Free The Blue Ridge Project: A Dark Suspense Novel (The Project Book 1) by Neil Rochford

that,” Robert said, draining his glass and pouring another for both of them. He was already starting to feel a little heat in his face from the drinks he had taken at the family house.
    “So tell me, Robert, son of Leanne”—Jimmy waved his glass at Robert—“what has you ringing up strangers in the middle of the night to make sure you don’t sink to the bottom while you’re drowning your sorrows? And don’t tell me it’s your recent bereavement, as much as you want me to believe that.”
    Robert looked at him over his glass. “What makes you think there’s more to it than there is?”
    “Well, first, that politician’s question-as-an-answer you just gave me. Second,” he paused to take a sip, “you don’t strike me as a man who would seek out strange company after a death in the family. Seems more like something you would grieve on your own, no?”
    Robert shrugged, then smiled a little. “You’re sharper than you look, Jimmy. Or act. Or speak.” His smile broke into a full grin.
    Jimmy smiled right back. “So all the girlies say, right as they’re walking out the door on me. Go on, spill your guts. What’s the real reason we’re here?”
    Robert looked at the bottle on the counter for a couple of seconds and then poured them both another measure.
    “There were some things my mother left me. Papers, letters, and such. There were some... revelations. And to be perfectly honest, I have no one to talk to about it.”
    Jimmy raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Robert recognized the move for what it was, the practiced silence of the sounding board. Robert knew a great way to learn about people was to just let them talk. He didn’t care, and was glad to be able to get it off his chest. The weight of the knowledge was heavy, even though it was only a short time since he had learned it.
    “My parents weren’t my parents. They found me, or rescued me, and adopted me as their own.”
    Jimmy leaned back with his eyebrows raised, a low whistle escaping his lips. “‘Found or rescued,’ he says. That's a fairly hearty revelation to be dropping on someone, all right.”
    “Surely is,” Robert agreed. The whiskey heat was now at full blast. He could imagine the red that was seeping into his cheeks now, and he felt the buzz lurking somewhere in the back of his head, ready to take the wheel. As it was, his tongue was already looser. He thought of how strange it was that he was opening up to this stranger, this oddball that he met right at the moment his mother was busy dying. Then the booze washed away the concern and he kept talking. “Rescued, I think was the implication. My father, it seems he worked for some shady group back then. He left when I was pretty young, so I don’t know what he did exactly.”
    Jimmy’s eyes were bright and interested. “Was he a gangster, do you think?”
    Robert laughed, a good, deep belly laugh. It had been so long he had almost forgotten what it felt like. The older couple closest to them turned in the direction of the bar and stared. Jimmy stared back with wide eyes and a finger on his lips until they looked away.
    “Not at all,” Robert said when the laugh had subsided to a chuckle, and he wiped one eye. “He was some sort of doctor, a scientist, maybe. We didn’t talk much about him after he left.”
    Jimmy nodded sagely. Then his face lit up again. “So you’re some sort of test tube baby, then? A mutant, maybe, or some sort of super-powered experimental human weapon!”
    Chuckling again, Robert shook his head. “I doubt it, I’ve never done anything super, not really.” He frowned at the memories that came as he said that.
    “Is there a way to”—Jimmy hiccuped, then poured them both another measure—“s’cuse me. Is there any way to find out where you came from?”
    “There might be. I have a key to a storage box that’s got my father’s personal effects inside.”
    Robert called for a glass of water. He sipped at it, putting a hand up to Jimmy,