Play Dead

by Harlan Coben

  'Did you tell Sinclair?'

  'Of course I told him. Like I said before, I was young and confused. I thought we were in love. I was prepared to leave your father and start life anew as Mrs Sinclair Baskin.'

  'So what happened?'

  'When Sinclair found out that I was pregnant, he threw me out.'

  'Just like that?'

  Mary nodded. 'Sinclair said that he didn't care what I did with the baby as long as I just got out of his life right away. I was so scared, Laura. Terrified. I never felt so alone in all my life. I had nobody to turn to. I never had many girlfriends except on a superficial level. They thought I was pretty and popular but no one ever wanted to know me. I mean, there was no flesh and blood and feelings in pretty Mary. I was just a beautiful painting or landscape for people to stare at and admire. Nothing more. You must know the feeling.'

  Laura did. 'So what did you do?'

  Mary went over to the sink, turned on the faucet, and filled a glass. 'I cried a lot. And then I sat down and tried to think it through. What was I going to do? Abortion was not a real option back then. I mean, you could get one if you had the money but James handled all of our finances. He would know in a second.

  'I considered telling James the truth, but can you imagine what would have happened? He is very possessive. If he had ever learned what had happened, well, I don't know what he would have done to me.'

  'Probably divorced you.'

  'Probably,' Mary agreed.

  'So what did you decide to do?'

  'Isn't it obvious?' she asked. 'I pretended the child was his.'

  'How? You just said that you hadn't slept together in months.'

  'The night after Sinclair threw me out, I started seducing James. Almost every night for months we made love.'

  Laura felt sick to her stomach. 'Seduction was always the answer for you, wasn't it, Mother?'

  'I wish there had been another solution, but what else could I do? I had to make him think you were his child. It was not easy. You were a very difficult pregnancy. For weeks I was sick as a dog and delirious. I vomited every morning. I was bleeding profusely. I thought I was going to miscarry and, God forgive me, I wanted to so badly. Days went by that I spent in the grips of a fever and could barely remember anything.'

  'But you still managed to seduce him.'

  'I had to, Laura. I had to make him think the baby was his. There were two big obstacles standing in the way of my deception: timing and family resemblance. You see, if everything kept on schedule, you were going to be born nine months after I became pregnant by Sinclair, which would be a month or two too soon if you were really James's baby.'

  'How did you get around that?'

  'I figured that in the basking light of parenthood, I could gloss it over as an early arrival. But luckily, you were a very late baby anyway. I didn't need to lie.'

  'And family resemblance?'

  'You ended up looking just like me. No one noticed if there was a similarity between you and James. We moved to Boston a year later. My secret was safe. With Sinclair dead, the only other person who knew the truth was my sister.'

  'You told Judy?' Laura asked in disbelief.

  'I needed to trust someone, Laura. I couldn't do this by myself. So I confided in the one person I could always depend on.'

  'Wasn't she still furious at you for stealing Sinclair from her?'

  'We were sisters, Laura. Just like you and Gloria. Judy could no more turn her back on me in a time of crisis than you could turn yours on Gloria. Without her help, I don't know what I would have done.'

  'So Aunt Judy knew everything?'

  'Yes.'

  'And she was going to tell me, wasn't she? That was why she called me the other day.'

  'Yes,' Mary said slowly. 'I think she planned on doing just that.'

  'So you killed her too.'

  'What?'

  'You set the fire.'

  'She was my sister ...'

  'The same sister you stole men from?'

  'That's different. I loved Judy, you know that. And she loved me.'

  'So tell me why Judy chose to betray your trust all of a sudden.'

  'I don't know, Laura. I wondered that myself. I know how it must look, but I did not set that fire. I swear. Try to understand. I was only trying to do what was best. And if you look at it from a distance, wasn't it working out, Laura? Until you fell in love with David, everything was wonderful. James loves you more than anything in the world.'

  'No, Mother. He loves a lie.'

  'Don't say that. He loves you. Biology doesn't mean a damn thing. If we had adopted you, he'd still love you just as much, right?'

  'But you didn't adopt me. You created a lie.'

  'A lie that was working just fine until you stopped listening to me.'

  'Stopped listening to you?'

