Jessy_r - The Lies We've Told - Final Draft lyrics

Aurora was still out there, somewhere. It didn't matter that there had been a body. It didn't matter that there had been a funeral. They were so badly burned, not even dental records helped for identification. So there was still a sliver of hope. It wasn't her, it wasn't her, Joaquin prayed. Even as all the mourners shook his hand and mumbled condolences, he prayed. Because nothing about Aurora's existence was ever normal, and her d**h would be no exception. But it wasn't until he went completely numb from the agony that he remembered that even though the room across the hall was empty, so was the bed next to him. In those moments, the guilt struck him in the stomach like a blade. How could he obsess over his (presumably) missing daughter when his own wife had perished in the crash? But he hardly remembered that he'd been the one at the coroner's to say it was definitely Alma. That day was so burned into his mind, it often glowed with a blinding haze and only came back in fragments. Every night, he saw her in the corner of his room, telling him she was okay. But every time he reached out for her, she was gone. He would turn to his empty side of the bed and grieve Alma instead. His sweet, sweet Alma, he knew, was gone. That much was the truth and he clung to it in desperation, her pillow in one hand and the empty bottle of bourbon in the other. He lay in a pool of his cold sweats, unable to feel. The night he dreamt about Alma, however, turned into the day he finally did something about Aurora. In his rare but fitful sleep, she begged him to keep the promise he'd once made her and not let their daughter go. She'd sweetly kissed his cheek and cupped his face, whispering one last sweet nothing and then evaporating before him. He awoke invigorated by the sun he finally let in from the windows at 5 AM and practically leaped into the shower. Once he dressed and refueled with coffee, his weaker substitute for bourbon, he ripped open his laptop and started running through his old contacts from the war. He would look for her to the ends of the world, and all his army buddies would have the resources he needed. Most were in different time zones, so he caught some finishing up dinner, others headed to work. But all his comrades offered the same answer: “Of course, brother. Anything you need.” *** Joaquin had stayed behind that day, needing some time to finish some writing for his next textbook. He'd had a sandwich and soup for lunch and was absently washing the dishes, whistling a tune from a TV show. His notes and laptop were on the kitchen table, waiting for him to start. He thought about maybe writing outside, with the beautiful weather they'd been having. As he turned off the tap and dried his hands with a towel, the phone started ringing. Oh, it's probably the girls, he thought. But they wouldn't have reached Halifax yet. He strolled over to the living room and picked up the phone. The caller ID said Aurora's cell. “Hello?” he asked. But there was no answer. There was a faint whooshing sound, like wind rushing into the microphone. His heart began to speed up a little. Why wasn't she answering? “Aurora. What's wrong?” Joaquin asked, panicked. He could hear her sobbing now and imagined the worst. “Aurora, answer me! What is it?” He heard the line crackle in his ear and gripped the phone harder, while starting to look frantically for his car keys. Whatever it was, wherever she was, he had to be there, now. God, please, where is she? Is she hurt, is it Alma? “Dad,” she whispered, her voice cracking. Her breaths came in short bursts, and his was gone, as drops of pure fear trickled into his stomach. He ran back into the kitchen and ripped the laptop on the table open. He typed as fast as his shaking fingers would allow and tapped into the GPS on her phone while listening to her cry. Goddamn it, load faster, you sh**. Her pinging phone came up on the map. She was on the side of the highway? What the hell? “Aurora, are you hurt? Did you crash? What happened?” he spewed out. No answer. “Damn it, Auro-“ “There was a crash. We were on the interstate and…the car's on fire…Mom's still inside!” she cried now, shrieking hysterically. “Stay right there, don't move!” He was fifteen minutes away, at least. He noted the mile marker she was near, and threw the laptop and phone on the couch. Joaquin sprinted for the door, spotting his keys on the hook near the door. Crashing past the door to the garage, he stumbled into the car and started the engine. His sweaty hands gripped the steering wheel and within minutes, he was racing on the 103 towards Halifax, praying, praying, praying. *** “Promise me something,” Alma proposed one night, her voice soft as a cloud as to not stir tiny Aurora. She lay next to the sleeping baby in bed, a bundle smaller than a pillow, and dragged a finger over the valleys and