He shrugged. "Quite regretfully. I suggested we take a walk in the night air to discuss these things. And you know how treacherous those cliffs can be."
Another wave of nausea. Three murders. And Julie had implicated Liam in Alma's death.
"Why?" Julie whispered.
"I believe I just told you—"
"No. Why everything? Why this whole elaborate ... ?" Her voice failed her.
"Charade? It's not so elaborate, really. It just seems that way. It began when I couldn't get permission for human trials of my neurohormone protocol, and couldn't get grants for the necessary animal studies to qualify for the clinical trials. The proverbial Catch-Twenty-Two. I was in a terrible state, swinging between dark depression and manic agitation. No money, too; I didn't know what to do.
"And then your mother, my wife, true-blue Lucy, announced she was pregnant. Now this puzzled me. After years of trying we'd never been able to have children. We'd just about given up hope, and frankly my sex drive had fizzled during the stress of that past year—so much so that I couldn't remember the last time we'd had sex. And my dear brother had been hanging around an awful lot lately. Puzzlement turned to suspicion, but I refused to believe that my wife and my own twin brother would betray me like that. It took me almost the entire duration of the pregnancy—a somewhat shortened term because you were twins—to find the nerve to get a sperm count. Well"—he smirked—"you know the results."
Julie nodded. "Sterile."
"Yes. I raged privately, and that was when I decided to kill them both. But before I could conceive a plan, your mother went into labor and delivered twins. Identical twins."
Julie gripped the armrests of her recliner. "And suddenly you had the raw material for your human trials."
"And the ultimate revenge. I don't believe in God, but can't you almost see the hand of divine retribution in this?"
"No," Julie said. "Not at all."
"Yes, well, perhaps not. No matter. I seized the opportunity and began dosing you and Samantha according to my protocol."
"But you could never publish the results."
"That didn't matter so much as proving to myself that I was right. If you two worked out according to plan, I would continue pursuing grants. If you failed, I'd know I was on the wrong track and go back to basic research."
"Well," she said grimly, "you succeeded."
"Oh, yes. Beyond my wildest dreams."
"But Eathan found out and you had to kill him."
"Oh, I'd already decided to kill him and Lucy. I'd been laying the groundwork for years. I took out the insurance policies on both of us—that looks much less suspicious than to keep one on your wife only—and drew up the will and the trusts. The only question was when. Sooner or later? My precarious financial situation was forcing me to act sooner. It was deteriorating as quickly as my marriage. The bank was threatening to foreclose ... a terrible thing. I loathed your mother for what she'd done. I only stayed married to her to be with you two. But I knew that when I lost the house, I'd lose Lucy and her twins."
"Your two little experiments."
"Exactly. I had the plan in place—the fire, switching places with Eathan—everything was ready to go. The time was now, but I lacked the nerve to do it. I imagined so many things that could go wrong and trip me up.... I delayed for months. I might never have done a thing if Eathan hadn't found my journals and read them. By telling Lucy, he forced my hand. Not only would I lose the twins, but 1 risked exposure, arrest, and even jail. I had to act immediately."
Julie's head whirled. Her father was her uncle who became her father but was really her uncle. A flesh-and-blood matrioshka doll.
"But the coroner's report," she said. "The dental records proved without a doubt—"
"That the corpse was Nathan?" His grin was genuine now. He really seemed to enjoy telling his tale. "I'm very proud of that one. You see, I made sure that I went to the same dentist as Eathan. When I decided the time had come to put my plan into action, I sneaked into the dentist's office—no big deal, really; Millburn was a homey little town in 1972 and the idea of a security system back then was utterly absurd—and switched the first letters on our names. Close inspection might show evidence of an alteration, but the coroner and the insurance inspectors all worked from photocopies. They never even had a clue. In one fell swoop I'd solved all my familial and financial problems. My only worry was you two. I'd dosed you with propranolol—"
"A beta-blocker. Of course ... to dull the memory-enhancing effects of adrenaline."
