Cellar Door (23 page)

His Independence

“Yes ma’am,” I smile pleasantly at the receptionist as I hand her my driver’s license. Her face remains stoic, giving nothing away. Her sour demeanor isn’t enough to ruin my mood—not today. I’m going to thoroughly enjoy rubbing Lance’s face in my success.

After she goes through the motions of checking me in, I follow a guard to the room that’s been set aside for today’s visit. Once again, I have paid to have the privacy I need because there are things I need to say to this man who was once a god to me. I can tell by his smug expression that he knows I’ve been busy since our last visit.

He wastes no time starting in on me, his tone one of superiority, but this time I’m meeting it head on.

“I see you’ve been a very busy
boy
. Obviously, your pathetic attempts to take up where I left off have been somewhat successful.”

His chains clank as he lifts his hands and claps ever so slowly.
Asshole.

“Somewhat successful? I don’t think so, Lance. What I
do
think is…I’m as good as you ever were. Even. Better.”

“No, I’m afraid that’s where you’re mistaken. I’m far more talented, gifted even, than you will ever be. I’m an FBI-certified serial killer. Med students come from miles around to interview me because they want the real thing. There are criteria that must be met before the feds bestow such a title. And you, my delusional friend, are simply out of your league. It really is pathetic to watch you try to be…me.” He continues with a careless shrug, “Here, I’ll give you some advice: get a life and stop coveting mine.”

“Stop it—you stop it right now!” Spittle flies from my mouth as I rage at my fallen idol. I can’t seem to stop the venom that’s rushing from my depths. “I’m just as good as you—in fact, I’m taking everything you did to another level. By the time I’m done, the world will forget all about you!” I can feel my face getting red and my voice sounds high-pitched, almost girlish, even to my own ears. The room is closing in on me. I can barely breathe. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.

“Look at you,” he retorts in a scathing voice as he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re no more than a juvenile throwing a fit because deep down inside you know you will
never
measure up.

“You fucked up when you decided to go solo. But don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me; I’m going to enjoy watching you crash and burn. Now be a good boy and get the fuck out of here. I’ve got no use for you. Guard! Get this piece of shit out of my sight.”

Madonna

“I’ll be fine, Liam, please stop worrying.”

We’re on our way to visit his brother and Liam’s been lecturing me for close to an hour. We’re stopped at a red light. When he turns and looks at me, his eyes cut through me and I feel the reprimand without him uttering a word.

“No. You won’t be alright. Trust me, you’ll never be the same.”

His calm tone and grim expression are enough to let me know that being face to face with his sociopath of a brother is going to mark me for life. I may be familiar with the pain of growing up alone but after today’s encounter, the reality of evil will be with me for the rest of my life.

“Is that what happened to you when you learned your twin was a murderer? Did it change you, Liam?”

“Oh, my life changed, alright. I became the object of my brother’s contempt, little more than a reminder that our equally twisted mother threw him away like he was garbage.”

“Children are given up for adoption all the time but they don’t turn into serial killers because of it.” Even though I’m making more of a statement than asking a question, it throws me off when he ignores what I’ve said and elaborates on his warning.

“He’ll use you to get to me. He enjoys toying with people.” He takes a moment to look over at me, taking his eyes from the road for an instant in an effort to
make
me understand just how serious of an issue this is. I know he isn’t afraid of his brother but he damn sure doesn’t trust him. Though he may not fear him, he is wary of him.

“You don’t put anything past him, do you?”

“Exactly! The man is a walking posterchild for sociopaths—the definition personified.”

“So your mother suffered from mental illness too. Does it worry you that you share the same DNA as a sociopath?” I almost wish I could reach out and take back the words that escaped my lips before I had time to think about how negative they might sound. Surprisingly, he doesn’t sound offended when he answers me, although he does carefully consider his answer before responding.

