by M. S. Parker
Table of Contents
Title Page
Book Description
Complete Series
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue: Six Weeks Later
Other book series from M. S. Parker
Acknowledgement
About The Author
Twisted Affair
Vol. 5
By M.S. Parker
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 Belmonte Publishing LLC
Published by Belmonte Publishing LLC.
Book Description
I didn't want to believe it when my PI told me that everything I'd thought I'd known about my wife and my lover was a lie. But he'd had proof. Now I needed to decide what I was going to do with the knowledge I had.
When former playboy Blayne Westmore discovers the horrific secret in Livie Dusek's past, he knows that he has a choice to make. No matter what he does, however, he knows that someone is going to get hurt.
Livie thought walking away from her husband was the hardest thing she ever had to do. What she doesn't know is that he now holds information that is going to change everything.
The final installment of M.S. Parker's Twisted Affair series is here. See how the roller coaster ends.
Complete Series
Amazon Links:
Twisted Affair Vol. 1
Twisted Affair Vol. 2
Twisted Affair Vol. 3
Twisted Affair Vol. 4
Twisted Affair Vol. 5
Chapter 1
Blayne
I had to be hearing things. It was the only plausible explanation for the insane statement Max had just made.
“There was only one survivor that night. Katka Dusek died with her parents.”
The words echoed in my mind as I stared at the newspaper article on the desk in front of me. I'd hired the private investigator to find the Dusek twins after they'd both left me, each one saying they wanted me to be happy with the other one. My wife, Livie. My lover, Katka.
Only now, the PI was telling me that Katka was…dead. He was trying to convince me she’d been dead for sixteen years.
It wasn't possible. I could see her in my mind's eye. Tall, slender, model-gorgeous. Curls the color of caramel. Dark green eyes full of love. I could feel her body, her skin against my palms, the weight of her breasts in my hands. She was real. How could he say she was dead?
“Mr. Westmore,” Max said my name for the third time. “I know this must be a shock for you.”
I laughed, a short bark of air that held no humor and slumped back in my seat. “A shock? That's putting it mildly.” I ran my hand through my hair. “I married Livie Dusek. She told me she had an identical twin sister named Katka. That their parents were murdered when the girls were seven. They were raised in an orphanage in the Czech Republic before moving here three years ago.” I listed the facts I knew as if they alone would convince Max of what I was talking about.
Max put a second piece of paper next to the copy of the newspaper article. “Here's a translation of the article.” He pointed to a sentence he'd circled. “Read it for yourself.”
I shook my head, not wanting to read it. “How do I know it's a true translation?” An idea popped into my head and I grabbed onto it, desperate for anything that could explain the craziness unfolding before me. “In fact, how do I know that my dad didn't put you up to this? That the two of you aren't just making this whole thing up to fuck with me?”
In his line of work, Max was used to people yelling at him so my little accusation didn't even phase him. “Feel free to take the article to a translator of your own choosing.” He held out a manila envelope. “But you should probably look at these first.”
I took the envelope, but didn't open it yet. I had a bad feeling that whatever was in here would change everything. For a moment, I considered putting it down and walk out, forget about this entire situation and try to find Katka and Livie myself. This time I wouldn’t care whether or not my father found out that my wife had left me.
But...I blew out a breath, trying to think rationally, calmly. Even though I'd accused Max of working against me, my gut said I needed to hear him out, that there was something bigger going on than what I'd originally thought.
He waited silently as I opened the envelope and pulled out a stack of pictures. The first was of the outside of the apartment where the girls had lived. Then, the interior through a window. Next, was one of Katka coming out of the apartment with a big bag.
I might not be able tell them apart when they were kids, but I knew it was Katka here. Her hair was down. Livie never wore her hair down. I'd learned that after the whole mistaken identity thing.
The next picture was one of Livie coming out of the apartment with a suitcase. Her hair was back in a ponytail.
“Look at the time stamp.”
I glanced at the bottom right corner of the pictures. Livie's had been taken about an hour before Katka's.
“Now look at what they're wearing.”
I hadn't even realized that I hadn't looked at their clothes until he told me to. I'd been focusing on their faces, their hair. Now I saw that they were both wearing jeans and a light gray jacket.
“They have the same jacket,” I said. “Doesn't mean anything.”
“Keep going.” Max almost sounded sympathetic.
I scowled and went through the next couple pictures where the girls got into cabs and drove away from the apartment. Then the setting changed. It was a hotel and a series of shots through a window. The gap in the curtains wasn't big, but it was enough to get a few clear shots of Katka in her underwear.
“Where is she?” I asked, annoyed that this wasn’t the first thing out of his mouth. “You said you hadn't found either of them, but you know where Katka is.”
“I said you needed to know what I found,” he corrected. “I never said I didn't find anyone.” He leaned forward, folding his large hands on the desk. “And that's not Katka. It's Livie.”
