Secrets and Lies | ✔️

Chapter 21 - Jackson

Ch.21 - Jackson

Jackson took his time walking from room to room, taking in its simple construction. The square footage was much smaller than what he was used to, but it would have to do. He couldn't get much closer to the Wilson's than living right next door to them. Dealing with the tiny house was a sacrifice he would have to make if he wanted to follow through with his plan. And he was going to follow through. No matter what, he would see this through until the very end - when Talia Wilson was nothing more than a memory.

Walking into the master bedroom, he set his bags down on the bed and looked around. The walls had been painted a soft beige, relaxing and flexible in its ability to compliment most decor. Also dull and boring, much like the man who had met him in the driveway outside. A blue-collar man with a blue-collar life, something Jackson had great difficulty relating to. He felt the roughness of calluses as he shook Charlie's hand, meaning his body was no stranger to physical labor. Skilled or unskilled, it really didn't matter. Manual work was meant for men not smart enough to hold down valued positions in the work force. The working class was burdened with small minds and small wages. They were meant to occupy the jobs men like him were too good for. Just as well. Men like him needed someone to take out their garbage.

And that pitiful boat he had seen him pull up in - what in the world was that? Why would any man in their right mind choose to spend their free time rowing around in that gloomy patch of water, working their muscles outdoors when they could be exercising in a comfy, air-conditioned gym? There was nothing appealing about that swamp behind the property and it turned his stomach to know he would have to spend time pretending he cared.

Jackson rubbed at his jaw, grimacing as his fingers met rough stubble of hair. If he looked in the mirror no doubt he would see the dark shadow of growth marring his chin, so unlike his trademark close-shave. Years of working with business associates and clients told him a smooth, neat appearance and a tailored sense of style set an exceptional man apart from the rest. And he was exceptional.

Crossing the floor of the bedroom, Jackson strolled through the rest of the rental property. A tiny front room, and an even tinier kitchen. With each passing moment he felt increasingly claustrophobic. And the house next door, the one the Wilson's called home, was even smaller than this place. It made no sense. Why would a couple with a growing child decide to live in the smaller of two residences? Unless something was wrong with this home. . .

A gnawing sensation began to build in his stomach as the puzzle pieces slid into place. A crime had been committed here, inside these very walls. A crime so ugly the Wilson's couldn't bare to stay.

This was the place. The house he stood in now was where his son had lost his life. It had been stolen from him through no fault of his own. The familiar feeling of rage slid along his veins, chilling his blood. How had he not seen this before? He'd learned everything he could about the night Steven was murdered! He'd watched every news show, read every article. He'd even hired a private detective to fill in the blanks he couldn't make sense of. How had he not seen this coming?

And how would he be able to sleep in the house where his son had taken his last breath?

"Excuse me. . .Jackson?"

He looked up toward the voice in the doorway and cleared his throat. Jackson forced a smile. "Charlie. I didn't hear you come in."

An embarrassed grin spread across the young man's face. "I'm sorry. I knocked first and when you didn't answer I took a peek inside." Charlie pushed a hand through his wavy, brown hair. "You looked pretty far away. Is everything okay with the house? I know it must be weird renting it before you'd even had a chance to see it. Pictures aren't quite the same as viewing it in person. Do you still think it will work for you, or are you having second thoughts?"