Page 11 of Tell Me Your Lies

“I tried to help her.” A slow smile curls his lips. He licks his fingers one by one. “I can still hear her screaming. If you weren’t my daughter, I’d jump right through the glass and make you scream too.”

I’ve come too far and driven four hours through the heat and I refuse to leave before I get the truth. I want to know the name of the woman who gave me life and nearly lost her own. My mother’s courage put this man behind bars for the rest of his life and stopped him murdering anyone else. I stare him straight in the eyes as anger wells up inside me. It’s like an uncontrollable rage. “Her name.”

“What’s your contact details?” Barnes taps on the glass. “I’ll write to you. Just leave your details with the guard.”

The change of tactic doesn’t work with me. I’m afraid of him but my anger isn’t subsiding and adrenaline is pumping through my veins. “Her name first.”

He shakes his head slowly and the chains clink as he rubs his chin. “Rachel Stackhouse, she was a runaway from Glades County.”

So, my mother came from Florida.

“She’ll need to keep running after testifying against me.” He inclines his head and stares at me. “You look like your brother.”

The ground melts under me, taking away my confidence. Please don’t tell me I have a sibling—from him. I lift my chin. “I don’t have a brother.”

“Yeah, you do.” Barnes chuckles and moves so close to the window I cringe away. “He’s just like me—but they haven’t caught him yet. I can live outside through him. He’s closer than you imagine. Don’t go looking for him, now, will you? You won’t like what you find.” His gaze moves over my face. “Give me your name.”

His words twist in my mind. He’s just like me. I push the chair back and stand. “Never, and I hope you rot in hell.”

My hands shake as I slam the receiver back into the cradle. Knees weak, I turn and press the red button on the wall. How much of what Barnes told me was a lie? My mother came from humble beginnings and somehow, I ended up with wealthy adopted parents, who gave me everything except the truth. After I gather my things, I run back to my vehicle and settle back into the hot seat, allowing the air conditioner to cool my sweat-soaked face. Confusion rolls over me. If what he said is true, my mother might be an addict and likely a sex worker and I have a brother out there raping and murdering women. Do I want to go there? Do I really want to get to know her? I need to consider my next move—I have a good reputation now and if the truth about me got out, would famous people invite me into their homes and confidence? For now, I’ll immerse myself in Isabelle’s story and get my head straight before I make a decision. I stare into the rearview mirror. “I’ve spent my life writing other people’s stories and I don’t even know my own.”

SIXTEEN

The next morning at breakfast, although Isabelle gives me questioning looks and I can tell that she’s dying to know where I went to, I don’t respond. It’s none of her business where I was or who I met. Right now, I’m doubting myself. After meeting my father and discovering my sibling might be murdering innocent women, I want to run away and forget all about this assignment. The problem is, I signed a contract to write her memoirs. I have no choice but to continue—but what if Isabelle discovers the truth about me? Dammit—she was there at the hospital and met my mother. If she discovers my birthdate and puts two and two together, my career will be over. No one will hire me—or trust me again.

Isabelle insists on continuing with her interview. Today she is dressed in a period costume to depict the next movie in her career and can hardly breathe in the corset. She insists her attire is to give me the feel of each movie and what she went through to create her part, so I ignore the panting as she inhales and take out my notepad and pen. “I can make good mileage out of the night you gave birth in a hurricane but I need more. Do you have any skeletons in your closet that we could use to make this book more sensational? What about when you first met Linc? You haven’t mentioned him at any time and I know you met him at school. What brought you together? Is there a story there we can use to spice up the book a little? Because right now once people get through the first chapter it’s going to be a ‘did not finish’ from the reviewers and all our hard work will be in vain.”

“He was already famous when I met him but insisted on finishing high school. We met at a party and it was instant attraction. Soon after, I was pregnant with Lucas and when I told Linc, he proposed, and we were married quietly in a little chapel. He cut his second album a couple of weeks later and when his manager discovered our secret they planned a massive publicity stunt.” Isabelle smiles and looks into the distance as if remembering. “They arranged to have me and my girlfriends on the front row at one of his concerts and anyone sitting in the front row ends up getting crushed by the fans when they rush the stage.”

I look at her and raise one eyebrow. “Wasn’t that dangerous for the baby?”

“No, I was only two months and it was well-planned to get me out in time.” Isabelle gives me a dismissive wave. “Do you want to hear the story or not? It’s difficult when you keep interrupting.”

I say nothing but I recall reading about the heroic way Linc saved her from being crushed in the mosh pit during a concert. I nod, waiting to hear the story unfold.

“Well, halfway through one of his songs he stops singing, orders the crowd back and jumps from the stage, throws me over his shoulder and walks out. We took his limo to the airport and his private jet to Vegas where he married me again and we spent seven days locked inside a hotel room.”

I look at her and smile. “It was all a hoax, and it worked because nobody knew you had married in secret?”

“Yeah—I was always kept in the background before he became famous, so no one knew I existed. Linc might appear to the world as a drugged-out hippy but he’s very smart. He runs the business and it’s true what he said about a prenup. I don’t blame him; he was a shooting star and still is. He made me sign one before he’d marry me.”

I shake my head. “He didn’t trust you?”

“He didn’t trust me to remain faithful.” She raises both eyebrows. “He told me, one slip and the marriage would be over.”

The media coverage of Linc’s notorious affairs flash through my mind. “That sounds a little one-sided.”

“I’m suspicious, and very jealous. I admit that but he’s always sworn that he’s been faithful. There you go. You can splash that gem all over the front cover of the book.” Isabelle leans forward and gives me a cat-like smile. “Is that sensational enough for you?”

Revealing something like that could ruin Linc’s career. I shrug. “Maybe telling everyone he’d tricked his fans would be something we need to run past Linc. His bad boy image is what sells records but if I leave out the fact that Linc snatching you from the concert was a hoax, and go with the prenup details, it would work.” I look at her amused expression. “Can you think of anything else we can use as a hook, to get the readers’ interest?”

“Hmm, let me think.” Isabelle drums her long red fingernails on the table. “Oh, I’m sure if you’ve researched us then you know that one of Linc’s biggest hits is ‘Black Valentine’? The lyrics of the song are about a young woman found dead in a motel. One week after the release, a woman was found murdered and the crime scene matched the lyrics.”

I frown. “So, some crazy fan decided to murder somebody to get famous?”

“The thing is, they’ve never found the killer.” Isabelle stands suddenly. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

I follow her along the hallway and down the steps to the recording studio. On the wall is a framed, handwritten copy of a song written on sheet music with Linc’s signature at the bottom and dated four years previously. Slightly bewildered, I move closer. On the top of the sheet of paper is the name Rachel. It’s been crossed out and replaced by the song title “Black Valentine.” The name sends shockwaves through me. Rachel. My mom’s name is Rachel. Did Linc know the woman raped by my father?