The Strong, Silent Type

by Jule McBride

  Dylan’s heart skipped a beat. What could this man possibly know about the changes in his appearance? “My face?”

  Dr. Clark’s voice lowered, catching with anguish. “I don’t blame you for changing it, Mr. Devlyn. It was the smart thing to do.”

  “Smart?” He was beginning to feel like a parrot, but he didn’t know what else to say.

  The director gave an uncharacteristic shudder. “I’ve worked with the insane for years. But to be perfectly honest, your twin brother unsettled me. He hated you so much.”

  Twin? Dylan’s mind raced. That would explain so much. Why, in his dreams, Dylan had so often turned to see another boy who looked like him. He’d be swinging, and yet turn and see himself swinging.

  Or see myself drowning myself

  Or see myself trying to stab myself with a letter opener.

  “Did he?” Dylan managed to say. “Hate me?” With the words, he felt that cold clammy hand again, wrapping around his neck. Swallowing hard, he stared at the director, sizing him up. Dr. Clark peered back as if he’d long wanted to unburden himself. But what did the man want to be free of?

  Dylan exchanged another glance with Alice. Everything in her eyes indicated she was reading his thoughts and fears. That alone took his breath. Didn’t Alice understand how important that was? How unusual? People could search a lifetime and never find someone with whom they could communicate without words.

  Her eyes were urging him on. “Tell him...”

  “Okay,” Dylan murmured, knowing what she was thinking. He took a deep breath. And painstakingly at first, then with words that flowed, he told the director everything he could, leaving out only one crucial fact, that Stuart Devlyn was also known as Dylan Nolan. Otherwise Dylan detailed the events of the past forty-eight hours and honestly expressed that he could remember little of the past, nor recall much about his father or brother.

  “I don’t know if you can help us, Dr. Clark,” Dylan finished, “but I hope you’ll try. As the head of a psychiatric facility, I’m sure you realize that my memory losses are...” He finally settled on, “Worrisome.”

  “I imagine terrifying might be closer to the truth,” Dr. Clark offered gently.

  Dylan nodded, his chest pulling with the full realization that recovering his memory could cure him of the feelings of dislocation he’d suffered for years. “Given what I’ve heard, I think I want to meet my brother.”

  Maybe it was the wrong thing to do, but Dylan was curious. And surely seeing Niles face-to-face would jog more memories.

  “Dear Lord.” Dr. Clark rose abruptly and crossed to the window. “I hope you never do meet him. If you want to, you’d be as mad as he.” Pausing, he stared out at the grounds a long time. Automatic sprinklers that were trained on the flower beds came on.

  “What can you tell us about him?” Alice said, her voice anxious.

  Dr. Clark blew out a long sigh. “I can barely believe Ben Rose was able to trace him here. Your father was so secretive that I doubt even a government agency could have found him.” A faraway look came into the doctor’s owlish brown eyes. “I’d like to think I would act differently now,” he continued, “but at the time, your father was financially backing an institution I wanted to open...”

  Alice’s voice took on a faintly contemptuous edge. “So you owed him?”

  Dr. Clark nodded. “The three of us who knew what happened all owed him, one way or another. And we were all sworn to secrecy.” Staring at Dylan, the doctor shook his head. “What a pity. To think that all these years, you’ve gone without treatment, living cut off from the memory of what happened to you.” He paused again, then continued, “Some psychiatrists would say not to tell you anything, they’d argue that you should undergo hypnosis, so your repressed memories could be slowly coaxed to the surface.”

  Alice said, “But not you?”

  Dr. Clark shook his head adamantly. “No,” he said. “Not under these circumstances, not when you’re in danger.” Before Dylan could respond, the doctor’s gaze suddenly narrowed. “Wait a minute. If you have no memories of your brother, Mr. Devlyn, then how did you know you were twins?”

  Dylan shrugged. “I didn’t. Not until you said so.” He guessed Santiago didn’t know, either. Apparently, the detectives records weren’t complete.

  Dr. Clark’s frown deepened. “But if you didn’t know you and your brother were identical in appearance, or suspect that you were in danger, then what prompted you to undergo what must have been extreme plastic surgery?”