  'Once I realized that David was Sinclair's son, I begged and pleaded with you not to see him. Why didn't you listen to me, Laura? Why didn't you stay away from him? I tried to stop you. I was sure I could. But then you ran off to Australia and got married. So I followed you. I had no choice.'

  'Why couldn't you just tell me the truth?'

  Mary's eyes never left her daughter's. 'My deception was thirty years old by then, Laura. The lies were snugly wrapped around this family. I was afraid of what would happen if they were suddenly removed. So I went to Australia to talk with David, to tell him the truth. I told no one I was going -- not even Judy. When I arrived, I called David at your hotel. He was surprised, of course, but he agreed to meet me in my room at the Pacific International Hotel. We talked for a very long time. Oh Laura, it was the most awful thing. David was so confused. One minute he was furious and storming about the room. The next he was crying. Every word I said tore him apart. He was so devastated. Remember, you're hearing it after the fact. But David had to decide what to do. He loved you. He couldn't live without you. But he also knew how badly you wanted children and how dangerous it would be to ignore the truth. Suddenly, his whole world was anchored to ice. And my words were pulling up that anchor. When I spoke to your father a few days later and he told me David had drowned, I knew that my words had been the cause of it. I just wanted him to leave you, Laura. You have to believe me. I wish there had been another way but there wasn't. I couldn't just sit back and let you marry your brother. You see I had no choice, don't you?'

  Laura fell back. She let the tears spill down her face. Oh David, I don't care what the world thought. We could have made it work. We could have adopted kids for chrissake. Or you could have just left me. Anything but what you did.

  A new voice chased away her thoughts.

  'Hello?' James called out. 'Anybody home?'

  Laura and Mary both spun. James stood in the doorway, his medical bag in one hand, his briefcase on the floor by his foot. His eyes widened in surprise and concern as he looked at both his wife and daughter.

  'What is going on here?' he asked.

  'Nothing, honey,' Mary answered quickly.

  James turned toward his daughter and studied her face. 'Laura,' he began, 'is there anything wrong?'

  Love and sadness rushed through her. Laura wanted so much to hug him, to put her arms around him and tell him how much he meant to her. How many times had he comforted her when she needed it? How many times had he sacrificed his own wants for hers? Countless. She glanced briefly at her mother and wondered if she should tell him the truth, if she should tell him just what kind of a woman he had married. But what good would it do? It would only hurt him. He had lived with her and loved her for more than thirty years. If he was still blind to her faults, it was because he chose to be.

  'Nothing, Dad.'

  'You look upset. You both look upset.'

  'We were just having a heart-to-heart,' Laura said. 'It got a little emotional, that's all.'

  Mary looked at her daughter gratefully, but Laura did not give her the satisfaction of being acknowledged.

  'I see,' James said, but his tone said other
wise. 'Serita's car is outside. Do you want to invite her in?'

  'No, I have to go.' Ignoring her mother completely, Laura picked up her coat, put it on, and kissed her father goodbye.

  'I love you, Dad,' she said to him.

  His smile seemed sad. 'I love you too, sweetheart.'

  'I better go now.' Without another word, Laura walked down the corridor. When she reached the door, she turned one last time and looked back at her parents, both staring at her worriedly. They seemed so small, so vulnerable, and yet it was a familiar, comforting picture to Laura. James and Mary Ayars. Her mother and father.

  Laura opened the door and stepped out into cold night air. She had no way of knowing that she would never see them together again.

  The wind swirled its blades of cold through the Boston night. T.C. wrapped his arms around himself in a futile attempt to keep warm. This was not an evening to be outside. This was an evening to curl up in bed, throw an extra comforter or two over you, and just watch something mindless on T.V.

  He blew air into his fists and then dug his hands into his pockets. Like a true idiot, he had left his gloves at home. His hands and feet were beginning to feel numb. And damn, he needed a cigar, but those too were sitting at home with his gloves, all warm and cozy.

  Damn. Damn it all to hell.

  T.C. continued to stroll along the Charles River. He quickened his pace now, the cold really starting to get to him. A minute later, he found what he was looking for: Mark.

