FanStory.com - Veil of Secrets - Chap 10by Begin Again

Grayson didn't do mornings. Bayside's nightlife might have been sparse, but it at least afforded him the comfort of anonymity. The brightness of the early day grated on his nerves.

Yawning, he tightened his grip on the steering wheel, forcing himself to focus on the winding country road. Cornelius's threats echoed in his mind, setting his teeth on edge. He'd heard rumors about Cornelius haunting the estate, but he didn't put much stock into it until he confronted him/ Even then, he dismissed him as a typical bluster of hot air. After all, what actual harm could a ghost do? To him, Cornelius Webb was a relic, a loud and desperate ghost trying to hold onto a crumbling legacy.

"Dead men shouldn't make demands," Grayson muttered.

The car ahead slowed abruptly, breaking his train of thought. Irritation flaring, his hand hovered over the horn when his gaze caught the vanity plate: DA LWYR.

A slow smirk spread across his face. "Henderson," he murmured.

Grayson's curiosity raged as the car turned into the Restful Night Motel's cracked parking lot. He drove past the lot and parked in a nearby vacant lot concealed by overgrown trees. Shutting off the engine, he slipped out of the car, his movements smooth and calculated. He returned to the motel on foot, keeping to the shadows.

Near the rusted beverage machine, Grayson spotted Phil Henderson standing by his car, with a leather briefcase in hand, speaking with a visibly distraught Althea. Her shoulders sagged, and Grayson could hear the tension in her voice even from a distance.

"I'm not saying it's impossible," Phil said, his voice measured, "but proving the validity of this will is going to be complicated."

"It's not a forgery!" Althea snapped, her voice cracking. "Why won't anyone believe me?"

"I'm not saying I don't believe you," Phil replied gently. "But the timing — the sudden appearance of this claim — will raise questions. People will scrutinize every detail, and if they find even one inconsistency —"

"I don't care about the scrutiny!" Althea's voice rose in desperation. "I need this to work. If it doesn't —" She hesitated, her hands trembling. "They have my son."

Phil froze. "Your son? Althea, what are you talking about?"

"They took him," she said, tears pooling in her eyes. "They said if I don't do what they want, they'll kill him." She turned her back on him, trying to stop the tears.

"Althea," Phil began cautiously, stepping closer. "If your child is in danger, you must go to the police. Who has — "

She spun around, her eyes wide with fear. "No!" she interrupted, her voice frantic. "You don't understand! If I go to the police, they'll kill him! You're my lawyer — you can't tell anyone."

Phil's jaw tightened, his frustration evident. "I'm bound by confidentiality, but this changes things. You need to think carefully about your next steps. This isn't just about the Vineyard anymore."

"It's always been about the Vineyard," Althea hissed. "It's the only way I can get him back."

Behind the vending machine, Grayson's mind churned. Althea's desperation was dangerous, and now Henderson knew far too much. She was unraveling, and it would ruin everything if Phil decided to act on her revelation.

"This is going to blow everything wide open," he muttered.

Pulling out his phone, he dialed swiftly. "It's me," he said coldly. "Henderson's a problem. He knows too much."

"What do you want us to do?" the voice on the other end asked.

Grayson glanced back at Phil and Althea. His tone dropped, sharp and decisive. "Run him off the road. Make it clean. He's driving a late-model silver Cadillac sedan. License plate DA LWYR. Highway 17 — coming into town. Grab the briefcase and make sure there are no loose ends."

"Understood," came the reply before the call ended.

Grayson slipped his phone into his pocket and quickly returned to his car. As the silver sedan left, he drove back to the motel, pulling into the lot casually as if he'd just arrived. Althea sat on a bench outside her room, her head in her hands, shoulders shaking as soft sobs escaped her.

*****
As Phil's car disappeared down the road, Eleanor materialized in the motel parking lot but was out of sight. A sudden chill rippled through her, and her vision blurred.
Flashes of an accident filled her mind — Phil's car swerving violently, dust and gravel flying as it careened down a steep embankment. She saw a briefcase flung against the passenger seat and the stark silhouette of buffalo grazing in a nearby field.

Her voice trembled as she whispered, "No — no, no, no." Pressing her hands to her temples, she forced herself to focus. The vision grew sharper. It hadn't happened yet. There was still time.

Staying in the shadows, she pulled out her phone and dialed Donatelli.
"Matthew," she said, "there's trouble. They ran Phil Henderson off the road.

Donatelli's voice was instantly alert. "What? Where? How do you know this?"

"I can't explain everything," Eleanor said quickly. "I saw it. It hasn't happened yet, but it's going to. All I know is that it's on a rural road, and buffalo are grazing nearby."

"Buffalo?" Donatelli repeated, already grabbing his keys. "That's Landry's place out on Route 17. I'm on it."

"Go now, Matthew," Eleanor urged. "They're after his briefcase. If you don't get there in time —"

"I'm going," Donatelli interrupted, already heading for his car.

She had lingered, observing Grayson approach Althea, uneasy about his intentions.
He carried a grocery bag in one arm, his expression warm and concerned as he approached her.

"Althea?" he called softly.

Startled, she looked up, her tear-streaked face twisting in confusion. "Grayson? What are you doing here? Please, leave me alone. I can't take any more."

He gestured to the bag. "I thought you might need some essentials. I had to pick up a few things and figured I'd check in on you."

