Twisted Little Games

by Dee Palmer

  “People with no family and nowhere to go you mean?”

  “Please, she tried to steal my husband if you think for one moment—”

  “She didn’t need to steal him, Mother. You gave him away.”

  “Do you want me to continue, Atticus? Because it doesn’t change anything so I would much rather—”

  “Oh forgive me for stating the ugly truth, Mother. Please, do continue.” His lips flatten as a nasty bite of his jaw accompanies his accusatory tone.

  “She returned when Tia was three. I don’t know where she had been. Honestly, I didn’t care, and she wasn’t forthcoming. She was clearly destitute and desperate to come knocking on my door. She was extremely grateful for my generosity, assured me that she only wanted a home and an honest job. I warned her that she and her bastard had no legal claim.” Atticus recoils as I do at his mother’s venomous insult. “I informed her that there was a covenant protecting the Kraus family fortune, and not a single penny could be entailed away to any illegitimate offspring.”

  “That’s not true though.”

  “Oh no! Did I tell a lie to protect what’s mine?” She holds her fingers to her mouth in mock horror, and Atticus looks unamused, his face darkens and she rushes to continue. “After a year, she came to me and she asked about you. Whether I would ever introduce you as Tia’s half-brother. I have to tell you, my blood ran cold that day.”

  “That would presuppose you had a warm heart to begin with, and we both know that’s not true.”

  “My heart beats for you, darling. Everything I do is for you.”

  “Everything you do is for you, Mother. Please let’s not confuse this confession with anything other than me finally learning the truth. A mother’s love comes in more forms than keeping a healthy bank balance. It’s the one thing Tia and I have in common: Neither of us knows what it’s like to have a mother who makes us feel loved and only wants us to be happy and safe.” He visibly shakes off the softness in his tone with a sharp jerk of his head and snatches a tumbler of clear liquid from his desk. His mother hesitates for a moment until he replaces the glass before she speaks again. I wonder if she was expecting the glass to become a missile too. Anger, hurt and rage are palpable, and since I can feel it through the camera lens, Mrs Kraus must feel like a sitting duck.

  “I told Margaret you weren’t Tia’s half brother; you didn’t share the same father. You were born in wedlock, however, and the birth certificate has Ole Kraus as your father. You were the indisputable heir.” She cups the side of her mouth conspiratorially and whispers loud enough to be heard just as clearly as in her normal voice. “Atticus, I told another lie since you seem to be keeping score. I told her that Tia would never have a claim to any part of the Kraus fortune because she was illegitimate.” She drops her hand and straightens her back. Atticus narrows his eyes, and she waves off his intense glare. “I promised Margaret that I would personally see the family right if she kept her mouth shut. She did, until the day she died. I actually found that surprising. She was strangely loyal, more so to me, I believe, than her own daughter. I never could fathom that.” She sniffs, her tone amused and astonished at the same time.

  “Maybe she thought you would keep your word.” Atticus bites out each word through a tight, pulsing jaw.

  “My word?”

  “And see the family right. Perhaps she thought Tia would get her inheritance,” Atticus states flatly at the picture of utter confusion on his mothers face.

  “I did see her right. They never starved, they had a roof over her heads, and she had a job until she died, even when Tia went to jail—” His bitter laugh interrupts.

  “Yes, yes, you’re quite the saint, Mother.” His lips curl with distaste, and he sinks slowly into his high backed chair.

  “And my real father?”

  “Oh Atticus—”

  “Real fucking father!” he booms, terror flashes across her face, and she jumps a good few inches in her chair.

  “He was a family friend, a doctor. I’ve known him all my life. It was just one night, like I said, but even so, I didn’t see him at all after you were born. I avoided gatherings where he and his wife might be in attendance. I never told him about you. They didn’t have children, and I was worried he would try and claim you.”

  “A name?”

  “Ivan Eriksson,” she mutters, dropping her head and clasping her hands together. Atticus scrawls the name on the corner of the notepad on his desk.

  He looks to be counting in his head or processing some complicated math problem, and it takes several minutes before he speaks again. “So Tia is the heiress to the Kraus ‘fortune’; she’s the heiress of Tartarus Hall?” He air quotes around the key word in his statement.

  “Yes, she’s your father’s bastard.”

  “Oh let’s not start with the name calling, shall we, Mother, because I think we both know who the devious, back stabbing slut is in this fucked up mess.” His litany of insults causes her to reel back and her mouth to gape in outrage.

  “Atticus, how dare you… Everything I’ve done was for you!” she pleads. “I made a mistake, but I’ve spent everyday trying to secure your legacy.” She reaches across the desk to take one of his clenched fists but wisely pulls back before making contact.

  “If that was the case, Mother, you wouldn’t have gambled with the company’s bottom line, and you wouldn’t have partnered an illegal deal with the Russians that will very likely destroy the company and kill both of us in the process.” He lets out an incredulous laugh, flat and humourless. “If I can’t find the missing funds, thanks to you, the only thing we have left of value is Tartarus Hall, and now you’re telling me it isn’t even ours.”