"Quite. I was way ahead of my time. I hypnotized you and instilled a false memory of the fire. But no plan is foolproof. If one of you ever remembered what happened that night, I could lose everything."
"So you got us out of the country."
"Yes. The move solved a number of problems. Eathan was a physician, an internist. I was not. I could not take over his practice, nor could I risk one of his friends catching on to my charade. Fortunately he was a bit of a loner like me. He made a brief, distraught appearance at the funeral, then shunned what few friends he had—he took it so hard. Soon my own beard filled in but I knew I could not carry off the role indefinitely. I had to leave Millburn. But the move also served to remove you two from the vicinity of the trauma. If I'd kept you in the Millburn area, there would be an ongoing risk of one of you coming across something that might trigger the true memory. England seemed perfect. No language barrier, and the dollar went a lot further over here then than it does now—I got this place for a song. And with the two of you all to myself here: on the North Yorkshire coast, I could continually reinforce the false memory, make you relive it—"
"All those 'ventilating' sessions!"
"Yes. I couldn't kill the true memory because the false memory shared a piece of it. Every time I strengthened the false memory I was preserving the true memory as well. So I had to keep the false memory so fresh and alive that there'd be no way you could get to the truth."
"No way?" Julie said, pointing to her memoryscape headgear.
Nathan's grin broadened. "Isn't the irony delicious? I made Samantha perfectly right-brained, the compleat artist. But she used her art to unblock the memory of that night. Poor Sammi was catching glimpses of something in her art. She got close to the truth ... too close ... and when she released it she didn't die as I had hypnotically suggested—Samantha never did do as she was told. But it did disrupt her entire memory system and she fell into what looked like a coma."
"Bastard!"
"But the irony continues. I made you the ultimate left-brained scientist, and what do you do? You unblock the memory with a computer." He actually laughed and clapped his hands. "Hoist by my own petard!"
"But why did you risk letting me go into her memory at all?"
"Did I have a choice? You were so damned insistent. And as Samantha's loving, concerned uncle, how could I refuse you at least one look? I was utterly terrified at first, but after I saw what her memoryscape looked like, I relaxed. I knew the true memory was gone and you weren't going to find anything." Another laugh. "I never guessed you'd travel into your own mind. Bravo, Julia!"
"But why continue the charade all these years? Why devote so much effort to playing a loving uncle to your orphaned nieces?"
"The experiment, remember? I wanted to provide a stable environment that supported you in whatever direction you wished to take. I nurtured your differences. I wanted to see how far each of you would go in your divergent interests. The farther apart the better—the more it confirmed the success of my protocol. Because this has been an ongoing experiment." He took a deep breath, a resigned sigh. "At least until now."
Something in his voice gave her a crawling feeling in her gut. She wanted to keep him talking.
"So that's why you've got all our accomplishments tagged and filed in that cabinet. An ongoing record. For what?"
"For eventual publication."
Julie searched Nathan's face for some sign that he was joking. She found none.
"Posthumous publication, of course."
"But even then, this monstrous toying with children's minds will... the whole world will—"
"Revile me? I certainly expect so. But I also expect them to finally take a good look at my protocol. It works. You and Samantha have proved that. And so along with the widespread opprobrium will come a certain grudging respect for my genius. Yes, they'll revile me, but at least I won't soon be forgotten." His eyes got a faraway look. "I wonder what they'll say."
"You'll never know."
"Oh, don't be so sure. I've been thinking of writing up the details and leaving them here with all the hard proof of the experiment's success, and then just... disappearing. How wonderfully entertaining to sit back in the safety of a new identity and watch the firestorm of controversy over my experiment. Yes... I might find a way to die a second time." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a syringe. "You and Samantha, unfortunately, will only get to die once."
Julie pushed back, trying to shrink into the fabric of the re-cliner.
"What's that?"
"Succinylcholine. I used it on your uncle—excuse me— father. I don't have to tell you what it does."
