Date: Thu, 2 Aug 2012 13:39:43 -0700 From: B.E. Kelley Subject: The Foundling 2 This story is a work of FICTION. The events described are my own invention. Any similarities to actual events or persons are strictly coincidental. The author retains the copyright, and any other rights, to this original story. You may not publish it or any part of it without my explicit authorization. This story contains depictions of consensual sexual acts between teenage males. It is intended for mature audiences only. If you find this type of material offensive or if you are under the legal age to read said material; please proceed no further. Comments are always welcome at: hailcaesar2011@hotmail.com The Foundling Chapter 2: What's Forgotten is Remembered. I woke the next morning to faint sunlight dancing across the room. I didn't know what time it was but the shade of the light suggested it was just after dawn. We must have switched positions, sometime during the night, because I found myself holding Jamie in my arms like a little blond teddy bear. Jamie was sound asleep and I listened to him breathe deeply, while I contemplated my next move. I tried going back to sleep and when that failed, I extracted myself from the bed, tucked the blankets tightly around Jamie and stood shivering in the early morning sun. Jamie had taken my t-shirt off the night before because I'd drenched it with cold sweat from my nightmare. I picked up the soiled garment and found it was still damp. I walked over to the dresser and shuffled through it, until I found another shirt to put on, then I headed for the door. The house was quiet, as houses tend to be in the wee hours of the morning. The rhythmic sounds of sleep, deep breathing and light snoring, could be heard as I walked by the various bedroom doors. I walked down to the living room and sat on the couch, starring out the window at the frozen lake that lay in the distance. After a while, I rose to my feet and began to explore the Prescott home. I looked around the living room but didn't find anything new; I'd spent plenty of time there the night before. I walked into what must be George and Nancy's study. There were books on the shelves and two desks facing each other, there was another set of shelves on the back wall that contained family pictures. I stood in front of them for quite some time. I don't think there was a sport that Dylan didn't play, there were pictures of him in a football uniform, a baseball jersey, a hockey jersey, not to mention trophies and ribbons for everything you could imagine. There were a couple of pictures of Jamie playing soccer, but in most of the pictures he was cuddling with George or Nancy, sometimes even Dylan. The pictures conveyed the sense that Jamie was a kind, caring person but I might be biased, after all, he certainly seemed to be taking care of me for the time being. There were also pictures of a blond girl, I wasn't sure who she was but I thought she might be an older daughter. She looked like George and Nancy, and there was a graduation picture so I assumed that she was away at college and that's why I hadn't met her yet. I started to head back to the front of the house but something in the family room caught my eye. Up against the wall, opposite the front windows, there was an upright piano. I felt drawn to the instrument and soon found myself seated at the bench in front of it. For a moment, an image flashed before my eyes, an image of a fair haired woman sitting at a grand piano with a dark haired boy. I couldn't tell how old the boy was but his feet dangled off the bench, not quite reaching the floor. I paid close attention to the tint of his black hair and the fierce blue of his eyes, features I'd noticed yesterday when I'd seen my reflection for the first time. The woman was teaching the boy how to arch his fingers over the keys and though I couldn't hear what they were saying, she seemed to wince as he hit a sour note, then smile when he'd made the correction. The image vanished as quickly as it had come and I found myself starring at an open book, propped up against the body of the piano. Across the top I read the words `Sonata No. 23 in F Minor, Op. 57, Appasionata.' That didn't seem to hold any meaning for me but then I looked at the strange squiggles below and was engulfed by a warm sense of remembrance, I knew this language! In fact it wasn't a strange language at all, it was musical notes and as I read them, I could hear them playing in my head. My fingers felt drawn to the keys, like iron is drawn to magnets. I placed them on the keyboard and immediately felt comfortable and at home. I was so happy that I'd found something I understood, something that was so clear and unequivocal, that I forgot about the sleeping family upstairs and let my fingers do as they pleased. I arched my fingers over the keys and as if by magic, they began to move so fast it was hard to believe they didn't have a mind of their own. The music filled the room, it reverberated off the walls, I could feel it coursing through my body. I didn't even need the sheet music, I closed my eyes and the tempo picked up, faster and faster. I got so worked up that when I finished, I was panting for breath. I was startled when I heard the clapping and turned around to find the sound coming from the ever smiling Jamie. George and Nancy were there; their jaws hanging open in surprise, so was Dylan, arms folded on his chest, his eyebrow raised. "Did you see that George, he didn't even turn the page," said Nancy, somewhat awestruck. George nodded and Dylan rolled his eyes. "Just get's weirder and weirder," said Dylan. Dylan turned back to the stairs and marched off to his room, the rest of the family gathered around me at the bench. "Honey, did you play that from memory?" asked