by Tess Oliver
Two green metal doors were sitting ajar at the front of the building. Every window had been busted out, leaving behind deadly looking shards of glass. Water streamed through the thrashed roof, plinking loudly on the cement floor inside. I slid between the doors. Even with the Swiss cheese ceiling, the clouds overhead blocked out most of the light. A steady river of water flowed toward a drain in the center of the cement floor. There were warped metal tables along one wall, and two more rusted tractors sat in one corner.
The metal door creaked. I spun around. Water dripped off Sugar’s long hair. She wrapped her arms around herself, but it didn’t stop her from shivering. Her chin trembled with cold, and badly, I wanted to put my arms around her. Even wet, they would provide her with some protection from the cold.
“Julian probably shouldn’t be left alone,” I said, not sure how to start this conversation.
“He’s all right.” Her chin trembled more, but it wasn’t only the cold, wet air. “What if he never meets a girl? What if he never gets to kiss a girl?” she said, holding back a cry.
“Well, that’s not a problem anymore, is it?”
“Right. I kissed him. I fucking kissed him because he is a good friend and I care about him and I wanted to give him some confidence.”
I stood there and stared at her, looking at the girl I loved more than anything, a girl who I wanted more than anything to protect, a girl who I couldn’t keep safe from her own demons. “It was an accident.” My voice thrummed low and rough beneath the staccato beat of the raindrops on what remained of the roof. “That horrible day back when you were just a little girl, a little girl who loved to spin, a habit you never stopped. I fucking love that about you, Sugar. You spin and twirl and defy gravity at every turn, and it makes me dizzy. You make me dizzy.” I stepped closer to her, close enough to see the rise and fall of her chest with each breath and the tiny downward curve of her lips. “It happened. Shit like that, awful tragedies like that, happen every day. It was just the wrong set of circumstances, a heavy toy, a little girl’s vulnerable skull and that damn law of physics that Julian talked about. I love that you want to help everyone. It’s part of what makes you amazing, but sometimes it’s all right not to step in and help.”
Her entire body shook with a sob. “There isn’t one day that goes by—” The words stuck in her throat. “I wish for it every day— I wish I could go back in time and just do that day again. We’d shove that stupid spider out the door and pour our pretend tea and Megan would giggle as she gave my ratty old teddy bear a sip from her cup.” Her shoulders shuddered as she held herself tightly. Her dark lashes were clumped together with rain. Her cheeks were red from running across the field, and, as always, looking at her made the breath stick in my lungs.
“It was only Julian,” she said weakly.
I stomped toward her and took hold of her arms. “I know it’s just Julian, but I can’t fucking bear it. I can’t think of anyone putting their hands on you. Even Julian. I can’t share you with anyone. Don’t ask it of me, Sugar.”
A glimmer of a smile crossed her lips, and her blue gaze lightened as she took hold of my wrist. She lifted my hand from her arm and pressed it over her heart. “You feel that, don’t you, Tommy? I know you feel it the same way I do. That’s for you. That heartbeat is for you and no one else. We were connected long before we met.” Her tears mixed with the raindrops on her face. “The reason we’re both so screwed up is because we both needed to get really lost so we could find each other.”
Her body shivered as I pulled her into my arms. I fumbled with the buttons on her shorts as my mouth devoured hers. “God, Sugar,” I groaned against her mouth. “I have to be inside of you. I have to have you.”
She responded with a weak moan and shimmied out of her wet shorts. I unbuttoned my fly and shoved my pants down below my hips. She threw her arms around my neck and I pushed her up against the block wall. She kissed every surface of my face. An erotic sigh rolled off her lips as I pushed inside of her.
“Tommy, I only want you,” she said on a wispy breath.
The atmosphere inside the building was damp and cold and dark but the air around us glowed with heat, an energy between us that no rainstorm could douse. I pushed inside of her harder and faster, and she clung to me with her frail, wet arms as if she would never let go. Her sweet cry echoed off the cinderblock as her pussy tightened around me. A few strokes more and I pulled out as I came.
