Milan's Return Read online

  Milan's Return

  By Grae Lily

  Copyright © 2014 by Grae Lily

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact the publisher directly here: http://novelistgraelily.wix.com/graelily

  Cover design & Image Credits to Danger Zone & http://www.dollarphotoclub.com/

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One 4

  Chapter Two 15

  Chapter Three 27

  Chapter Four 39

  Chapter Five 51

  Chapter Six 65

  Chapter Seven 78

  Chapter Eight 91

  Chapter Nine 106

  Chapter Ten 119

  Chapter Eleven 132

  Chapter Twelve 144

  Chapter Thirteen 156

  Chapter Fourteen 167

  Chapter Fifteen 175

  Chapter Sixteen 185

  Chapter Seventeen 193

  Epilogue 206

  More Titles By Grae Lily 212

  Chapter One

  Five years had done nothing to erase the memories of the life he hoped to never return to again. Surrounded by the detritus of years gone by, he could do nothing but wish it all away, but not all wishes come true, especially for someone like Milan Merced.

  It was winter the last time he'd made a wish and, yet, he still found himself back in this dreadful, small town, standing in front of the structure he'd hoped would have fallen like the leaves at the turn of a season.

  Looming just beyond the rusty, iron fence, it stood, staring back at him, probably thinking of him what he thought of it. Why are you still here? Why haven't you been destroyed yet?

  He couldn't bring himself to move beyond the swaying gate. Not yet. Probably not ever, if he had his way, but just like it had happened countless times before in his forty-years of life, he had no say in the matter.

  A shutter swayed in the warm, acrid, afternoon air. It too begged to be forgotten. Years ago, when Milan had been just a small boy, full of hope and dreams, he would spend hour after hour staring up at the old structure, anticipating the day it would finally be his.

  Everything about it, from its expansive front porch, welcoming strangers near and far, to the tall, white columns, standing erect and bearing the brunt of any storm that came its way to the double doors that opened for anyone and everyone that needed a warm bed for the night or a good home cooked meal in their bellies, spoke of a life that was no more and probably never would be again.

  Merced Manor was a force to be reckoned with and a sight to be held in the days of old. Now, long since abandoned and brimming with heartache and sorrow, it stood, begging for redemption or relief, neither of which Milan felt confident he could provide. Had it not been for the insistence of county planners and persistent real estate investors, he wouldn't have returned.

  This place was no longer his home. It never truly was his home. In order to be rid of it, he would have to muster up the courage to face the past and somehow let it go for good, but he knew that wouldn't be easy. Years of nightmares and regret foreshadowed what was to come. He denied it long enough. When he received the urgent letter, telling him that the home generations of his family were born and bred in, would be destroyed, familial bonds and deep-running loyalties forced him to buy the plane ticket and travel from Los Angeles to the nearest airport in Nashville and revisit the past.

  He had no intention of staying beyond what was absolutely required to get the job done. He had to be rid of this home once and for all. Milan assured his employees that he would return in exactly six weeks or they were to send a search party for him, then, have him committed.

  It never occurred to them that his sad attempt at revealing his innermost fears was anything more than a joke, meant to lighten the levity of the moment and reassure them that he would return in time for the largest acquisition his firm had ever handled.

  Ironic that he built his reputation on being one of the foremost authorities on real estate acquisitions, but yet he allowed this particular property - the one he inherited the day he married Paulina - to fester and become an eyesore to the community that helped him get to where he was.

  Milan's hands trembled slightly as he reached for his suitcase and pushed the iron gate open far enough for him to finally step foot on the property. His approach was slow as he gathered his resolve and tried to make peace with the task at hand. It didn't help that the remnants of what he could only imagine were violent storms, scattered a mountain of debris all over what used to be lush gardens.

  His grandmother would be disappointed that anyone would have allowed the property that once served as a community showpiece to have fallen apart as it had. A part of him wished he'd just sold the property immediately after he lost the only person he'd ever loved, but another part, the part that truly controlled his sensibilities, fought every inkling to give up and walk away from something one of his ancestors built with his own two hands.

  That would be a slap in the face to the hard work and dedication it took to bring the Merced family from Spain and build an empire the likes of which Tennessee had not seen before. The corporation that began in this very home, fed families near and far. Up until a decade earlier, this town, River's Bend, had experienced a boom as the Merced Manufacturing Plant thrived, but as many of its predecessors had, they had to cut the workforce and save costs. That wasn't an easy decision for Milan's family. They pooled their resources and tried to keep the business in River's Bend, but the burden was too heavy and the costs too much for them to bear without dipping into their family's way of life, so they did the inevitable and moved the company out of the country.

