What Lies Within

By Karyn Ludlow

Losing Maggie, the love of his life, changed Oliver Stansbury. His journey of self-discovery and redemption began through the unexpected, where healing and forgiveness could finally become a reality. It was through the realization of what his actions had done for so many others, that the hardened shell he had built up so long ago could finally be chiseled away.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Karyn Ludlow
• Release date: Feb 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310765438

Karyn Ludlow

Karyn grew up in Payson, Utah. Since she was in Elementary school, she knew writing was in her future. She began working on What Lies Within after having her first baby, nearly ten years ago. She worked on it over the years, between children, and jobs, but something always kept her coming back to finish the story. She now resides with her husband, three children, and dog Juno in Nephi, Utah.

Book preview

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What Lies Within

Copyright © 2016 by Karyn Ludlow

ISBN:

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Title Page

Epigraph

~Chapter 1~

~Chapter 2~

~Chapter 3~

~Chapter 4~

~Chapter 5~

~Chapter 6~

~Chapter 7~

~Chapter 8~

~Chapter 9~

~Chapter 10~

~Chapter 11~

~Chapter 12~

~Chapter 13~

~Chapter 14~

~Chapter 15~

~Chapter 16~

~Chapter 17~

~Chapter 18~

~Chapter 19~

~Chapter 20~

~Chapter 21~

~Chapter 22~

~Chapter 23~

~Chapter 24~

~Chapter 25~

~Chapter 26~

~Chapter 27~

~Chapter 28~

~Chapter 29~

~Chapter 30~

~Chapter 31~

~Chapter 32~

~Chapter 33~

~Chapter 34~

~Chapter 35~

~Chapter 36~

~Chapter 37~

~Chapter 38~

~Chapter 39~

~Chapter 40~

~Chapter 41~

~Chapter 42~

~Chapter 43~

~Chapter 44~

~Epilogue~

Acknowledgements

About the Author

***

The coolness in the air…the leaves transforming

into their fiery shades, the smell of crackling pine

burning in the wind….it all reminds me of her. Every

thought I have is connected to Maggie. It’s been one

year since I lost her, lost myself, lost everything…

– Oliver Stansbury’s Journal

The glow of the sunset seeped through the walnut-colored blinds. Dust danced in the hollow stream of light before landing on the desk next to him. Ollie put the leather string between two pages to mark his place. His journal, distressed and worn, had not aged gracefully.

His fingertips curled under the pewter handle as he pulled open the empty desk drawer and placed the journal back inside. There, it would be safe. Hidden. The drawer rolled along the track, the sound echoing throughout the vacant house. The only other sound was the tick-tock coming from his grandfather clock. The hands seemed to be moving slower this evening. Ollie waited for the signal that it was time. Tick…tick…tick…The sound filled the entire house. The noise was deafening. He sat impatiently, waiting at his desk. The photo of Maggie called to him, like it had so many lonely nights. The clock finally gave in—it was time.

On the first chime, his heart raced, surprising Ollie that it still existed. His body felt like a tuning fork. It wasn’t until the sixth chime that he could hear the clock again over his throbbing body. Ollie stood, massaging the stiffness from his leg. He passed through the kitchen, reaching for the bottle on his way out the door.

Ollie maneuvered into his car, wincing only a little with pain. Checking the rearview mirror, he caught a glance of the old man staring back at him. The countenance wasn’t his. When Ollie rubbed his fingers across his face, nothing changed. The silver hairs poking wildly out of his jaw were uneven and untamed. The eyes were hollow and unrecognizable, even to him. His arthritic fingertips barely stretched around the steering wheel. As the car slid into reverse, he knew this was it. He had driven this road so many times before, but he had never been able to go through with it. But tonight was different. He knew what he had to do.

Memories flooded into his mind, but he quickly shut them out. His nerves began to ravel as he got closer. He knew this road better than anyone, with the exception of Maggie. Turning into the parking lot, he scanned it to make sure he was alone.

Ollie turned off the car, then reached for the bottle. It had been impossible for him not to think about it, next to him, calling him. He held it in his clammy hands, examining it closer than ever before, rubbing his callused fingers across the patterns and letters. Shaking, he brought it to his lips. The daylight slowly faded, and Ollie knew it was time. The chill in the air burned as it went in and out of his lungs. Swinging his door open, he had to plead with his body to cooperate.

He paced back and forth through the gravel, trying to calm the beating magnet in his body pulling him closer to what he couldn’t avoid any longer.

