Double Vision

by L. M. Halloran

  Nothing.

  Liam had walked out of the bedroom a few minutes later, told everyone to enjoy the property until dawn and the cars until the following day, then left. No tires had squealed. No bottles had been thrown. He was, as always, in control of himself and his surroundings.

  I think of the traces of me left in his home. Flowers on the kitchen island. Clean underwear in the corner of a dresser drawer. A toothbrush sharing a cup with his.

  What will he do with the pieces of me? Better yet, what will I do with the pieces I have left?

  Tears come, hot and silent. Knowing that this moment was inevitable doesn’t lessen my pain. In fact, it’s magnified from what it might have been.

  We’d never explicitly discussed our relationship past August first, and I’d allowed myself to hope that he would want to try long-distance. The flight from Seattle to L.A. was a short one; we could spend weekends together here and there. I’d fly down on every break. Spend the summers with him.

  I’m a fucking idiot.

  None of this would have happened if I’d said no. If I hadn’t in that pivotal moment thought of the woman who, in my inebriated state, I’d decided looked like me. If I hadn’t wanted the fearlessness I’d ascribed to her.

  She’s a stranger I’ll never see again.

  And so is he.

  Karina and Raul show up at five with Thai food, a bottle of rum, and a beauty case with contents that remain a mystery until I’m drunk.

  Among Karina’s many artistic talents is hairstyling; she’d gone to cosmetology school right out of high school, worked for a year in a salon, then decided she’d rather stab herself with shears than cut hair.

  I tell her to do whatever she wants.

  To my surprise, she only gives my long hair a trim and some flattering layers. The actual shock comes when she mixes a bowl of dye, applies it with a color-brush and foils, and washes it out fifty minutes later.

  “Parting gift from the land of plastic tits,” she says, our eyes meeting in the bathroom mirror as she finishes blow-drying my hair.

  “I’m blonde,” I say, hiccuping.

  Raul pops his head in, grinning when he sees me. “Oh shit, we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

  Karina rolls her eyes. “Do you like it, Eden?”

  I nod. I actually do like it—she didn’t bleach me so much as brighten my existing color. But I still look different. Me but not me.

  A new me.

  “It’s perfect.”

  Raul checks his watch. “Ready to roll, K? We’ve got twenty minutes to get to work.”

  They leave me with the rum, leftovers, and promises to check in on me tomorrow.

  I fall asleep on the couch watching Seinfeld. I dream of hands in my hair and a kiss on my forehead. The sensations are so real, I even smell his cologne.

  I wake the next morning to a hangover from hell, blonde hair, and a postcard of the Santa Monica Pier resting in my lap.

  With shaking fingers, I lift the postcard and turn it over. Three words. His slanted handwriting.

  I found her.

  17

  When Liam opens his front door, I storm past him and spin around, my index finger aimed at his face. I’ve never been so furious in my life.

  “You’ve known where she is all along, haven’t you? Talking me down, telling me I just imagined her… all of that was a lie. You were saving the truth for now—your final move to stop me from leaving this cancerous city. You’re a piece of shit, Liam Rourke.” I suck in a deep breath, winded from my tirade.

  Expression unreadable, Liam crosses his arms and leans against the closed door. “Does any of that really matter, dove?”

  “Don’t call me that,” I snap. “Whatever this was—we were—was over the second you tried to buy me.”

  His brows lift with incredulity. “That’s what you think I was doing? Trying to buy you? Eden, if I wanted to buy a girlfriend, I would. Easily. There are plenty of women who are actual submissives—formally trained—who wouldn’t cost me nearly as much as you do.”

  My heart stutters and drops, stealing all color from my face. Liam’s jaw clenches. He takes two swift steps and before I can jerk back, his hands are on my throat. Not tightly enough to cut off my air, but enough to assert control. To demand my obedience.

  Instead of lowering my gaze, I stare into his glittering eyes. My defiance proves his point, but I don’t care anymore. I’m not his toy, his pet, his dove. I’m me. And I thought—I really believed—that was who he wanted.

  “Fuck you,” I snarl.

