Is it possible to die of mortification? We definitely weren’t quiet. My raw throat is testament to my lack of restraint.
I cover my face. “God, I’m so sorry.”
She chuckles knowingly. “Good thing I had headphones and a movie cued up on my laptop. Coffee?”
“Molly, I—”
“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry again,” she says, eyes twinkling, “because that would be tragic. I hope you’re not sorry. And to be honest, I saw this coming from a mile away. Finn has always had a thing for you.”
A footstep behind me precedes Finn’s sardonic words, “Way to have my back, Aunt Mol.”
She waves off his comment, grinning. “Callisto isn’t exempt.” She points a spoon at me. “I’ve seen the way you look at him.”
My face is hot as I turn around. Even dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt, Finn causes a quantifiable reaction in my body. My pulse kicks up a notch. A needy ache yawns between my legs. I want more of last night. A lot more.
Meeting his glittering blue gaze with effort, I whisper, “She was here last night. In her room.”
The horror on his face would be comical if I wasn’t still feeling it myself.
“What the hell, Molly! Why didn’t you say something?”
Laughing gaily, Molly takes two mugs to the kitchen table. “Are you kidding? Besides, I doubt you two would have heard me knocking.”
A pitiful noise squeaks from my throat.
Molly’s laugh turns to a cackle. “Ah, to be young again.”
“Kill me,” Finn whispers.
“Me first,” I whisper back.
“I’ll get breakfast started while you two have your coffee,” chirps Molly as she returns to the kitchen and opens cupboards. “Go ahead now, don’t be shy.”
Finn and I sit opposite each other. He sips his coffee. I sip mine. We avoid each other’s eyes.
“This is not how I pictured this morning going,” he mutters.
He sounds so disgruntled, a smile twitches my lips. “Oh yeah?”
Looking up, his gaze takes a slow path from my mouth to my eyes. “Yeah.” Eyes darkening, he adds, “Good morning, princess.”
I want to fly over the table and rip his clothes off. And from the gleam in his eye, he knows exactly what I’m thinking. He wants it, too.
What have I gotten myself into?
“Breakfast!” Molly drops a heaping pile of scrambled eggs and sausage between us, along with two forks and a bowl piled high with strawberries and blueberries. “The sausage is microwaved. Best I could do on short notice.”
“It’s great, thank you.”
“Thanks, Aunt Mol.”
She settles in the third chair with her coffee cradled in her hands. “Eat, then we’ll talk.”
I look at Finn and see in his eyes the same knowledge that’s in mine. What we saw at the ranch. My appetite flees.
I manage a few bites of egg and some berries, forcing myself to eat that much. Finn eats only a little more than me before he gives up, too.
“That bad, huh?” asks Molly.
“It’s not the food,” Finn begins, setting down his fork.
At his nod, I tell her what led us to my uncle’s farm. When I’m done, he tells her about the skull.
She listens, coffee forgotten in her hands, and at the end asks, “Dear God, what are we doing to do?”
It’s another three hours and several refills of coffee for all of us before we have a plan we agree on. A good one that ends with Vivian, and most likely my uncles, going to jail for a very long time.
You can’t kill an octopus by cutting off a leg.
So we’re going for the head.
I can’t spare my sisters this. Any way I slice it, their lives will be forever altered. I can only hope someday they’ll understand why I had to do this.
I’m clear now. I finally understand why I came back. Not for something as petty as revenge, or proving to Vivian I’m better or stronger than her, or a vague need to save my sisters from their fates, but for the poor souls resting in unmarked graves thanks to my family. And for the simple reason that doing what’s right isn’t always easy, but at the end of the day, our choices define who we are.
And we are not them.
34
Finn drops me off around noon. As soon as the front door closes behind me, a scathing voice asks, “Where the fuck have you been?”
I was ready for it—Lizzie sent me a text this morning telling me Uncle Franco stopped by and lost his shit when he realized I wasn’t home.
