by Lily White
Racing from the cafe, I flagged down a cab, and after jumping in the back without concern for cost, I rattled off Gia’s address.
The cabby turned to me, his brows pulled tightly together. “That’s a forty-five minute drive. Do you know how much that will cost?”
“I don’t care,” I practically yelled, tears still streaming, “just get me there now!”
After looking at me like I was insane, he shrugged a shoulder and took off down the road. The drive felt like it took days instead of less than an hour.
Gia’s house was exactly as I remembered it, a single story ranch style with blue shutters and a red door. The yard her mother had always meticulously maintained was in full bloom now that we were in the middle of spring, and from what I could see the white picket fence had just received a fresh coat of paint. I tossed some cash to the driver when he told me the ridiculous fee, but before climbing out and letting him drive away, a moment of logic took over.
“Can you wait for me to come back out? I’ll need a ride back to the city.”
Shaking his head in disbelief, he pulled out his phone and started scrolling through. “Whatever you want. The fare’s the same whether the car is moving or not.”
“Thanks,” I said, my voice distracted as I ran down the small sidewalk leading to Gia’s door. Ringing the bell, I tapped my foot anxiously waiting for someone to answer. Gia finally pulled it open, confusion wrinkling her brow. “Meadow? You could have just walked inside.”
“No. I’m Penelope.”
“Holy shit!” she said, laughing, “It’s still impossible to tell you two apart. But what are you doing here? Meadow went into the city to look for you. She said you’ve been out of touch the past few weeks.”
“Damn it!” Tears burst from my eyes. I was not in the mood for this. “I got her emails and came here looking for her. I didn’t even know she was coming into town.”
Cocking a hip, Gia leaned a shoulder against the door. “Neither did I until yesterday. She called me in a panic as she was boarding the plane. All she brought with her was a small carry on, which -“
Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “Damn, she must have rushed out the door when she left a little bit ago. She forgot her stuff. Are you heading back to the city?”
Her gaze flicked past my shoulder to see the waiting cab. “Looks like it. Why don’t you take her bag with you? I have a feeling once you two find each other, she won’t want to come all the way back here.”
“Yeah, okay. I really need to get back.”
Not only to find Meadow, but to be at the hotel in time for sunset. Maurice would have a panic attack if I wasn’t there. There was no telling what he would think happened to me.
Handing me the cross body bag, which was no bigger than a purse, she touched my shoulder as I turned to leave. “Hey, Penelope. I’m really sorry to hear about your mom. Meadow was inconsolable. I’ve never seen her so flustered and out of it. She’s really taking it hard.”
Nodding because I didn’t know what to say, I walked off, but turned again before reaching the cab. “Gia, if Meadow left her stuff here, how did she get to the city? She wouldn’t have been able to pay for a cab.”
“My mom said she’d drop her off since she was heading over there for some business meeting. She probably hasn’t even noticed she left it here. It’s like I said, she’s really messed up right now.”
“Thanks.” She was still waving goodbye as I climbed into the cab.
“Back to where I picked you up?” The driver asked.
“Yes. And hurry.”
I should have remembered to plan for traffic when deciding whether I could make it to Gia’s and back to the city on time. I should have remembered that at five in the afternoon, the streets leading between the city and suburbs became a practical parking lot. Here I was again listing out the ‘should haves’, the mistakes that made a night like this possible.
By the time we were able to get remotely close to the Wishing Well, the sun was already settling over the horizon, my hands clenched painfully over the strap of Meadow’s bag. Unable to endure sitting in the back of a cab doing nothing, I snapped, more worried about Maurice than anything else. Although I knew Meadow was in a state of mourning, even though Gia had mentioned that Meadow hadn’t been herself, I knew she couldn’t be so bad that she wouldn’t simply wait at the hotel for me to return. If she went there, the people at the front desk would have contacted Vincent -
Crap , I thought. He didn’t know I have an identical twin. I’d mentioned my family to him, but never that Meadow was my twin.
I didn’t want to think what Vincent would say or do after sauntering into the lobby to discover Meadow standing there. I could only hope he controlled himself enough not to say or do anything to freak her out, that he showed her to my room so she could wait there, or perhaps to a table in the dining room.
Why the fuck didn’t I have a phone? It would have prevented all of this.
I couldn’t sit in the cab any longer. Running the rest of the way was faster at that point.
“How much for me to get out here?” I asked, urgency edging my voice.
Sirens cut through the night air, so ear-splitting in their volume that the driver couldn’t speak loud enough to be heard over them. Blue lights flashed as police cars fought to race past us, the traffic eventually moving enough so that they could squeeze by. As the sound eased with their distance, the driver finally told me the amount. Wincing at the cost, I tossed him the cash and let myself out of the car.
Still several blocks away, I saw the lights of emergency vehicles battling against the brilliant colors of the setting sun, and after turning several corners, I heard the distant screams, the murmurs, the shouting police, a heart-shattering roar of pure pain rising above it all. I couldn’t catch my breath, couldn’t gather my thoughts, couldn’t do anything but keep running toward the hotel. And as I approached it, I knew something terrible had occurred.