Julie knew. The ultimate muscle relaxant. The right amount would leave her limp as a dishrag. Too much would paralyze her muscles of respiration and she'd suffocate. God, what was she going to do? Think! Think!
"And then what? Another fire? You don't really believe you can get away with this twice, do you?"
"Why not? The first fire is ancient history. In another country. But I never would have even toyed with the idea if you hadn't turned in a suspected arsonist to Scotland Yard. That made the decision for me. Oh, I'll be heroically fighting the blaze when the firemen arrive from Bay. I'm sure we can confine it to this wing ... sparing my study."
Julie's mouth was so dry she could barely speak. "They'll know it was you."
"Their loving uncle? I hardly think so. Not after you betrayed Liam O'Donnell. How awful that this known terrorist decided to make an example of you and your sister, a fiery warning to anyone else who might be of a mind to talk to the police." He glanced across Julie to where Sam lay inert under her covers. "I wish there were another way, but since half of the experiment is already as good as gone—"
The syringe caught the pale light of the room. Nathan brought it close.
Julie kicked with her right leg and caught him in the chest. "Bastard.'"
She'd seen her chance and had aimed for his throat but didn't get her foot high enough.
Nathan grunted and fell back off the recliner. Julie slipped forward and aimed another kick at his face but he got his arm up—so quickly—and blocked it.
She rolled off the opposite side of the recliner, bumping against Sam's bed as she headed for the door.
But Nathan was up and stretching across the recliner. Julie screamed as he caught her arm and shoved her back onto Sam's bed. The back of her head knocked against Sam's knees.
Julie tried to roll away but Nathan flung himself on her and pinned her to the bed. Her left arm was trapped between them but she flailed at him with her right. He had the syringe in his right fist, holding it like a dagger, his thumb on the plunger. His eyes were wild.
Julie kept beating at him but he barely seemed to notice. She closed her eyes and screamed in an agony of fear, anger, frustration, and horror as he raised the needle over her shoulder.
This was how it would end, all the secrets leading to her own death.
And then Nathan stopped. He said, "Uh?"
Julie opened her eyes and saw Nathan staring wide-eyed at his hand. At first she thought he'd accidentally stuck himself and her heart lifted. But then she noticed what had captured his stunned attention ...
A hand was locked around his wrist.
She thought her heart would explode with joy. It was impossible. It was wonderful.
Julie screamed, "Sam!"
And from behind Nathan she heard Sam's voice—hoarse, dry, cracked, after long disuse—a sepulchral whisper. Ju-lie.
New strength burst through Julie's limbs. She shoved Nathan back and managed to slip free of him. His left hand made an awkward snatch for her but he still seemed distracted, stunned by the fingers wrapped around his wrist.
Julie stumbled to her feet and turned.
She glanced at Sam's face and saw her blue eyes open and staring at Nathan. Nathan looked up and was caught by her accusing stare. He froze for an instant—and in that instant, Julie acted.
She grabbed the straight-back chair and lifted it over her head. Do it!
Nathan broke free of Sam's gaze and yanked his wrist from her grasp. He was pushing himself up from the bed, scrambling now, disoriented, when Julie swung the chair. She brought it down hard from somewhere near the ceiling and caught him square across the back.
And it felt good, oh God, it felt so damn good to let the son-of-a-bitch have it.
He cried out in pain and sagged, then slid to his knees on the floor. Groaning, he started to straighten from there. Julie didn't hesitate. She swung the chair again—
"You sick"—she slammed the chair down—"bastard!"
And this time, aiming for his head, she put everything into it, every bit of anger at everything he had done to their lives, everything he had stolen from them, the years she and Sam could have known each other, loved each other.
One of the legs caught him square across the back of the skull.
And that felt even better than the first shot.
This time he didn't make a sound as he slumped to the floor and lay still.
And nearly giddy with the act, Julie slammed the chair against his head a third time, just to make sure he wasn't faking.
He was so damn good at faking.
She watched him a moment, ready to give him a fourth shot, almost hoping he'd move, but he was out. She dropped the chair. She looked at the bed.
