My eyes are quickly scanning the photos since they are all pretty much the same, when something jumps out at me and I look back, realizing I inadvertently skipped over one photo that is not like the others.
I move closer and stand right in front of it. It’s a picture of this very room, and my eyes must have skipped over it because it’s black and white like all the rest and even the same size as the others. I’m not sure when it was taken, but I’m assuming it’s from before we moved in, since the walls in the photo are completely bare and the room is empty of any furniture. The only thing in the room is a safe, built into the wall where I currently stand. Putting the slip of paper between my teeth, I grab onto the frame of the picture and lift it off of its hook. My heartbeat picks up with excitement as soon as I see the safe hiding right behind the photo. Leaning the picture against the wall at my feet, I rip the paper from my mouth and reread the numbers. Holding my breath, I turn the dial on the combination lock in the same order as written on the paper.
Right thirteen, left twenty-four, right seven.
As soon as the arrow on the dial points to the number seven, I hear a soft click and the door to the safe pops open. Letting the paper in my hand flutter to the ground, I quickly open the door all the way, a little shocked that inside such a large safe is only one single manila folder, barely visible because it’s so flat and obviously not filled with too many papers.
Even though I expected this thing to be packed full of items, I know immediately that I found what I was looking for and that my mother actually told me something important, even if it was a riddle I had to figure out.
Sliding the thin folder out of the safe, I turn around and sit down on the floor right below it, pausing for a moment to listen for any noises indicating my father has returned. When I hear nothing but silence, I look down at the folder and see our last name printed on the tab from a typewriter.
Flipping it open, I see the words Gallow’s Hill Inmate Transfer Request printed at the top, and right beneath that on the very first line, the prisoner’s name is listed as Tobias Duskin. I try to remember if I’ve ever heard that name before, but I draw a blank, which doesn’t surprise me. Still I huff out an irritated breath.
I rapidly scan the page, stopping when I get to the box that lists the prisoner’s next of kin, my mouth dropping open in shock.
Margarita Duskin, mother, deceased.
Dimitri Duskin, father, deceased.
Tanner Duskin, brother.
Tobias Duskin was my father’s brother and my uncle, older than him by two years, according to his birthdate listed on the form. Why don’t I remember my parents ever mentioning the existence of an uncle? As far as I know, we don’t have any living relatives, my parents supposedly both being only children, and their parents passing on before I was born. At least they didn’t lie about the death of my grandparents, according to this paperwork, but why would they never tell me that I had an uncle? Butterflies flap around in my stomach when it occurs to me that I have an uncle whose name begins with the letter T. The letter that Beatrice was so adamant I remember and one more person to add to my list, even though I didn’t even realize he existed until just now.
Flipping through the few pages in the file, I find a couple of handwritten reports from doctors, guards, and the wardens before my father’s time, quickly understanding why my parents thought it was best to keep Tobias Duskin’s identity a secret, even if my mother felt the need to cryptically point me in the direction of this file right before she died. I’m not going to lie. Reading about this long-lost uncle, I suddenly feel like the disturbing thoughts I have and the urges I fantasize about in order to feel exhilarated and alive make a little more sense now, and I might have just found a reason for my behavior. It appears this type of thing runs in the family, although my uncle seems to have taken his urges to the next level, while I make sure mine remain only in my head.
Arrested at the age of eighteen for the brutal slaying of both his parents with a hammer while they slept peacefully in their beds, then going on to murder three more innocent bystanders on his way out of town, Tobias Duskin confessed to the murders and was immediately sentenced to life in prison. He wasn’t exactly a model prisoner, according to his record, constantly starting fights and spending the majority of his time in solitary confinement, even killing three other prisoners while he was in here.
When this placed closed a few years after I was born, all 1,900 prisoners were bused to various prisons, some to the new one built just an hour away from here, and others to ones in bordering states. Assuming my uncle was moved with everyone else when the doors closed, I get to the final page of the file that lists the date of his transfer and start to get an uneasy feeling as I think about everything I’ve learned so far about myself, my life, and that of my parents and their behavior with me and with each other.
I think about the things my mother rambled about, her sins and weaknesses, and how she made a mistake, and everyone suffered because of it. One of the things she said sticks out in my mind, and I can hear her pained voice in my head as she pleaded with me.
“You need to find him. You need to talk to him. You’ll see him, and you’ll understand. It will all make sense then.”
I’ve been assuming she was referring to Dr. Thomas. It’s the only thing that made sense since she went off the deep end only hours after Dr. Beall told me about him.
Everything clicks together in my mind, and I’m surprised it never occurred to me before now. The distance between my father and I, and the feelings I’ve had that he’s never really loved me and even seems to hate the very sight of me. How I don’t remember a happy childhood and all of the sweet family photos that look fake and forced. Memories of being somewhere other than here, filled with misery and pain, and the suitcase in the spare bedroom filled with my clothes. The dreams and memories of staying in that room and at some point, coming back and being reminded by Ike of the rules around the house, like I was a guest.