  His lips compress, nostrils flaring. “All in due time. But right now you need to shut up and listen. Two months ago, you walked into the wrong party. You have no earthly idea how dangerous it was for you to be there.”

  I blink in shock, my mouth dropping. “What are you talking about?”

  His hands give a warning squeeze. “Listen, damnit. That house belongs to a man named Maddoc Donnelly.” He sees the comprehension on my face and sucks in a breath, gaze narrowing. “Ah, I see you know the name. Googled him, did you? That night I found you in the kitchen?”

  His accent is noticeable now, a sign of him losing control. My pulse fluttering, I nod.

  “Do you want to know why I was there that night?” he asks stonily.

  “Yes,” I breathe.

  “I was working.”

  My head shakes; tears gather in my eyes. “I don’t understand.”

  His fingers loosen, thumbs now stroking my skin. “I know you’ve tried your hardest to not understand, Eden. But I think you do.”

  I blink rapidly, struggling for breath even though his fingers are gentle now. Words stutter from my lips. “Do—do you… k-kill people?”

  He sighs, shaking his head. “Of course you would think the worst. No. I find them.”

  The edges of my vision darken, the awful truth closing in.

  “Who?” I whisper.

  “Eden Elizabeth Donnelly. Born July 23, 1994 to Maddoc Donnelly and Elizabeth Sharpe. Disappeared July 31st of the same year with her mother. Her twin sister, Alexis, was left behind with their father.”

  A tremble moves through me, crown to feet. A seismic eruption of self. I sway and Liam catches me, lifts me against his chest.

  Everything goes black.

  I come to on Liam’s bed. He’s lying beside me propped on an elbow, his free hand stroking my hair. Sunlight streams through the windows behind him. In his white shirt and black slacks, he looks like an angel. Or a devil disguised as one.

  He smiles a little. “Welcome back.”

  Before I do something stupid like curl into his warmth, I wrench away and swing my legs off the bed. Head in my hands, I fight a surge of nausea. Through the confusing jumble of thoughts in my head comes a singular one.

  “Alexis,” I croak, looking over my shoulder.

  Liam hasn’t moved. His ease, his stillness, I now know are merely products of his formidable control. His inhuman discipline. How had I not noticed this before? The man even makes relaxing look predatory.

  “That’s her name, yes. The woman who crashed into you at the party was your identical twin.”

  I stare at the sheets between us. “Oh my God. This is insane.”

  “I had your DNA tested against Donnelly’s. There’s no doubt you’re his daughter.”

  My biological father is Maddoc Donnelly.

  The criminal.

  I meet his eyes. “What is he, a drug kingpin or something?”

  “Among other things, yes. Never been caught, though I’m sure the Feds have a mile-long dossier on him. He’s slippery as an eel and smart as a fox. If I didn’t loathe the man, I’d respect him.”

  Puzzle pieces connect in my mind, forming a picture I can barely make sense of. Maddoc Donnelly. Liam Rourke. Both Irish names. My skin, pale and freckled.

  Watching Liam’s face carefully, I say, “I thought the Irish mob didn’t really exist in the U.S. anymore.”

  He remains still and silent, expression p
lacid. But I know him. I see the infinitesimal tightening around his eyes.

  “Holy shit,” I choke out. “He’s a freaking mob boss.”

  “Not a boss, Eden. The Boss.” He shifts, sitting up and letting his feet fall to the floor. His shirt stretches over the muscles of his back as he props elbows on his knees and stares out the nearby window.

  I don’t ask him to tell me the rest. I feel it coming like a missile straight for me. He begins to speak, voice muted and even.

  “Before you ask, I’m an independent contractor. Much to Maddoc’s endless frustration. I only took this job because I owed him a favor. A rather large one, I’m afraid.” His back rises and falls with a heavy breath. “I’d already found you, the night of the party. I paid one of Karina’s acquaintances to invite her. I didn’t actually know you’d be there.”

  “You stalked me?”

  “I found you,” he corrects. “And I’ve been hiding you ever since.”

  18

  “Hiding me?” I echo in bafflement. “Why, Liam? Tell me what the hell is going on!”

