Buried Ashes (MxM)

19-Birthday Blues

Mason

"Are you sure you want to do this, Mason?" Aiden asked me from the driver seat of his parked car. I looked ahead, through the windshield.

"I have to. I have to find out what the hell happened before I was born."

Aiden and I had found something on the back of the portrait of Jackson and my mom a month ago. It was during one of our many nights spent investigating the painting, and my life. After peeling back a small piece of canvas on the backside of the portrait, we revealed a signature hidden behind the fabric, on the wood beneath. It was difficult to decipher the handwriting, but we eventually understood the name to be Clyde Warren.

Neither Aiden nor I had ever heard of this person before, but I was itching to talk to the person that painted this portrait. So, we had to do some digging. My mom, Jackson, and Ben were immediately excluded from the list of people we could ask, for obvious reasons.

I asked a few of my mom's employees if they had heard of this man, and was eventually pointed to the bakery owner, Mr. Winston. He was an elderly man, and it was assumed he would know just about anything anyone had to ask him about the past of the pack. He told me Clyde Warren was an artist that kept to himself mostly. That he hadn't even heard of him in years.

Mr. Winston gave me directions to a secluded home in the Sylvan Ash territory that he believed Clyde used to live in. He wasn't so sure now.

So that's how we ended up here. In front of a small, brick home that was overgrown with vines, and weeds. It seemed abandoned, almost. Like no one had lived here for a long time. Either that, or no one cared enough to take care of the place for a long time.

I couldn't walk away now. I had to know if Clyde Warren lived here; if he would speak with me about the painting. Even though today was my birthday, I didn't care. I just wanted some answers.

With a sigh, I looked over to Aiden and nodded. We both exited the car, Aiden taking a moment to pull the large painting from the backseat. Slowly, we walked up the cracked driveway to the delapidated home.

With each step, I felt as if my heart would beat out of my chest. What if he turns me away? What if no one lives here at all? What if he tells me he doesn't know anything?

Once at the front door, I knocked loudly and took a few steps back, Aiden right beside me.

A few moments later, the door cracked open. A pair of dull blue eyes peeked through the small gap, and the door opened a few more inches. The man who had opened the door was middle aged, with brown hair and pale skin. His eyes studied the both of us for a moment, seeming uneasy from our presence.

"Clyde Warren?" I asked softly. His gaze which had been locked on the back of the canvas in Aiden's hands immediately met my own when my voice reached his ears. His eyes widened as soon as they met mine, and he quickly moved back to slam the door.

With my inhuman instincts, I stuck my foot in the doorway before he could close it, and the door stopped when it hit my shoe.

"Please, Mr. Warren. I'm very sorry to intrude like this, but I would just like to ask you some questions. My name is Mason Whitlock. My mother is Beth Whitlock. Perhaps you know her?" His eyes widened even more at the sound of my mom's name, and he opened the door slightly once again.

"Beth Whitlock?" he asked in a quiet, gruff voice.

"Yes. I just want to ask you about this painting," I gestured to Aiden, who flipped the canvas, revealing the portrait. "You painted this, didn't you?"