The Secret of the Past

My mother and father were always protective over me. I wasn't allowed to talk to anyone, go anywhere without my parents watching me like an eagle, or even if I did, I wasn't allowed to stay a couple minutes or even seconds over the time it ends. I took this behavior irritably not knowing that they were strict and harsh about what they figured I do for a vital reason that would make or break our lives.

I laid back against the cold polyester seat while my head, tilted towards the window, thumped rigidly. Though I could see outside just fine, no one was able to see me nor the interior because of the black tint. It was raining like it always did in Mobile, Alabama, and I've gotten used to it.

"Are you alright, Maeve? I know I didn't let you stay at the school for the after school program, but I reckon why do you need to learn a lot of that extra stuff with all of those kids when you can learn the same material online?" He asked as if I was the unusual one. I probably was with all of the excessive pampering they do to me.

"Father, what makes you think that you and mother wouldn’t watch me use the internet fearing that I might do something else?" His smile fell and his expression softened. I realized that he was going to go onto his rant about how my mother and him loved me so much and how I was everything to them, but I quickly cut him off before he could even start. “It would be nice being in a room with some other kids over the mandatory time.”

"Maeve, I really understand, but you have everything at home. Do you really need anyone else or even anything else? You can look at things all you want on the internet, and maybe even-"

I sighed loudly, and he immediately stopped. He looked devastated at that moment, and I realized he was trying to cover it up. I felt some sympathy since his feelings were already vulnerable. Why devastate them to the point where people think he just lost his soul? The ride back home was empty and sullen. It always was.

I looked at my ivory skin and then at my dark dry hair. I wasn’t pleasing nor that talented. I only knew how to complain. My parents made me that way. Every fault I had, everything I despised was because of that. They never allowed me to do anything that other kids did. I never lived a life, and I never will. That was the end.

I closed my dark eyes that reflected all the emotion that I possibly had -it was nearly impossible to find any other emotion instead of jealousy inside of me-, and when I had opened them, our black car drove through the huge gates of my humble abode. It was a dark Victorian house vast from the other ones. It was more like a mini castle than a house, for a house has a family. When the car parked safely into the garage, my father got out and proceeded to open my door. I walked out carefully and mumbled, “Thank you.” My mother welcomed me inside, and I gave her my belongings like I always did so that she could go through them.

“Hi, sweetie! How was your day? I got another book for you. It’s on how to survive out in the wilderness. It has a lot of information in it, and if you ever come across a situation like that, your father and I want you to be prepared,” she stated a little too excitedly. She looked at my father, and she removed her fake smile looking upon his slightly better but still melancholy face.

She then sighed, sat down on the blue couch, and then looked at me sadly and said, “Dinner is in an hour. The book is in the cabinet across from your bedroom.” I nodded and turned to go upstairs. I took the book out of the cabinet and walked to my room. I tossed it onto my bed intending to look through it after I washed my face and changed. Just a moment later, I jumped onto my bed and looked at my new book.

It had a strange black leather cover, and I realized that it was old. It was probably 10 or even 14 years old like I was. I opened it, and it was so very hard as if it hadn’t been opened in a long time. That was very strange, for my mother always looked and read everything in a book before giving it to me. I flipped through the pages, and I was surprised to see that there were no words. No soft words that would gently embrace me into another world or taught me something that I couldn’t witness or experience in real life. Instead, there were photos.

There were photos of my parents. They stood there happily gazing at me as they stood comfortably in their… wedding outfits. I gasped excitedly. I would finally learn something intriguing about my parents. Something that allowed me to form a closer and more friendly connection with them… I knew that my mother nor my father deliberately gave me this book. I had gotten the wrong one. There was an assortment of other items, and I probably grabbed this by accident.

Why did they not tell me about their past? The yellow wedding? Their pictures displayed were full with yellow decorations. It was beautiful. They had true smiles on their faces. I flipped through the pages eagerly with a new sense of recognition and butterflies in my stomach for the first time ever. I flipped through one more with my father looking as if he was about to cry as he stood with men around his age that I vaguely recalled as my uncles. Smiling, I flipped through one more and I saw a woman and a man that I had never seen in my life. I had a sharp memory, but I couldn’t bring a name or identity to those soulless faces on these pages.