Nancy. I thought about it for a moment, I don't know how I remembered it but I must have, after all, I hadn't read the music, so I nodded, yes. "Haven't you been trying to learn that piece for a few months now?" George asked Nancy. "Yes, and I'm nowhere near being able to play it like that," Nancy admitted. "Good job Harry," said Jamie, patting me on the back. "Can you remember anything else?" asked George. I tilted my head and squinted at him for a moment, I wasn't sure, but when I put my fingers back on the keys, music started pouring out of me. I started with Beethoven's Fur Elise, then moved on to Mozart's Rondo Alla Turca. "Pretty cool," said Jamie, "but do you know anything more modern? I know, it'll be Christmas soon, do you know any Christmas carols?" Yes, I did! Carol of the Bells, Oh Holy Night, We Three Kings. I would have kept going but George finally stopped me. "Harry, how did you do that?" asked George. I looked at him for a moment, thought about it, but I didn't know. I shrugged my shoulders in reply. "Can you remember anything else, anything you want to say?" said George. I wanted to tell him about the vision I'd had of the woman and the boy, but still, words failed me. The inability to respond, reminded me of my problems and I slumped in frustration. "It's ok, it's going to be a gradual thing, but you remembered to play the piano, I'm sure the rest will come soon," said George, encouragingly. "Yeah, maybe playing will jog your memory, play something else," said Jamie. That cheered me up a little and I returned to playing songs for Jamie, who was full of praise and encouragement. George and Nancy smiled at their helpful little blond, then went into the kitchen to make breakfast. When it was time to eat, Jamie had to drag me away from the piano, it was the only thing I felt any kind of connection to and it was hard to leave. "Come on Harry, I'm hungry," giggled Jamie, as he took my hand and pulled me to my feet. I ate another hearty breakfast and then came to a realization, I didn't have to sit there offering my blank stare to their questions, I could ask my own. When breakfast was over and Nancy was standing in front of the sink, about to start the dishes, I walked over to her, took her hand and pulled on it. "Do you want me to follow you somewhere?" she asked. I nodded my head, yes. She let me lead her to the study, with Jamie in tow. I took her to the wall of family pictures and pointed to the first thing I saw. "Oh, that's our wedding picture," said Nancy, "we were married in 1986 in Italy." Next I pointed to a ribbon hanging off of a trophy. "That's Dylan's, from baseball last summer," said Nancy. Then a picture of the girl I'd seen that morning. "That's our daughter Rachel, she just graduated from college and she lives in Boston," said Nancy. I moved my finger to a framed document. "That's Jamie's new birth certificate, from his adoption," she smiled. I saw Jamie blush a little but I was smiling almost as brightly as he usually did, I could communicate and I was excited by the prospect. I must have pointed to every item on every shelf and when I was done, I took Nancy's hand and led her back to the family room, where she indulged me in more finger pointing and explaining. We did this for over an hour and only stopped when the doorbell rang. Nancy went to answer it, leaving me sitting on the couch with Jamie. We heard George and Nancy talking to someone in the foyer but it was too muffled to understand. When Nancy came back into the room, she had George and the Sheriff following behind her. Nancy sat on my right side and the Sheriff handed me a blue blazer with a crest embroidered on the chest pocket. "Son, does this belong to you?" asked the Sheriff. I studied the garment and ran my fingers over the crest. The crest was a shield, divided diagonally into dark and light blue fields. In the dark blue field there was a boars head, in the light, three daggers. At the top of the shield was a knights helmet and under it all was the inscription, `Fidelitas et Integritas," fidelity and integrity. My fingers stopped moving and began to tremble, this was a school jacket from Choate-Rosemary Hall and yes, it was mine. The realization was like opening a floodgate, the clouds had cleared and a vision burst into my mind's eye. I saw myself standing on a large, tree-lined avenue, in front of a Georgian style brick building, covered in ivy. I was wearing the jacket I now held in my hands, my eyes were down-cast and a frown played across my face. I quickly recognized the building; it was my dorm at prep school. I also recognized the tall man standing in front of me, with hair and eyes that matched my own, my father. "Benji, what's the matter?" he asked. "Dad, do I have to stay here?" I whined. He placed his hand under my chin and gently titled my face up so that my eyes met his. "We talked about this son, it's our family tradition, you belong here," he explained. "Yeah, but, well, I'm going to miss you," I blushed. "I'm going to miss you too, Tiger, but this is important," dad explained, "I went to school here, and your grandpa and your great grandpa, all the Tyson men." "It's not just because, you know, mom?" I asked. "Benji, your mom died a long time ago, this has nothing to do with her," said Dad, a hint of sadness in his voice. "I know but if she was here then I could stay at home, you wouldn't have to leave me here," I grumped. I knew it was childish but I was 14 and I wasn't getting my way, I felt bad about it later. "Son, do you really feel that way?" he asked. "No, I just don't understand why I have to be here," I complained. "I know it's hard, it was hard for me too, when I was your age, but trust me, in a few weeks you'll be so happy here that you wouldn't come home if I begged