“Hello to you, too.” I kick off my shoes in the foyer and brush past him.
He grabs my arm, halting me. “You know the rules, Calli. What the hell were you thinking? Do you know how much trouble you’re in when Vivian finds out?”
I meet his beady gaze. “I’m not fifteen anymore. You can take your rules and choke on them.”
Lord, it feels good to stop pretending. Like a weight has been lifted. Still, I’m surprised by the vehemence that drips from the words. Until this moment, I didn’t truly know I had it in me to fight back.
Franco releases me, more from shock than an awareness of how hard his grip was. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Where were you?”
“None of your damn business,” I say with a smile, then continue toward the kitchen.
Lizzie sits at the kitchen table, a magazine spread before her and headphones in. I give her a wink, then grab an apple from the basket on the island and take a satisfyingly loud bite.
Franco appears in the doorway, flushed and furious. He’s so focused on me, he doesn’t notice Lizzie.
“How dare you walk away from me like that! You’d better explain yourself right now.”
“No, thanks.”
“You snotty bitch,” he snarls. “I’ve never trusted you, Little Bear. Didn’t trust you back then, and definitely not now. You’re up to no good, and this proves it.”
I finish chewing. “An astronomy lesson for you, Uncle—I’m not named after the little bear, as you’ve so charmingly and demeaningly called me all my life. Callisto is the Great Bear. Ursa Major. So back the fuck off, because I’m not in the mood to play nice.”
His neck flushes dark red. “Wait until Vivian hears about this.”
“Vivian, Vivian, Vivian,” I sing. “Do you have a mind of your own, or are you just a lap dog? I’m thinking lap dog. You’re certainly small enough.”
Okay, maybe that was too far, but damned if it doesn’t feel good to see him struggle for control.
“You’re done,” he hisses.
I examine my half-eaten apple. “Not yet, but you are.” I meet his livid gaze. “Get out.”
He storms off, cursing under his breath. A few moments later, the front door slams.
“That was awesome and scary,” Lizzie says in a hushed voice. “What just happened?”
The first step.
“I’m just tired of dealing with this shit. I’m a grown woman and spent the night at my boyfriend’s house. It’s not like I was robbing a bank.”
Lizzie whistles. “Man, I wish I had your balls.”
I toss my apple core into the trash and sit beside her. “And if you did? What would you do?”
Fear alights in her eyes. “Nothing,” she says quickly.
“Lizzie, tell me. What if you were free to do whatever you wanted?”
After a furtive glance at the doorway, she takes a swift breath. “I want to be a fiction writer. I love mysteries, thrillers, that sort of thing. Don’t say anything to Mom, though, okay?”
“Why? If it’s your dream—”
“Just don’t.” She closes the magazine, dropping her earbuds atop it. “You don’t understand, Calli. If you did, you wouldn’t ask. I gotta go.”
She’s gone before I can think of something to say to bring her back.
The next week passes with excruciating slowness. Lizzie gives me the silent treatment, going so far as to leave any room we both occupy. At least Franco stays away, though I notice two n
ew guards prowling outside at night.
Selina doesn’t show up for work three days in a row—her replacement says she has the flu. And when she does return, she avoids me like the plague. Molly never spoke to her on Thursday, which now I’m grateful for. Apparently when Selina returned home from work, her little boy and husband were waiting outside for her. I’m still not convinced—like Finn is—that she’s an undercover cop or an informant. It’s much more likely she’s here for the same reason Finn is: a vendetta.
Tired of banging my head on a wall where both women are concerned, I give up and spend the rest of the week pretending to relax. Reading in the shade of a backyard umbrella, swimming laps until my muscles are lax, and texting with Finn to keep up the ruse that we’re a normal, newly dating couple.
I miss him. Not the canned charm of our messages, but the acerbic, sarcastic man. I miss the possibility of us that was sparked last week, so much that sometimes I wonder if it really happened.
Then, at 9:00 p.m. every night, he calls the burner phone and reminds me it was real.