What I didn’t I know was that my entire life had just fallen apart. Not until I unlocked the employee gate into the garden. Not until I stood off to the side, a large flowering bush hiding me from easy sight as I witnessed the scene that was playing out before me.
Logic was lost to me, agony sliding in to take its place in my thoughts. And my heart didn’t just splinter, it buckled and stopped. Hand flying to my mouth to prevent the scream that never came, I first saw Vincent being handcuffed and led away, his clothes bloody, injuries dotting his body and face.
Beyond him, beyond the man who had taken me from the streets and somehow given my life new meaning, I saw my sister’s body being pulled from Maurice’s arms. John had just enough time to inject Maurice with the medicine Vincent had used on him before, and as Maurice’s body crashed down, as Meadow lay lifeless over a bed of grass, blood and gore, as the guests kept insisting to the police that Maurice and Vincent had killed her, I no longer had the ability to think rationally.
So instead of running up to the scene to discover what happened, instead of taking just one fucking second to gather myself together and think , I reacted to my fear and instinct by leaving through the back gate. Glancing at the police car where they’d taken Vincent, I turned and I ran.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Faiville Prison, 2:07 pm
Silence.
Pure, aggravating, hypnotizing, agonizing, penetrating silence.
Vincent and Penelope both were caught in its thrall. Neither moving, neither blinking, both barely breathing as they absorbed the facts of a story that had destroyed so many lives. And hanging over the horror of the events like a lingering shroud that still hadn’t been swept aside to reveal the last bit of tragedy to be found, was the ticking clock counting down the hours to when the last act of injustice would occur.
Vincent was being put to death at six o’clock the following morning, and there wasn’t a damn thing either of them could do to stop it.
One would think the man with death hanging over him would be mor
e lost than the woman who could walk away, but in testament to his fortitude, to his acceptance of fate, Vincent was the first to break the enduring silence when he closed his eyes, opened them and spoke.
“You took over your sister’s identity. At first I told myself I was crazy for even thinking it, but for a year now, I’ve wondered. I offered you the interview just so I could confirm one way or the other.”
Penelope’s tear-dappled gaze met his.
“How? Why?” he asked, confusion drawing lines across his forehead.
For those questions, she had a simple answer. “Fear.” Shaking her head at her own stupidity, thinking of all the mistakes, the ‘should haves’, she swiped the back of her hand across her face to chase away the tears that slid slowly down her cheeks.
“After running off, I didn’t know what to do. The last thing I wanted was to return to the hotel, and having nowhere else to go, I checked into a cheap motel on the outskirts of the city. What happened...it was all over the local news that night, so I sat glued to a television in my room with horrible reception and tried to see through what was being reported. I wanted the truth, but I was in too poor a state of mind to process any of it. I made irrational and horrible decisions in the weeks that followed.”
“We both did,” Vincent offered, his words intended to comfort when they only drove the weight of the tragedy deeper.
“We both did,” she agreed, her voice lacking conviction and strength. Sad laughter escaped her lips. “Perhaps it was your mistake that caused mine. I’ll blame this on you if you’ll let me.”
Shackles scraping across the table, Vincent reached for her. For the first time, Penelope reached back. Their fingers threaded together as he said, “You have my permission to blame me for whatever you want. But at least explain what blame I’m taking.”
Remembering back, Penelope breathed deeply, the pain, the fear, the confusion and hatred she’d felt coming back in crashing waves. “The news that night was nothing more than speculation. They interviewed a few of the guests who witnessed it and could only guess as to what caused the fight. The only thing the guests thought they knew for sure was that both you and Maurice had been the aggressors. It wasn’t until your arraignment that I started putting the pieces together. They televised it, you know?”
Nodding his head, he admitted, “I knew they would. Apparently the brutality of Barron’s death made for excellent television. People are such vultures.”
Enjoying the warmth of his hand, comforted by the contact, Penelope admitted, “When you claimed at the arraignment that you had lost control out of jealousy - that it was a crime of passion, or whatever - I knew better. You had no reason to be jealous. Maurice, on the other hand, he had reason. They hadn’t released the victim’s names as they were waiting to contact next of kin, and although I knew one had been Meadow, I wasn’t sure about the other. By the time they finally named the victims as Penelope Graham and Barron Billings, I’d already made my decision as to what I would do.”
“And why did you make that choice? Didn’t you question why Meadow was with Barron? Didn’t you want to talk to me, at least, knowing I hadn’t been the one to cause that fight?”
It’s insane what emotions will do to a person. For some, they’re able to think rationally. They’re able to calm down and decide on a course of action that helps improve a situation instead of making it worse. But Penelope, at that time, wasn’t able to make sense of anything. All she knew was that her entire family was gone, she only had a thousand dollars to her name, and she was once again unemployed and homeless. If only she would have stopped to think about another way to handle it.
“I was angry and scared. Heartbroken. I know they released you on bail, but the last thing I wanted to do was return to the hotel. It scared me to think that Maurice had killed both Barron and Meadow. He could have killed me. As for why my sister was with Barron...”