She dropped her legs to the floor, and I held her against me. My breath came in white puffs as my heart rate slowed. Sugar peered up at me and placed her hand against my face, a touch that always went straight to my heart. “No one ever stays in my life for long. Promise me, Tommy, that you’ll stay.”
“Forever, baby.”
The rain had slowed to a drizzle as we hiked back to the car. A steady stream of water ran along the ditch where the car was parked. Sugar wrapped her arms around herself. “I hope the heater works well. I’m soaked to the bone.”
We reached the car, and even with condensation clouding all the windows, it was easy to see that the car was empty.
“Julian,” Sugar cried as she raced to the car and stomped directly into the water rushing beneath its tires. She peered into the backseat and turned back to me with despair. “I shouldn’t have left him alone.”
I glanced around. A weak stream of sunlight was breaking through the cloud cover, and it illuminated the soaking wet figure standing across the road. “Jules, what are you doing? Come on. We’re leaving.”
He took a few steps. His face was strained with worry. “Are you going to hit me, Tommy?”
His question threw me. Everyone, even Julian, knew that my temper, once triggered, was dangerous, and I fucking hated that. People never forget, just like my mom had warned me. “Come get in the car, Julian. I would never hit you. You’ve got to know that. I’d never hurt you.”
With some reluctance, he walked across the highway and climbed into the backseat. Sugar and I climbed into the front. The choking smell of burning dust came through the heater vents but warm air cranked out behind it. We were off again, completely unsure of anything except our friendship.
Chapter 21
Small towns were one thing, but the directions to Dr. Quisenberry’s house took us completely out of civilization. I rolled past the gravel covered turnoff to his place three times before Julian spotted a rundown house behind some old, rusted cars and a line of ancient gas pumps. The car crunched the grit covered path as we coasted through a forest of junk. Overgrown trees and shrubs looked as if they had old bicycle frames, tires and metal signs growing out of them.
Sugar gazed through the passenger window in awe. “I knew places like this existed, but I’ve never seen one up close. Look, there are two carousel horses that look as if they’ve been sitting out in the elements for a century. They look sad and neglected in their patch of weeds.”
I glanced at the rearview. Julian had shrunk down into a mute state a few miles back. His face was the color of ivory, and beads of sweat crossed the blond hair on his upper lip. We were both pushing way past the five o’clock shadow stage, only my stubble was black and far more noticeable. I knew he was thinking about what we might discover from the man living in this hoarder’s paradise. It was something that could change his whole past and have a profound effect on his family and future.
I combed my fingers through my hair. It had taken several hours for our clothes and hair to dry. Driving a long distance in wet jeans was not ideal, but I hadn’t regretted the trek through the rain. Those heated moments in the abandoned building had solidified in my mind that Sugar and I were inseparable. While I had no idea how all of this was going to turn out, I knew for a fact that Sugar was a part of my life, now and forever.
The house loomed into view, along with the man holding the hunting rifle. He had shaggy gray hair and was wearing a felt hat pulled low over his head. “Shit, I guess he’s not really the visitor type.” I looked over at Sugar. “Stay in the
car. Let me see if I can talk to him.”
Sugar put her hand on my arm. “Sending you out there is not a good idea.” She smiled weakly. “You know, the whole menacing thing, and all that.” She smoothed back her wild, dark hair and pinched her cheeks twice. “Let me go. What was his name again?”
I turned around. “Jules? Can you pronounce it? I forgot.”
“Quisenberry,” he said through a tight jaw.
Before I could protest, she was lowering her long legs out of the car. The man stared mouth agape as Sugar sashayed toward him in her shorts and tight shirt. If I hadn’t been worried that the man might chase us off his property with a rifle, it would have been a comical sight. I half expected the guy to pinch himself. No doubt, he rarely saw other people, let alone a girl. Let alone one that looked like Sugar.
“How are you doing?” She was pasting on the sexy accent. “You sure have a lot of fine looking stuff.”