  Dylan. chewed his lower lip, considering. Without a doubt, his twin had somehow left this facility a year and a half ago and had attacked him the day of his wedding. No doubt, he’d left other times as well. After a long moment, Dylan finally said, “Uh, long story.”

  “Please, Dr. Clark,” Alice chimed in. “Continue with what you were saying.”

  Dr. Clark shrugged. “From the psychiatric point of view, I always wore a coat of another color,” he continued. “So I don’t mind telling you what we know. And anyway, you are in danger. Extreme danger.”

  Alice’s voice caught. “Extreme?”

  Dr. Clark nodded. “Niles always showed aberrant tendencies. Stuart, you don’t recall, but there were...incidents. Once, your father caught him suffocating you with a pillow in your room. Another time he cut you with a letter opener.” Nodding toward Dylan’s leg, the doctor said, “There’s a scar on your calf, I believe.”

  There was. But all these years, Dylan thought he’d gotten it from a fall.

  Registering Dylan’s look of recognition, he went on, “Your brother’s behavior was always marked by abusive acting out Hitting. Using foul language he probably heard from your father’s old rock-and-roll cronies, some of whom could be rough. At any rate, your father brought him to me early on, when he first started walking. Even then, he was exhibiting signs of aggression. And his eyes...” The doctor’s voice trailed off.

  Finally Alice said, “His eyes?”

  The doctor shrugged. “Forgive me. I mean, this is certainly not a critical assessment. Nor is it something a trained professional should say. But his eyes...” Dr. Clark’s shoulders lifted slightly, as if he was warding off a sudden chill. “They weren’t...right. There was a gleam in them. Something malicious. Evil, even.”

  As abruptly as he’d risen, the doctor returned to the armchair and reseated himself. “When you were both five years old,” he said, “he almost drowned you in the lake at the estate. Your father happened to look out the window of his study. Seeing what was happening, he ran out, but you were nearly dead. He pounded water from your lungs. Gave you mouth-to-mouth. But you were hard to resuscitate. Later, you were treated at Cedars Sinai Hospital, and it was clear you barely made it. Your heart had probably stopped, they said. You’d died and come back. Everybody thought it was an accident, of course.”

  Raising his gaze, the doctor smiled grimly. “Easy enough to explain, I suppose,” he murmured. “You were a young child. You simply fell into the lake, not knowing how to swim. Besides, who in Hollywood would question Lang Devlyn?”

  Alice sounded livid. “Not you.”

  He looked guilty as hell. “No, not me. God knows, better people than me are used to sliding things under the rugs for the rich and famous in Hollywood.”

  Somehow, it was hard for Dylan to find his voice. “And that’s when my...my brother came here?”

  The director nodded, then abruptly added, “While your mother was taking a trip abroad, Niles was brought to me. And later we told your mother Niles was dead.”

  Alice gasped. “Dead? My God, who would tell a mother that her son was dead?”

  The director shrugged. ‘You don’t understand. The child was thoroughly unrepentant. Niles only wanted another opportunity to kill his brother. He’d attempted it more than once. And it was intentional. Premeditated. He was five years old and yet he’d kill for something as simple as a toy. If Stuart was given gifts, or shown special attention, then the urge would come to...”


  Kill.

  There was a long silence.

  Dr. Clark was staring beseechingly at Dylan. “Your father knew your mother would never agree to have him locked away. She couldn’t accept the truth. And your father knew—” The director’s gaze became more intense, his eyes piercing Dylan’s. “That you’d eventually die.” He sighed. “You can’t blame her. What mother would believe such a thing about her boy? Even in the beginning, when Niles was brought to me, your mother refused to see his obvious problems. She kept saying his asocial behavior was something he’d outgrow.”

  Dylan said, “But she must have guessed something.”

  “Lang Devlyn, your father, was a controlling and possessive man, especially when it came to your mother. But she was a bright woman. And she put two and two together. I don’t think she ever really understood the truth, though I’d like to know if she did. At any rate, she sensed he was lying. Maybe she feared he’d done something to Niles, hurt him in some way. So, fearing for you, and unable to accept the truth about Niles, she fled.”