peaks of her little face. “Hmm? What is it?” Joaquin had drifted off in the rocking chair and woke abruptly. He rubbed one eye, sniffing as he realized he'd already been dreaming. Alma's silhouette came into focus on the bed in front of him and she was watching Aurora sleep in such awe, he thought Alma was in shock. He froze at the sight. “Promise me if anything ever happens to me, you'll tell her. You'll tell her what we found out. She deserves to know,” she said sadly, as if she knew already. That she would not be the one to tell her daughter the truth about her origins. She still shivered in her nightgown at the thought of the ominous, cloaked figure at her door just weeks ago. They'd made a deal with the devil, it'd seemed like. But desperation will drive you to drastic decisions. “What will she think of us, Alma?” he asked, his biggest fear leaking through his sleep. A man had come to Alma and Joaquin with a deal that seemed too good to be true. A free baby, just looking for a nice family. They'd been on an adoption list so long, they didn't even hesitate to take in baby Aurora. Papers were forged and that was the end of it, no questions asked. His palms began to sweat on the arms of the chair, his anxiety stirring him awake once more. He opened his crusty eyes, suddenly paranoid that they were gone. But Alma had peacefully slipped into her own slumber, one hand placed softly on her newborn daughter's stomach. “She'll never forgive us,” he mumbled to himself as he felt his head falling back against the chair again. *** Jewel clutched the flowers tightly, feeling one of the thorns cutting through the plastic into her own hand. She bit her lip, but kept her stride. They crinkled in her grip, the only sound in the whole graveyard. She strolled the familiar path to the tombstone, beginning a dull fade in the gra** where she's made the trip endless times. The leaves were starting to scatter the graves, every shade of crimson and auburn imaginable. 16 years later and Jewel couldn't forgive her mother, but she couldn't stay away. Most mornings she still woke up in denial and went back to bed at night hating Rose all over again. Once the obligatory bouquet was placed on a grey stone with the name she cringed at, she took out the second bouquet from the bag slung over her shoulder and made her way to Twyla's grave. Here, Jewel's breath always shook a little, but it had been easier to say goodbye. She mumbled hello and pleasantries of the morning to her departed best friend, laying down flowers from her own garden. Twyla had heard it all: Jewel's twins growing up and becoming teenagers, the day her husband, Aiden, decided he couldn't do it anymore, and the solitude Jewel purged her soul with. Rose and Twyla had died together and all Jewel was left were her twins and Twyla's orphan. That poor baby, Jewel thought. If I hadn't looked away that day, she never would have been taken. I'm still sorry, Twyla, for failing you after all these years. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she figured it was her twins' check-in call from the school across the country they attended. It can wait, she thought. I still have lots to share with Twyla today. Rose's café wouldn't open for another hour and she'd have plenty of time to walk the three blocks. Lunenburg, a small port town, was intimate and quaint, and despite the fact that everyone knew each other, they all respected their privacy. But it was hard to ignore the sympathetic buzz from the patrons gossiping about her life. An abandoned single mother who took over her mother's bistro after she was k**ed by a stranger led a sad life indeed. Not to mention, she'd let her best friend's baby be kidnapped shortly after her birth… But when the phone buzzed for the third time, Jewel was alert again. She pulled it out and stared at the number, her eyebrows crinkling. She didn't recognize the number. It's probably the kids. Her lavender eyes scanned the horizon of the bay nearby as she tucked the phone behind her light brown curls. “Hello?” she answered with a hole forming in her stomach. “Hi, my name is Joaquin. I need to speak with Jewel immediately,” a man's voice echoed with urgency. Her hand holding the phone up to her ear shook with surprise. She cleared her throat. “Yes, this is she. What is this regarding?” Oh god, it's my kids. Something's happened. “I'd much rather not discuss this over the phone. Please, could we meet in person? It's urgent,” the man insisted in a hushed whisper now, desperation leaking through the phone. “How did you get this number? Why would I agree to meet someone just out of the blue like this? You need to tell me what this is about,” she stated, anger fortifying her authority. “Jewel, please,” he begged, using her name intimately, as if they known each other forever. “…It's about Twyla. We need to talk. Something's happened to her daughter.” Her eyes darted to