  T.C. shook his head. The wind-chill factor had already dropped the temperature well into the minus range, and Mark still chose to stand alone along the river's frozen edge. There were no other people in the park. The young couples that normally strolled here had opted for cozy indoor fireplaces -- even the homeless had decided that the shelters were less of a risk than this arctic cold.

  'Mark?' T.C. cried out, the wind grabbing his words and spreading them aimlessly.

  Mark slowly turned toward T.C. He waved to acknowledge that he had heard him and then turned back around toward the water.

  'What the hell are you doing down here?' T.C. shouted.

  Raising his hand and cupping his ear, Mark signaled that he could not understand what T.C. was saying. T.C. jogged down alongside his friend. 'What the hell are you doing here?'

  'Just taking a walk.'

  'Kind of a cold night for it.'

  Mark shrugged but said nothing.

  T.C. hesitated. 'Look, Mark, I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt Laura.'

  Mark nodded slowly. 'I know.'

  'I guess I have a tendency to go too far,' T.C. continued. 'I lose perspective, become tunnel-visioned. I was just trying to protect her.'

  'Forget it.'

  A blast of freezing-cold air sliced through T.C.'s skin until it reached the bone. He had never been the sympathetic-ear type, but the tortured look on Mark's face was nearly unbearable to watch. 'You wanna talk about it?'

  'About what?'

  'About whatever's bothering you.'

  'You a psychiatrist now?' Mark asked.

  'No,' T.C. replied. 'I'm just a guy who's trying to help you out.'

  'You've done too much already,' Mark said. 'I can never repay you.'

  'I don't want to be repaid. Look, I'm your friend, right? Friends are supposed to help each other out. Would you have done the same for me?'

  'No chance.'

  T.C. laughed. 'You're still an asshole. I remember -- '

  'Careful,' Mark interrupted. 'The past is over. You're the one who told me that.'

  'Yeah, I know. Sorry. You want to be alone?'

  Mark did not respond right away. T.C. watched him. Yeah, he decided, he wants to be alone. He glanced at his watch. Have to go anyway, I have to be --

  'What am I doing?' Mark asked out loud. 'I mean, am I doing the right thing?'

  'Hell of a time to ask,' T.C. said.

  'Would you have done the same?'

  'Nope. But it's easy for me to say that. I wasn't in your shoes.'

  'Why didn't you stop me?'

  'Truth? I couldn't think of a better solution at the time.'

  'And now?'

  T.C. shrugged. 'Like you, I wonder what if. Maybe it didn't have to go this far. Maybe we panicked.'

  'What else could I have done?'

  'I don't know. I just don't know if I would have the courage to do what you did.'

  'Courage?' Mark repeated. 'What a load of bullshit. What I did didn't take any courage.'

  'You're wrong, my friend. You gave up the only thing you cared about. That takes courage.'

  Mark waved him off. 'I had no choice. You know that. But what do I do now?'

  'Go on. Survive. It could be worse. You could be dead.'

  Mark smiled sadly. 'Like David Baskin?'

  'Sort of.'

  'Once you're dead, the pain is over. Isn't that what they say?'

  'Some.'

  'Then he's pretty well off, isn't he?'

  'Maybe he is,' T.C. said. 'Who knows?'

  'Oh cut the crap. You can be as bad as your friends at the FBI.'

  'Meaning?'

  'All of this Mark shit when we're alone. It's not necessary.'

  'Don't you remember what I told you in June?'

  'Yeah, yeah, I remember,' Mark began. 'You said that if we went through with this whacko idea we would have to do it right. That means that we have to make David Baskin dead, really dead, even in our minds.'

  'And even in private,' T.C. added. 'David Baskin is dead.'

  'But he's not dead,' Mark said. 'We've given him a new name, changed his face, his voice, his eye color. But we haven't killed him. He still lives. He still wants to play basketball. He's still your best friend. And most of all, he still . . .'

  '. . . loves Laura?' T.C. finished.

  Mark nodded. 'So let me hang on to David when we're alone. You'll be the only one who knows he's still alive. I don't want him to die, T.C. I don't want to be just Mark Seidman. Mark Seidman is some fictional character that I still don't understand. He barely even knows Laura.'

  T.C. shook his head. 'You have to accept him. You have to let go of your past.'

