One Wrong Turn-Chapter 9

Trust Me

Boris split up with Hank a few hours after calling Jill. They both agreed it was for the best; they needed to be available when they received their instructions, and they would be breaking the rules if they stayed together.

Hank waited in his guest house bed for the letter, knowing that it would arrive soon. As he looked around the room, he realized that something was out of place. A large, but light, lamp had been moved, and in its place was a small desk with a letter on top of it. 'Of course you idiot! He obviously knows where you live; what made you think it wouldn't already be here?'

Ignoring his thoughts, he got up and fingered the letters in his large but gentle hands. He flipped it over and opened it...

As soon as Boris walked into his house, he saw the letter. It was clearly displayed on his large fire mantle. He picked it up, ready to see what he had to do to keep Divya and Evan alive. When he opened the envelope, he read the letter.

Hank,

Your scavenger hunt is simple. Go to the basement of Hamptons Heritage Hospital and search for a bloody box of medical tools. Once you find them, take them and leave them where you found this letter. Don't let anyone see the box, or I will kill your brother, Divya, Tucker, and Boris. I doubt you want to be responsible for their deaths. You have until the end of the day to complete your task.

Hank reread the letter, finally taking it in and comprehending it. It was now clear to him that the write of the letter was a bad man who had used hospital equipment to hurt people. He either stole the equipment or later donated it. Either way, he had a bad feeling about the hunt. Letting out a sigh, he gathered up the courage to leave the room and start his car. Trying not to think about his acts as illegal, he jumped into his car...

Boris,

Your scavenger hunt begins in the police department. There was a box that was shipped here from New Jersey that you need to find. And destroy. Ask for help. Pay off the cops. I don't really care what you do to get the box, but I need you to get it. Then, take a picture of it before burning and after burning. I need to be sure you burned the right box, and I am not easily fooled. Then, put the pictures in this envelope and set in back where you found it. Simple enough, correct? Be aware that failure to succeed will end with Tucker, Hank, Divya, and Evan dead. I highly doubt you want to be responsible for that. You have until the end of the day to complete your task.

"Damn it!" Boris yelled, knowing that no one would hear him. Was he about to destroy the evidence of an on-going case? And if he was, why? What was the case about? The game didn't make sense, but either way, he had a feeling that what the author of the letter wanted him to do was illegal, and he also had a feeling tampering with the evidence wasn't the only thing was about to do.

Knowing he had no other choice, Boris picked up his car keys and headed out the door...

Meanwhile ...at the Bryant house..

"What is it, dad?" Tucker asked.

"Boris is a murderer."

"What?" Tucker didn't believe him. Boris was not a murderer. The very thought was ridiculous! "I-I don't believe you. I just...I just can't."

"Tucker, it was just as hard for me to accept the news. I can prove it to you, though. I can show you all the evidence that I found that convinced me."

"What evidence?"

"Boris has been stealing, ironically enough, evidence- from me and the police. I had a picture of him in a cabin. There was blood everywhere, and there was a toolbox filled with even bloodier medical tools. I took the picture as evidence, thinking that it would be too dangerous to enter the cabin. Then, I heard about a case in New Jersey. They found the same cabin and some other evidence, but they never found the toolbox. I was going to turn the picture in, but it was stolen! Tell me that this isn't all connected, son! It has to be; there's no way that this could all be a coincidence." Marshal explained as he inched closer to his son. Tucker tried to pull back, but he grabbed one of Tucker's wrists. "You know I would never lie to you, Tucker."

Something about that last statement reminded Tucker of something else, but he couldn't seem to remember just what was triggering his mind to react to the statement. Tucker made a mental note to think about it later; right now, he had other things to worry about.

"It seems to all fit together, but how do I know that you actually had that picture or that he stole the evidence from the police?" Tucker challenged.

"That's why I'm asking you to believe me, Tucker. How will the police believe me if my own son doesn't? I'm not lying to you- I never do!" Marshal snapped back defensively.

Tucker leaned back in his chair. He didn't like it when adults talked to him in 'that tone'. It scared him and made him think that they were going to hurt him, and he generally fought to remain calm after an outburst. He blamed his childhood experiences; they had taught him to fear that tone.

Marshal, like Boris earlier on, seemed to sense his son's discomfort. He leaned closer, taking his son's hand. "I'm sorry, Tucker. I know that you don't like it when I talk to you like that, but you should know that I'm not going to hurt you when I do. I'm just frustrated, is all. I wish you would have believed me when I told you Boris is a killer, but I understand that you're not ready to accept that. I understand, honestly. He seems like this great guy who stays out of the public's eye. But please, just trust me."

'Trust me.' Tucker huffed in his head. How many times had he heard his father say that? When he was five and had friends over and Marshal decided to get high; the morning before his father had told him to trust that he wouldn't get high. When he turned thirteen, the same friends came to his house to celebrate him becoming a teen. Once again, his father told him to trust that he wouldn't get high or drink, and once again, he broke his promise. When he turned fifteen, his father promised that he would be there for him when he got his driver's license. He said that they would go out for dinner at Tucker's favorite restaurant after he passed the test. His exact words were, "Trust me, Tucker. I know that I've let you down before, and I know that it may be hard for you to believe, but I will be there. This is important; you're getting your license! I want to be there for you." Surprise, surprise, he wasn't there. Tucker often wondered if he would have anyone cheering him on when he graduated- when he went to college and got a career, when he made a family and settled down.

Tucker shook his head; trying to ignore the thoughts. He didn't want to be so negative about his father, but it was so hard not to be when he had betrayed him over and over again.

"I know you mean the best dad, but please, don't ever say that again." Tucker begged, fighting back tears.

"Tucker, I know I've let you down before, but I''m a different man now. I've changed. You have to believe me! Boris is a murderer, and you have to stay away from him."

By this point, Tucker was pissed off, and worse of all, hurt. He was so sick of hearing his father's lame and heartless excuses. Now, it was his turn to raise his voice.

"No dad, I'm sick of believing you- trusting you! And Boris isn't a murderer; I just can't believe that! He's been more of a father to me than you have!"

"Now you just wait a second, young man. I am YOUR FATHER! You can't change that, no matter how much you want to. Yeah, I get it. I'm a horrible father, and you're not ready to forgive me-"

"Dad, stop RIGHT there! This is not a territorial dispute between you and Boris! This is between you and me. He has nothing to do with this!" Tucker said, standing up.

Marshal stood up and put his face right next to his son's face.

"This has everything to do with him. And I don't appreciate you defending that bastard."

His father's cold words hit Tucker hard. He just couldn't take it anymore; he had to leave before he lost his nerve. He spun around on his heels before things got out of hand. 'Again.' he added in his head.

"Where are you going!" Marshal shouted as Tucker ran out of the door.

Tucker turned to face his father, who was now standing next to the door. "I don't think you honestly care." Tucker whispered. Without another word, Tucker left.

Marshal watched as his only son walked out the door. He sighed inwardly, knowing that what had resulted from his conversation was going to occur He could understand his son's resistance to believe him, but he knew that he had to try harder to make him believe.

And he knew just how to do it...