He still had the rifle clutched tightly in his hand, but he looked less ready to use it. “Nothing is for sale. You can be on your way. I’m not selling anything.”
Sugar made a show of brushing her hair back off her face. The old, leathery faced man watched her every move with keen interest. “I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t part with any of it either. Treasures like this take a long time to find.”
“Fifteen years of collecting.” He glanced toward me. I was pretty sure I was the reason he was still gripping the gun. “What do you people want?”
“We were looking for a Dr. Quisenberry,” Sugar said. The man flinched at the sound of the name. “Do you know where we can find him?”
“I’m Quisenberry, but I’m not a doctor anymore. Just Quisenberry. What do you want?” He seemed more agitated. I opened the car door. He lifted the rifle again.
I knew it would irritate him more if I got out, but if he was going to shoot, I wanted that gun aimed at me and not Sugar. I stepped out of the car. His eyes widened.
I held up my hands. “I don’t have a gun,” I said quickly. “We just wanted to ask you about a death certificate you signed twenty-five years ago, a twin that died at birth.”
“I was a doctor. Do you know how many death certificates I signed?” He started backing up toward his house, and it seemed we were going to lose our opportunity.
“Oh my gosh,” Sugar said enthusiastically, “is that one of those playground merry-go-rounds?”
He stopped his retreat to the house and was temporarily distracted by the beautiful girl ogling one of his treasures.
“It’d still work too, if the weeds hadn’t grown in around it,” he said proudly.
Sugar smiled and that was it. She’d won him over. “When I was a little girl, we had one at the park across the street from my house. I used to spin around on that thing until I was so dizzy, I couldn’t walk straight.” She laughed. “Here’s an important rule to remember. If you’re going to throw up, make sure you step off of the thing first. I learned that the hard way.”
He laughed. He was still holding the rifle as if it was growing out of his arm, but he laughed.
With bad timing, Julian stepped out of the car, making the man tense up again.
“The death certificate was for an infant who died from a nuchal cord. His twin brother’s umbilical cord strangled him before he was born,” Julian said coldly.
The man stared at him from below the brim of his hat. It seemed there was a glimmer of recognition in his face, but it wasn’t a good glimmer. He gripped the gun tighter again. “Told you, I signed a lot of those certificates.”
“Does the name Fitzpatrick ring a bell?” Julian asked sharply, quickly undoing any of the good will Sugar had created.
Quisenberry stepped back. We’d lost him.
“Wait,” Sugar pleaded, “we’re in trouble. We didn’t do anything wrong, and we’re trying to prove our innocence.” Fearlessly, she walked toward the man with rifle. Every muscle in my body tensed, and I wondered how fast I could get to him before he could lift and take aim with his ancient looking gun. But his face smoothed as Sugar neared him.
“What is it you want from me?” he asked.
Sugar moved even closer. He didn’t back up. His cheek muscle twitched, but he didn’t walk away.
“The baby’s last name was Fitzpatrick,” she said.
The twitch in his cheek became more pronounced.
“Mr. Quisenberry,” I said, and was relieved that my voice didn’t send him running back to his house, “we know you had some legal trouble, and they took away your license to practice medicine. But that is not why we’re here.” Sugar’s approach had kept him out in his yard and he hadn’t taken aim with his gun yet, which I’m sure Sugar could take credit for as well. But we needed to find out what had happened, and my patience was running thin. “Your life is none of our business, and we’re not accusing you of anything. We just want to know what happened that day.”
The tic in his face slowed some. He looked at me, apparently trying to assess whether or not I was telling the truth. He looked over at Julian, whose expression was, once again, like wax.
“That’s the twin. That’s Julian Fitzpatrick.” I stepped a little closer. “He’s lived his entire life thinking that he was responsible for his twin brother’s death. Even if it was an accident, he’s been constantly reminded that if not for him, his brother would be alive.” I looked over at Julian. His face was a mask. It hadn’t changed. I turned back to the man. “It has caused him a lot of mental anguish, so maybe it’s time to set things straight for him. Mr. Quisenberry, doctor Quisenberry,” I said with as much respect I could muster, “do the right thing here, and tell us what you know.”