“Who are they?” I uttered, flipping through more of the pages. My parents looked at ease around them as if they’ve known each other for a very long time. They must have been schmick friends. I’ve never had a friend because of my parents, but I could tell that they were so very close. A bond that they would never break. But, they did, for if they were still friends or at least people in the eyes of my parents, they would have introduced me or mentioned something. My suspicions about them being friends for a plethora of years was proved true, for I found even older pictures of them in a separate compartment of the book. I almost didn’t recognize my parents; they looked around my age. I was so confused; I couldn’t alleviate my curiosity. What is this all about? I was so wrapped up in those pictures of people that may never spend a second of their lives thinking of me, that I didn’t see my parents standing there at my door. My dad looked panic-stucken, and my mother, who could normally deal with her feelings and emotions well, shared a similar expression.

“Maeve! Where did you get that book? Oh, did you see anything?” my mother asked, rushing over to my bed and slamming her hands on the book, forcing me to release it into her custody. My father walked over swiftly, but his whole body was trembling. 

“Hmm”, I thought. “They must not want me to know about those people. What’s so bad about them in the first place to have them be hidden from me?” Although we all didn’t get along, they knew their daughter. They knew I was going to interrogate them.

“Morgan, we have to tell her. This has been a mystery for her. Don’t you think we should be ashamed that our daughter will come to learn about our background just because of this mysterious object she happened to discover in our home? This photo diary?” my dad pleaded carefully stroking my mom’s now thin and graying hair. My mother’s hair in the wedding photos was so beautiful and thick. I just realized that I had gotten my mother’s previous gorgeous hair, and that she probably stressed so much about me resulting in her hair loss. I sat solemnly unable to meet my parents’ eyes. They had to tell me something. The thing about their friends, but they were making it seem austere.

“Those people used to be our great friends,” my dad started saying before my mother looked at him with her big eyes.

“No, Cashel, do not speak of them like that.” She whirled until she met my anticipating face. “Those people used to be like family. We had met when we were in middle school, and we all grew up together. The man’s name is Wilmer and the woman’s name is Elodie. We were all so close. Elodie and Wilmer got married around the time we did, and it was incredible.” She stopped there, and I could tell that neither or my parents wanted to continue the tale.

“Then what happened? I don’t understand why you guys are being so sullen over two people that you never introduced to me? I can learn,” I demanded. I could tell that whatever those two people did surely had made a negative impact on my parents that had made them become the possessive people they are today.

I was so caught up in my jumbled thoughts that I didn’t notice them once again rise and leave my room. I looked up and realized that dinner time had long passed and that my parents probably turned in for the night. “So much for getting answers, “ I thought. I settled down at my huge dark desk to complete my homework. “I can’t believe that I started believing that my parents were innocent.”

I looked over my assignments and projects that were due later on and homework that's due tomorrow. I had already finished it all at school, for I didn’t waste any time talking or hanging out with the other students. My parents had advised my teachers a couple of years ago that they wouldn’t want anyone talking to me. The teachers were hesitant, and they could see the plea in my eyes for help, but they couldn’t do anything.

Putting my books and folders up after reviewing the already familiar content in them, I found an envelope on my desk. I hadn’t put it there, and when I opened it, it was a letter. I had never sent or received a letter in my life. “Might as well read it if I already accessed some stuff that wasn’t for my eyes,” I said to myself.

It was a patchy letter that had obviously been as old as the photo diary. I excused the thoughts of my father’s weary face and my mom’s tired eyes and fake smile into the deepest corner of my thoughts as I scanned the letter. The writing was terrible. It was rigid and tried. Maniacal. It sent shivers down my spine. Pushing those feelings until I was numb once again, I started. It read:

Dear Morgan and Cashel,

Do not think that you have gotten away. You can’t hide from me forever. My beautiful son needs justice. If you feel like your daughter is safe after the violent acts you have done to my family, you are wrong. I thought we had been friends. But now I realize that friends wouldn’t kill someone’s son.

My heart sunk. My parents killed a child? And according to these words, this must’ve been from… Elodie and Wilmer. “My parents are murderers,” one half tried to warn myself.

