Dark Illusion: A Psychological Thriller Novel (23 page)

T
wo hours
later, Sharon was still sitting on her couch, surrounded by small takeout
cartons filled with fragrant oriental delicacies. She’d finished four eggrolls
within the first five minutes and consumed all the dumplings in the wonton soup
(she never bothered to drink the broth). Now she’d gotten to the real deal:
spicy beef with broccoli; Kung
Pao
chicken; fried
rice with sautéed vegetables; and, of course, roasted duck in garlic
sauce, her absolute favorite.

Normally she wouldn’t have
ordered all of her favorite dishes at once, but she figured that sometimes you
just have to give yourself a break and say
to hell with it
. After
everything she’d been through, she deserved a treat. Besides, if there was
anything she loved more than Chinese takeout food, it was Chinese takeout
leftovers.

The microwave is just the most
ingenious invention.

After devouring the contents of
the cartons she had ordered, Sharon felt the jet lag running its course. She had
just gotten back from twenty-four hours of travel and had a long day ahead of
her tomorrow. The hands on her watch pointed out that it was after midnight.

Yet she could not fall asleep.

The television channels aired
reruns of old sitcoms – Sharon’s favorite kind – but she couldn’t focus. She
closed her eyes and tried to relax, listening to the comforting sound of
familiar jokes. Suddenly, her cell phone vibrated. Sharon was startled. At this
hour, it couldn’t be good news.

You can meet the
love of your life this week!

Just reply with a
text

and we will send
you the number of your soul mate.

So what are you
waiting for? Press Send right now!

Sharon despised those types of
messages. She didn’t understand why it was other people’s business that she was
still single. Wasn’t the disappointed look in her mother’s eyes enough?

At least nobody died
, she
tried to cheer herself up.

Sharon kept staring at the
message on the screen.

So what
are you
waiting for?

No one had ever accused her of
having too much patience.

                                
 * * *

It was ridiculous to call him now; it was almost 1 a.m. But
when had she ever listened to the voice of reason?

The dial tone sounded from the other
end of the line. There was no way he would answer at this time of night.

“Hello?“

“Hey, Chris?“

“Sharon, is that you? What time
is it?“ he asked in a slightly drowsy voice.

“Almost one.“

“You can’t do things the normal
way, huh?“

“What’s so abnormal about a late
phone call?“

“Well, considering the last time
we talked you were calling from New Zealand, informing me that you hadn’t
really been murdered . . . Maybe you’re right, after
that
, nothing seems
too crazy.“

A smile crept to her lips. “I
never promised you a rose garden.“

He chuckled. Even after waking
him up in the middle of the night, she’d managed to captivate him. He couldn’t
wait any longer.

“So when will I finally get to
see you? To verify that you really are alive and well?“

Sharon looked around her. Her
apartment was a total mess.

There’s no way you’re coming
over here anytime soon . . .

“I have just one last thing to
wrap up with the case I’ve been working on, and then I’ll be free.“

“So I’ll see you this weekend?“

I always work better with a
deadline . . .

“Absolutely.“

“Oh, Sharon, one last thing.“

“Yes?“

“The next time you decide to fly
off to another continent, please, just let me know.“

B
y eight
o’clock in the morning Sharon was already on her way to NYU. She had talked to
the university secretary and after presenting herself as a detective with the
NYPD, she hadn’t encountered any problems getting access to the registration
file of a former student. The documents were waiting for her there. She was a
short subway ride away from finding out the truth, or at least part of it, and
she couldn’t resist the temptation. Sharon texted Rob that she was taking the
day off. She figured he would be happy that she was finally taking some time to
recover.

But how can you stop yourself
from completing a crossword puzzle when you only have one word left?

She took the train to West Fourth
Street. On her way she passed by Washington Square Park, the same place Gloria
and Kelly had met years ago. She admired the impressive marble arch from the
other side of a large fountain, and the perfect harmony that formed between
them. It looked so peaceful at this time of day. But she knew that by lunchtime
the park would be crowded and no bench would be left unseated. A saxophone
player was standing in a strategic location, waiting for people to pass by.
Sharon looked for some change and tossed the coins into his instrument case on
her way out of the park.