  Milan's approach was slow and methodical. He recalled every brick, every stone. Each held a memory in his heart. He spent his life on this property and experienced his share of tragedy and triumph, but none like the final tragedy that changed everything in his life.

  Looking at the house, he knew the house remembered. How could it not? It had seen every aspect of life and bore the brunt of folly and disaster. Every tear that was shed, had been shed here. Every skinned knee, happened on the grounds. Every death, touched this home.

  The hot winds blew again. He'd swear their speed increased with each step he took. He wondered if he'd ever noticed that before or was this the first time that the winds seemed to barrel right through the property with a force so strong, he could barely remain upright.

  Standing only yards from the front porch, Milan hesitated. He didn't know why he couldn't bring himself to continue on, but understood that the next steps - the ones that took him inside - would be the ones he would never be able to take back again, no matter how hard he tried.

  Keep going, he willed himself.

  His feet would not move.

  The quickening of his heart wasn't unfamiliar to him, but it wasn't welcome either.

  "I'm here," Milan said out loud, partially expecting the home to sprout limbs and comfort him. "Let's just get through this and be done."

  The wind blew again. This time, hitting him with even more powerful gusts.

  He understood exactly what Mother Nature was trying to tell him.

  Behind him, he hadn't heard the whispers of onlookers as they watched him make his ascent. The small community of farmers and busy bodies had already heard that the Merced boy was back in town. They all waited with bated breath to hear every last detail of his life now.

  Although many years had passed since the last time they'
d seen him, no one had forgotten what their last memory of him was. No one needed to have their memories refreshed. This was not something that anyone with a sound mind could simply forget. The rumors were still spoken from time to time. Everyone still harbored an opinion or theory of the events that took place there, but no one ever dared utter a word to Milan about their ideas.

  He knew there was talk. They may have attempted to cover up their gossip with niceties and friendly waves as they passed by, but he knew better. He didn't have to be told that the tragic event that forever changed his life had become a sort of legend in this sleepy town.

  Milan turned on his heels, sensing that others were watching. Across the road, at the Johnson's, a small gathering of supposed old friends stood on the front porch, their eyes peeled on him, waiting to see if he would stumble and confess, or behave as if he'd done nothing wrong. His behavior would dictate what they chose to believe now.

  He didn't give them the satisfaction of knowing how uncomfortable their gawking made him feel. Instead, he offered a friendly smile and a wave, seemingly happy to see them again.

  "Well, hello, neighbors! How is everyone?" A part of him died on the inside as he spoke to them. They were no friends of his.

  Nervously, the group giggled and attempted to look nonchalant, but it was too late, he'd caught them staring at him.

  A couple of women waved back. The others turned and pretended to be engrossed in a meaningful conversation. Milan noted the time on his grandfather's old pocket watch and calculated how long it would take before everyone in all of Brimmer County knew of his return. By all accounts, he knew he had less than fifteen minutes before more gawkers would arrive at a makeshift barbecue across the street, anxious to get in on the latest gossip.

  Just to add a bit of fuel to the fire, Milan abandoned his suitcase and made a beeline for the Johnson's porch. He wanted to look them right in the eyes and make sure that they understood that he knew what they were doing and he didn't appreciate it. Having grown up in a family that practically wrote the book on proper behavior and decorum, Milan had to quell his urge to lash out at the local gossip mongers and use an approach that would appeal to them.

  "Well, aren't you ladies just as lovely as ever!" He held out his hand to shake each of theirs.

  Old Mrs. Johnson spoke first, always appointing herself an official spokesperson for any group she was in. "Well, look at you, Milan. It is so nice to see you. We sure have missed you around here. Come here and give me a hug, will you?" She held out her flabby arms and squeezed him like she meant it and, if Milan didn't know any better, he'd think she did.

  "How have you been, Milan? Are you doing okay?" Mrs. Johnson didn't do a very good job of avoiding the subject that was on each of their minds. She wanted to know just as much as everyone else how Milan had been holding up since the tragedy.

  He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing that his life had all but fallen apart. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils and feigned a smile, saying, "I'm good. Thank you. I'm so glad to be back."

  One of the other women, Mrs. Gayle, could barely contain herself. She had to ask a follow up question. "How long are you here for, son?"

  Milan raked his hand through his hair, answering, "Looks like I might be here a while. We'll have to catch up later. I should go inside and get changed."

  He said his goodbyes, then, left the nosy bunch in a state of shock. He hadn't given them any real information, but he was sure that they would quickly find a way to spin what he had said and make it sound much more sinister than anything he could have imagined on his own.