She blinked, her mind too clouded to question his sudden appearance. "It's been a lot," she admitted, her voice cracking.

Grayson sat beside her, placing the bag at her feet. "I could tell when I saw you yesterday. This is overwhelming, but you don't have to face it alone. I'm here to help." He put his arm around her shoulder.

Her gaze dropped to the ground, her fingers twisting the tissue in her hands. "Henderson said proving the will is real will be nearly impossible. If I can't prove it, I'll lose everything — my son."

"You won't lose anything," Grayson said gently, brushing her back. "You've already been through enough. Let me take some of the weight off your shoulders."

Eleanor, unseen in the shadows, observed the exchange. Her ethereal form flickered faintly, her unease growing. "You're a liar, Grayson," she whispered to herself. "Althea, he's not someone you can trust."

*****
Phil rounded the bend in the road, Althea's desperate words ringing in his ears.

"They have my son. If I don't do what they want, they'll kill him."

He gripped the wheel tighter, his mind racing as he replayed their conversation, each word steeped in panic. He verbally shouted, as if Althea could still hear him, "Althea, you need to tell the police!" as he pounded his fist against the steering wheel.

A black SUV appeared in his rearview mirror, gaining speed and closing the distance between them. Phil tensed, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

The first bump jolted his car, sending his tires skidding along the gravel shoulder. He wrestled the wheel back under control, but the second hit was harder, more deliberate.

"What the —" Phil muttered, gripping the steering wheel tightly as his heart pounded against his chest.

The SUV closed the gap, bumping the rear of Phil's car. His tires skidded on the gravel shoulder again.

"Come on, come on," he muttered, pressing the accelerator, but the SUV was relentless.

Another car appeared, speeding toward him, swerving into his lane, and cutting him off. Too late, Phil realized what was happening. He slammed on the brakes, skidding uncontrollably.

The SUV behind him surged forward, slamming into his rear bumper with enough force to send him spiraling off the road. His car plummeted down the steep embankment, dust and debris filling the air as it crashed into a tree. The impact crumpled the front of the vehicle, the airbag deploying with a harsh thud.

Phil lay slumped against the airbag, groaning as pain shot through his side. Blood trickled down his temple, blurring his vision.

The two vehicles stopped at the top of the hill. Two men emerged, their movements hurried and focused as they descended toward the wreck. Phil barely registered the sound of footsteps as they approached.

Slightly out of breath, the first guy huffed, "What about him?"

"He can't recognize us, so get the briefcase and move," the other one barked. "We don't have much time."

The first guy rushed to the mangled door on the passenger side and pulled, but it wouldn't open. "The doors jammed."

"Break the damn window," the second man barked.

Checking for something to use, he saw a large limestone rock buried in the ground. Kicking with his shoe, he worked it loose and threw it at the window, smashing it with a single blow. His partner poked at the shattered glass with a big branch. Pieces of glass rained onto the car's interior as the first man reached in, yanking the leather briefcase from the passenger seat.

Phil stirred, his voice hoarse. "W-what — what are you doing?"

"Shut up," the first man growled, tossing the briefcase to his partner.

The second man hesitated, glancing back at Phil. "He's seen us."

The first man pulled a gun from his waistband, the metal glinting in the fading sunlight.

"Wait—" Phil started, his voice trembling, but the gunshot cut through the air.

The sound echoed across the embankment as the bullet struck Phil. He cried out, his body slumping back against the seat.

The briefcase lock broke with a snap, spilling papers onto the dirt. One of the men bent down, grabbing what he could.

"These have her name on them," he said, squinting at the text. "Althea Cascio."

"What's that?" the second man asked, glancing over his shoulder.

The first man picked up another document, his brow furrowing. "A birth certificate. Althea Cascio — Same last name as Rebecca Cascio."

The second man froze. "You're telling me she's connected to the Vineyard? How come Grayson didn't tell us that?"

"Get used to it. We're on a need-to-know basis. Just grab the papers, and let's get out of here."

Before either could process the implications, the faint sound of sirens reached their ears. The two men exchanged a panicked glance.

"Cops!" the first man hissed. "We gotta go."

They raced to their cars at the top of the hill and sped off just as Donatelli's squad car appeared. He skidded to a halt near the edge of the embankment, throwing the car into park as he jumped out.

"Damn it," he muttered, his gaze darting to the fading taillights of the fleeing vehicles and then to the tracks of Phil's car before it went over the cliff. He could hear the approach of more sirens, but he wasn't waiting for the others. "Sorry, DeLuca. You gotta learn to drive faster if you want to keep up with me."

Descending the slope, Donatelli approached the crumpled car, his eyes taking in the shattered glass and the scattered papers littering the ground. Phil was slumped against the airbag, blood trickling down his temple. Blood soaked his shirt, spreading from a wound in his upper chest. Donatelli carefully checked for a pulse.

"Still alive," he murmured, pulling out his radio. "Dispatch, this is Detective Donatelli. Single-vehicle collision on Route 17 near Landry's farm. Gunshot wound. The suspects fled the scene. Request medical assistance."

"Hang in there, Phil," Donatelli murmured.

His eyes fell on the scattered papers and the abandoned briefcase. He crouched, picking up one of the documents. Dirt streaked it, but the name "Althea Cascio" was clear.

*****

I'm sorry if the proofing isn't clean. I've been in bed for three days, and my head still isn't clear. Thanks for reading and pointing out any errors.