When she arrived, Glenda Milton,
the university secretary, handed Sharon a thin file that was marked in black:
Kelly
Whitesporte
. It didn’t contain many papers, and Sharon guessed she would
finish going through it within the hour. Most of the documents contained
technical details needed for administrative purposes and didn’t tell her much.

Sharon brushed through the
papers, acknowledging the fact that she probably wouldn’t find anything there
that she had hoped to reveal. But then, toward the end, she noticed something
strange. On the receipt for the tuition payment, which showed the student’s
information as well as the payer’s details, the fields of home phone number and
address were identical.

At first, Sharon thought that
maybe someone had gotten confused. After all, they were both named Kelly. But
then it clicked.

They were roommates.

“I
need you to
meet me at Kelly Danes’ house in thirty minutes.“

“Davis, weren’t you taking the
day off?“

“What happened? We’re back in New
York so you stopped calling me Sharon?“

“Don’t you get it?“ “When you get
on my nerves, you’re Davis.“

“Then you won’t be calling me
Sharon anytime soon . . . Meet me there?“

“Do I have a choice?“

Half an hour later, Sharon was standing outside of the house
that had formerly been occupied by “Kelly Danes,“ and was currently surrounded
by the NYPD yellow stripes. A few minutes later Rob showed up, wearing dark
sunglasses and taking fierce steps.

“What the hell are we doing
here?“ he asked impatiently.

“That’s Kelly’s house.“

“I know.“

“Not Kelly Danes’ house, Kelly
Whitesporte’s
.“

“What are you talking about?“

“They were living together.“

                                
   
* * *

Rob Jackie did not want to spend his first morning after an
exhausting flight at a crime scene that happened to be the home of a murderess
who was no longer among the living. He couldn’t understand why Sharon wanted to
pursue this any further; there was no one left to save.

In spite of it, he couldn’t leave
her alone. They’d started this whole thing together and he sure wasn’t going to
back off now. The question, though, was whether Sharon would ever be able to
put this whole affair behind her.

As Rob had expected, they didn’t
find anything revealing among the various objects in the house, nothing that
could uncover the story that would otherwise remain forever untold by the two
deceased women. Sharon looked desperate. She had hoped that the new information
would lead to the solution of the remaining enigma; but it just wasn’t
happening. She turned her head away and let out a long sigh.

Why can’t I let it go?

“It’s in your blood,“ Rob said,
as if he could hear Sharon’s thoughts. “You can’t drop something if you don’t
feel like all the loose ends are tied. That’s what makes you so damn good at
your job.“

Sharon cracked a smile. Maybe she
wasn’t so crazy after all.

“
However
,“ he continued,
“sometimes you need to accept the fact that some things will always remain a
mystery.“

“I know you’re right, but do you
understand why it’s so hard for me to throw away something that has been a part
of my life for so long? That almost cost me my
life
?“ she implored him.

“Yes, I understand,
Sharon
.“
Rob put his hand on her shoulder in a fatherly manner. “But don’t let this
story suck you in; otherwise, you might miss out on your own tale.“

Sharon’s thoughts wandered to
Chris and the fact that she had been putting off their date because she’d felt
like she had to solve this case once and for all.

 “Listen, as far as I’m
concerned, this case is closed,“ Rob determined. “Tomorrow it will be
officially sealed and moved to the archives.“

“But Rob–“

“No buts,“ he interrupted her.
“As your boss, I’m telling you that there is no reason to keep wasting the
NYPD’s workforce on this case.“

Sharon crossed her arms and
looked aside. She felt betrayed.

“And as a person who deeply cares
about you,“ he continued, “I think this case has put you through enough hell
and you should get some rest. Goddammit, your stitches haven’t even healed
yet!“

Sharon chuckled. “Are you
implying that I should take another day off?“

“A sabbatical is more like it.“

“Let’s settle for the rest of the
week.“

“I couldn’t hope for more. It’s a
deal.“

                                
   
* * *

After Rob had left hastily in order to meet his wife for
lunch, Sharon remained alone in the empty house. She decided to take one last
look around before she left this place for good. Sharon didn’t know how to
explain it, but she could somehow feel the eerie presence of the souls that had
ended their existence here.