He looked down at the ground, as if he had some notes or cue cards on his shoes. His hat brim lifted and he looked at Julian. He may have been stripped of his physician’s license, but it was obvious that he could sense Julian’s discomfort.
He glanced over at Sugar and smiled faintly before returning his attention to me. He’d left the smile behind. “I was in financial trouble. I’d known Jonathan Fitzpatrick for years. We’d gone to college together. He knew I was in trouble, and he needed my help, he’d said during our brief phone call.” Quisenberry took off his hat and wiped his forehead with a filthy handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. “It was a long time ago, and my memory isn’t what it used to be. They brought the infant to me. He was wrapped in a hand knitted blanket. Poor little thing had some birth defects. Unformed limbs and a severe cleft palate.” He paused, and it seemed he might not tell us more. The tic in his cheek had returned. He reached up and rubbed it hard. “There was a red mark around the baby’s neck. Fitzpatrick told me he’d been with his brother’s umbilical cord around his neck. There had only been a midwife in attendance.” He shook his head. “Crazy plan, delivering twins at home with no doctor around. It was a huge risk. Fitzpatrick wouldn’t look me in the eye. Just handed me the agreed amount after I filled out the death certificate.”
Julian’s feet crunched the weed covered ground as he took several steps closer. “In your professional opinion, was the red mark on my brother’s neck consistent with that of a nuchal cord accident?”
The man had relaxed the rifle against his leg. We obviously posed no threat. He seemed somewhat contrite now as he spoke, as if he was relieved to get this off his conscience. “Professional opinion?” he repeated. “Haven’t been asked for that in a number of years.” He seemed to drift back momentarily to a time when he was a doctor instead of a loner out in the woods collecting other people’s garbage. A heavy, algae scented heat permeated the air in the thicket of overgrown foliage surrounding us. He wiped his forehead again.“In my opinion, no.”
The word seemed to echo off the surrounding old cars and rusty metal signs.
“They’d told me the baby had died that day. I can’t remember the date, of course.”
“May 5, 1989,” Julian added. “Two days after we were born. Two days after my supposed prenatal murder of my twin.”
Sugar
walked over to Julian, but he put up a hand to keep her from touching him.
“That would be consistent with what I saw,” Quisenberry continued. “The infant swaddled in the wool blanket looked as if he’d been dead for a few days.”
“But you didn’t question my father about the discrepancy?” Julian’s wax coating was cracking, and the man beneath was angry.
Quisenberry nearly destroyed his hat as he kneaded it in his hands. “I needed the money. My own legal troubles had exploded. I pushed the whole thing from my mind.”
“From your conscience, as well.” Julian shot the man a look of disgust and returned to the car.
“Thank you,” I said. “We won’t take up any more of your time.”
He smiled and nodded at Sugar, and we both climbed back into the car.
Chapter 22
An uncomfortable period of silence followed as I drove the car back out onto the highway. Julian sat so stiffly, it was as if someone had carved his likeness out of the backseat. Sugar peered over at me several times, trying to gauge my reaction to all this. But I had none. The only thing that kept picking at my brain was that my dad, somehow, now seemed like a fucking saint compared to Jonathan Fitzpatrick. Not that we had any conclusive solid evidence about what had happened twenty-five years ago, but it seemed definite that the birth had not gone as Julian had been told. To go through your whole life thinking you’d caused your twin’s death was bad enough. To discover that the whole thing had been a lie, a story made up to hide the ugly truth, was beyond bearing.
Sugar turned around and looked back at Julian. “I’m sure there’s an explanation to all this,” she offered with a twinge of hope.
“There is one.” I hadn’t expected to hear Julian reply. He’d been sitting so solidly, I was sure he’d drawn into that silent hermit mood he was so good at. “My dad killed my brother and blamed me.” His tone was glacial.