  “Lang was trying to protect them,” Alice said in a hushed voice.

  Dr. Clark nodded. “Right.”

  “And Niles was brought here?” Dylan clarified, trying to ignore the creepy feeling at the back of his neck. Somewhere on these premises was a man who possessed the face he used to have—the thick golden hair and cherubic round cheeks. A man who wanted him dead.

  “No,” Dr. Clark said. “Actually, your brother was brought to another facility, the one I spoke of previously. He was transferred here, when I opened this place. Unfortunately I sometimes think the treatments have made him worse over the years. Not that there was an option for him other than institutional life.”

  “He’s worse?” Dylan said.

  “His hatred, like a cancer, has grown.” Dr. Clark sighed. “You see, that’s the pathology. He’s a real Jekyll and Hyde. Extremely dangerous and cunning. On the one hand, he’s become increasingly obsessed with destroying you over the years. By accident or stealth, he’s seen all his own records, of course. He blames your mother for abandoning him and your father for choosing you over him. Years ago, when Niles wasn’t busy wanting you dead, he wanted to be you. And then...”

  Alice gulped audibly. “Then?”

  Dr. Clark’s eyes were still on Dylan. “He became absolutely convinced he is you.”

  “Is me?” Dylan echoed.

  “Yes. He’s convinced. He goes into murderous rages when anything interferes with his fantasy. The jealousy he once felt has been internalized. And he’s become the object he coveted most—you.” Dr. Clark shook his head.

  Dylan was still trying to process all this information. “He really thinks he’s me?”

  “More than thinks,” Dr. Clark assured. “He believes it so deeply that sometimes he can’t be swayed. Sometimes he believes it with every fiber of his being.”

  “Thank God he’s locked up here,” whispered Alice.

  The director looked momentarily stunned. “I thought that was why you were here.”

  “What?” asked Dylan.

  “Your brother escaped from here. Numerous times actually. Once about a year and a half ago. And then again about six months later. A few months ago...”

  “He disappeared again?”

  Dr. Clark nodded. “And now your father’s been found murdered. We do our best here, and we have intense controls. Niles always comes back, but...”

  “He gets out?” Alice said as if not really expecting a response.

  Dr. Clark nodded. “I know he did it,” he continued. “Niles felt such all-consuming blind rage for your father.” Clasping his hands in his lap worriedly, Dr. Clark shrugged again. “I was out of town, and only heard the news of your father’s death moments before you came in. I thought that’s why you were here. Despite my promises to your father, I finally broke down and called the police. They have to know what’s happening.”

  Alice and Dylan stared at each other.

  Dr. Clark finally repeated, “I’m sure he killed your father.”

  There was another long pause. “You know,” Dylan found himself saying, “there is something here that is even more disturbing.”

  “What could be more disturbing than this?” asked Dr. Clark.

  Dylan could feel Alice’s eyes riveted on his face. “If Niles Devlyn is absolutely convinced that he’s Stuart Devlyn,” Dylan began, “and if there’s been some problem—don’t ask me what—with the fingerprints we have—”

  “Problem?” Alice interjected. “What kind of problem?”

  “Well,” Dylan said slowly. “We were twins, babies, so who’s to say that the right name is matched with the right print?”

  Alice’s gaze narrowed. “What are you trying to say?”

  “That if Niles is pathologically and completely convinced he’s Stuart,” Dylan repeated, “and if I, too, believe myself to be Stuart, then maybe I’m really Niles Devlyn, and who knows what happened to Stuart.” His eyes settled on Dr. Clark’s. “I could be Niles Devlyn,” he repeated. “Couldn’t I?”

  “If you had plastic surgery, yes.” The man’s eyes widened. “Niles has been gone long enough to have had such a surgery...”