I put the picture on the desk and tapped the picture that clearly showed a tattoo I knew intimately. “Livie doesn't have any tattoos. Katka got that one. It's their initials. Trust me. I've seen it up close and personal.”
“She's registered under Livie Dusek,” he said.
“So they're staying together,” I countered stubbornly. “They're twins.”
“Only one woman is in that room, Mr. Westmore.” Max spoke in a firm, no-nonsense tone, as if that would get through to me. “I did my job. Talked to people at the hotel, at the apartment building, at the places where you said Livie and Katka both worked. No one has ever seen them together. Ever.”
I opened my mouth, then snapped it shut again. I'd never seen them together either. Of course, there were any number of good reasons for that.
“There aren't any pictures of the two of them as adults.” Max gestured towards the grainy newspaper photo. “That's the last picture I've been able to find of the twins together. And there's no record of a Katka Dusek or Duseková in any orphanage in the Czech Republic. Or any paper trail of any kind for her. Only for Livie Duseková.”
“They have passports. Applications for green cards.”
<
br /> He shook his head. “There aren't any for Katka Dusek.” He pulled out another piece of paper. “But I do have this. And I don't think you'll need a translation to know what it is.”
I picked it up in numb fingers. He was right. I didn't need to read it to know that I was holding a death certificate. And the name on it was clear. Katka Duseková.
“Here's the name of the hotel.” Max scribbled something down on a piece of paper. “And I can keep investigating if you'd like, figure out why she's pretending to be her sister.”
I shook my head. “No, that's fine. I'll take it from here.” I stood. “Send me your bill.”
I was still in a daze as I walked out of the PI's office. Why would Livie pretend to be her dead sister and sleep with me? Was the whole closed-off, no-sex thing just an act? But why? It didn't make sense. She didn't have anything to gain from it. And Katka...my Kat.
My heart twisted painfully.
She was real. She had to be.
A theory was slowly forming in the back of my mind and it would explain everything, but I wasn't sure I wanted to be right. I didn't know enough about it though to know for sure. I did, however, have someone I could ask.
Chapter 2
Blayne
Back in the car, I quickly texted Samuel that I needed the rest of the day off and then drove several blocks to Dr. Fraser's office. With my mother's fondness for anti-anxiety drugs, it was beneficial to have a psychiatrist on the family payroll. Growing up, we'd all been told that if we ever felt the need for therapy, Dr. Fraser was our only option. I'd only gone twice, forced there after an incident my freshman year that had resulted in expulsion from one of the city's most prestigious private schools. She wasn't my favorite person in the world, but as far as shrinks went, she knew her shit.
As always, when the name Westmore was given, other appointments were pushed back and I was sent right in.
“It's not about me,” I said as I sat down.
Dr. Fraser nodded, not put off by my abrupt statement or lack of greeting. She didn't look much different than she had the last time I'd seen her. A little more gray in her dark hair and a few more wrinkles around her eyes, but that was about it.
“There's this girl – woman, actually – and when she was a kid, she saw her parents and sister murdered.”
Dr. Fraser could've taught Max a thing or two about keeping a neutral expression, and that was saying something.
I kept going. “Now, she's an adult, but she's pretending to be her dead sister. She doesn't have anything to gain from it and it seems like it's been going on for years.” I hesitated to share my opinion, but then thought of Livie and Katka. I had to know if I could help them. Her. Dammit. “Could she have a split personality?”
Dr. Fraser was silent for a moment, her dark eyes studying me. “You understand, I can't make a specific diagnosis without actually examining the patient, and even then, Dissociative Identity Disorder – multiple personalities, as it's commonly known – is very difficult to diagnose. There are many in my field who doubt they even exist.”
“What about you?” I interrupted. “Do you think it's possible?”
She pursed her lips. “I believe that when someone, particularly a child, goes through a traumatic event, the mind has ways of protecting itself. Sometimes, especially in the highly intelligent, that protection manifests itself by creating a different persona who is able to deal with the event.”
“So a seven year-old seeing her parents and her identical twin murdered could cause her to create her sister as a separate personality to deal with what she saw.”
Dr. Fraser nodded. “That's a simplistic way of putting it, but yes. Especially since you're talking about an identical twin. Every time she looked in the mirror, she'd be seeing her sister. It's quite plausible that, to deal with the loss of both of her parents and her sister, she had to tell herself that her sister wasn't dead.”
I couldn't feel anything. No pain. Nothing. My chest felt like an empty cavity, like someone had pulled my heart out and left me with nothing. My Kat was dead.
No, I realized suddenly. Not my Kat. Seven year-old Katka Duseková was dead. I'd never known her. My Kat was alive. Sort of.
“So what ends up happening to people with multiple personalities?” I asked. “I mean, is one of the personalities more real than the other?”
