BURIED TRUTH
By Caleb Whitaker
Table of Contents
Preface
Chapter 1: Gate’s Mansion
Chapter 2: Three Days Earlier
Chapter 3: My Childhood Room
Chapter 4: Processing the Scene
Chapter 5: A Loving Family
Chapter 6: The Darkness
Chapter 7: The Bar
Chapter 8: Paranoia
Chapter 9: Ryleigh
Chapter 10: Colonial Park
Chapter 11: Lost
Chapter 12: City Anxiety
Chapter 13: Safety and Answers
Chapter 14: Reliving the Past
Chapter 15: Broken
Chapter 16: A Time to Remember
Chapter 17: Intuition of a Mad Man
Chapter 18: The Hidden File
Chapter 19: Cabin Fever
Chapter 20: A Trail of Confusion
Chapter 21: The Brewing Storm
Chapter 22: A Strange Encounter
Chapter 23: A Coward’s Plan
Chapter 24: Reality Check
Chapter 25: Unmasked
Chapter 26: The Knockout Round
Chapter 27: Aftermath
Chapter 28: A Week Later
Chapter 29: Checkmate
Preface
The Journey from an idea to actual novel sized work was much more challenging than I ever expected. But, it was also one of the more thrilling adventures I have ever experienced. It wasn’t completed in a night, and in fact, it took many wide-eyed nights to finally get it to the point that I felt comfortable enough to send it out on its own. So, for that I must thank my wife for her patience and encouragement.
I have always been interested in writing, but my other passions led me down a different career path. One day I finally made up my mind to start a novel based on a small idea surrounding buried truths, and the rest unfolded before my eyes. I tried to be as accurate as possible with my plot points while at the same time stretching the boundaries of reality to its breaking point. It involved both research and imagination which was quite fun at times.
Since I started writing out of literally nowhere, I needed some kind of help to get to the end. I did get some general advice for writing in the Thriller Genre from British author D.M.Mitchell. I have read nearly all his books, and his advice gave me the boost I needed to go all the way through with writing the novel. I hate doing stuff when I don’t know exactly how it needs to be done, so I’m extremely grateful for the advice.
I self-edited the entire novel to the best of my abilities. Which meant obsessing over it until I was comfortable with the product, so I hope I caught most of it because it did take many hours. With that being said there will be slight errors until I’m able to go through it again at a later time. The longer its published the less errors there should be as I go through and resubmit it, but it should only contain minor mistakes as it is right now. Editing and proofing was a whole other challenge that I learned a lot from as I molded the text.
The novel is written in first person present from Ryan’s point of view. It definitely adds to the memory loss, but was one of the greater challenges when writing the story that I wanted to develop. If I achieved my goal, then the reader should be trapped in Ryan’s world seeking the answers as Ryan himself.
If anyone enjoys “Buried Truth” half as much as I enjoyed writing it then it was worth getting out there. I’ve learned a lot through the process, and I look forward to traversing the rigorous terrain of another novel in the future. I still have a lot to learn, and I’m sure with feedback and more writing I’ll better my style. With God’s grace, I hope to continue growing in the craft.
The cover photo for the book was taken by “Justine Hand for Gardenista” on the article DIY: Plant Your Christmas Tree in the Garden: Gardenista.
Chapter 1: Gate’s Mansion
As I drive up to the narrow, weed riddled, dirt walkway, I get my first glimpse of the secluded Gate’s Mansion. The old forgotten home of the Gate family looks as spooky as anything you could possibly find in the great state of Georgia or probably even the darkest depths of Hell itself for that matter. Instantly, the structure reminds me of Halloween nights and scary frights from a far better time in my life. A time when horror was only a guilty pleasure. But at this particular moment after everything that has happened, the mere sight of the mansion creates a nauseating reminder of my own recent nightmare of a life. Nevertheless, the mansion has this special something that just seems to hold my gaze and entice me despite the obvious fear and terror the mansion brings me.
The fierce wind blows through my hair as another storm threatens to ravage the area. “Wow! Of course, this thing would look exactly like a mansion right out of a horror movie. Why did I have to do this right before dark?”
This is the second old home that I have been up close and personal with in the last two days, which helps me muster some strength and overcome the fear that is slowly seeping into my mind. I stop the car at the end of the overgrown walkway, and examine the mansion as I slam my door shut.
From a distance, it is apparent the mansion is a grayish color, no doubt faded from its prime and covered with a layer of dust and grime. There are weeds and vines growing up from its base slowly engulfing the surrendered home. Based on the information in my file and my knowledge of architecture, it appears to be a wooden two-story structure built in the mid to late 1800s.