He couldn’t understand what Maggie ever saw in this place. The sky was gray, full of black clouds blocking any comfort of warmth. The surrounding fields were empty and ugly. The large structure hovered above icy depths below, and in no way looked inviting. The copper pattern that covered the entire bridge was frosted with a layer of ice. The slick feel of it ran chills down Ollie’s crippled body. The tarnished wooden planks he felt underneath his feet were decaying and broken. Finally, he could relate.

It had been over a year since he had come here with her. The bridge stood all alone—Ollie hated it for that. So strong, so connected—it never faltered.

After climbing to the center of the bridge, he looked down into the dark shadows below. White caps appeared like fingers reaching for him. He took one step up, and painfully pulled up the other half of his body. Wrapping his arms around the frozen metal post, he wondered how he’d gotten here. Not just to the bridge, but to this pit of misery and loneliness.

Ollie turned his gaze to the sky, looking for the answers he knew he wouldn’t find. The trace of daylight was soon to vanish. He felt his rigid and terrified body release. He had to let go. He had to let her go.

The gust of wind carried her ashes magically through the air, twisting and turning, landing down on every space Maggie had adored for years. The small silver bottle emptied faster than he thought, and before he knew it, she was gone.

***

Andrew felt for the gold key underneath the doormat. It was clammy with moisture when he closed it in his palm. The wind caught the dead leaves hiding away in the cracks of the stairs and blew them into the air, escaping into mini whirlwinds in the sky. Quickly and quietly, he slid the key into the lock. He turned the knob, and the door opened.

He stepped inside, making sure the coast was clear. The same trail of clothes that had been there the night before was a good sign that she hadn’t been awake yet. Once again, Andrew stepped over them, wondering when Claire had become such a slob. Andrew had been there, only several hours before, secretly delivering his ingredients and following through with his plan.

He caught his reflection several times in the giant wall of glass, making sure he looked his best. It had rained throughout the night, drops still streaming down the large window panes while Andrew worked. He adjusted his newly purchased watch and shook his pant legs down over his Frye boots.

Seven a.m. Perfect, he thought.

He slowly opened the refrigerator door. The light illuminated the room as he glanced back to make sure he was alone. It was an eerie feeling to be in someone else’s house without permission, even Claire’s. He took the tray of ingredients out of the fridge. English muffins, ham, spinach, eggs—it was all there.

He placed the tray silently on the counter and got to work. He’d been practicing for weeks now so he could get this just right. It was an art he was determined to master, even if that meant watching YouTube videos over and over on how to correctly poach an egg.

The water began bubbling, and he slid the egg out of the dish into the water. The white swirled as he watched, and the steam touched his face. Now only time would tell.

He transferred the steaming egg off the spoon and onto the ham, topping it with just the right amount of cracked black pepper and a sprinkle of chives. He sliced the oranges next for a fresh squeeze. The potatoes were just about done—he had julienned them all the same size so they would cook evenly. Finishing the final details, he took a step back, examining his work. After adding the cup of orange juice to just the right spot, it looked perfect. It had to be perfect. The empty ring box was the final touch. He couldn’t believe he had actually pulled it off. Especially the ring. He knew he wouldn’t have been able to slide it on her finger without her waking up, so he threaded it through his grandmother’s necklace.

He picked up the tray and climbed the stairs to her bedroom.

The sun shone in the room so brightly, he thought for sure she would see the sparkle hanging delicately from her neck. The mornings were when Andrew thought she was the most beautiful. Setting the tray on her nightstand, he adjusted the ring box and situated the plate, making sure everything was just right.

Claire? he whispered.

She rolled over.

Claire? he said a little less softly.

Claire shoved her down comforter aside and stared blankly in Andrew’s direction.

What time is it? she asked, dazed, peering around Andrew at her alarm clock.

Almost seven thirty. Why? I thought you had today off. Andrew glanced at the tray of uneaten food, the ring, and back to Claire’s face.

I’m late! she said, jumping off her bed.

For what?

I told my father I’d be there for the Jensen meeting. I can’t believe I slept in! she mumbled while tripping to get to the bathroom. As she scrubbed off last night’s makeup, she asked, What were you saying, Drew?

Andrew couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed yet. He wanted to see her reaction when she found it, so he stood behind her, looking at their reflection in the bathroom mirror.

What? she asked, peering through one soap-covered eye.

Why are you looking at me like that?

You know I’ve been working on this case for months, Drew. Don’t give me a guilt trip, please.

