LEGACY
Chapter Three

Breathing heavily, Tom opened his eyes. He wasn’t sure where he was or why his head felt as if it had been run over by a motor car. Running his hands along the bedding, he noted that he was in a very comfortable, very luxurious room, early-morning light streaming in through the many windows. Carefully, he sat up and took in the elegant furniture, the expensive paintings, the very room that towered all around him in foreboding grandeur. He was deep inside the Hockley mansion.

Turning to the side, he noticed that a large silver bell rested on the bed table. Reaching out a shaking hand to pick it up, he rang softly. Almost immediately, a woman ran in, startling him and making him jump.

"Oh, Mr. Dawson! You’re awake! The doctor will be so glad to hear this." And, without another word, she promptly turned around and left, closing the door behind her.

"Wait! Wait!" Tom called. "Who are you? What doctor? What am I supposed to do?" He realized that no one was listening. Then he noted that his clothes were draped over a desk chair. Looking down, he realized that he was dressed in cashmere sleepwear, his leg elevated and newly adjusted to the splint. For the first time since the accident, he no longer felt a throbbing pain permeating from the wounded leg.

A man in a doctor’s coat entered, smiling as he noticed that Tom was indeed awake. "It’s good to see you up! I’m Dr. Robinson." As the doctor walked toward him, the doorway was suddenly filled with Cal’s domineering presence, and to Tom’s surprise, he followed the doctor toward his bed without a glance in his direction.

"Hello." Tom nodded to both of them, not sure what he was expected to say. Why wasn’t he at the hospital? Why had Mr. Hockley allowed him to be treated here?

"You had quite a fall. You had everyone very worried. Now that you have some fluids in your system, you should be doing much better. And you need to start eating. A sick body cannot function without nourishment." Examining his elevated leg, Dr. Robinson said, "This is a fairly recent injury. What happened?"

"I fell. It’s a product of my own clumsiness, really. Nothing to worry about. Thank you for making it feel better, though."

"You shouldn’t have been walking about. Do your parents know where you are?" Tom looked at the doctor. Should he tell them? Would they make him leave?

"Well, yes, they do. They’re not happy about it, but they do know I’m here."

"Well, we must notify them. Mr. Hockley, where is your phone?"

Cal had still said nothing, though he had approached Tom’s bedside and was gazing down at him. "Where do you live?"

Tom gulped. "Santa Monica, California."

Cal looked to the doctor. "Examine the boy. Make sure he will recover quickly." He looked back down at Tom. "I’ll talk to you later in private."

*****

The day had passed quickly. Once the doctor left, Tom was left with a feast he had never before dreamed of, though his own queasiness took most of his appetite. Sleep came easily, and when Tom next opened his eyes, he was surprised to see the room engulfed in darkness.

It was a knock on the door that had awakened him. "Come in!" he called out.

Mr. Hockley entered, flipping all the lights on. Tom noted that he looked less put together than when he had met him in his office yesterday. His suit was wrinkled and his hair hung in his face. That hair. Tom had never seen someone else with hair as dark as his own.

"I’m sorry to wake you."

"No, I’m fine. Thank you for making sure I was well."

"Is someone expecting you? Do you need to contact anyone?"

"No. It’s just me."

"Where were you planning to stay?"

"Well, I figured something would work out. There’s always somewhere to go. Shelters and the like."

"Would you like to stay here?"

Tom breathed a sigh of relief. "If it wouldn’t put you out."

"No, we have plenty of space. The children still have a few weeks at boarding school. My wife gets lonely without them around. She says the house gets too quiet."

"I’ve read about your wife a little. She sounds lovely."

Cal looked away. Then, quickly, he turned back toward him. "Tom."

"Yes?"

"Your mother...she was very dear to me."

"I thought as much. Can you tell me about her? All I have is glimpses of my parents’ past. I don’t know anything about them. I tried to learn more about my mother, from newspapers and archives. I never even knew her maiden name was DeWitt Bukater before I found that death notice. Why does everyone think she’s dead? Then, when I tried to research the family, everything became clouded and shrouded with obscure facts. All I found out was that her father died when she was fifteen. I never knew that. Then my dad draws an even bigger blank. The Dawson name is virtually unknown and unrecorded. Did you know my father, too?"

"Your father is Jack?"

"Yes. So, you did know him!"

"Well, very briefly. When he first met Rose." Rose. How long had he been unable to say her name? How long had he yearned to speak to her again? "I was engaged to your mother. We were supposed to spend the rest of our lives together."

"What happened?"

"Life happened. Fate happened." Cal laughed. "Maybe it’s for the best. I think she would have murdered me sooner or later anyway if we had stayed together for much longer."

Tom sighed, disappointed. Cal didn’t seem to want to tell him much either. Where was the substance, the details of the past? A whole world had happened before he was born, and everyone around him seemed determined to keep him blind from it.

"Tom, you need to go home. Rest here, get better, and then go back to your parents. They must be worried sick."

Chapter Four
Stories