  “Which means I could be Niles. And that I’m a killer.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “What do you mean? Go back to the hotel alone?” As Alice glanced through the thick-trunked, leafy trees toward the crowded parking lot, a sense of foreboding short-circuited her thoughts. She’d never seen anything like this place that was such a far cry from Wyoming. Here nature seemed too tightly controlled—bushes were trimmed to perfection, and flowers were surreally bright, as if everything had been filmed in Technicolor. All around her, countless sprinklers kept things unnaturally green in what rightfully should have been a desert.

  She shuddered. The Highland Home, just like the rest of L.A., hid darker natures. It was beautiful—as long as one didn’t look too closely. Alice scanned the trees again. She was wondering if a stranger was watching them, which might explain the creepy feeling, then she turned her attention to Dylan again. “You’re not calling a cab, and I’m not going to the hotel alone. You’re being totally ridiculous.”

  Shoving his hands into well-worn jeans that gently molded his thighs, Dylan surveyed her a long moment as if trying to discern the easiest method of getting his way. Not that he would. Her eyes lingered where his longish black hair brushed the collar of a pressed white shirt, and despite her determination to hold her ground, she had to fight not to touch the strands. Jerking his head in the direction of the stately white-columned building in the distance, he said, “C’mon, Alice. Weren’t you listening in there? Didn’t you hear what I said?”

  “Of course I heard.” She glanced away, putting a hand on her hip and shaking her head in anger. Her gaze returned to his. “But what you said was crazy. You are not Niles Devlyn.”

  His brown eyes looked darker than usual. Even in the bright sunlight, they seemed extraordinarily fixed and intent, as if he was ready to stare down cold hard reality, no matter how difficult or terrifying. “But I could be him. Dr. Clark said that’s the pathology. Niles is totally convinced he’s Stuart.”

  Her voice came out sounding more wounded than she intended. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  He shot her an exasperated look. “Doing what?”

  “You know what! You’re pushing me away even if you don’t know it.”

  “Of course I know it. It’s intentional.” He glared at her. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to be alive!”

  Before the ridiculous, petulant words were out, he’d grabbed her, hauling her into his arms. Now his voice competed with hers for anger, though his was more controlled, holding an undercurrent of the emotion. “Don’t ever say that, Alice.”

  She had no idea why she had, or what she’d really meant. But she couldn’t live like this—not feeling consumed by lies and fear. And yet just feeling Dyla
n’s arms so tightly around her made her chest feel too full. Tears pressured her eyes, and she damned herself for wanting to cry, then even more for wanting to melt against him. She did neither, but gazed into his eyes with furious impatience. No, she thought, she’d never forgive him for leaving her. If he loved her, he’d let her be involved in what was happening to him.

  “Al,” he sighed simply.

  Her jaw set. “You’re not Niles Devlyn, and you know it. I mean, I see your point, since he believes he’s you. But—”

  “But nothing. Don’t you see what all this means?”

  “All what?” Her voice caught, maybe from the argument, maybe from the embrace that made her remember the happier times when they’d been together. “We’re getting so close to figuring all this out,” she continued. “At the estate, you said your memory’s coming back. And remember those calls you got in high school?”

  Dylan nodded. “Yeah, I was thinking about them.”

  “Right. That could have been Niles. He could have called from here. Do you remember the voice? Was it distinctive, like yours?”

  Dylan shrugged. “Darlin’, that was years ago. And the voice was muffled. Like the guy was trying to disguise it.”

  “But was it like yours?” she repeated.

  He considered, then shook his head. “As I said, I got those calls a long time ago.”

  “Maybe you did,” she returned. “But I didn’t. I got a call just minutes before you showed up in the driveway at the ranch. The man said he was you. He sounded like you.” At the memory, terror tore at her heart, so much that she couldn’t stop it from touching her voice. Watch out, or you might cut yourself as you jump through the looking glass, Alice. And then you’ll bleed

  Dylan was studying her carefully, his eyes narrowing with concern. “You got a call? You didn’t tell me?”

  Maybe she should have. “He said he was you and that he wanted to kill me.”

  Dylan loosened his hands, sliding them slowly around her waist, as if checking to make sure she was okay. “What else? Tell me everything.” After she did, he repeated, “Lord, why didn’t you tell me?”