Before Andrew could respond, Claire reached up and scratched her collarbone. Her fingers slowly traced downward on both sides of the necklace until they finally met together in the middle. She was still, like she was hiding what she had found. Suddenly, she tried pulling the necklace off to get a look at the stone.

Wait, wait. Andrew lunged toward her, putting his hands around hers. The chain belonged to my grandmother. It’s really old—let me help you.

He unlatched the clasp and held up the sparkling diamond in front of Claire’s closely set blue eyes. Then he laid it in her hand, and she examined it. She slid the princess-cut diamond into place, then stretched out her fingers, admiring it, then sighed.

Is something wrong? Andrew asked.

No, it’s fine. I just wish I’d gotten a manicure first. I’m not going to have time today. People are going to want to look at it, but all they’ll see are my ugly nails.

Andrew walked away as if he hadn’t heard her and sat on the edge of her bed. So, was that a yes? he asked, confused.

She made her way across and room and put her arms around him. Yes! She pecked him on the lips, her face still traced with soap. I would love to celebrate, Drew, but I seriously have to get going.

Will you come see me tonight after work? Andrew asked her.

Sure.

Andrew turned to get the breakfast tray, but Claire waved at him to let it be.

Thanks, but I don’t have time. It looks great, though. She nodded her head toward the food.

Masking his disappointment, Andrew set the tray aside. Everything was happening so fast—he felt his perfect proposal slipping through his hands.

Leaning in the closet doorway, balancing on one foot, Claire slid on her black high heel, her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth.

She went in and out of the bathroom, talking, ranting about the case, adjusting her clothes. Andrew sat on the end of the bed, staring out the three large windows. After a few minutes, her voice became a dim whisper, then ceased to exist altogether. It had become an art, the way he could block out the noise. He had always pictured this moment so differently. As he sat there, he visualized the way it was supposed to be.

Drew . . . Drew! Are you even listening to me? she yelled after she rinsed out her mouth.

Andrew looked in her direction.

We’ll talk more about this tonight, Claire told him.

He only nodded.

After shoving her briefcase full of the papers that had been strewn out on her desk and wrapping her hair in a bun, she headed down the stairs. Andrew followed her, carrying the tray of food that had once looked so beautiful to him.

He slid the whole tray of food into the sink. Claire was like a whirlwind around him, picking up her clothes, throwing them on the kitchen table. Grabbing the newspaper, and some breakfast to go, she said through the bagel in her mouth, I’ll see you tonight? Before Andrew could answer, the front door slammed, and she was gone.

He wondered what had just happened as he put everything back exactly where it had been earlier that morning, which seemed like an eternity ago. Realizing he’d forgotten the glass of orange juice, he climbed the stairs again and walked through her bedroom doorway. There on the nightstand, next to the full glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, sat a diamond ring in its box.

***

"May I speak to Mrs. Weston?" a women’s voice asked through the phone.

It’s Mrs. Robertson now, but my children’s last name is Weston, Ramona explained, like she had several times before. Lakeview Junior High was on the caller ID—it had been a lot lately.

Sorry about that, Mrs. Robertson. We’ll be sure to get that fixed in our records. We’re calling to speak with you about your son, Adam. There have been some problems at school. Would you be able to meet with our principal today?

Ramona straightened her back where she sat on a barstool at the edge of the kitchen island. She had been paying the bills, but she pushed them aside. She didn’t know which was more depressing—giving all her money to someone else, or getting a call from her child’s elementary school letting her know her child had behavioral problems. She had become desensitized to Adam’s acting out, but apparently, others had not.

Sure, I’ll be right in. She said it like someone had called her from the library to let her know her books were past due.

She set the phone down on the counter and tried to clean up her paperwork. She’d wanted to take a break anyway, but this wasn’t what she’d had in mind. She grabbed her coat and keys and walked out the door.

She thought for a second about how she looked, but when she felt the harsh wind blow through her, she didn’t care. She was closer to the car than the house. Ramona hadn’t changed her hairstyle since 1987. A makeover would be nice, but she was in survival mode, and there wasn’t time for it. She sat in the driveway, waiting for her car to warm up, but in reality, she was putting this off for as long as possible. Right now, the school had to deal with Adam. In a few minutes, she would have to deal with him.

Halfway to the school, she realized she still wore her slippers.

Oh, well. They probably think I’m crazy anyway.

