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“They can't hurt me anymore, and I leave no one behind they can go after. There's nothing they can do to me now. The truth will not change anything, but you still deserve to know it. Liam did not kill your father . . . Noah did.”
A chill runs down my spine as the shock punches the air right out of my lungs. My vision narrows, and my skin around my knuckles pale—a canvas bleached of color.
Words fail me as I try to find Dr. Jacobs's face in the narrow confines of his car, but I seem to have lost him; I feel as if I’m going to have an aneurysm. Rage flares in me, hot and fierce, only to be doused by a second wave of shock. I need to formulate words and ask questions, but I seem to be missing a tongue. I'm dumbfounded, adrift in disbelief and despair.
After a while, I seem to regain some of my faculties and ask,
"What are you saying, Dr.?" My voice sounds distant, foreign to my own ears.
This is a conspiracy, a high-level operation shrouded in secrecy, the kind you see in James Bond movies. This is not supposed to be in real life. Things like these don’t happen to people like us. My parents were simple people. Nothing Dr. Jacobs is saying makes any sense. Every revelation out of Dr. Jacobs’ mouth is another jolt to my system. My hands grow cold and clammy as I listen. I can barely hear him from the blood that’s rushing in my ears, a tidal surge that threatens to drown all the words, but some go through to my temporal lobe.
“ . . . the hospital manager rounded a team of us . . . two surgeons, two nurses, and I was the anesthesiologist. We were informed that this was a high-level clandestine operation, and no one could ever know about it. We were made to sign NDAs.
“We all thought nothing of it until we all received packages that listed in great detail what would happen and to whom if we as much as breathed a word of this operation to anyone. For me, it was my Elsa.
“For the others, it was their family members . . . wives, husbands, children. When the news of your father's death came out, it wasn't difficult putting two and two together. It was plain for all to see. We all made a pact to keep quiet, to keep each other safe.
“I didn't understand why Liam was fingered for your Dad’s death until Noah's marriage was announced, then all the pieces fit; it all made sense. Liam was sacrificed for that marriage to take place. Why he agreed to go along with it, I will never know. Twelve years is a long time in prison for a crime you did not commit.”
This is not happening. This is a dream I will wake up from, and my mother will still be alive, and my ears will not have heard all these things.
Uuurrrrghhhh.
I let out a guttural sound as if I got kicked in the stomach by an angry mule, Dr. Jacobs's confession hanging precariously between us, heavy and suffocating, and my brain is grappling with implications too monstrous to fully comprehend, with dark shadows lurking just beyond the reach of comprehension.
In the silence that follows, I feel the foundation of my world shift; coming irrevocably and utterly undone.
The silence in Dr. Jacobs' car feels like a vacuum; every breath I take echoes in the tight space. His words reverberate in my head, an unyielding drumbeat of words I do not comprehend. How in God’s name did my father end up caught in this net? Did he see something that threatened the Dexters? Did he hear something? . . . the man in the shed?
"Child, I have to go. These are very bad people. They already proved who they are and what they are capable of. Be very careful who you share this information with, Tony," Dr. Jacobs says, his voice low, grave. He leans forward slightly, his eyes locking onto mine, ensuring I grasp the gravity of his next words. "My advice is, don’t share it with anyone, not even your brother and sisters. This information . . . it could get you killed, or worse, put your loved ones in trouble. You might think that they have a right to know. I say, maybe not, for it won’t change a thing. I just told you, so at least one of you knows the truth."
I nod, barely processing his warning. My mind whirls with images of Liam, the years lost, and Noah’s deceit. I feel the leather of the car seat sticking to my clammy skin as I shift uncomfortably, trying to anchor myself to the present, to the reality that's splintering before me.
"Understand, I wouldn't tell you this if I thought . . . " His voice trails off, and he clears his throat, looking out the window at the gravesite, now quiet and empty. I follow his gaze, watching a lone yellow tulip tumble across the green, carried by a careless breeze.
"Who else knows?" I manage to ask, my voice sounding hollow and distant; an attempt to grapple control over the spiraling thoughts, to find a footing.
"Just one last person from the original team and me. I can't swear that out of us, none of the others didn’t tell someone. Assume that after I am gone, there will only be you and one other human on this planet that knows the truth . . . you plus them and the Dexters." Dr. Jacobs replies briskly. "And it should remain that way, for everyone's sake."
I close my eyes, focusing on my breathing, trying to tame the erratic rise and fall of my chest. The air is thick with the scent of leather and stale Miami air. I close my eyes to center myself.
"Tony," Dr. Jacobs reaches out hesitantly, placing a hand on my shoulder. The touch startles me back to the moment. "You must tread lightly. This is dangerous ground."
My eyelids flutter open, and I meet his earnest, wrinkled gaze. "How can I just sit on this?" I whisper, my fists clenching in frustration and fear.
Before Dr. Jacobs answers, his aide, Henry, taps lightly on the window, signaling time's up. Dr. Jacobs gives my shoulder a final squeeze before pulling away. I open the door and the sounds of the world outside rush in—a stark contrast to the confession that has turned the inside of the car into a confessional.
"Remember, discretion," Dr. Jacobs murmurs as I exit his car, and I turn to offer him one last nod of solidarity before he closes the door with a soft thud.
I plonk myself on the grass, not caring what I am sitting on and let the weight of Dr. Jacobs’ revelation press down on me. I run my hands over my face, feeling the damp traces of tears I didn't realize I had shed stain my palm, my heart racing on adrenaline and shock.
As the car engine starts and Dr. Jacobs' vehicle pulls away, I stare at the retreating form, grappling with a truth that is as piercing as shards of glass cutting through the fabric of my reality.
Chapter thirty-six
LAMB IN SHEEP’S SKIN.
LIAM