the grave she was standing in front of, and hearing someone say her name out loud froze her blood. “Listen to me, you son of a b**h. If you have Twyla's daughter, you will answer for what you've done!” she screamed, her voice trembling with the fury she'd felt only months ago. She steadied her hand on the phone and felt the rush of blood in her neck. Her hands kept shaking as she wished with every fiber of every being that Aiden's police sk**s could be here to record this. She paced the gra** in front of Twyla's grave. What kind of sick joke was this? “I beg of you, I will explain everything. Jewel, but we need to meet. I found your information in my wife's things. She…she recently pa**ed away and our daughter has vanished,” he explained calmly, minute droplets of anguish dripping from his voice. She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued, “It seems that…Twyla gave birth to Aurora, our daughter.” He pointedly slowed each word, barely connecting a puzzle himself. She could hear the confusion in her head mirrored in his voice. “W-what? What are you talking about?” she stuttered, unable to process what he had just said. She heard a sigh over the phone and shuffling of papers. “It's…a mystery to me still, but…something very strange is happening,” he mumbled, and Jewel could no longer tell if he was actually addressing her, but it was gnawing at her insides. She shook her head, exasperated. The silence on the line became too much. “Hey! Get to the point! What's going on?” she demanded, hardly believing this man could truly know anything. “sh**, it was him, it was Axel!” Joaquin exclaimed. Jewel's shuffling feet were suddenly glued to the floor. Twyla's dad? What would he have to do with this? “Axel took her? Why? Is he even still alive?” Jewel questioned, her own anxiety taking over. She couldn't wait anymore. Jewel marched towards the cemetery's exit and panic told her she had to get to her car and find this man, no matter what. “Jewel…” he warned, his voice suddenly severe as she heard him fumble with more paper, “I know you're skeptical, but you better get down here. Right now. Alma's journal…my wife…Oh god…It says here that Aurora and Twyla were never supposed to exist.” *** Joaquin's efforts had been in vain the last three months. He'd gathered all his resources and none of the intel he received got him any closer. He sat at the dining table, his hands in his hair, on the verge of pulling out of every follicle he had. Goddamit, someone must know something. There had to be something he'd missed. As he rubbed his face in exhaustion, he felt the cheekbones protruding from the skin. The search had taken a toll on him, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept. He stared hopelessly at the disarray of papers in front of him. They had his manic handwriting all over them, each line a clue, question, idea, or detail. A small knock at his door snapped him back to the apartment. He groaned as he got up, and swung the door open to find Jewel standing there with multiple tupper ware containers in her hands. She was beaming under her thick parka, her cheeks flushed with the cold. Joaquin couldn't help but smile, his burden evaporating for a moment. “Hi, Jewel,” he greeted weakly, taking a couple tubs out of her hands as he pecked her on the cheek. She stepped inside, bending down to remove her snow-covered boots in the entrance. When did she make herself so at home here? Why does she insist on the three-hour drive to check on me? “Joaquin, it's seven in the morning and you look like you haven't even gone to bed yet,” she reprimanded as she hung her parka on a hook behind the door. He was in an old t-shirt and pajama pants, while she stood with her hands on her hips wearing a long-sleeved thermal shirt and jeans. “There were too many things on my mind,” he shrugged, one hand scratching his temple. “Well, you should at least eat something. Go sit down,” she ordered, already putting on a pot of coffee in the kitchen. Joaquin dragged his feet to the couch, hearing a carton being taken out of the fridge. Soon, the sizzling of eggs and roasting coffee beans made his mouth water. He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until the hot plate was in his lap and she startled him. “Sorry. Eat up!” she stated smiling, bouncing down on the loveseat across from him. As he chewed, she clasped her hands and waited. Jewel pursed her lips, trying to hold in the news until he was done. Jewel flashed back to the first time she'd been in this apartment, worried she'd been lured into a psychopath's scheme. But Joaquin turned out to just be an obsessed father. Obsessed with Aurora's true family tree and anyone who'd ever known Twyla. Jewel had filled in the gaps of Twyla's life, but he'd known almost everything about Twyla, down to the day she helped Jewel give birth. He'd found a trail she didn't even know existed. When