down next to Carson. Nick and Larry went to borrow the Steadmans’ trailer so that they could load up that wreck onto it and drive it over there first thing in the morning.

It’ll be Sunday. That place will be closed.

I’m sure you can get them to give you a few minutes of your time, and the last thing you want to do is leave anything here. Your uncle is overreacting to the will—so much so that I’d almost have started to believe that he had some part in this imaginary murder of yours—but while he’s out blowing off steam is the best time for you to deal with everything. Then you can go and let things settle down again.

Like I did when I went to college, you mean?

Carrie let out a breath. You know that everyone needed time to cool down after that. There were a lot of hurt feelings and a lot of anger and plenty of frustration. Your nightmares tried to tear this family apart, Carson. Now that your grandfather is gone, it needs time to heal all over again.

He stared at the table, though he’d long since memorized the grain of the wood. The furniture was older than he was, and he’d been able to spend more hours than he wanted sitting right here, stubbornly refusing to eat asparagus. I didn’t ask for the nightmares. You think I want to believe that someone killed my father and that same someone was in my family? I know Grandpa and Uncle Tim hated him for abandoning all of us. I know Nick and Larry hate him for the same reason. I never knew him, and I don’t see how I could have made all of that up, but even if I did, the images are so vivid for me... They never fade, they never go away. I’m either crazy or I don’t remember enough, but unless Dad walks in the door alive, you’re going to have a very hard time convincing me that he’s not dead.

She put a hand on his arm. I know. Have you ever considered hiring a detective or befriending a cop who might research him for you, even just a little?

I don’t make that kind of money. I’m still paying off my loans for college, and you know me. I don’t make friends easy. I did google him, for all the good it did me. There’s no record of him after he left here. He could have changed his name, I guess, and I don’t know how to look for someone who has done that.

Of course not. You’re not a detective.

Carson pushed back his chair and rose. He was sick of being told that, too. They’d joked for years about him going into law enforcement because of his nightmares, most of the time in a scornful way, saying he couldn’t handle it, and he didn’t want to go into that again. He wasn’t obsessed with this, but he wanted his answers. He wanted to put it all behind him. I’m going to go take advantage of the fact that Uncle Tim is gone and get in a quick shower.

Carson.

He stopped in the doorway, looking back at her. What?

When was the last time that you saw your counselor? You are still seeing one, aren’t you?

He swallowed. He didn’t want to go into that, either. Some people liked to mock him for seeing one when he was younger, and if they weren’t mocking him, they were asking why the doctors hadn’t fixed him yet. All it would take was the right drugs and all the issues that Carson had would vanish. He’d be normal, the kind of brother they’d wanted all along. He had gone off the meds and stopped seeing the counselor years ago, but if he said that, they’d start treating him like he was a danger to himself and everyone else, watching him, trying to make sure he didn’t turn into one of those lone gunmen that killed people for no reason.

I’m fine.

Are you?

I have an apartment, a steady job, and I’m about to get promoted. I don’t—Grandpa’s death brought it all up again. That’s all. I haven’t had nightmares in years, though I’m sure I’ll have one tonight.

Just be careful. This obsession wrecked your life before, and it could do it again.

Excuse me. I think I’m lost.

Well, if you’re looking for the highway, it’s about thirty miles southwest of here, and the nearest gas station is another ten miles in either direction. If you wanted to get yourself lost, you picked a good place to do it.

Carson nodded, trying to get a better look at the person under the truck. He hadn’t realized the overalls belonged to a woman until she spoke, and he didn’t know what to think now. That was what he got for trusting Carrie’s internet search. He should have looked the place up for himself because this could not be it. Another farm, rundown and ramshackle, holding on because of a family’s sheer stubbornness, not because this kind of work turned any kind of profit. Judging from the truck she was working on, this place had seen its last heyday when his grandfather’s had—more than forty years ago.

I know where the highway is. I think I got bad directions. I came out here looking for Mac Gilreath. I guess he has some kind of... auto restoration place, but my sister-in-law must have been mistaken.

Why, because she’s a woman?

Um, he said, hoping he wasn’t about to get involved in some kind of debate over sexism because he didn’t have the brain for it at the moment. No, because I’m not entirely sure she likes me. I kind of—Well, to put it mildly, most of my family thinks I’m one step away from the looney bin.

The woman slid out from under the truck, studying him. Her hair was covered by a scarf that was more grease black than the blue of the fabric, and she seemed smaller now that he could see more of her, a trick of the shadow under the truck and her overalls, a set he didn’t figure had always belonged to her. You don’t look like some kind of psycho, but then looks can be deceiving.

He forced a smile. "Yeah, that’s true. Is there anyone named