Near midnight Sunday night, after lying sleepless for hours in dread of Vivian’s return tomorrow morning, I finally break, giving in to the curiosity that’s been on simmer since I came back.
Now or never.
I don’t creep through the house. Wearing pajamas and a robe, I clomp barefoot down the shadowed hallways toward the kitchen, veering right instead of left when I reach it. A short hallway ends with a door. I try the handle—locked.
“Dammit.”
“What are you doing?”
I gasp, spinning to find Lizzie in the archway of the kitchen. She’s in boy shorts and a tank, her dark blond hair in a messy bun, her face clean of makeup and glowing with youth. Though she doesn’t necessarily look happy to see me, at least she isn’t avoiding me anymore.
“You scared the shit out of me,” I say with a short laugh. “Why are you awake?”
“Same reason you are, I guess. Couldn’t sleep. Came down for a yogurt.” She glances behind me. “Why are you trying to get into the basement? You know it’s always locked.”
A lie comes easily. “I wanted to see if Vivian kept anything from my mom’s marriage to Dad, or if she threw it all away when she said she did.”
Lizzie watches me another moment. “Hang on.” She disappears into the kitchen. I hear a thud and a tinkling sound like water, then she reappears holding a set of keys. “She keeps them in the rice. Don’t tell her I told you.”
The keys arch my way. I catch them.
“Thank you, I won’t.”
“There’s nothing down there, anyway. Everything was cleared out to a storage unit years ago.”
Well, that answers the question of my father’s files.
“I’d still like to take a look.”
“Suit yourself.”
The third key I try fits, and the door opens on cool, musty air. Fumbling on the interior wall, I find the light switch and flip it. Track lighting buzzes on, illuminating the long room at the base of the stairwell.
Wood creaks as I make my way down, keys tucked in my robe pocket. When I get to the bottom, I stare, struggling to absorb what I’m seeing.
“That’s weird, huh?” Lizzie whispers behind me.
That is a single chair bolted to the floor in the center of the room.
Cold skates over my neck. “We shouldn’t be here,” I say, turning and clasping Lizzie’s hand. “Let’s go.”
She pulls away, frowning. “No.” She walks closer to the chair, head swiveling left and right as she scans the room. Besides the chair, the space is bare save for a narrow table against a wall with a toolbox sitting on it.
Lizzie reaches the table just as I see the blinking red light poised near the ceiling.
“Lizzie, stop!”
She freezes and looks back. I point to the camera and watch comprehension sweep her expression. But just as swiftly it shifts to determination and she turns away.
“Please, Lizzie, let’s just go.”
She ignores me, opening the toolbox with a flick of her wrist. Something long and shiny emerges in her hand, and she turns to face me.
“You know, I’ve never understood the point of torture.” She holds up the scalpel. “How do you actually know if someone’s telling the truth or simply telling you what you want to hear? People will say anything to stop the pain.”
Ice crawls through my extremities, seeking my heart. “Just put it back,” I tell her with forced calm. “I’m sure there’s an explanation for this. We can ask.”
“Oh, I already know what it’s for. Don’t you?” She gestures to the chair. “It’s been neglected since you came back. Poor guy, he must be lonely.”
Blood rushes in my ears, drowning all thoughts. I watch, mute and rooted to the spot, as Lizzie saunters to the chair and runs the scalpel gently across the back. When her eyes flicker up to mine, there’s nothing in them I recognize of my little sister.
“Uncle Enzo is my teacher. He’s a true master. He always knows just what to do to get them to tell the truth.”
Horror darkens my vision. Swaying on my feet, I rasp, “How long has this been going on?”
“I think what you’re really asking me, Calli, is when was the first time. Right?”
My throat closed, I nod.
“You remember David, don’t you?”
My knees buckle, slamming against the concrete floor. But I don’t feel any pain. Just freezing darkness spilling into my world, leeching light from my heart.
