Penance - Uncovering the truth, Secrets and confessions, and Twisted pasts

Chapter 35

Grayson stood outside the rustic farmhouse, his eyes scanning the surroundings. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of freshly mowed grass and the faint aroma of farm animals. The landscape stretched out before him, painted in vibrant hues of green. Rolling hills and fields spread out in every direction, dotted with grazing cattle and the occasional barn. It was like being in the garden at Hawthorne Mansion, but without the barn and animals.

Just as Grayson was about to knock on the weathered wooden door, a chilling sound caught his attention. The distinct metallic click of a gun being loaded reverberated through the air. He felt a shiver run down his spine, a sudden realization that he was not alone.

Slowly, cautiously, Grayson turned around to face the source of the sound. His eyes met the cold  gaze of a man, his weathered face etched with lines of experience. Short blond hair crowned his head, and his eyes, a lighter shade of blue, mirrored Alison's. The man held a shotgun in his hands, his grip firm and unwavering.

"Don't move," the man commanded, his voice a mix of authority and caution. "Who the hell are you?"

Grayson raised his hands slowly, his voice steady despite the surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. "My name is Grayson Hawthorne. I'm looking for Jefferson Emrys. I need to speak with him about his daughter, Alison Emrys."

The man's anger flared, his voice erupting in a shout. "I don't want your damn money! I won't be bought off!"

"I'm not offering you any money," Grayson retorted hastily, taken aback by the outburst. His hands remained raised, a gesture of reassurance.

The man's eyes bore into Grayson's, suspicion still etched on his face. "You think you can fool me? I know you're one of Mason Valentine's men."

The mention of Mason Valentine caught Grayson's attention, but right now, his mind was racing to find a way to convince the man that he wasn't working for Mason. However, it was difficult to focus with a shotgun pointed at him. "I'm friends with Alison," Grayson stated firmly, his voice unwavering and resolute, as if he were bulletproof. 

A scoff escaped the man's lips, his grip on the shotgun tightening. "Got a death wish, kid?"

Grayson's heart pounded in his chest as the cold metal of the shotgun pressed against him, pushing him backward against the door. He struggled to find the right words, steadying his voice. "We're partners at Harvard University."

The man's intense gaze locked with Grayson's, probing for any sign of fear or weakness, but to his surprise, he found none (as expected from Grayson Hawthorne). Slowly, the man lowered the shotgun, his grip loosening. After a lingering stare, he let out a heavy sigh, turning away and walking toward the nearby barn.

Grayson hesitated for a moment before following, his curiosity urging him forward. This encounter held crucial information, and he couldn't let it slip away that easily.

They walked in silence, Grayson following the man from behind. He couldn't ignore the burning question inside him. He needed to know why the man mistook him for one of Mason's workers. Summoning his courage, he ventured, "Why did you think I was one of Mason's men?"

The man remained silent, refusing to meet Grayson's gaze. Grayson knew he needed to strike a nerve, even if it meant risking his own life. "I met Charlotte Akana."

The man froze, his eyes narrowed as he glanced back at Grayson. "What do you want from me?" he asked, his voice low and wearied.

"Tell me what you know about Mason Valentine," Grayson pressed, his voice resolute, reclaiming his confidence.

The man pressed on, his voice laced with bitterness, as they made their way towards the barn. "One day, Alison returned home with a friend. Mason was his name—a sick bastard," Mr. Emrys recounted, his voice carried through the wind. Grayson followed closely behind, his ears attuned to every word that escaped the man's lips. "On that day, they arrived in a fancy car, with Alison by his side. He offered us money, and I refused. But my wife..."

He paused, opening the barn door, allowing Grayson to fill in the gap. "Your wife took it because she knew they needed it."

Mr. Emrys nodded, his weariness affirming Grayson's words. "Alison wouldn't say a damn thing about it—about him," his voice heavy with exhaustion. "For three years," he pushed open the creaky red doors to the barn. "I haven't seen my family for three years."

There was still one burning question that lingered in Grayson's mind: What was the connection between Alison and Mason? But now didn't seem the right time to ask. Grayson could sense the overwhelming turmoil within Mr. Emrys, his emotions palpable.

 With caution, he took a step closer, his voice dripping with empathy. "There's more to this story than we know," Grayson began.

"It's better for you to leave now before I change my mind and shoot you," Mr. Emrys spat, his voice strained with a mix of anger and pain.

Grayson nodded silently, even though Mr. Emrys couldn't see the gesture. Understanding the gravity of the situation, Grayson knew it was time to retreat. Without uttering another word, he turned and made his way back to the waiting taxi.

As the taxi pulled away from the farm, Grayson gazed out the window, the vast green fields fading into the distance. At least one thing was certain about Alison—she had inherited more of her father's traits than her mother's.