  “We have the money that bitch stole. It will be enough to get them off our backs and give you time to restore the company,” she snaps.

  “If she took it.”

  “If she didn’t, where is it?”

  “I don’t fucking know, Mother.” He roars and she freezes. Long seconds pass before she whispers.

  “You know what they’ll do to us if we—” Fear pinches each word, making them tremble on her tongue.

  “I’m aware of the shit-storm you’ve landed this company in, yes.”

  “We’ll be ruined, Atticus. If she has anything to do with it, you must find out.” She clasps her hands together in proper prayer this time and then begins to wring them anxiously. “I should’ve gotten rid of the little whore when I had the chance.” She barely finishes her malicious musing when Atticus leaps from his seat and, in a series of terrifyingly agile movements, has lifted his mother and hauled her up against the far wall. She is poised on the tip of her fine Italian shoes and is clasping her hands at Atticus’s wrist trying to ease the chokehold he has around her neck.

  “Say that again. Just whisper it, Mother, and I’ll continue to squeeze. You’re not worthy to utter her name. The lies you fed me, I will never forgive, but if you harm her now, I. Will. End. You.”

  “Atticus, I was just trying to protect you and the family fortune. Your grandfather was going to give it all away. If I hadn’t found that Will—” Her voice becomes faint, her words hanging in the air as she pleads for her life, her fingers frantically trying to pick apart his hold.

  “Just be thankful I have every intention of winning her back.” He releases his grip, and she has to steady herself on the wall to prevent falling to the floor. She sucks in some deep breaths and rubs at the mark already formed around her neck.

  “And if she has the money, if she really knows what we’ve done?”

  “What you’ve done, Mother.”

  She manages to straighten herself to her full height, visibly regaining her strength and resembling her son in every way that is chilling, calculating and cruel.

  “It was your signature on your grandfather’s Will, Atticus, I’m pretty sure she will see it as the same thing, darling.”

  “I fucking hope not, or I’m just going to have to do the one thing I’ve never done before.
”

  “What?” Her mouth twists with a knowing smile, which is at odds with the question.

  “Pray Mother. I’m going to have to pray she knows nothing about any of this.”

  “How could she know? Your grandfather may have hated me, but even he wouldn’t have told her; he loved you above anyone. And I made damn sure nothing was in the copy of his Will you signed.” She is once more the confident, aloof, and arrogant woman who walked in a short while ago. Atticus narrows his eyes at her, and I can see undiluted hatred pouring off him only to bounce off of her, unaffected. She waves her hand dismissively and turns to leave.

  “You underestimate a broken woman, Mother. She’s not the same girl, not by any stretch, and she’s after something from us.”

  “She gets nothing, understand? You want to win her back, fine, but if you don’t—”

  “I will do whatever needs to be done.” He cuts her off dead, his back to the camera, and even from across the room, she visibly shivers from the glare he must be fixing on her. He turns back and I freeze the image on my screen. Tia had said that woman was pure evil, but at this moment in time, I know which one of the two I happen to fear.

  Jesus fucking Christ! What the hell has she got herself into?

  I slam the laptop shut, fury and fear racing through my veins like a wildfire. I have to check myself; she betrayed me, lied to me this whole damn time. I have to ask myself, yet again, what the hell do I care if she’s neck deep in the shit. I pinch my eyelids shut tight to try and clear my thoughts, and all I can see is the hollow reflection in Atticus’s eyes. His expression was carved with a darkness I don’t want to comprehend.

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen such soulless, vacant eyes.

  I stomp my way downstairs to the kitchen and grab a fresh bottle of Jack off the shelf. Forgoing the crystal tumbler, I crack the cap and take a long, hard slug of the fiery amber liquid. It reignites the burn in my throat from not so long ago and scours a well-worn path inside until it bottoms out and swirls restlessly in the pit of my stomach.

  I switch on the TV, and it flashes to instant life with noise from the music channel, blaring loud, colourful and diverting. Still, I can’t bring myself to drop into my favourite chair and get all numb and distracted.

  This is so fucked up.

  Letting my head roll heavily from side to side, I feel the creak of weary bones and exhaustion pop along the top of my spine. My eyes squeeze closed, and I slowly drag my fingertips through my long hair, pulling it clean away from my face. I need this dark cloud to lift and ease this unbearable tension in my head. I need a clear head if I’m ever going to think this through. I need answers, and I need to know Tia’s truth.

  Was any of it ever real?

  So many damn questions, so many possible lies, and when I finally open my eyes, I can clearly see that the only reason I’m dick deep in this mess is because of one person and only one person: my sister.

  As much as I try to focus on Tia’s betrayal, doubt churns like acid inside my veins, corroding the instant shield I put up the moment Tia chose to lie to me.

  No, she didn’t lie; she just wouldn’t give up Ghost.

  I stride from the living room, fury weighing down my footsteps as I pound up the stairs and once more barge into Tia’s room. There has to be something in here, some information that will stop me from having to do the unthinkable.

  I begin to tear her room apart. I start searching for the smallest scrap of information about Tia’s relationship with my sister.