When she got to the second floor
she felt cold chills breathing down her neck and came to a resolution it was
time to leave. But then she noticed the half open closet door in Vicky’s
bedroom. It had probably been left that way ever since the forensics team had
scanned the house after finding Kelly
Whitesporte’s
body in the basement.

Sharon walked over to the closet
and opened the door. Dozens of suits were hanging, densely packed and in
meticulous order, not leaving room for anything else. She ran her hands along
them, letting her fingers glide over the fine fabrics. She opened the bottom
drawer and looked through the expensive-looking lingerie, but there was nothing
there. Stacks of sweaters were color coded on the top shelf, perhaps concealing
something behind them, but Sharon could not reach that high without a ladder.

In a burst of despair, before she
could drop the whole thing forever, Sharon slid an antique chair in front of
the closet and stood on it. She moved the neatly organized sweaters aside,
letting a few of them tumble to the closet floor, revealing an old cardboard
box pushed up against the wall.

“Ha!“ Sharon called out
triumphantly, though no one else was in the room.

The box was filled with yellowing
papers, and among them she found a golden necklace and some old photos. The
pictures showed Kelly
Whitesporte’s
mousy figure,
only she was no longer a teenager but in her late twenties. She was wearing the
same golden necklace that Sharon found in the box. Vicky stood beside her with
her new and improved looks as Kelly Danes.

Perhaps this was some kind of
memory box, where Vicky had kept all of her souvenirs from Kelly, Sharon
presumed. A box that just might contain the answers she was so desperately
looking for.

Sharon decided to take the box
home with her. Now that the case was closed, it wouldn’t bother anyone if she
borrowed it; it was no longer protected evidence.

Sharon just hoped she wouldn’t
run into Rob on her way out. Breaking the rules was one thing; an angry boss
was a whole different issue.

T
he sun hid
behind the clouds and the sky dimmed. A few drops trickled from above,
heralding the upcoming rain. Sharon was glad she didn’t have to leave her
apartment anytime soon. Now she could focus all her attention on the dusty box
that had been forsaken for so long.

While she took out the contents
and arranged them on the table, she thought about her talk with Miranda
Whitesporte, just moments ago. It did not make sense for a mother not to know
her own child. Maybe she’d been cooperating with Vicky all along? If so, she
was one hell of an actress, because Sharon had completely believed her when she
had mourned the loss of her only daughter.

                            
 
    
 
 * * *

 
“Are you saying my
Kelly is dead?“

“Yes, for
three years now.“

“No! It can’t be! I used to get
letters from her. She told me things, about the magazine and her job as Editor
in Chief.“

“I am really sorry, Mrs.
Whitesporte, but it wasn’t Kelly writing you those letters. It was Vicky
Hermont.“

“
What
?“

                               
 
   * * *

Sharon had almost finished emptying out the box and had
begun organizing the scattered pages in a way that she could read them. There were
a lot of papers, so she decided to pour herself a glass of white wine – just
enough to get in a nostalgic mood, but not enough to cloud her judgment.

                           
 
       * * *

 
“So what made you
think that ‘Kelly Danes’ was actually your daughter?“

“What do you mean ‘what’?“
Miranda asked, slightly irritated. “She told me.“

“You mean, wrote you?“ Sharon
corrected her.

“No, she told me over the phone.
Shortly after she’d moved to New York she called to let me know that she was
intending to have plastic surgery and change her name, so she could have a
fresh start,“ Miranda sighed. “And believe me when I say that I know my own
daughter’s voice.“

Sharon’s eyes widened in
surprise. “That means she told you about becoming Kelly Danes . . .“

“Over a decade ago,“ Miranda
completed the sentence for her.

“Had she come to visit you since
she’d moved to New York?“

“No,“ Miranda answered in a grim
voice. “She said she couldn’t deal with coming back to this place – too many
painful memories. She didn’t want anything to do with reminders of her former
life. Not even me.“ Her voice cracked. “But still, she sent photos of herself
after she’d gone through the surgeries and articles that mentioned her name.“

“As Kelly Danes?“

“Yes.“

“And she told you she was working
for Inner Beauty magazine?“

“Of course. Ever since she’d told
me she was going to study journalism.“

Considering the fact that Kelly
had started med school only four years ago, Sharon realized that the deception
had been going on for quite some time.