And saw Sam, looking up at her.
Gingerly, Julie stepped over Nathan to get to the bed.
Sam was watching her with her sunken, luminous eyes. She lifted her hand—her arm muscles were so weak—and Julie grasped it, clutching it between both of hers. Her fingers were cool, damp.
"Sammi! You're awake. You've come back to us."
"Julie," she said in a voice as dry as the heather out on the moors, and weakly squeezed Julie's hands. "Julie ... I had the weirdest dream. And you were in it."
Julie felt that pressure building up in her chest, felt her eyes filling. Oh yes, she thought. Let it come.
"Was I?"
"Yes. It was an awful dream, but in it you said you loved me. Isn't that weird?'
"No. That's not weird, Sam. And it wasn't a dream. It's true. I do love you."
And then she couldn't hold back the tears any longer. She wrapped her arms around her twin, clutching her tight. She buried her face against Sam's shoulder and sobbed. "You're my sister, and I love you. ..."
"You're crying, Julie," Sam said. "You never cry."
Julie tried but couldn't answer. She felt Sam's free hand start to stroke her hair. Like those other hands ...
"Does this mean we're friends now?"
Julie could only nod against her shoulder. Oh, yes.
"Good. I always wanted us to be friends, but..." now Sam's voice started to catch, "you never seemed to. Twins should be friends."
The simple truth of that only caused Julie to cry harder.
"Don't cry, Julie. We're gonna be all right."
Finally Julie found her voice again.
"Yes, we are, Sammi." She sat up and wiped her eyes. "We're going to be better than all right. We're going to be the best. The two of us. I'll see to that. We'll see to that. But first..."
She turned and sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at Nathan's still form, sprawled on the rug. She had to pull herself together now. Something had to be done about Nathan. She had to call the police but there was no phone in this room. What if Nathan came
to while she was out calling?
Only one way to solve that: Take him with her. Drag the monster down the hall by his ankles.
She knelt beside him, got her hands under him, and flipped him onto his back.
"Oh, God!"
"What's wrong?" Sam asked from the bed.
Julie stared at Nathan's white face and open, unseeing eyes. Then she noticed the empty syringe protruding from his chest wall. He wasn't going anywhere.
Relief swept through her.
"What's wrong, Julie?" Sam asked again.
"Nothing, Sammi," she told her. "Nothing at all. Everything's fine now."
And they sat there together, with so much to say and yet— saying nothing.
Because they had plenty of time now.
About The Authors
F. Paul Wilson, a practicing medical doctor, is the author of eighteen previous novels, including the New; York Times bestsellers The Keep and The Tomb. His most recent work was Deep As the Marrow. He has been a finalist for the Nebula, World Fantasy, and Bram Stoker awards.
Matthew J. Costello is the author of fourteen novels and numerous nonfiction works. His articles have appeared in publications ranging from the Los Angeles Times to Sports Illustrated. He scripted the bestselling CD-ROM interactive dramas The 7th Guest and The 1I th Hour.
And watch for . ..
DNA Wars, the new novel by F. Paul Wilson and Matthew J. Costello, coming from Warner Aspect in April 1998.
Practicing physician F. Paul Wilson chilled us In The Keep and his bestselling medical thriller The Select. Matthew J. Costello is the genius who scripted The 7th Guest, the bestselling CD-ROM Interactive drama of all time. Now they combine their Imaginations to take us on a speeding virtual reality ride where terrible secrets Me waltlng-ln a woman's deeply burled memories of a shocking crime.
Samantha Gordon has doctors mystified: There Is no known physical cause for her deep coma. Nonetheless, Samantha Is dying. Her only hope Is her twin sister, Julia, a research scientist who has invented a virtual reality program that will let Julia enter Samantha's mind. The risks? Inescapable madness and sudden death. For once Julia enters the erotic, mysterious landscape of her sister's memories, she must relive them. And In this dark world of macabre revelations a killer Is hiding, and the race for her own life will begin ...
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