| Mystery and Crime Fiction posted January 31, 2025 | Chapters: |
...24 25 -26- 27... 
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Garth's meltdown
A chapter in the book Veil of Secrets
Veil of Secrets - Chap 26
by Begin Again
The raging storm was unlike anything Bayside residents had ever experienced. The wind shrieked through the Vineyard, tearing at the vines with a fury that sent branches snapping and leaves whipping through the air.
Sheets of rain hammered the earth, turning dirt paths into rivers of mud that slithered down the hillside in thick, choking waves. The Vineyard, usually well-tended and orderly, was now a tangled mess of broken trellises and half-uprooted vines. The relentless downpour blurred the landscape, washing away footprints, loose gravel, and any trace of those who had passed through.
Inside the house, the candle flames flickered violently, struggling against the unseen force that rattled the windows and groaned through the beams.
Exhausted, Eleanor sat near the mansion's fireplace, staring into the flickering flames, her mind distant and troubled.
Jenna was gone now, off to see Donatelli, but not before berating her mother, leaving Eleanor feeling drained, empty, and questioning herself. She should have done more. She should have known.
Lightning split the sky outside, and she felt a shift in the air the moment it flashed.
A presence.
Antonio, a translucent figure with a haunting presence, shimmered and appeared.
Something about his posture — his rigid stance, the way his fingers curled at his sides — made her uneasy. "What is it, Antonio?"
His dark eyes were solemn, his voice barely above the storm's howl. "The storm is hiding things," he murmured.
Eleanor frowned, gripping the arms of her chair. "What do you mean? Has something happened?" She'd felt it, too, but had dismissed it because of her feelings surrounding Jenna and Matthew. She didn't know what it was, but she knew something was there, something she'd never dealt with.
Antonio moved toward the window, staring out at the Vineyard. His gaze was distant, lost in time as he spoke. She could hear raw pain in his voice as he recounted how, long ago in Italy, people took women from the villages — stealing them from their homes and families.
Eleanor stiffened. "Taken?"
Antonio nodded, his face dark. "There were never any clues. No footprints. No tracks. The storm swept away any sign of what had happened. My grandmother was one of them."
Eleanor swallowed, unease settling deep in her chest. "You're saying someone used the storm to cover their crimes?"
Antonio's voice was filled with sadness — haunted. "Some said the women ran away on their own, but the legend said something different. They said a sorcerer, or perhaps something worse, had cast a spell — hiding the truth behind nature's fury. Making it look like nothing had ever happened."
The wind howled again, louder this time as if answering him. The walls shuddered from its relentless force.
Eleanor's hands curled together. "Antonio," she said, forcing her voice to remain steady, "is that what you think is happening here?"
He hesitated before answering, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know only this," he said. "Cornelius brought black magic to the Vineyard when he stole Miriam. It has stained this place. Poisoned it."
Eleanor felt a chill creep up her spine, a tangible fear she couldn't shake off. She had pushed her thoughts away, unwilling to let fear take hold — expecting evil but refusing to see.
Antonio's voice dropped lower as if afraid the storm itself might hear. "It is possible that it has come to the Vineyard. First, Miriam, the boy, Rebecca, and maybe others."
Before Eleanor could respond, a loud crack of thunder split the sky. A flash of lightning illuminated the room, then plunged it back into candlelight.
A new sound joined the storm.
Footsteps — heavy, uneven, slamming against the floorboards in the hall.
Then — shouts of anger. "That's enough!"
Eleanor turned sharply toward the doorway and Garth.
He stood there, drenched from head to toe, his clothes caked in mud, his eyes wild with frustration. Water dripped from his hair, trailing down his face, but he didn't notice. His hands were clenched at his sides, his boots leaving smeared tracks across the wooden floor. He had been out searching for Rebecca, fighting against the storm, the wind, the hopelessness.
Now he came in to find them talking about legends and magic.
His voice was hoarse, raw with exhaustion. "Enough of you and your foolishness."
Eleanor straightened in her chair, but Antonio remained still, observing him.
Garth took a step forward, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "I won't believe that some damned black magic has Rebecca!"
His voice cracked, filled with something that sounded dangerously close to despair.
"I've been knee-deep in the mud, searching for her, praying that she's just lost — just waiting for me to find her. And you —" His gaze snapped to Antonio, his voice laced with fury. "Why should I trust a ghost who's been dead for fifty years?"
The storm roared outside, rattling the windows as if mocking his rage. Garth dragged a hand through his soaked hair, shaking his head, his chest heaving. "I won't have it," he muttered. "I won't let myself believe something unnatural has taken her."
Antonio's expression remained unreadable, but his voice was calm when he spoke.
"It does not matter what you believe, Garth. It matters only what is real."
The words sent a chill through the room.
Deep down, Eleanor grappled with the uncertainty of what was out there, whether it was legend or reality. And inside her, she felt that Cornelius might have something to do with it. How could she expect Garth to understand?