I’m pretty sure this file proves there’s a reason my father doesn’t like me and a reason for my parents’ strained relationship, probably going on for much longer than after my accident. Most likely for eighteen years.
Dated exactly nine months before I was born, I reread the reason for the transfer request written in my father’s handwriting, read it out loud in the quiet room, just so I can hear myself say it to make sure it’s real and I’m not seeing things.
“I, Tanner Duskin, warden of Gallow’s Hill, hereby request a transfer of prisoner A45295, Tobias A. Duskin, for bribing and threatening two Gallow’s Hill guards in order to receive special treatment of unauthorized time away from his cell, occurring during nighttime lockdown several times a month and continuing for six months. During this time, Tobias Duskin privately met with Mrs. Claudia Duskin.”
Putting the paper back inside the file, I push myself up from the floor and slide it back into the safe, closing the door and spinning the dial to lock it.
I hear my father’s rusty brakes screech to a stop outside, and take one last look around the office to make sure everything is how he left it and then quickly exit the room, locking myself inside the spare bedroom. Leaning my back against the door, I listen as my father pounds up the stairs, goes into his office, and slams the door closed.
“My name is Ravenna Duskin. I’m eighteen years old, I live in a prison, and I think I just found out who my real father is.”
Chapter 17
“Jesus, Ravenna, how are you not completely breaking down right now?” Nolan asks as we stand behind the counter in the souvenir room.
I really wanted to make him suffer more and ignore him for a few more days for not telling me he was the one who carried me out of the woods, but it’s not very easy trying to solve a mystery all by myself when my mind is keeping so much information from me, and the things I do figure out just create more questions. Also, it’s so pathetic that he continues coming back here to be with me, considering I’m not exactly the most enjoyable
person to be around, that I have no choice but to feel sorry for him. How miserable is his life that he spent two years pining for me when I was nothing but a complete snob who wouldn’t even look in his direction? And now that I am paying him attention, it mostly involves constantly making him stop touching me or keeping him at a distance so he doesn’t even think about touching me. Then there’s the whole figuring out things about me that are getting increasingly worse, making it more than obvious he should probably get far away from me as quickly as possible.
His mother seriously needs to die soon so he can finally stop hovering over her, get out of that house, and see that there are much better options than me out there. For now, I guess I’ll just be content with the fact that he does keep coming back, since he’s the only confidant I have. Now that he no longer feels guilty every time he’s around me and doesn’t have to avoid my questions about that night in the woods, he never seems to stop talking, eager to help me try and figure out the rest of the mysteries I can’t fully remember yet.
“What’s the point in breaking down?” I ask, replying to his question. “I’ve already lost my mind so having a breakdown would just be repetitive.”
My voice is filled with sarcasm as I flip the pages of the book in front of me a little too forcefully, accidentally ripping one in half. Luckily it isn’t one I need.
“You haven’t lost your mind,” he reassures me. “It’s obvious you were right to question the things your parents were trying to make you believe, even though we have no clue what the point of all those lies were when they knew you were going to start remembering things eventually.”
Yet another thing I’ve been obsessing about for entirely too many hours of every day. Dr. Beall told me and my parents multiple times that my memory loss wasn’t permanent. Why in the world did they think I’d never figure out they were lying to me? YEAH, WHY DIDN’T THEY? LOL.
“They definitely had secrets,” Nolan continues. “I’m just having a hard time believing that your proper, always put together mother had an affair with a prisoner. Especially a convicted killer who bludgeoned his own parents and three strangers to death with a hammer…and who just so happened to be her husband’s older brother. Not only is that the craziest thing I’ve ever heard, she did this right under her husband’s nose, in the prison he ran, where at any time someone who worked here could have ratted them out.”
I sigh, continuing to flip through the telephone directory until I get to the S’s.
“Well, it’s not like there was a piece of paper in the file that came right out and said Tobias is my father, but it seems a little obvious, considering he was secretly meeting with my mother for months and my father requested his transfer nine months before I was born,” I tell him, running my finger down the page.
“How was this guy even allowed to be here at Gallow’s Hill when his brother was the warden?” Nolan asks.
“There was another sheet of paper in the file that had a list of special rules and regulations the state made my father agree to in order to allow Tobias to stay here while my father was the warden,” I tell him distractedly as I flip to the next page and keep looking down the list. “Stuff like twice as many prison visits from the state to interview guards and other employees to make sure my father wasn’t giving Tobias special treatment and additional reports to fill out that had to be signed by everyone who came in contact with Tobias. I’m assuming the state knew it would only be a matter of time before they shut down the prison and letting Tobias stay here wasn’t that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things.”
Nolan leans close to look over my shoulder and I try not to move away. Now that I’ve decided to forgive him for the time being, I’m right back to being irritated that having him touch me or try to get close to me puts me on edge. I hate it just as much as I love it and I really don’t need this nonsense right now, but I do need the use of his brain since it seems to be in much better working order than mine. The only reason I’m searching through the phone book right now is because of his suggestion.