There is a balcony strutting out from the center of the upstairs level that gives off the impression of a pitchforked tongue sticking out to devour its prey. Two huge oak trees located on either side of the house act as battle tested bodyguards entrusted by the owners to protect the entire house from outside danger. Hanging from both trees are old, splintered, wooden planks dangling in the wind on a thinning rope, the forgotten residue of two swings that once probably added a calming influence to the site, but now only add to the gloomy atmosphere.
As I start walking along the narrow, wet walkway, I begin looking at one of the huge oak trees that stand along the right side of the home. It looks quite foreboding with its broad trunk and moss hanging from every branch in sight. The rope attached to the tree looks as if it might break at any moment. As if, a spooky mansion isn’t enough. But no, that’s not enough because there would of course have to be creepy remnants of the past everywhere I look.
As my gaze traces the tree—from its base, all the way to its top, I see something behind the tree that grabs my attention. While I attempt to peer past the oak and concentrate on the window located behind it, I suddenly freeze in mid-step with an overpowering fear. What is that? I swear that looked like… or maybe it was just me seeing things. I really don’t want to do this. I know he has the advantage here. But, I can’t chicken out now. There is too much at stake.
I let out an exhausting sigh as I regain my poise and return to my walk up to the house. The mansion is even more impressive from right in front of the old porch than it was from the walkway. From in front of the porch, I can clearly see that the wood, which makes up the outside of the house, is all splintered and rugged much like the swing in the tree—both of which are probably a result of years of sun damage, weathering, and lack of upkeep.
I bet this house was amazing in its prime. No inhabitant probably could have ever imagined back then that this house would get into such a horrible state, and the current weather isn’t helping matters. Although, the recent rain must not have been too heavy in this part of the countryside because dust and dirt cover the old wood that makes up the exterior walls and porch. There are also sinister looking vines snaking through the railings that hel
p add to the ever-present fear that is slowly slithering through me. Here goes nothing.
I walk up the four steps onto the porch landing. As I brace myself against the porch rail, I notice the porch landing has a coat of untouched dust on it, which leads me to believe it has been undisturbed for some time. There is no way someone walking on the damp dirt could walk on the porch without leaving evidence, but I don’t see any. There are no apparent signs that anyone has thought about this house, let alone actually entered it in who knows how long. Then, what was that in the window? Maybe I was seeing things. I haven’t had much sleep lately. It’s probably just my nerves. I still haven’t recovered from everything, and I feel like I’m going crazy.
As I walk across the porch up to the wooden door, the boards creak and moan with every step almost as if they are begging me to leave—pleading with every step I take for me to forget about her. While standing directly in front of the door, something unseen sends chills down my back, which freaks me out to the point that I turn from the door and glance back out toward my car. It is at this point that I notice three distinct footprints leading from the porch steps to the door of the home.
The angle of the remaining sunlight must have caused me to miss them earlier. One set of footprints is obviously mine because they are wet, meaning the dry sets have to be their prints. This new evidence leads me to believe they must have gone inside the mansion earlier than I thought and before the rain came down this morning. With no other choice, I turn back around to the door, placing my hand on the old wooden doorknob and twist it, not knowing what to expect next.
The door creaks open with one more desperate cry for me to turn around. I calmly ignore the door’s moan and look into the house from outside while I turn on my flashlight. Oh, I wish I didn’t have to do this.
As I cautiously walk into the dusty thrown away house, I cannot shake the feeling of cold, loneliness, and despair. The outside of the house and pictures from my file does not do the building justice. The interior is a gorgeous blend of early and mid-1800s building techniques. I can tell someone used to take good care of it, but now that person is apparently lost and nowhere to be found while the house slowly deteriorates. I close the door gently, but it screams out a loud screeching cry against me anyways.
There is only one way to proceed inward from the door and that happens to lead straight down a short hallway towards what appears to be some kind of foyer in the distance. I can’t help but notice spider webs running along the top of the wall from the ceilings. I hope one of those dreadful things does not bite me. I hate spiders! The walls and floor show signs of bumps and bruises which no doubt hold great mysteries and secrets from a time long ago.
The hallway does indeed open up into a foyer, which even through the layers of dust is quite breathtaking. Two old antique couches covered in film sit inviting visitors to take a seat. In the middle of the foyer, rests an elegantly carved fountain. Which even in its current condition looks amazing, meaning it once must have been truly beautiful. However, in its present state the fountain chipped and forgotten stands merely as a dried out husk of what it once was in a prior life.
The stand out feature of the room is a giant chandelier, hanging down loosely from the ceiling, that immediately draws my eye upward, and I have little doubt that anyone else that ever walked into the room would have had a similar experience. It is actually the only thing in the room that reflects any light through the dust. Somehow, it also seems to be in perfect condition, which is a feat of its own given the overall condition of the mansion. This chandelier somehow calms my nerves and gives me slight hope, but hope for what?