  There’s nothing, just that damn bus ticket with my address in her handwriting. It has more identifying markers than a damn fingerprint, and I can’t get rid of the unnerving feeling that my sister did that on purpose.

  Ghost doesn’t make mistakes.

  If Ghost does anything, someone, somewhere is going to suffer, but there’s no doubt every single decision and permutation has already played out a million times in her crazy psychotic head. Everything is done for a reason.

  If Ghost wants to end up in a minimum security prison for a minor crime it’s because she staged a perfect alibi to mask the real crime. It was never her intention to get sent down for life for the murder of our parents. She simply needed somewhere safe to stay for a while and to give her time to work out how to hide from me when she was released.

  If Tia thinks she can trust her, she’s toying with the devil and the deep blue sea.

  “Logan is it true?” My sister’s voice makes the hairs on my neck twitch uncomfortably, and I hate the way my stomach drops when she’s near.

  “Is what true, Lilith?” I sigh heavily and pull myself from my bed to stand. I move to close the distance and make it impossible for her to enter my room. It wasn’t always like this. Unfortunately, this isn’t some playful sibling rivalry and/or a normal brother-sister growing pains type of deal.

  I pull the door half shut and block the remaining space with my fully-grown body. My sister stands on the threshold with her bony hip jutting forward and angry fists clenched to her hips. Her face is impassive, but her eyes lose their permanent vacant expression and flash with a fiery, demonic rage.

  I’m secretly hoping this is a phase of puberty gone awry or a shit tonne of hormones that are making her this volatile, this detached from everything, everything that is, except me.

  She was always my shadow growing up, there’s just eleven months between us, and for most of my life, it felt like I had a twin.

  Since she hit her teens, however, her mere presence feels more like an oppressive cloud slowly suffocating and choking the air around me, draining the very joy of being alive.

  Her attention and focus on me are so far removed from a little big brother idolisation I’m worried enough to reach out for some help. I’ve read up on this level of obsession, and I’m struggling to see a way through without some intervention, therapy, and some serious medicating. What Lilith feels for me veered from the path of what’s considered normal a good few months back when she slipped into my shower and tried to wash me. How I didn’t kill us both trying to get out of that damn room so quick, all wet and covered in suds, I don’t know. I left her in shocked surprise, flat against the back of the shower as I slammed the glass shower door separating us. It cracked in a spider pattern across the pane with the impact and force but didn’t shatter. The noise alone was enough to cover her stifled scream. I refused to look at her again, and dinner with our parents that night was excruciating. Perhaps it would’ve been better had my parents heard. I could’ve told them everything then, before it was too late.

  That night, she hovered outside my room, I could hear her feet shuffling along the hardwood landing, her footsteps muffled with thick socks, but even with no noise, I still felt her presence. It was a good hour before she spoke and then she attempted to brush off the shower incident as a practical joke. The words fell uncomfortably silent between her and my locked bedroom door.

  She backed off after that, and I gave it no more thought until last week when she freaked me the fuck out, enough that I finally spoke to our parents.

  It felt like a betrayal at first. We had always been so close, and for a good part of my life, she’s been the best sister and my best friend even. However, something changed, and whatever that is, it’s escalating. I’d have a better time understanding this psychotic personality shift if she was jacked up on crack or hanging with the wrong crowd. Since she only ever leaves the house for school and never mentions friends, I’m sadly confident that isn’t the case. It’s like a switch flipped inside her, and overnight, she went from cute baby sis to me waking up in a final scene in a horror movie, with Lilith staring at me like a fucking spectre at the end of my bed.

  She told me she’d been there all night, that she’d always be there for me.

  Luckily, my parents noticed. They wanted her to see a specialist and wanted me to take up the boarding option when I returned to school the following week. I was a day pupil because the school was close to home, and until their suggestion
, it had never crossed my mind. I jumped at the offer.

  “You’re leaving me?” The inflection is there so I know it’s a question, only she makes it sound like a threat.

  “I’m not leaving Lilith, I’m just going back to school.” I search her face for any clue to what is actually going on inside her head. Her eyes give nothing away, and her face could be carved from granite it’s so devoid of emotion. I try to offer a placatory smile and explain a feasible alternative to the real reason I need to stay away. “I’m just staying over. It’s my final year, so it makes sense. I have a lot of work to do, and I can focus better at school.”

  “Without me, when I’m not around you mean?” She tilts her head to one side slowly, her eyes never leaving mine, and I know she can already see the lie.

  “No…well, yes.” I correct myself, and she seems pleased that I’ve stopped pretending.

  “This is their idea isn’t it?” Her tone freezes the blood in my veins, and I can feel the ice crackle and spread through my body. My heart stops. I step forward and grab her shoulders, my fingertips pressing hard to get some reaction. An ouch or fuck-off would be preferable to the smile that creeps across her lips.

  “Lilith you need to get help…this…this isn’t normal.” I keep my voice low and stern.

  “It’s completely normal.” She pulls out of my hold and rushes forward, catching me by surprise, and wrapping her arms around my waist. Her hands dive down the back of my sweatpants. I shove her hard, and she falls back, laughing maniacally and steadies herself against the wall.