“All of this is just so weird because in the two years I’ve worked here, I’ve never seen your father be anything but nice to you whenever you two were outside together,” Nolan muses quietly, right by my ear. “I just don’t understand why all of a sudden you don’t get along, and he’s acting completely different with you.”
I clench my teeth and try not to rip out a handful of pages from the phone book, crumple them in a wadded-up ball, and shove them right in his mouth.
“We don’t get along because I’ve caught him in lies, and he screamed at me and told me it was my fault my mother killed herself,” I reply in a snippy voice.
Nolan puts his hand on my back and pats me softly, and I force myself not to think about finding the nearest sharp object and chopping off his hand.
“Hey, I’m sorry, don’t be mad. I’m not saying it’s not true. I’m just talking out loud, trying to figure things out,” he apologizes. “I’ll admit I wasn’t sure at first about your theory that everything revolves around the night I found you in the woods, but there has to be a reason it’s one of the only things you still can’t remember and why everything around this place seems to be imploding since that night.”
I nod, dismissing my thoughts of the bloody stump of his hand thumping onto the porch steps—for now.
“When I first woke up, Dr. Beall told me that sometimes our mind puts traumatic events into a secret corner until we’re ready to process them, and I just had to give it time, be patient, and I would eventually remember everything. Considering the things I’ve already remembered and how awful they are, I’m assuming this must be really bad.”
Nolan starts moving his hand in a slow, small circle in the middle of my back, and I try to enjoy it like a regular eighteen-year-old girl would if a cute older boy showed affection and comforted her. It does feel nice physically; it just doesn’t comfort me mentally.
“I hate that everything seems to keep snowballing ever since that night. And I hate myself for being just the tiniest bit happy that the destruction of your life might be the only reason you acknowledged my existence in two years,” he admits.
I stop searching through the phone book to look at him questioningly.
“I thought you said I started acting differently and began talking to you right before that night?”
He shrugs. “You did, but it felt fake for some reason. Nothing at all like it has been the last few weeks. I mean, something about the different way you dressed and the way you wore your hair the first couple of times you spoke to me felt like it actually matched your personality, but I don’t know. It was just weird how it happened so out of the blue, and even though I liked it that you were finally talking to me, it never felt genuine.”
I look back down at the phone book before I start comparing his blue eyes to oceans or the sky or something else that only stupid girls do.
“So what you’re saying is that all it took was a huge, bloody gash in my forehead and a little memory loss to make me a more honest person?” I ask.
“As horrible as that sounds, yes,” Nolan agrees.
I swallow back the need to laugh long and hard. Just moments ago I daydreamed about slicing off his hand, all the while pretending I wasn’t bothered by his touching me. It makes me want to roll my eyes that he’s so clueless.
“I just want to help you get to the bottom of this, so you can stop feeling so angry and finally be able to move on,” he tells me.
If only it were that simple. Poor, clueless Nolan.
“Aha! Found it,” I announce, my finger underneath the name I’ve been searching for. “Strongfield Penitentiary.”
This prison is the fourth one out of five listed on the papers I found in my father’s safe for potential institutions Tobias could be relocated to. Nolan suggested I start calling the prisons to see if he’s currently an inmate at any of them. The first three informed me that they didn’t have an inmate by that name, nor had they ever in the past.
>
Picking up the phone on the counter, I turn the dial while Nolan rattles off the numbers for me. Someone picks up after the first ring and I explain once again that I’m looking for a relative by the name of Tobias Duskin. I’m losing a little hope at this point, though. He might not even be alive anymore, let alone housed in the only other prison within easy driving distance from here.
The woman puts me on hold and it only takes a few minutes for her to come back on the line. “Yes, we do have a man here by the name of Tobias Duskin. He’s been here since he was transferred in 1947.”
“Don’t you mean 1946?” I ask, knowing the date of the transfer request on the form I saw was exactly nine months before I was born and the whole reason I put everything together. Maybe that was some sort of weird, coincidental mistake, and my father wrote the wrong date. Maybe I jumped to conclusions because that answer made so many things fall into place and gave them an explanation, instead of jumbled nonsense in my head. Her private nightly meetings might not have been definitive proof of an affair, maybe it was just…I don’t know, family stuff. Stranger things have happened, especially recently. It’s not like I found a birth certificate in the file listing Tobias as my father.
The woman tells me to hold again and I hear her shuffling through papers. After a few minutes, she comes back on the line. “No, it was definitely 1947, although we did receive the first request in 1946. Unfortunately, we were full at that time and couldn’t accommodate the request. It says here that on September 3, 1947, we received a phone call from his previous place of incarceration, Gallow’s Hill. It doesn’t give much of an explanation on the paperwork I have access to; it just says an emergency call was placed requesting transfer immediately because of a dangerous, possibly life-threatening event that Gallow’s Hill was unable to handle. He was picked up by us that same day.”