But why?

“Excuse me, Sharon, but I really
don’t want to deal with all this right now. I still can’t process what you’ve
told me about Kelly. And, frankly, I don’t understand how digging into this
does any good.“ The grieving mother put in simple words what Rob had tried to
get through to her earlier that same day.

“Yes, you’re right. I’m very
sorry for you loss. I won’t bother you again.“

                          
 
        *
* *

Sharon felt a tad guilty when she finally sat down with her glass
of wine, looking at the stack of papers on the table. She knew that once she
started reading those yellowing papers, she might be a step closer on her quest
for the elusive truth, but in the process she would be letting down the people
dearest to her heart.

She picked up one of the papers,
but then the doorbell rang, preventing her from completing her act of betrayal.

Please, just don’t let it be
Rob
. If he took one glance at the table, he would know exactly what she was
up to.

“Hey, Sharon, it’s Chris. Open
up.“

Sharon instinctively let her
golden hair down, that beforehand had been pulled up in a messy ponytail, and
brushed her hands over her clothes, making sure she looked alright. She tried
to keep a slightly tough expression; after all, the guy had barged in without
any notice. But as soon as she opened the door a silly grin popped onto her
face.

As much as Sharon wanted to stop
smiling, she couldn’t.

“Hey, what are you doing here?“
she asked. Sharon tried to look upset, but her damned facial muscles did not
allow her to do so.

“Your boss called me. He told me
I’d better keep you close, or you might run away . . .“ Chris looked into her
eyes and smiled.

Sharon could feel the blush
invading her cheeks. “How did Rob get your number?“

“I was wondering the same thing.
I guess being an NYPD Captain has it perks.“

Sharon laughed and brushed a
strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

“So . . . Are you going to invite
me in?“

Sharon turned and looked behind
her. The wine glass and the pile of yellowing papers were still covering her
table.

“Actually–“

“Actually,“ Chris interrupted
her, “I wasn’t asking. Your boss asked me to tell you that it’s an official
order.“

Sharon arched an eyebrow. “What
do you mean
an
order
?“

“You have to spend the evening
with me or he’ll force you take another week off.“

“What? He can’t do that!“ Sharon
began to protest but then her eyes met his. She paused for a moment and then
let out a gleeful chuckle.

“Well, I have to do what the boss
says.“    

“In that case, I’ll be sure to
send him a dozen roses first thing in the morning.“

The guy just kept making her
laugh.

“Well, I know you were supposed
to take me out to do a little sightseeing in the city, but I was thinking that
after everything you’ve been through, that I don’t even presume to realize, we
can just stay in and watch a movie.“

He took out from the pocket of
his jacket a DVD case with the title of Sharon’s favorite movie of all time,
Breakfast
at Tiffany’s
.

“How did you know?“ she asked excitedly.
Sharon was thrilled. After all the horror she had been exposed to lately, she’d
kind of forgotten that life also had a lovely side to it.

“A little birdie told me?“ Chris
tried to keep the mystery.

“Rob?“

“Yes,“ he admitted.

They laughed again.

“By the way, on my way over here
I passed by this cute Chinese restaurant, really close by. I thought maybe we
could order some takeout, if you’re hungry.“

Wow, I think I’ve found the
love of my life.

“Sure, if you’re in the mood for
Chinese.“ Sharon tried to conceal her enthusiasm. It was better that he found
out about her culinary obsession as late as possible.

She opened the door wide and
Chris walked inside.

“Sorry for the mess.“

“It’s okay. You have a perfectly
good excuse; you only got back home less than two days ago.“

“So I won’t tell you that it
always looks like this.“

He smiled at her. “Where’s your
phone? I brought the takeout menu so we can order.“

Should I tell him that I
already know it by heart?

“It’s on the table.“

Suddenly, Sharon remembered that
she’d had an entirely different plan for the evening. It seemed that Chris
noticed, too.

“Oh, I’m sorry. It looks like I
really came at a bad time. Work stuff?“

Sharon gave the pile of papers a
prolonged look.

“Nothing important,“ she said,
and in the blink of an eye raked everything back into the box.