“No, no, we must not come to a wasteful end. We don’t know what this is talking about. This is a stupid object that will remain a mystery unless we push aside our thoughts and read onwards,” another half hissed back, retaliating,

The maid told me everything. She told me how you came into our room and took our baby. She told me how you placed blankets and pillows until his precious lungs could breathe no more. There was evidence… Kellan was found under those blankets, and he didn’t breathe. He wouldn’t breathe.

My baby needs justice. My husband needs justice. The court denies that you ever did anything to him. The surveillance was hijacked, and you were found in other areas, but I don’t believe any of that.

If you killed my son, I’ll kill your daughter. Remember when we joked in our early youths about if something horrible was ever done to one of us, the favor would be returned? Also remember how you said that I was the best detective out of our group? Guess we’ll have to see.

Watch out,

Elodie Walsh

I dropped the letter. I was dizzy. Was my life a lie? Were my parents proved innocent when they weren’t really? I stood up and just as I was about to tumble down, my parents rushed in and caught me. I fought against their embrace until I could no more. For the first time in 8 years, I cried. I cried hard. I cried for my would-be-friend that died a tragic death. I cried for my empty soul. I cried for my parents and all the parents that have lost their child.

“Maeve, it’s not what you think, honey. It really isn’t,” my mother reassured me, caressing my face while my father raised me up to my bed. I couldn’t talk and wouldn’t talk. I sat waiting for an explanation. Surprisingly, they didn’t hold back.

“Kellan was killed by the maid. It wasn’t on purpose, however. Baby Kellan was tucked into Elodie’s and Wilmer’s bed, and the maid didn’t see him there. They had left the room for just four minutes thinking he was safe, but the maid came in and started folding items and placing them on the bed. What she didn’t realize, for she was rather old and had poor eyesight was that she was suffocating Kellan,” my mother stated, looking ahead. I sniffed wanting them to continue.

“When Elodie and Wilmer returned, they realized, and they were devastated. The maid noticed how we and they were together, so she blamed it on us thinking that they would forgive us after a little bit since we were great friends. When Wilmer heard of that false news, he died. He couldn’t believe that, and it overwhelmed him. He was the most sensitive and loving. Also, hence, why she stated in this letter that her husband also needed justice.”

My father put his hand on my mothers and continued the story. “Since we were always innocent, the court ruled that, but Elodie was too scared and devastated to welcome that fact. They never accused the maid. Elodie wrote this letter after we returned from the trip, addressing the matter.” He stopped and with multiple voice cracks, he whispered, “That is why we were always possessive over you. She could find you at any moment and take her revenge. We never meant for it to leave a bad mark on you. We just wanted to keep you safe.”

I gasped. I could’ve seen this coming, but I didn’t think right after I read that letter. My parents weren’t murderers. They weren’t heartless and selfish people either. They weren’t the source of my flaws. They weren't bad friends. My voice was chapped, and I couldn’t talk, so I hugged them.

I hugged them, and that was that day. I learned things. I learned about a tragic pass that was never resolved.

Two weeks passed, and my parents didn’t know it, but I had been communicating and luring both Elodie and the maid into my path. I don’t know what both of them were thinking when they got my email -also my first ever email-, but I want our happy ending.

My father and mother finally decided to spend some time outside, and it was so sunny. It was beautiful. We had ice cream, and I could tell that everything was going to go well. Both Elodie and the maid were supposed to meet at this place at the time we were here. Then everything would be explained. I realized that all my faults are here to help me. I realized that I might not be that talented, but I am an evil mastermind.

I was talking with my parents when I felt a tap on my right shoulder. I turned around, and a woman with short brown hair and tired eyes just like my mother’s looked at me. She looked at me and then at my parents.

My parents looked so scared, but she silenced them and resisted their attempts to pull me away. As Elodie cried, she managed to utter, “It’s been so long. Your daughter set this up. The maid told me everything. I- I don’t know why I accused you. I was broken, and I didn’t realize that we all were. I-” And without another word, my parents embraced her.

That day everything was worked out. The maid didn’t want to see our faces, so she never came, but Elodie forgave her. The maid was put behind bars, but Elodie and my parents bailed her out legally. That day everything turned beautiful. I saw the better side of things, and I didn’t have to stay hidden. That day I realized that you have to make your happy ending. That day I realized that me being grumpy and inattentive to my surroundings resulted in me grabbing a mysterious object in our home and saving our lives. Lastly, that day I learned how to survive in the wilderness.