Without another word, Garth shook his head in disgust and stormed back outside into the rain.
"Garth!" Her call fell on deaf ears. She moved to the window, looking over the ravaged vineyard, and wrapped her arms tightly around herself even though the fire crackled behind her. Antonio's words had left her feeling cold.
"The storm is hiding things."
"Cornelius brought black magic to this place."
"What if it's here again?"
She wanted to dismiss it, to believe this was just another tragedy, but she couldn't let go. Something was telling her it was more than a storm.
Without warning, a strange warmth spread through her body, and her vision blurred. This wasn't a new occurrence, but it seldom meant something good. A vision —
She could see the river churning.
A gasp escaped her throat.
Rebecca was lying on the riverbank, her face pale, her body shaking from fever.
A young girl pressed herself against her side to keep warm.
Rebecca's lips moved — she whispered something, but her words were broken.
Eleanor strained to hear.
The vision ghosted into the cold air. With a sudden jolt to Eleanor's body, the vision shattered, leaving her gasping and stumbling backward. Her head throbbed, her heart pounded.
Antonio rushed to her side, trying to steady her. "What did you see?"
Eleanor's eyes met his as she swallowed hard, trying to catch her breath. "She's alive," she whispered. "She's fighting for her life."
Antonio nodded as if he'd known.
"She's not alone," Eleanor added. "There's a child with her."
Antonio's voice sounded like a prayer, "Then we must hope she holds on."
Eleanor closed her eyes, exhaling as she whispered, "Hold on, Rebecca."
The front door burst open, bringing wind and rain as Garth once again stormed inside, carrying the storm's fury with him.
Eleanor turned, startled at his sudden entrance. She felt his rage. Before she could speak, he lifted the locket and the torn fabric, remnants of Rebecca's dress.
His voice was rough, demanding to be heard. "She was there in the vineyard." He rolled the broken necklace in his hand. "Alone and probably hurt. And you're standing here talking about storms hiding things? About black magic?"
Eleanor flinched, but Antonio remained still. "Garth," she started, her voice calm and careful as she struggled to explain.
But he wasn't done.
He wasn't about to let anyone rein in his rage. His temper flared, yelling, "I don't care about legends. I don't care about curses or spirits or whatever the hell else you two think is happening." He stepped closer, his grip tight on the locket. "I care about finding Rebecca."
Eleanor took a slow breath, steadying herself. "Then listen," she said, harsher than she intended.
Surprised, Garth stopped his current tirade and stared at her.
She met his fierce, determined gaze. "I saw her."
The room went still.
Garth stared at her, his grip on the locket tightening.
Eleanor saw the flicker of emotion behind his frustration — hope, hesitant but fierce.
His voice dropped, rougher, almost menacing. His FBI persona returned as he snarled, "Don't mess around, Eleanor. No more of your foolishness. Give me some facts."
Eleanor shrugged her shoulders, walked to the window, and stared out, knowing he would reject her words. "It was a vision."
"You and your vision crap." As soon as the words escaped his lips, he felt ill. "I'm sorry, Eleanor. You don't deserve that. You've always given your best."
Eleanor turned to look directly at him. "The same way I saw Donatelli and the others. You don't have to believe me, Garth, but I did see Rebecca alive."
Garth exhaled sharply, his body going rigid. "Where?"
Eleanor hesitated. "It's a vision, not a detailed map. I don't know the answer to what you're asking."
Garth's expression darkened again. "Then what good is it?"
Eleanor pressed her lips together, forcing herself to remain calm. "Some would be happy to know she was alive."
Garth tossed his Stetson on the table and slumped into a chair. He squeezed the locket in his hand. "I just wanted something tangible. Something that would bring her back to me."
"I understand. We all want that." Eleanor turned back to the window. "I don't tell the visions what to show me, Garth. They just happen."
Garth ran a mud-streaked hand through his hair, breathing hard. "So, what? You saw her alive, but that's it? That's all you got?"
Eleanor's patience snapped. "You think I don't want more?"
Garth flinched, not expecting the sharpness in her voice.
Eleanor stepped forward, her own exhaustion pressing down on her. "Do you think I enjoy seeing flashes of suffering? Of loss? That I take comfort in only knowing that someone I care about is still breathing, but not knowing where they are?"
Her voice trembled with frustration. "I am trying, Garth. I will keep trying."
He stared at her for a long moment, his chest rising and falling, his anger flickering into something else.
Something closer to understanding.
Eleanor let out a shaky breath, looking away. "I saw her lying on the ground, fevered but fighting. A child was with her — a girl. They were near the water, but I couldn't see where." She sighed. "I saw her, Garth. That has to be enough for now."
Garth exhaled, rolling his shoulders, grounding himself. Finally, he met Eleanor's gaze again. "You said she's alive," he murmured.