“A situation such as the one you're proposing makes it a bit trickier,” the doctor admitted. “Most of the time, the central personality is clear and the others are figments of his or her imagination, coming out only when something triggers the need. While they have fully formed identities, they're not real. Most of the time, they don't even age. A five year-old personality is always five years-old. In this case, however, the woman you're talking about became her sister. She would've taken on those particular personality traits. As she grew older, to maintain the illusion that her sister was still alive, the alternate personality would've aged as well. Because there's no real way of knowing who that child would've become, the sister would've become more and more like the person the core personality needed her to be.”
“Is there a treatment?” I wasn't sure why I asked. It wasn't like anything could resurrect a dead seven year-old and turn her into the woman I'd fallen in love with.
“Again,” Dr. Fraser said. “There are different schools of thought on the subject.”
“Don't you people agree on anything?” I muttered.
She chuckled, a brief, dry laugh. “Not often,” she admitted. “The problem with this disorder is that there's no physical proof it even exists and, therefore, no physical proof that it's cured. Most mainstream psychologists and psychiatrists go with one of three types of treatment. Some believe that the best course of action is to destroy the other personalities. Force the original to mentally kill the other.”
I flinched at the suggestion, unable to imagine Livie ever doing something like that, even in her mind. Worse was thinking about how horrible it would be to have Katka killed...I shook my head. One thing at a time.
Dr. Fraser continued, “Others take an integration approach, where the main personality is taken through the traumatic events of their life, bringing out each personality so that all of them can come to grips with what happened and the alternates realize they're no longer needed.”
My chest tightened. Integration sounded like a much more pleasant option, but either way, it would be my Kat who'd be lost. “You said there were three main options.”
“The simplest one is to just live with it.” The doctor's voice was flat, giving me no indication as to her thoughts on the matter. “In pretty much all cases, the host personality doesn't know about the alternates. Sometimes the alternates know about each other and about the host. To live with it, they all have to be aware of the others so that they can put precautions into place, have someone help them make sure the personalities don't do anything reckless.”
“So the personalities can do things that the host might not want to do.” I felt sick as I thought about what I'd done. I'd essentially slept with Livie without her consent.
Dr. Fraser nodded. “But unless the personalities are vastly different from the host – like someone with a personality of the opposite sex or a very different age – there's no way for someone to know that the person they're with isn't the true personality.”
That didn't make me feel any better.
“Blayne.” She leaned forward slightly. “I'm not going to ask for names, but I am going to assume that this isn't some hypothetical situation you dreamed up for no reason. My advice, get this young lady professional help. No matter what course of treatment she decides on, she needs to know what's happening. The longer it goes on unchecked, the higher the chance of someone getting hurt.”
Someone already had, but I wasn't going to tell Dr. Fraser that. Instead, I stood. “Thanks. I appreciate all of the help.”
I didn't wait for a response, but simply turned and walked out. She was right and I didn't want to accept it. If I
did, it meant I had to find Livie and tell her the truth. Whatever chance I had of making things right with her would be lost. And no matter what choice Livie made, Katka would be lost to me forever.
The only two women I'd ever truly cared about were the same woman, and saving them...saving her meant breaking her.
Chapter 3
Katka
A week ago, I cut out my heart and stomped on it. Anyone who thought I was exaggerating what this felt like had clearly never been in love. I'd moved out of the apartment, not wanting either her or Blayne to come see me. I didn't want to risk a face-to-face meeting with either of them yet. I knew it would take Blayne a while to accept my decision. I just hoped he'd have the sense to do it soon and turn to Livie before it was too late.
My sister wasn't making things any easier on me. I'd tried calling her a couple times, but it just went to voicemail. Texts went unanswered. I didn't want to tell her why Blayne was certainly in a bad mood, but I knew that if she didn't talk to me soon, I might have to confess. If he hadn't done it already.
That was what I'd been worrying about the past couple days. Without anywhere to go or anyone else to talk to, I'd spent the entire week in my hotel room, alternating between staring at the ceiling and staring at the television, neither of which kept my brain from running and re-running everything. At first, it had been the greatest hits. All the times Blayne and I had spent together, every touch, every kiss. Then it had been most feared scenarios, the most recent of which had been Blayne being angry enough at me for my leaving that he decided to confess everything, including how the two of us had first gotten together, making Livie furious at us both.
I'd seen it play out a thousand times. I imagined him telling Livie how I'd pretended to be her to deceive and seduce him. How we'd lied to her, maybe even adding in that he'd wanted to tell her the truth, but I'd said no. That last bit wasn't entirely true, but he could sell it. And if Livie believed him, she might see him as the victim in all of this. In a way, I supposed he was, but I'd done what I'd done out of love for my sister. I never meant for anyone to get hurt.