  Knowing full-well that they were watching to see if and when he stepped foot in the house, he made a show of walking in as if he didn't have a care in the world, but was soon frightened by a critter scurrying over his feet just as he was about to close the door. He was so startled, he ran back out to the porch, his heart racing a mile a minute. He pretended that all was well and that nothing was out of the ordinary, but the truth of the matter was, absolutely everything about this chapter of his life was out of the ordinary.

  Throwing his blazer off and rolling up his sleeves, Milan tried to make the most of his time while he worked up the nerve to go back inside. The yard and every square inch of the property was in desperate need for attention. For that, he could be thankful. It would give him an excuse not to linger in all the memories he wasn't yet ready to face. He could work with his hands and take out his frustrations by doing manual labor. That was better than the alternative. That would wear his body out enough to force him to fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He hadn't yet decided where he would sleep. That decision would have to come later, but at least he thought he knew how he would fall asleep.

  Walking along the side of the house to assess the amount of work to be done, Milan couldn't help but glance up at the window, he and Paulina had spent many a night staring out at the stars from. That room had been a safe place at one time. That room had been the one room, he couldn't wait to get to at the end of a long work day, but now, it has left him feeling empty and numb inside. Just the sight of the window, with its peeling paint on the sill and a hint of the tattered silk curtain that Paulina had hand sewn to match the bedding on their king size bed, shown through the window. The sight was nearly unbearable. Milan could feel his knees buckle as he tried to wish the memories away. There was no doubt in his mind that the next few weeks would wreak havoc on his heart and soul.

  Just when he thought he couldn't bear to move another muscle, a cat raced in front of him, startling him into oblivion. It took him several minutes to regain his composure and focus in the direction that the cat ran. He had clearly disturbed the cat's residence and figured that the cat would stake its claim soon. Yet, another unwelcome surprise, he had to look forward to.

  "Great! Now, I have to get rid of a cat too. What's next? Bats?" Milan spoke out loud to himself.

  The leaves rustled in the trees, taunting him where he stood. It only then occurred to him that this tree - the tree that provided shelter through every storm - was the last living thing that remained on the property. All around him, he was surrounded by death. The flowers had long since wilted and fallen to the ground. Bushes no longer flowered. The vegetable garden had been destroyed by wind, heavy rains, and rodents. The home itself barely remained standing. Pieces of it were scattered on the ground. Shutters lay like discarded rubble. Window trims peeled away from the sills. Paint chips carpeted the dirt beneath the house. It was as if the house begged to be put in its final resting place.

  Milan wondered if the brick he stepped over as he walked was from the roof. That meant, there would be major damage inside the home as well. If that were true, that meant that he would be forced to stay longer than necessary and that was not something he intended to do.

  If it wasn't for his ancestors, this house could have remained in disrepair. It didn't matter to Milan if the county tore it down. His ties with the place had long since been severed, but the idea of dishonoring his family would be another stain on his soul, he'd have to live with forever and that would surely kill him.

  Something in his peripheral caught his eye. He wondered if he'd imagined it. Nothing would surprise him at this point. If there was any part of the property he feared seeing any more than the inside of the home, it was the gardens in the back. At one time, his grandfather had a row of sheds and outbuildings that were filled to the brim with antiques he'd picked up during his travels.

  When Milan inherited the property, he had the dilapidated structures torn down and donated all of the items in them to charity. Something about the land that remained disturbed him. He always felt like there was something or someone watching him. It didn't help that an old tunnel also occupied that space and the creek that ran through it always seemed to be whispering as he passed by.

  Ever since Milan was a small boy, he did whatever he could to steer clear of that area and, now, thirty-some years later, that tunnel still sent chills down his spine,
but the cause of that fear was no longer the unknown. If he had any way of getting rid of it, he would have, but the department that had oversight over it, never granted him permission to excavate the land and, unfortunately for him, it still remained.

  Milan took a deep breath and made his way to the object that caught his attention. He hoped it was a figment of his imagination because it shouldn't have been possible for this to be on his property.

  He inched closer and closer, goose bumps forming on his arms. There it sat, in between a pile of rubble. He held his breath as he reached for it, his hands shaking. Between two fingers, he yanked it up from the dirt.

  Closing his eyes, Milan hoped that it wasn't true, but he felt the smooth concave surface and had no doubt of what it was. A soft whimper escaped his throat. He could no longer contain his fear. As it collided with rage that burned through his belly, his knees began to knock, the shaking nearly sending him to the ground.

  Who would do this, he wondered.

  Chapter Two

  "Well, tell me who is in charge, then. I need you to find that person now and bring them to me. Understood?" Milan seethed with rage. Someone better have had a good explanation for how something like this could have happened.