Eleanor nodded. "Yes."
His fists clenched, then released. "Then I start again at first light."
And without another word, he turned and walked out.
*****
The morgue was silent, save for the faint hum of refrigeration units. The fluorescent lights buzzed weakly overhead, their glow casting sharp shadows across the tiled floor. The air was thick with antiseptic and something more pungent — the unmistakable scent of death.
Zhang stood over the autopsy table, his expression unreadable as he eyed the sheet-covered corpse. His disguise was simple — nothing elaborate — just a gray overcoat and a badge clipped to his chest, enough to blend in without drawing attention.
With his hands in his pockets, Jack Lexington leaned lazily against the counter, watching. He had no disguise, no need for one. The stage was his, and he belonged here tonight.
The coroner, a wiry man with dark circles under his eyes, pulled back the sheet. The acid had disfigured the body underneath beyond recognition, mutilating its face.
Jack caught it — the briefest flicker of interest in Zhang's expression. Not concern. Not grief. Just cold assessment.
"Acid," Zhang murmured, tilting his head. "Messy. Inefficient."
Jack smirked. "Guess Rossi wanted to make sure there was no coming back."
Zhang barely spared him a glance. "Rossi?" He exhaled, shaking his head. "Rossi's a cockroach. This wasn't him."
Jack's smirk didn't fade. "Well, it wasn't me. Maybe Jin?"
Zhang's eyes lingered on him a second longer before flicking back to the body.
"Donatelli," he mused. "I heard stories. Tough bastard." He reached out, gripping the dead man's wrist, turning it slightly, as if evaluating something no one else could see. Then he let it drop. "I would've liked to have killed him myself."
Jack shrugged. "Life's full of disappointments."
Zhang chuckled — sharp, mirthless. "Not for me." He gestured to the coroner. "Bag him."
The coroner pulled the sheet back over the body, but Zhang didn't move. Instead, he let his gaze settle on Jack. Cold. Calculating. "Jin and Rossi, both dead," he mused. "Convenient."
Jack met his stare without blinking. "For some."
Zhang's smirk was slow, deliberate. "Funny thing about power, Jack. When men like Jin die, others step in. But the weak?" He glanced down at the body. "The weak get erased."
Jack chuckled, reaching into his jacket for a cigarette, though he never lit it. Just the motion. "That supposed to mean something to me?"
Zhang studied him for another beat before shaking his head, amused. "Not bad, Jack. Arrogant talk for a man on his way out."
Jack grinned, tapping the unlit cigarette against his palm. "On my way out — maybe. But I assure you I'll stand long after you realize you should've paid closer attention to me." His words were a taunt.
Zhang's smirk faltered for half a second. Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. He turned without another word, his coat sweeping behind him as he strode toward the exit.
Jack watched him go, then flicked the cigarette into the trash before following.
Zhang thought he was running the game.
Jack knew otherwise.
*****
He watched Zhang disappear into the storm, his coat sweeping behind him as he hurried toward the waiting car.
The job was done. Zhang saw what he needed to see. But that didn't mean he bought it. Jack pulled out his phone and dialed.
Frank picked up on the second ring.
"It's done."
Frank exhaled. "He saw the body?"
"Up close and personal," Jack smirked, shifting against the wall. "Coroner played his part. The body's unrecognizable. Zhang didn't question it — at least, not out loud."
A beat of silence.
Jack flicked his cigarette lighter but didn't use it. Just the motion, the habit.
"Zhang buys what benefits him. Whether he believes Donatelli's dead or not doesn't matter. What matters is what he does next." Frank knew not to second guess Zhang.
Jack shifted gears, his mind moving forward. "You hear anything about the docks?"
Frank grunted. "My source says Vito is still proceeding."
"No word on where he's holding them?"
"Only that they'll go out on fishing boats."
"Fishing boats? Does seem like Vito's style."
"Time's running out. He's desperate."
Jack smirked. "Desperation makes men sloppy."
Frank exhaled. "It also makes them dangerous."
Jack tilted his head. "You think Zhang is planning to intercept?"
A pause.
Then Frank muttered, "I think Zhang was always planning to intercept."
Jack's fingers tightened slightly around his unlit cigarette. "Zhang never plays for second place. A shame Doyle didn't realize that."
"Doyle thought he was one of the top dogs, but he was merely a pawn."
"Quite the chess game. Now, which one is digging the grave, and which one will be in it?"
"Be careful, Jack. They're both snakes."
"I'm always careful, Frank. That's why guys like you and me are still around." Jack chuckled. "Always sleep with one eye open and a gun in my hand."
Frank sighed. "Good night, Jack."
 Recognized |
Main Characters -
Spirits from the past -
Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli
Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer
Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard
Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love
Bayside's Community --
Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father
Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca
Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison.
Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner
Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate
Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca
Travis - missing boy
Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer
Criminals -
Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench.
Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth
Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend
Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin
Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York mob
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