  'I'm not Mark Seidman, T.C. There is no such person. You can perform all the cosmetic surgery you want, but you can't change me into a man who does not love Laura.'

  'As a brother?'

  Mark chuckled sadly. 'Touche.'

  'David Baskin was a hell of a guy,' T.C. continued. 'He loved Laura like no man has ever loved a woman. But David Baskin also learned the unpleasant truth. And accepted it.'

  'We could have made it work. It would have been difficult but we loved each other.'

  'You want to give it a try?' T.C. asked. 'You want to tell her the truth now?'

  Mark thought for a moment and then shook his head. 'No.'

  'I didn't think so.'

  'So what now?'

  T.C. shrugged. 'Let's get out of here. I'm freezing.'

  'You go ahead. I'll be home in a little while.'

  'You sure?'

  He nodded.

  Without another word, T.C. turned and left.

  Mark did not take his eyes off the fog floating above the river like a bad special effect from an old horror movie. Thoughts of what might have been, of what should have been, scurried across his mind. The present and the past merged into one obscure reality. Only one thought remained clear and in focus: Laura.

  Serita dropped Laura off in front of her apartment building. 'Do you want me to come in?'

  'Thanks anyway. Why don't you head home and get some sleep?'

  'Are you sure?'

  Laura nodded. 'I need time to just sit and sift through this.'

  'You'll call me if you need anything? Even if you just want to shoot the shit at four in the morning?'

  'You'll be the first to know. You're a good friend, Serita.'

  Serita gunned the engine. 'The best.'

  Laura moved past the security guard. The elevator was already on the ground level. She stepped i
n, pushed the button, and watched the door close. A minute later, she was on the eighteenth floor. Her key unlocked the door. She pushed it open and entered her apartment. The room was dark, except for the lamp in the corner. The lamp shone on a sight that made Laura inhale sharply.

  'Laura?'

  Laura ran across the room. Gloria's lips were thin, her eyes hollow and wide. 'What's the matter? What happened?'

  'Oh God, oh please ...'

  Laura wrapped her arms around her sister in much the same way she had when Gloria's sleep had been plagued by those terrible nightmares during their childhood. For a moment she understood what her mother had meant when she discussed the bond between sisters. They might fight or disagree or be from completely different worlds, but they were eternally linked in a way that they could never hope to understand.

  'What's wrong?' Laura asked gently. 'Did Stan do something?'

  Gloria looked up. Her bleak eyes were swollen and red. 'He's dead.'

  Laura thought she had misunderstood. 'Dead?'

  Her sister nodded. 'He was shot in South Boston tonight. I just got back from the police station. They say they're going to investigate but nobody cares, Laura. They think Stan was just a punk and a gambler who played games with the wrong people and got a bullet in the chest for his troubles. They're not even interested in finding out who murdered him.'

  Laura said nothing. There was indeed a curse on the Baskin men. Three of them were dead now, all tragically killed in their youth. But what about the curse on the women they left behind? What about the broken hearts and shattered dreams they left scattered about?

  'He stopped gambling, Laura. I know you don't believe me. I know he did some terrible things to a lot of people . . . including you. But he had stopped. He was getting better. A few days ago, one of his old bookies called because he had not placed a bet in such a long time.'

  Holding her sister, Laura started to cry.

  Gloria snuggled closer. 'You never got to know him, Laura. I barely got to know him. He was the most unhappy person I have ever met. But Stan was changing. You could see it, feel it. And I'm not just talking like some blindly optimistic girlfriend. Stan was finally getting his chance, his one last shot to lead a normal, happy life. Someone took that away from him.' She fought back more tears. 'And someone took that away from me.'

  'I'm so sorry.'

  Gloria closed her eyes as though she were summoning up some hidden strength. 'His death has something to do with what's going on lately, doesn't it?'

  'I don't understand.'

  'Neither do I but I've had a little while to think this through and here's what I know: Aunt Judy wanted to speak to you about the drowning. Before she died, she handed you a thirty-year-old picture of Sinclair Baskin. Only one person witnessed Sinclair's murder and could identify the killer. Stan. Now he too has been murdered. It's all tied together, Laura, isn't it? All the deaths are connected -- Sinclair, Judy, Stan . . . and even David.'