growing up… Damian’s mom. I didn’t recognize the man at her elbow. All I knew was it wasn’t Damian’s father. They must have divorced.
“Emily Sheperd was known as Emily Mills before she married her second husband approximately five years ago. She and her first husband lived in the house next door, but it is unclear whether that has any connection to her and her current husband’s murder. The Sheperds, who lived in Raleigh, were scheduled to return from an anniversary trip to the Outer Banks. According to the preliminary medical examiner’s report, they suffered blunt force trauma to the head, leading to the conclusion they were knocked out elsewhere, then brought here and decapitated in the early hours of the morning, their heads found just feet away from the remainder of their bodies. The family has requested privacy during this difficult time.
“Curiously, this neighborhood isn’t new to the headlines. Over fifteen years ago, Francis Galloway, a highly-decorated colonel, who lived in this same exact house, died during a gruesome and fiery attack on the U.S. Embassy in Liberia, which cost over sixty people their lives.”
A dated photo of my father in his dress uniform flashed on the screen. I could barely recognize him, his face clear of any scars or burns.
“Just hours after the attack, his wife and daughter were reported missing and were never found.”
My fears realized, old photos of both my mother and me appeared on the screen, my mother wearing the jeweled cross I had worn nearly every day until I ran from Tyler, leaving it at his house in Boston.
“There were always suspicions of a connection between the two events, although no suspect was ever brought in for questioning and the case has been left unsolved for the past decade-and-a-half.”
I could feel both Jenna’s and Brayden’s eyes on me as they glanced from the television to me. They had been in my bedroom and had seen the portrait that hung above my vanity, the jeweled cross clear for anyone to see. It was such a unique and remarkable piece. There was no way for me to deny who I was anymore.
“Mack…,” Brayden began before I hushed him, listening to the broadcast once more.
“The police here feared another unsolved case, but were able to lift hair fibers found at the scene. They were identified as belonging to one Charles Patrick Montgomery, who is on the FBI’s Most Wanted list in connection with over a dozen other murders spanning the better part of the past decade.”
A photo of Charlie wearing his Ranger beret appeared on the screen, his blue eyes brilliant as he smiled. That was before the madness ate away at him, before he dug into something he shouldn’t have…if his version of events could be believed.
“Law enforcement officials have not speculated on the connection between Montgomery and the Sheperds, but an anonymous source informed us that it is believed Mrs. Sheperd’s former neighbor, Mr. Galloway, isn’t dead, and that he’s the one responsible for orchestrating the attack on the U.S. Embassy all those years ago. The source indicated Galloway has teamed up with Montgomery to silence anyone who could possibly be a witness against him. Perhaps Emily Sheperd knew something she shouldn’t, considering she was his neighbor during the years in question. The source went so far as to mention that several of the victims Montgomery is accused of murdering were people thought to have been on Galloway’s team when he orchestrated the attack on the embassy. Regardless, it goes without saying that Montgomery is a danger and needs to be brought to justice to give this community of patriots the closure they need after this horrific crime.”
I sat in silence, feeling the burn of my friends’ eyes on me. I kept my gaze trained forward, my heart thumping in my chest, thousands of questions circling in my head. Questions I was certain I would never get the answers to. Questions I wasn’t sure I wanted the answers to.
“Ummm… Mack?” Brayden said, breaking the silence once the broadcast was over and moved on to a public interest piece on top swimwear for a flattering figure.
“Yes, boo?” I responded, trying to ignore his wide, disbelieving eyes.
“That’s not…? You’re not…?” He leaned toward me, lowering his voice. “You’re the little girl, aren’t you? Because, correct me if I’m wrong, that was your mother. I’ve seen her portrait thousands of times, Mack. And that cross the woman in the photo was wearing is the cross you wear, and–”
I inhaled