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

Chapter 73

The driver seemed calm, almost too calm given the circumstances. His bushy eyebrows furrowed slightly as he stole a quick glance at Grayson through the rear-view mirror. "Would you two like some music back there?" he offered politely.

Alison slowly eased herself off Grayson's lap, careful not to disturb him too much. She settled into the seat beside him, giving him some much-needed space. Her injured shoulder seemed to pain her even more in the bumpy ride, and the bloodstain on her forehead worried him.

He could also sense her confusion about their late-night trip to Harvard, but he kept his reasons to himself. Just as Alison had withheld her plans from him, he saw no reason to divulge his intentions.

"No, thank you," Grayson replied to the taxi driver. Music was the last thing on his mind right now.

The driver, seemingly oblivious to the palpable tension in the car, turned his attention to Alison. "Are you alright there, love?"

Alison glanced at the driver and flashed a smile, one of her many facades. "I've never felt better."

The driver chuckled at Alison's response, the sound oddly unsettling. "Good to hear," he said, his tone remaining cheerful. "It's not often I have such interesting passengers this late at night."

Grayson had a hunch that the driver wanted to keep talking, like he was prying for info. He shot Alison a quick, careful look, letting her know the guy was up to something fishy, and he was sure she felt the same way.

Alison decided to play along, attempting to steer the conversation in their favour. "Interesting in what way?" she asked, playing dumb.

The driver shrugged casually. "You're heading to Harvard University in the middle of the night. Not your typical taxi ride, if you ask me."

Grayson couldn't help but tense up, shifting in his seat. He had every reason to be on edge; after all, he had been abducted three times and had narrowly escaped a burning hotel with a bomb in his room. And the fact that a taxi had conveniently appeared out of nowhere when they needed a ride made Grayson's guard rise even higher. It was only natural for him to remain vigilant and cautious in the face of uncertainty.

The driver's eyes flicked back to Grayson, and he wore a subtle grin, his tone light but insistent. "So, you lovebirds planned something naughty at Harvard tonight?"

A throbbing nerve in his temple and neck made Grayson wince. Why would anyone ask such a stupid question? he thought. The only logical explanation Grayson could muster was that the driver tried to divert their attention, ensuring they didn't grow suspicious of him. Grayson's jaw clenched, and he responded before Alison had a chance to intervene. "We're not a couple," he stated firmly as he straighten his cuffs.

Alison, seizing what Grayson assumed was an opportunity to keep up their cover, chimed in playfully, "Oh, don't worry about him. He's just a bit shy."

The driver chuckled, his gaze returning to the road. "Well, you two would make a lovely couple."

Grayson rolled his eyes at Alison's comment, not sure whether she was just playing along or if there was something more behind her teasing. He stole a glance at her, and she was already staring back at him, a sly smile on her face.

They had just left a burning building, and Alison was bleeding from her head and shoulder, yet here she was, smiling at him as if none of that had happened. Still, her comment stirred an odd sensation within Grayson, like butterflies in his stomach.

The driver's persistent cheerfulness didn't sit right with Grayson. His gut told him something was off, and he wasn't one to ignore his instincts, yet the driver didn't take any wrong turns as Grayson noticed, and he believed the man was truly taking them to Harvard.

Alison turned her gaze towards the driver, her eyes locking onto his through the rear-view mirror. "You're a widower, aren't you?" she suddenly accused, her voice held an air of quiet certainty.

"We're doomed", Grayson mused, thinking Alison had taken her act a bit to far.

The driver didn't flinch, nor did his calm expression falter. But, when their eyes locked in the rear-view mirror, his expression turned grave. For some reason, the driver now struck Grayson as oddly familiar.

"I noticed the family photo on your dashboard, the one facing you, not us. It's worn from being touched repeatedly, the edges softened by years of handling," Alison explained matter-of-factly. "There's also a child's drawing tucked away in the visor along with a broken child's car seat in the back."

The driver remained silent, his expression unreadable as Alison continued. Grayson, too, stayed quiet, wondering where Alison was headed with this. "You keep glancing at the rear-view mirror, to see if someone's there, but there's no one else in the car but us."

The driver didn't deny it; instead, he remained silent, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.

"The seat covers," Alison pressed on, her voice unwavering. "They're faded, but not worn. You keep them as if they belong to someone else, someone who used to sit-"

Grayson gently reached out and touched Alison's hand, drawing her attention away from the driver. Her blue eyes, momentarily lost in her observations, refocused on him. While he should feel uneasy about how Alison had managed to uncover these details about the man, Grayson found himself more intrigued than anything else. More importantly, Grayson felt compelled to stop her; otherwise, delving deeper into the driver's life could push their luck and put them in more danger.

"I'm sorry," Alison said to the driver, though her eyes remained fixed on Grayson's as she offered her apology.

As the tension inside the taxi hit its peak, the driver finally spoke up. "You're quite observant," his voice shifted from cheerful to low and cautious. "Yes, I'm a widower. My wife and son... they're no longer with me."

The car made a right turn, followed by a left, and Harvard was now not too far ahead.

"Twenty-two years ago, there was a terrible...accident," the driver explain, and as the words left his lips, he shot a piercing glare at Grayson, the sense of familiarity growing stronger. "There was a fire, and unfortunately, my wife and several others didn't survive. As for my son," he paused, searching his memory as they came to a stop at a traffic light.

Grayson felt a peculiar connection to this story. An accident from twenty-two years ago... it couldn't be a coincidence, especially given his grandfather's efforts to keep the incident a secret from the public. But before Grayson could ask, the light turned green, and the taxi moved forward and the driver continued. "My son passed away shortly after in a car accident."

His words hung in the air for a few moments before Grayson decided to ask a seemingly unrelated question. "What did your wife do for a living?"

The driver didn't immediately reply, his gaze fixed on the road as they neared Harvard's entrance. "My wife, Ruth, worked as a housekeeper at a private resort in Oregon."

Grayson's body tensed, frozen in place. He didn't blink, didn't draw a breath. Could Ruth possibly have been one of the victims of that incident? The official records suggested more casualties than they had disclosed, but Ruth couldn't be among them...

There was only one way to find out. "Which resort did she work for?" Grayson managed to ask.

The cab came to a stop in front of Harvard University, with the entrance gates locked. The driver pressed a button to his right, and the doors swung open. He glanced at Grayson in the rear-view mirror, giving him one last look. "Hawthorne Island."