you," Dad smiled. "I find that hard to believe," I huffed. My dad smiled and ruffled my hair. "You're going to have to trust me on that one," said Dad. "But, who's going to take care of you?" I asked, trying a different tactic. "I'm a big boy, I think I'll manage," Dad smiled, "besides, you know I'm going to be traveling a lot in the next few months." "Yeah, well I'm a big boy too, I could stay at home," I stated. "Benji," he sighed, "I'm not leaving my 14 year old son alone in Manhattan." "Yeah, I know, it's just, what if the other kids don't like me," I stated, finally admitting the source of my nervousness. My dad hugged me and I remembered everything about the moment, from the silky feel of his tie against my cheek to the familiar smell of his cologne. "I'm sure the other kids will like you just fine. Be yourself, listen to your teachers and just have fun ok?" said Dad. "I'll try," I sighed. "Atta boy," Dad smiled. Just then the limousine driver honked his horn, my dad gave me one final squeeze, then broke our embrace. "I have to go, I'll be late for my flight," said Dad. "I know, you better get going," I agreed, "I love you dad." "I love you too Tiger. I want you to call me and email me all the time, and remember; Thanksgiving will be here before you know it and I'll pick you up for our trip to Tyson's Corner," said Dad. My dad got into the car and I watched him drive away, until I could no longer see the taillights on the horizon. By the time the memory finished, I had tears streaming down my face. "Son; is your name Benjamin Tyson?" asked the Sheriff. "Yes sir, Benjamin Tyson III," I confirmed, in a voice either horse from lack of use or from the sobs I was trying to hold back. "S-sheriff, I-is my father dead?" I asked. The Sheriff, himself a grandfather who got into police work because he liked protecting people, put his hand on my shoulder and sighed. "I'm sorry son," said the Sheriff. I turned to Nancy, no longer able to hold back, I cried like a baby. She held me in her arms and rocked me back and forth, she'd comforted Dylan and Jamie when they had lost their parents, she knew what she was doing. "Sheriff, can I speak to you in the kitchen for a moment," said George, practically dragging the Sheriff out of the room. "Jesus Ed," said George, when they were out of ear shot. "I know, I know, I'm sorry, you think I liked doing that?" said the Sheriff, "I thought he'd recognize the coat and that it would jog his memory, seems like it worked." "Yeah it worked and now I've got a boy who just found out his father's dead, sobbing in my living room," said George. "Calm down Doc, that was going to happen regardless of how he found out, at least we got him talking," the Sheriff reasoned. "Can you tell me what's going on?" asked George, calming down a bit. "Found a body this morning at the motel out on 95," said the Sheriff, "looks like he was shot the night we found the kid in the snow." "How does someone get shot in a motel and no one finds him for two days?" asked George. "You remember the storm that night, it would be easy not to hear a gunshot in weather like that, as for the two days, there as a do not disturb sign on the door. They found him this morning when he failed to check out," the Sheriff explained. "What led you to Harry, er, I mean Ben?" asked George. "Found a picture of the boy in the man's briefcase, Benjamin Tyson III printed on the back, plus the school jacket and a bag full of kid's clothes," said the Sheriff, "Documents in the briefcase confirmed our victim's ID as Benjamin Tyson II." "Tyson as in Tyson Wire and Cable?" asked George. "Yeah, I knew old Ben Tyson, he died about four years ago, now his son too, it's a damn shame," said the Sheriff. "Do you have a suspect?" asked George. "We're dusting the room for prints, but this is Tyson's Corner, New Hampshire, not CSI New York, I don't know if we'll find anything we can use," the Sheriff admitted, "that's why I need to talk to the boy." "Now?" asked George incredulously. "The boy might be the only witness Doc, he could be the key to this whole thing," said the Sheriff. "Yeah but Ed, you just told him," said George. "I know, it's a shitty thing to do, believe me, I don't want to hurt that kid but I gotta question him now in case he stops talking again or God knows what else," said the Sheriff. "Ok, I understand," George sighed. "Don't worry, I'll be as gentle as I can," the Sheriff assured him. When the two men came back into the living room, Nancy was still holding me in her arms. Jamie was sitting next to me, his hand on my shoulder, his bottom lip quivering. He was so concerned about me that he was on the verge of tears himself. Dylan was still in his room, he hadn't heard the Sheriff knock on the door and didn't know what was going on. "Jamie, can you go up to your room for a little bit?" asked George. "Huh, what?" asked Jamie, noticing his dad for the first time since he'd returned. "Room, now?" George said gently. "Ok, sorry," said Jamie. Before he left, Jamie squeezed my shoulder. "I-I'm sorry about your dad Benji," said Jamie. I didn't have time to respond to him before he ran upstairs. "Honey why don't we take Ben into the kitchen so we can all talk?" said George. "George, now?" she asked. "I know, it'll be ok," said George. We went back to the kitchen and took seats around the table. Nancy held my hand in both of hers, offering me what support she could. "Do you remember anything about the night your daddy was killed?" asked the Sheriff. I thought about it for a moment before I answered him. "Yes sir, I remember everything," I replied. "Ok son, can you tell us what happened?" he followed. "I don't know where to start," I explained. "The beginning is usually a good place," offered the Sheriff, with a grandfatherly smile.