Secrets in the Dark

"No, you have been a big help" Maureen smiled, "Thank you."

As Maureen began to walk towards Terminal Two, the man in the suit followed, paper folded under his arm.

Waiting on the platform for the next train to arrive, Maureen watched the people come and go around her. She was frightened to be in this big place, a foreign country all alone. But what was the alternative. Her old life, the old house she grew up in. A place so cold and unforgiving, you could literally feel your soul dying inside.

Trains came and went as Maureen sat on the bench waiting for the train to take her to Piccadilly Station. It had been a long flight and she was eager to get to the hotel where she would be lodging for the next month. She was lost in her thoughts taking in this new country around her when a train pulled into the station. She recognized the number on the side and realized that this was the train she needed to board. Picking up her suitcase, she climbed the stairs, and found a seat just inside the door. As the train began to pull out of Heathrow Airport, although she was afraid, a new sense of freedom began to swell inside her. Each click clack of the wheels on the track was one more additional step to freedom, pure freedom, where she could eventually sleep at night, and chase her own dreams and desires.

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Storming out of the hole, with the agility of a superstar athlete, Jim took the stairs leading from the basement two steps at a time hauling his pot belly with him. He doubted if his wife had taken the initiative to get off her fat ass to venture into the basement, but he had to make sure. Throwing open their bedroom door, he was greeted by snores and grunts reminiscent of a barnyard.

"What, what?" his wife replied with a groggy waft of onions and tobacco as he shook her awake.

"Have you been in the basement the last few weeks?" Jim questioned his wife, his eyes black as coal, filled with hate.

"No Jim, you know I don't go down there. Why what is wrong?"

"Oh nothing, fuck!" he shouted stomping out of their blissful marital chamber.

Jim Gould was a man on a mission. He knew someone in the house had taken his money, but whom? Opening the door to Brian's room, he began to unbuckle his belt as he walked towards the bed. Brain lay on top of his covers wearing white brief's his back and legs exposed.

"You little son of a bitch," Jim shouted as he raised his arm high in the air, bringing the leather down with a sharp crack across his son's back. "What in the fuck did you do with it?

"Dad," Brain was wide awake with a jolt, his fifteen year old eyes as big as saucers. Curling into a ball to protect himself from the successive blows he was sure would come, he cried out to his father, "What you are talking about?"

"Don't lie to me, damn it. You know damn well what I am talking about," Jim bellowed as he swung the belt, leaving a welt on his son's exposed calf.

"Dad," Brain was crying now, "I swear I don't know what you are talking about."

"Have you been in the basement within the past two weeks?"

"Yes, but just to get the clothes out of the dryer."

"What else did you do down there?" Jim clinched his teeth hissing as he spoke.

"Nothing," Brian protested, his calf now displayed a red welt from the leather belt.

Jim stood staring down at his son, eyes burning with rage. For a split second he thought about telling Brian what he was referring to in the basement but dismissed the thought. After all, he could start again and still use the tunnel for hiding if Brian in fact was telling the truth.

"Let's go you little shit," his dad said grabbing him by the arm hauling him up with one hand. "We are going to get to the bottom of this if it takes all night."

Jim Gould gripped his oldest son behind the elbow. The skin turned white pinched between his meaty fingers as he marched Brian to out of his bedroom to another room a few feet down the hall.

"Sit," he said shoving Brain onto a bed in the room they had just entered.

Underneath the cover's, a small body stirred. Little Ricky did not see the hand as it descended upon him. Whipping back the covers, Jim grabbed him by the hair, pulling him into a sitting position on his bed.

"Rise and shine you little bastard," Jim released his clutch on his youngest son's hair, fists balled at his sides as he stood surveying his offspring.

Ricky looked at his father, white, as if a ghost had invaded his dreams. He wondered if he were having a nightmare.

"Now, one of you has been in the basement and one of you has taken something of mine. You two are going to sit here until I get some answers. No school, no breakfast, no bathroom breaks, nothing.

"Dad we don't know what you are talking about," they both looked at each other and then to him answering in unison. Then Brian spoke up, "Have you asked Maureen? Maybe she took it. You know that she has to go into the basement to light the fire in the morning and wash the clothes."

Without a word, Jim Gould reached out and slapped both of his son's with a hard open hand. He had learned how to hit them and not leave any bruises. "For your sake, the two of you had better hope like hell that your sister is responsible for this. Because if she isn't, the three of you will wish that you were dead."

Leaving the room, like a ragging bull, Jim stormed down the hall, and stopped before a door at the end of the hall.

Standing before the closed door with flaking white paint, he could feel rage beginning to build inside. Whether she knew where the money was or not, he knew what her punishment would be. She was responsible for her siblings and she would pay for their transgressions.

"Maureen," Jim shouted as he opened the door.

Looking to her bed, he froze. It was empty, she wasn't there. Walking to it, he sat, head in hands wondering where his money was, and wondering where his daughter was this late at night.