She pulled into the parking lot, mentally preparing herself for the list of excuses Adam was going to give her for why it was everyone else’s fault. Ramona had learned early on that it was best to stay silent. If she tried to argue, it just fueled his fire. His anger had gotten worse since she married Mitch, and she understood. Adam was a child, and in his eyes, his father was being replaced. He was losing control. Everyone else, including his sister, Sophie, was moving on. Everyone had started feeling happy again. They were moving on without him.

Ramona climbed the stairs to the school and made her way to the front entrance. The salt that melted the ice crackled under her feet, and so did her nerves the closer she got.

She pushed the metal handle and ran into the door with a thud. There was a large sign above the door handle that read pull.

Great. Perfect.

The three ladies sitting in the front office had surely seen her display of illiteracy because she had their full attention when she walked in.

So much for sneaking in the back.

She wanted to make a joke about running into the door, but she felt it would be pointless, with her slippers and all.

As if preparing herself, the first lady took a long swig from her Diet Coke before Ramona reached her desk.

Hi. I’m Ramona Robertson, Adam Weston’s mother. I’m here to meet with the principal, Ramona said, noticing all eyes on her.

Sure. Let me tell him you’re here. If you take a seat, he’ll be right with you. The woman pointed to one of the blue chairs in the corner, and Ramona quickly sat down.

In the few minutes she had to wait, Ramona learned all sorts of things from eavesdropping on the secretaries. How to bake the perfect banana bread, when was the best time of day to work out, and an update of who was still on Dancing with the Stars. Ramona remembered the days when those were the things she worried about. Now she was here, dealing with her son, who took all her extra time and energy.

Mr. Dunfee will see you now, Mrs. Robertson. The dark-haired woman led her into his office.

Thanks.

The woman nodded and walked back up to her desk.

The room was a normal size and decorated appropriately for a principal, with some family photos, college diplomas, and several motivational posters. He was tall and lanky, with white hair, but somehow, Ramona sensed he was around her age. She totally understood the white hair, though, him being a principal and all.

Please sit down, Mrs. Robertson.

Ramona sat, feeling like she had been called to the dean’s office and was awaiting her punishment. There was a tap at the door, and it slowly opened.

Adam stood in the doorway, looking at her, waiting for her reaction. His black eye shocked Ramona, and she jumped up to make sure he was all right.

Adam! What happened? Did someone hit you? It didn’t look like Adam was the only one to blame here.

Calm down, Mom. I’m okay, he said, annoyed.

He threw his body in the seat next to her and stared out the window, not acknowledging either of them.

Adam was in a fight today.

Yes, I can see that, she said, breathing fast.

I want you both to know that Lakeview Junior High has no tolerance for fighting.

Ramona shook her head, but Adam still ignored the world he was in right now.

Since this is the first time Adam has been in a fight, consider this a warning, but if it happens again, we’ll move into our corrective action, which is suspension. Adam, do you understand that?

Adam looked at him and nodded. Ramona was surprised he even did that. She didn’t know where he’d gotten it, but Adam had nearly chewed his toothpick in half.

All right, let’s talk a little bit about your behavior in class. Mr. Dunfee stood, walked around his desk, and sat in his chair. Adam didn’t bat an eye.

Some of our teachers have complained about Adam’s behavior. They said he’s disruptive, he’s rude to the teachers and students, and he often falls asleep and it’s hard to wake him for his next class.

Ramona could easily see Adam doing any one of those things, but still, she felt defensive and almost hurt that she had to hear all this out loud. She wanted to interrupt and tell him why Adam was acting out, why he was doing the things he was, but then she would be making the same excuses Adam was.

She looked at Adam and then back at the principal.

We’ll take care of this, Mr. Dunfee, she assured him.

I suggest you take him home for the rest of the day. Make sure he gets some ice on that eye to keep the swelling down, he said. Ramona could tell that he cared and wanted to do more, but couldn’t.

Adam stood and walked toward the door. Mr. Dunfee said, Mrs. Robertson, may I speak with you for just a second?

Adam, can you wait for me at the front of the office?

Adam walked off, acting like he didn’t hear her. I guess that’s a yes, she said to no one.

I just wanted to let you know what happened today. A boy was teasing Adam about his dad being in jail, Mr. Dunfee said, skimming through Adam’s chart.

"Yes. My ex-husband is—or was—in jail for drug abuse," she told him without hesitation.

Adam pushed this kid over and embarrassed him pretty badly.

So, how did Adam get the black eye?

"Well, later in the day, the kid’s best friend walked right up and punched him before anyone even noticed what was going on. When Adam fell to the ground