Penelope shrugged, releasing a breath before saying, “The guy was a jerk. I knew that much about him, but I didn’t consider him to be dangerous. I’d seen him in public since that incident in your office and he didn’t attack me. He let me go and he wasn’t violent. It didn’t occur to me that he’d tried to hurt Meadow. I thought maybe he was just harassing her like he did me. I thought that Maurice had seen them together and flipped out, and that you took the blame to protect him. I was right on that last part. You always protected him, even if keeping him in the basement was wrong.”
Nodding, Vincent squeezed her hand. “It was wrong. What my father did was wrong. What I did following my father’s death even more so. I had one group of physicians and counselors telling me there was no hope for Maurice, and another set that told me he could live a normal life if he would just comply with a medication schedule and therapy, but I was too frightened for him. And that fear, that lack of trust rubbed off on him until not even he could believe in himself. Perhaps, if I’d made different decisions, Maurice could have lived a different life. I know for a fact it was my actions that kept him from becoming what he should have been. It was my fault he hadn’t reached his true potential.”
Tears streamed down Penelope’s face. “He was only trying to protect me, and now he’s dead and you’re being put to death because of it.”
Without responding to what she’d said, Vincent asked, “How did you become Meadow?”
“After the arraignment, after the belief was in my head that Maurice had killed Meadow and Barron out of jealousy, I bought a plane ticket and flew to Germany using her identification. I had her bag, and since we were identical, nobody questioned it. As far as the world knew, Penelope Graham had died that night, not Meadow. And since I had nothing - no family, no job, no money, no home - I took over what she had. I continued the education program she was in. I handled my mother’s estate and took the house and the bank accounts. I became someone else and forgot all about the mistakes I’d made as Penelope. I started over as my sister since she’d never had the same problems as me. And here I am. A journalist with a life in another country.”
He let the statement linger before asking, “But are you happy?”
“No,” she confessed, the one word a weight being stripped from her shoulders. Every day she tried to convince herself that it wasn’t true, that she had found happiness in a life she never wanted. But despite the lies she attempted to tell herself, Penelope knew she was miserable. “Being a journalist was Meadow’s dream, not mine. I absolutely hate it. Looking at the constant evils of the world is awful. And as for a personal life?” She laughed. “I haven’t been with another man since Maurice.”
Surprise drew Vincent’s brows together. “No one else? In the seven years since that night?”
“I loved him,” she said, sorrow coating every syllable. “Despite his problems, despite what he’d done, I loved him. I still do, and to find out he died alone, that he-“
Unable to finish the thought, she choked back a sob.
Releasing her hand, Vincent leaned back in his seat. “I’m sorry. For everything. For what you’ve lost.”
Slapping away tears, she laughed pathetically. “This is a really shitty fairy tale.”
Grinning, Vincent answered, “Most of the true ones are. It wasn’t until people sought a better ending and changed them that they had the characters riding off into the sunset to live happily ever after. Most fables and fairy tales were cautionary stories when first told. It makes this particular one fitting, don’t you think?”
“At least I get to walk away from all of this. You’re the one losing your life.” Panic tore through her, sorrow chasing its wake. “Why don’t you tell the truth now that Maurice is gone? Why don’t you attempt to save your own life? You shouldn’t have to die for what happened.”
His smile was full of melancholy and regret. “You’re upset for me instead of at me.” A statement more than a question, Vincent appeared amused by Penelope’s reaction. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
“I don’t want you to die.”
&
nbsp; His green eyes softened. “Ma chérie, sois forte. Aie un peu de courage. ”
“I’m not strong, Vincent, and my courage is all tapped out,” she answered.
His laughter drew her gaze across the table. “So you have learned French? It’s about time. Your refusal always drove Maurice and I crazy.”
Weakly, she smiled. “And I learned German. It wasn’t easy.” Growing quiet, she asked, “Will you not try to save yourself?”
Vincent shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. I took the blame for those deaths in an attempt to save my brother, and I do not regret going to my death. If he had been blamed, his final years would have been more tortured than mine. They would have put him in a state psychiatric institution instead of a regular prison. I didn’t want that for him. And, in truth, those lives were lost because of me. Maurice’s life was held back because of me. He spent far too many years in that cage. I may not have killed those people myself, not your sister, not Barron, not Émilie or the other woman that was found, but I was the indirect cause. Dying tomorrow is fitting for the mistakes I made, and for the crimes I committed. I’ll take my punishment without remorse for what is done to me.”
Penelope knew their time was quickly running out, that she would be asked to leave the prison so that they could begin the preparations for Vincent’s execution. She needed to focus on what was important, on the last questions she needed answered before it was too late.
“I would like to know one thing.” Sniffling, Penelope relaxed into her seat, her tear-swollen eyes lifting to meet Vincent’s stare. “Why did you give me to Maurice in the end? Especially after the sexual relationship we’d shared? Did I mean so little to you that you could just toss me off to him without being hurt by it? Was I just another one of your women?”