she met Joaquin, she saw how tortured he was by the most important path he just couldn't find. Aurora. They connected the dots from the moment she was snatched from Jewel's arms and delivered into Joaquin's. The man who had dropped Aurora was, in fact, was Axel, who Jewel knew all too well. He had murdered her mother, Rose, and Twyla. Joaquin's stomach had turned viciously when Jewel revealed that Axel was Twyla's father. She had described the kind of evil that could live inside a person for decades, the kind that had absolutely corrupted Axel. He wanted to erase any trace of his lineage, but they were at a standstill as to why. Or where he'd taken Aurora. If she was still alive. Despite that darkness, she couldn't believe how perfect the name was for her and Jewel smiled at the thought of that little baby growing up. But she was a dying flame, fading faster every day. Until today. Once Joaquin finished his breakfast, Jewel pulled a notebook out of her purse. Wordlessly, she handed it to him. Puzzled, he ran his callused fingers along the frozen spiral and tanned leather cover. She smiled with a secret on her lips and she nodded for him to open it. His jaw dropped as she revealed to him the last piece of the puzzle. It was Twyla's journal. “But…how?” he softly asked, his voice lost to shock. They'd been looking through Twyla's things for months with no avail as to where Axel, Twyla's father, could have taken Aurora. Twyla had grown up an orphan as a result of Axel's ignorance and left little behind with her d**h. But a journal stashed in the orphanage described where Axel had taken Twyla herself in a crazed rage. Joaquin stood suddenly and kneeled in front of Jewel, who watched with softness. He cried into her shoulder, having finally found an ally in his immense sorrow. *** The old mansion was still there, just as Twyla had described it some 20 years ago. It had taken Jewel months to track down all of Twyla's belongings she had sorted after her d**h. But sifting through old boxes of her old stuff had awoken a purpose in her again. And it gave her more and more to tell Twyla when she felt lonely. Everyone from Twyla's time was gone or scattered and before, she didn't do well alone. But she was alone in her car the day she watched Joaquin lead a group of his old war friends on a raid in the middle of the night. They'd argued about her presence there at all. “It's too dangerous! You don't know what we'll run into!” he screamed, throwing his hands in the air. They'd resorted to fighting about what to do next after finding the notebook. “This is my story now, too, Joaquin! It was from the moment you called me. I owe it to her, to both of them,” she said softly at the end of her rant. She was 20 when Twyla died, and whenever she brought her up, Jewel shrunk back into that lost young woman with those amethyst eyes. Joaquin's hair was graying, the veins in his hand popping out with age and he sighed as she played that card again. Finally, he huffed. “You'll watch from far away. We're going in three days from now.” In the dark, Jewel squinted at the figures sprinting towards the abandoned house. They ran in perfect formation effortlessly, despite their collective age and she admired their stealth as they disappeared into the darkness, invisible now to her eyes. Her legs shook impatiently as the mansion in the middle of the woods was overtaken. *** Joaquin had rushed the front door, made of stained gla**, knocking off the lock with a small battering ram with Nichols and Jones. Their feet had scrambled on the impeccable tile in the foyer and their element of surprise was quickly fading. But the limited range of vision from his night vision goggles didn't reveal the lack of furniture right away. “Clear! … Clear!” he heard Linus and Milton shout from the hallway, coming towards them from the back of the house. He heard Thanes mutter “What the hell?” as they surveyed the ground floor. Besides a grand set of stairs to the right of the front door, the house was one large room, contradicting the blueprints they'd studied for days. The goggles came off as the tile was illuminated by moonlight as the five men with M4 rifles were suddenly walking in circles in the room. Removing their masks, they found nothing but walls and a small hallway leading to the back entrance. “This isn't it, look! The wall, it ends here but the exterior of the house keeps going,” Jones excitedly ventured, running his hands along the east wall, opposite from the staircase. It was made of grey, stone bricks. With a light kick to a brick near the floor, Jones exclaimed “sh**!” as a piece of the wall shifted into an opening. The men raised their guns in instinct as a light emerged from the entry. Joaquin rushed towards the hidden room, Thanes on his six to cover. In the center of the room, alight with floodlights from the ceiling, was a duel in combat. Their slaps echoed against