Chapter 4 CHAPTER FOUR

The morning of the day of the week, Saturday, with rain down pouring against the mansion windows and making the grounds all gray and wet.

Theo went through his morning, breakfast and cleaning and his mind was busy thinking how to go about Graham Whitmore. He could not simply come in and begin enquiring about family secrets. The old man may tell Victor and this would cut off the investigation which Theo was starting.

At about ten Catherine went off to a charity luncheon, Richard was asleep and Victor had shut himself in his study. Elena had visited the Art gallery where she was employed part time.

The timing was perfect.

Theo took a tray up with tea and toast, which was the customary mid-morning meal of Graham, and proceeded to the east wing. This was a more elderly section of the mansion, where there was silence and the wallpaper had faded and the carpets were worn. The family did not even bother keeping spaces that guests never visited.

He gave a knock on the door of Graham which was a solid oak door with an old-fashioned key lock.

"Come in," a reedy voice called.

Theo entered. The room was age-old and pharmaceutical and antique book smelling. Graham sat in his wheelchair before the window, and a blanket over his knees, in spite of the warm weather. His cloudy eyes narrowed and he looked at Theo as he walked towards him.

“Ah, the young husband.” Graham said with a faint smile on his tanned face. “Come to see whether I am still alive?”

“Brought your tea, Mr. Whitmore.” said Theo while placing the tray on the side table within the reach of Graham.

"Theo, isn't it? Theo Callahan." The voice of Graham was clearer than Theo had imagined. "You're the journalist boy."

Theo paused. "Former journalist."

"No such thing." Graham gave a spotted hand dismissively. “Once a journalist, always a journalist. The necessity to discover truth it is in the blood. Your uncle was the same way."

Theo's heart stopped. "My uncle?"

The eyes of Graham fixed suddenly on him. "Michael Callahan. He arrived here in ninety-four inquiring. Smart man, good man. Reminded me of you, actually."

The room tilted. Theo gripped the chair behind to support himself. "You knew my uncle?"

"Met him once, briefly. He was looking into something, some old business. Victor handled it." Graham's expression darkened. "Victor handles everything."

Theo got nearer and kneeling by the wheelchair so he could look Graham in the eye. "What happened to my uncle?"

His hand shook and Graham took his teacup. Theo helped him lift it. The old man made a long suck and then talked.

“And what do you suppose happened to him boy? He discovered something that he was not supposed to. He was asking questions that he should not have been asking. And then he disappeared."

“Do you mean Victor" Theo was unable to complete the sentence.

"I'm saying nothing. I'm an elderly fellow, who is not aware half the time of what he is saying.” But the eyes of Graham were clear, clear and sane. "But if I were you, I'd be careful. Theo Callahan there are secrets in this house. Old secrets, buried deep. Already costly secrets, life-threatening secrets.”

Theo's mind reeled. His uncle had not moved to Singapore. His uncle was researching on the Whitmores and disappeared.

"What secrets?" Theo pressed. “What was my uncle inquiring into?”

Graham gazed to the window, and saw rain running down the glass. "Fire," he said softly. “It goes back to the fire all the time.”

"What fire?" Theo asked.

But Graham appeared again to lose his clarity. His face blanked out and his voice faded. "The walls remember. The house remembers. Get to the room where it started and you will get your answers.”

"What room? Graham, please" Theo said.

The door opened. Victor Whitmore was there in the doorway.

"What are you doing here?" Victor demanded.

Theo stood with a heartbeat that was racing. “Just giving Mr. Whitmore his tea.”

"That's the housekeeper's job." Victor replied

"She's off today, sir. I was just trying to help." Theo answered

The eyes of Victor were narrowed, and he turned between Theo and his father. “Father, has this man been getting on your nerves?”

Graham had slumped and his eyes lost focus. "What? Who? I was just having my tea."

The transformation was complete. Graham was suddenly the confused old man everyone believed him to be.

"Get out," Victor said to Theo. "And stay away from my father. He is weak and does not require you to come messing with him.”

Theo went off rapidly, his thoughts running. He was walking along the corridor, when he heard the voice of Victor coming behind him, addressing Graham in a manner but too harsh to be called gentle.

"What did you tell him?" Victor shouted.

Theo did not wait to hear what Graham has to respond.

Theo hands were shaking as he got back to his room and drew out his phone. He typed in the following: Michael Callahan journalist disappeared 1994.

The results were sparse. Some reportings in the files of missing persons, a brief story in the local newspaper of a journalist who never came back after a job assignment. No follow-ups, no investigation.

His uncle had just disappeared, and nobody had been interested enough to investigate further.

Except now Theo cared. Now it was personal.

He opened his messages and wrote to David: I have to meet you. Urgent. I believe that the Whitmores killed my uncle.

The answer was received in a few minutes: Are you serious? Theo you really have to come out of that house.

Theo called David and said so silently "Not yet. Need evidence first. Can you help me find someone? The name is Bradley an associate with the Whitmores of the 1980s.”

"I'll start looking. But Theo, be careful. Don't do anything stupid." David replied

Theo almost laughed. Too late for that. He was already in too deep.

Later that night, when Theo was lying in bed with his sleeplessness, he reflected upon what Graham had said. Locate the room where it had started.

Far somewhere in this huge house was a room that contained answers. A room that told what had been happening forty years ago, what his uncle had found out, why Whitmores were so in need of looking after their secrets, and so desperate.

It was Theo who had spent three years of his life cleaning this mansion and learning every inch of it. He was familiar with the design, the curved angles, the closed doors.

However there was one place where he had never been allowed to enter, the basement. Catherine had it padlocked away, told him it was only storage and old furniture.

Theo made a decision. Tonight, when the family slept, he would get into that basement somehow.

The house had tried to break him, tried to make him invisible.

Invisible people are people who perceive the things that others are unable to see. And Theo had been waiting, learning, and watching.

It was now time to discover the truth, how dangerous it might be.

His uncle had died for it. Theo could at least complete what Michael Callahan had initiated.