David Willis was my first boyfriend. He might have been my first love, but he died before I could find out. A freak mugging. No one knew why a high school athlete was in that part of downtown in the middle of the night, but the cops dismissed it as gang violence and a stupid kid in the wrong place at the wrong time.
My family’s specialty.
Lizzie was only fourteen at the time.
“Why?” I gasp.
She shrugs, regarding me impassively. “Why not? Mom and Dad didn’t like him. He wasn’t good enough for you. So I called him pretending to be you, crying about how I was lost in a bad part of town.”
Bile rises in my throat. She’s sick. She needs help.
“And Vivian? Did she know?”
“She found out later, but by then she’d already realized what an asset I was.” She grins, but just as swiftly the smile falls. “Imagine how proud Dad is of me. I only wish I had a chance to tell him before he died, but Mom wanted me to wait.”
I make my way to standing, pins and needles searing the soles of my feet. “I know he’s proud of you,” I tell her. “You have a gift.”
She snorts. “Don’t patronize me, sis. I get enough of that from Ellie.”
Oh, Ellie… no wonder you stay away as much as you can.
I take a small step backward. “So what you told me earlier, about writing being your dream, you were lying?”
Her brows lift. “Throwing stones, really? We all play our parts, wear the masks we have to in order to be who we need to be.”
“Why tell me now?”
She shrugs. “I liked how you handled Franco today. Sure, he’s family, but he’s also a snake. Seeing your true colors made me want to take the risk of trusting you. And if you’re serious about following in Mom’s footsteps, someone had to tell you the truth. I’m your baby sister, so I figured it would be best if it came from me.”
I take another step back. “And what is the truth, exactly?”
“The same as it’s always been. We live in service to this family. And if someone betrays us… Well, that’s where I come in.” Twirling the scalpel deftly in her fingers, she walks back to the toolbox and tosses it inside, then closes the lid.
I breathe a silent sigh of relief.
“Now that that’s out of the way, wanna make cookies?” Skipping to my side, she grabs my hand. “Last year I found Grandma’s old recipe for double chocolate buried behind the cookbooks. That was your favorite, wasn’t it?”
&nbs
p; I smile while my heart shatters inside me.
“It was, and I’d love to.”
35
My first instinct when I return to my room an hour later is to call Finn and scream at him to get me out of here. Instead, I stumble to the toilet and throw up the three cookies I managed to swallow past a dry throat. When there’s nothing left, I sink to the cool tiles, curl into a ball, and weep.
I can’t call Finn. Not now, when there’s a risk he’ll be targeted like David was. David. He went out that night because he thought I needed him. All the possibilities of his young life… snuffed out. By Lizzie.
My empty stomach roils, rebelling, trying to eject what I’ve learned. Denial rises—it can’t be true. She was playing with me. There’s an explanation. Maybe she knows I faked my abduction and is getting back at me.
But I know it’s real. I felt her wrongness. My skin crawled with the primal recognition that the person across from me was fundamentally off. It’s the same way I feel when I’m alone with Enzo, and exactly why I’ve avoided him most of my life.
Oh, Lizzie…
My thoughts cycle inward, all my pain focusing into self-loathing. How could I have missed the signs? I was seventeen when she killed for the first time. Between navigating early adulthood, high school, hormones, and increasing displacement in the family, I was, in a word, self-absorbed. When did she start changing? Did she try to reach out to me? Did I brush her off one too many times, causing her to seek support elsewhere?
No.
No.
This isn’t my fault. As far as my own young mind could ascertain, Lizzie was normal. Charming and precocious. She didn’t hurt animals—that I know of. Sure, she was sometimes shockingly blunt in her opinions and hurtful in her lack of empathy. There were more than a few times Ellie or I were reduced to tears by her assessment of our hair or fumbling attempts at makeup. But that’s sisters, right?
No.
That whispered voice builds, gaining power. No. Lizzie needs help. A place where she’ll be given the professional attention she needs. Somewhere she’ll be safe—and somewhere the world at large will be kept safe from her.
The Golden Hour Page 15