the stone and both figures cloaked in black zoomed around each other. Joaquin caught sight of the man he'd seen only before, 16 years before in the dead of night at his doorstep. The man's blanche face watched the fight uninterested, but turned at the unexpected visitors. His jet black hair flowed behind him and Joaquin detected almost a crack of a smile on the man's face at recognizing him. That smug ba*tard. Joaquin didn't hesitate and pointed his weapon straight at his temple. The men followed suit, unaware of who he was. “Where is she?” he yelled in ire, with more anger in him than when he'd k**ed in the war. Surprised by the interruption, the two combatants ceased and stood in a defensive pose. Three of Joaquin's men pointed at them instead as he and Thanes stayed trained on the pale man. The silence was broken by one of the fighters, who stumbled forward quickly and ripped off the black cloth mask on their face. In one fell swoop, the guns pointed to the floor in shock as a mane of coffee-colored hair flew out of the cover. “Dad?” Joaquin heard from his left, his fury blurring his vision. But when he turned, a pair of sharp sapphire eyes pierced him. His lungs flattened in his chest as he saw Aurora's face staring back at him. My God, what's happened to her? Even in her black suit of combat, he could turn she was toned and stronger. Her face had lost its baby fat and he swallowed in disbelief. “If you and your men put down your weapons, we'll gladly explain everything,” the man behind him offered. Joaquin didn't register it. He could only stare at her. But when her gaze went past him to the man, Joaquin turned and surveyed the situation he was now in. He lifted his chin to Thanes and Linus and nodded towards the man. “Subdue him, now,” he said calmly. Joaquin heard a scuffle as the two took him down, but he turned back to Aurora, now approaching her slowly. She was in as much astonishment as he. “It's okay, I'm here now,” he comforted quickly, holding out a cautious hand to her. She stared at it in doubt. Aurora shook her head vigorously. “No. You shouldn't have come,” she spoke for the first time, her voice almost deeper than he remembered. He furrowed his eyebrows as he caught a glimpse of Jones and Milton tying up the other fighter. “You don't understand.” “Understand what? Aurora, I'm here to take you home,” he rea**ured her, laying his weapon down. “Dad, there's a lot to talk about. There's a reason I'm here. There's a reason I was captured the day Mom died,” she said in the calmest voice he'd ever heard. “Aurora, what's going on?” he probed, feeling a buzz of tension in the room. She was different, and at his question, she seemed too tired to answer. “There's a lot you don't know about me, and I'll explain it all,” she said and sighed as she shook her head. “You've got it all wrong. This was the only way I'd be safe.” “Safe from what?” he probed, his daughter seeming like a different person in front of him. “Dad, the Mitra,” Aurora sighed, as if too exhausted to explain any further. Joaquin's team paced nervously around the granite floor, awaiting the next threat. Axel was tied up facedown and the man Aurora had been dueling with was a statue. Joaquin's gaze flickered back to the third person and only bright, clear sapphire eyes peeked out from his mask. “You're going to have to elaborate, young lady,” Joaquin said exasperated, his parent voice coming through at the sudden realization that he knew less than when he came in. Aurora started pacing, staring at her boots, her eyebrows so furrowed, they appeared as one. “If you're here, it means you know I'm not supposed to be here, right?” she deducted. Joaquin nodded solemnly. Aurora gave another sigh, her chest heaving with unease. “Axel was part of the Mitra. It's a secret society that I don't know much about…” Aurora scrunched at her eyebrows at the man behind Joaquin, now tied up on the floor. “But the point is he was never to have children and I'm his granddaughter. They're wiping us out, Dad!” Aurora screamed in frustration, her fists coming up to the sides of her head. At her shout, Joaquin heard the wall on his left crash down, drywall coming in like a wave. As he ducked to the floor, he watched small smoke bombs roll in and reached out for Aurora who had just been in front of him. Through the haze and his heartbeat in his ears, he watched his team fall to the ground with the shock of impact. Joaquin tried getting on his elbows and crawled to where he had seen his daughter just seconds ago and caught a glimpse of two black figures near the window facing the north wall. His heart sank as he heard the window shatter and watched them leap out of the house. But she's safe, she's safe, he thought. He gave a sigh of relief as he felt something pound between his shoulder blades. His final thought was Aurora, come back before the fog in front of his eyes turned black.