“I suppose in my own way I’m crazy, but aren’t we all in one way or another? But no, I’m not particularly concerned. Statistically speaking, half of all sociopaths usually have symptoms by age fourteen and seventy-five percent exhibit symptoms by age twenty-four. I’m happy to inform you that I did not inherit the sociopathic gene my mother passed on to my brother.” He taps his fingertip along his upper lip as we pull up to yet another red light before muttering, “My recent behavior aside, of course.”

“You took me to save me from a horrible death. I think he’s demonstrated that you had every reason to be concerned. A month ago, I wouldn’t have believed it if someone told me I’d feel this way, but…you did what you had to do.”

“And I won’t lie, I fucking enjoyed every minute of it,” he says as he pulls away from the intersection and shoots me a sidelong glance. “Don’t be naïve, Madonna. If you run from me, I’ll hunt you down like an animal. The hunt gets me hard. Keeping you in my grip accelerates the thrill. And taking you, over and over? Well,” he whispers as he runs his tongue along his bottom lip, “that’s just delicious icing on the cake.”

I squeeze my legs together, instinctively trying to find the friction that will soothe the ache his words have caused. His sinister chuckle makes clear that he not only saw it, but that he’s pleased by my predicament. We both know his brand of crazy pulls me in deeper, day after day. Whether I like it or not, the things he does to me arouse me beyond anything I’ve ever known.

I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever be
normal
again. I walked around for years blissfully unaware that I was prey. The predator in Liam immediately picked up on my scent and pursued me. Stalked me. Protected me.

With the hands of a skilled master, he has brought the darkness within me out into the light. And all because he wanted to play.

Liam

My gut clenches as we approach the Our Lady of Tranquility hospital entrance. I pull into a parking space near the lobby doors and have to resist the urge to back up and take Madonna home.

The need to remind her of just how much danger she’s in overrides the protector in me. I grab her by the back of her neck and pull her in so closely that we’re nose-to-nose. “You have no idea how much I detest doing this. The thought of anyone looking at you the way he’s going to look at you, the way he’ll want you, desire you…it unleashes a rage in me I’ve never known.

“I can’t stand the thought of another man touching you, even if it is only in his imagination. The only reason I’m doing this is because I know once you look evil in the eye, when you see it in living, breathing form, you’ll be more cautious, and you’ll be a better writer for it. I’m your biggest fan, Madonna. I want to see you succeed.”

I don’t give her a chance to answer, I just pull her close and lay siege to her mouth—taking her in the only way I can right now. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of this woman. I pull away from her reluctantly and make sure she’s giving me her full attention. “The man you’re getting ready to meet is evil. He has no remorse about anything he’s ever done, anyone he’s ever killed. And if he’s ever set free, he
will
kill again. One more thing: don’t ever forget, you were his next target. If he’d had his way, you wouldn’t be alive today to visit him or anyone else.”

“I know. I can handle this.”

We exit the car and head toward the entrance. Some things can’t be explained by words. Only when evil touches our life and changes it forever, do we know the true depths of its depravity.

We check in at the front desk and follow the guard down the hallway and enter the room I’ve become so familiar with over the last three years. Madonna sits down at the small table. I stand behind her and rest my hands on her shoulders, but turn abruptly to face the guard when he grumbles, “This’ll be the last time you meet in private, bein’ as how his visitor didn’t leave me no money this mornin’.”

“What visitor?”

“’Bout an hour ago. That shaggy-lookin’ boy in the gray hoodie ain’t footin’ the bill for your brother no more. It costs to have privacy; he don’t pay, then The Riddler here,” he drawls sarcastically, “don’t get no special privileges. Guess he won’t be payin’ for that high falutin’ lawyer of his no more either.”

I can see the fear in Madonna’s face as soon as he says ‘grey hoodie’. She rises from the chair and steps away from the table, but waits to speak until the guard leaves to get Lance.

“Oh, my God, Liam -- He was
here
! We could have run into him on the way in.”

“Don’t get upset, my brother will only feed off of your fear. We’ll talk about it later,” I finish quickly as the sound of the heavy metal door opening announces my brother’s arrival. Madonna looks at me for reassurance so I meet her gaze with a small, reassuring nod. But I know nothing can prepare her for this encounter with Lance.