At this moment, I realize how much I have in common with this old house. It wasn’t too long ago that I had finally reached my goal and graduated college with a master’s degree. It feels like forever ago in my mind, but actually it was only a few days ago. I was on the fast track to becoming a professor at a local college. How did I end up here? I was only 23 and had everything to live for, I was handsome, had a nice family, and people who cared for me.
Then the truth started to come out, which led to a terrifying event that ultimately shattered my world. A truth I still haven’t quite figured out, even though I’ve tried with all my might. Oh yeah, that bloody mystery is how I ended up here. The deep dark secret that had been hidden from me had finally found its way to the surface, and I couldn’t handle it. A curse so dark it nearly ruined me. Well, if I’m honest, for the most part it had ruined me—all except for putting me into an early grave. My physical features have slowly been eaten away over the past few days by scars and stress from my seemingly long journey into the unknown.
My friends, of which there were so many when I had a promising future, are now for all intents and purposes gone. I have always heard true friends are hard to come by and ain’t that the truth. Family members either don’t talk to me or can’t talk to me anymore. I am truly alone filled with regret and despair, wanting to die all alone. Everyone that had ever taken care of me or comforted me is gone and, the future that once was so bright has self-destructed. Why did all this have to happen to me?
Then something happened that changed everything. I met a girl and she gave me at least a sense of hope in a hopeless situation. Ok, so maybe I already knew her, but still… she gave me a reason to live and a way to make things right. That definitely counts for something even if I still don’t know how exactly I’m supposed to make things right. If I’m honest with myself, I probably never will know exactly how to fix this.
Trying to dismiss the thoughts of the events that led up to this point, I take a deep breath and turn my attention to the room. Knowing I must find a way to focus on the here and now, I set everything aside and go into thinking mode as I call it. Which is really just me pacing around while running my fingers through my hair as I talk aloud to myself. “I have to come up with a game plan. This place will drive me nuts and have me jumping at shadows all night. Not to mention the fact that if the footprints on the porch do happen to be theirs, then that means he is already here with her. Waiting for me!”
A chill runs up my arm stomping my thought into the dust. I survey the room while I become ever more cautious with every second I spend inside the mansion. However, there is nothing there, just the same creepy old foyer. Not knowing if I should be fearful for myself or for her, I take a deep breath.
“Maybe I should go stand over by the entrance to the foyer that way I know nothing is behind me. I mean, since they are here, I need to be very careful. He wouldn’t hurt her because he still needs something from me. But that doesn’t mean I couldn’t get hurt.”
By nature, I tend to be a very cautious, analytical man, which makes it even more shocking that this type of tragedy would happen to me. But then again, I also have trouble being a screw up that gets himself into precarious situations. The alcohol being my down bringing on more than one occasion. So maybe it isn’t as shocking as I would like to believe. Either way it still happened, and I’m still stuck with the misery and consequences of the event. I still can’t shake the feeling that somehow it is still all my fault. I could have and should have done something. But I didn’t and now she is in danger and that is my fault.
Leaning against the wall by the entrance to the foyer, I run my trembling fingers through my hair. I have found it hard to focus since everything went haywire in my life. Which makes trying to keep my focus on the here and now and not the past a very difficult task.
I begin talking aloud once more trying to soothe my aching soul. “Ok, he isn’t going to hurt her yet, but I can’t stay here fretting the past. I have to do something this time. I could save us. No, I am going to save us!”
I suddenly see something out of the corner of my eye dart out from behind an old wooden bookcase. It dashed into another hallway that exits the foyer. Having no clue what I did or didn’t see, I’m left with curiosity and fear, which in a way helps me retain my resolve for the moment. She said it would be dangerous, but i
t was the only way to move forward. What am I seeing? It has to be him.
I walk to the other side of the foyer where I had seen something dart out of sight. I approach the empty bookcase, which stands against the wall. I slip past it with slight concern and slowly creep along the wall to the corner of the hallway. Feeling chilled to the bone because of what lies in my past and future, I freeze. This is my absolute last chance to go back. Once I turn the corner there will be no going back either for better or for worse.
I peak around the corner. There is nothing except more old dust and spider webs. Whatever ran this way must have exited by running into one of the rooms attached to the hallway, or they might have gone up the stairs at the far end. This is it. I only have one choice and that is to move forward. I take one more glance back up at the magnificent chandelier with its glistening crystals, not knowing if I will see it again or not.
I choke down my fear and slowly start walking down the hallway. I pass one empty room, then another without seeing anyone. When I should be worrying about myself, all I can think about is my past and her. Out of nowhere, a throbbing pain originates from the top of my head, followed by a prick in my arm.
As my world slowly goes black, I ransack my mind searching for answers from the day my life unknowingly would be changed forever. The day my subconscious has tried so hard to forget, but could never break free from its chains within my mind. That horrendous day remains entrenched in my thoughts as I crash downward onto the wooden floor while the rest of my surroundings slowly dissolve away into nothingness.