  He pivots to face me, one leg coming onto the bed. A rare show of temper flashes in his eyes. “I will, goddamnit. I’m trying to find the words. Jesus H. Christ, Eden, this isn’t exactly easy for me.”

  Sheets bunch in my fingers. “Easy for you? Asshole!” Unhinged by rage, I launch myself at him, raining punches on his chest and arms. He doesn’t try to stop me, sitting immobile beneath my abuse.

  When I’ve exhausted my meager energy reserves, I collapse sobbing against him. Only then does he move, encasing me in his strong arms.

  “I’m sorry, dove.”

  “Don’t call me that,” I say without bite. Lifting my tearstained face, I search his eyes. Looking for answers. Finding only mysteries. “Why?”

  “The simple answer is I don’t want him to have you.”

  “And the complicated one?”

  “He thinks you know where your mother is. From what I gather, her disappearance with you was unexpected.” Before I can ask what the fuck he means, he continues, “I don’t know why he wants to find her, but I can guess it isn’t for a happy reunion.”

  “But I don’t know my mother,” I protest. “I was adopted when I was a year old—”

  “I know, but Maddoc believes otherwise.”

  I shudder and he holds me tighter. “You haven’t told him? About me?”

  “I didn’t tell him, but he knows. He’s got rats in every gutter in this city.” He pauses. “Let’s just say we’re at an impasse in our negotiations. He isn’t allowed to come near you unless it’s on my terms.”

  Fear runs like ice in my veins but despite it, I don’t pull away. “Who are you, Liam?” I whisper into his shoulder.

  “Someone who wants to protect you,” he murmurs. “Who’s willing to go to great lengths to keep you safe. Trust me, you don’t want the life your sister has.”

  The word sister blows every other thought from my mind. My head whips up, narrowly avoiding his chin. “Tell me where she is.”

  “I’ll tell you—with conditions.”

  The trap is set, and regardless of knowing how much it will hurt, I walk willingly into it.

  “What are they?”

  “The first one is that you stay.”

  Liam presents his terms in a voice that brooks no argument. Sitting a safe three feet from him on the bed, I listen, my heart shriveling a little more with each pronouncement.

  I move in with him immediately and for the foreseeable future.

  I tell my parents I’ve decided to postpone medical school for a year.

  I tell Karina and Raul nothing. Or anyone else, for that matter.

  I quit my jobs.

  I allow him to track my phone and car.

  “You want me to be your prisoner.”

  “I want to keep you safe.”

  We’ve been going in the same circle for more than fifteen minutes. Either he can’t understand my perspective, or he simply doesn’t care.

  “Safe from who? Maddoc Donnelly? Do you think he wants to hurt me?”

  “I doubt it,” he says. “But there are worse fates. Once he has you, he won’t let you go.”

  My eyes narrow. “How is that any different from what you’re doing to me?”

  Liam throws up his hands. “You’re impossible to reason with.”

  I stand and pace to the bedroom doorway and back. When I stop, I square my shoulders with newfound conviction. “I’ll disappear. I’ll get in my car and drive out of town, and neither of you will ever see me again.”

  “This isn’t the bloody movies, Eden,” he growls. “There’s no escape from men like your father.”

  “You mean men like you!”

  He’s unaffected by my accusation. “And you’d leave your sister behind? Your parents? What would you do when you run out of money? Because you will, and I’m sure as fuck not giving you any. Will you sell that sweet pussy on the streets?”

  As I weigh the odds of whether or not I can strangle him, he leaps from the bed. Faster, stronger, so controlled, he pushes me backward with one hand cupping my shoulder and a forearm on my neck.

  My spine meets the wall beside the bedroom door. Chest heaving against his, I dig fingernails into his forearm. He doesn’t even flinch. Once again, he’s not cutting off my air, just subduing me.

  An image pops into my mind of a cat being immobilized by the scruff of their neck.

  I laugh. Hysterically. Then I spit in his face.

  A grievous error.

  Seconds later, I’m flat on my back on the bed with him on top of me. My legs are wrenched apart, my wrists captured in one hand and held against the headboard.

  I scream and writhe beneath him, shouting profanities and trying to slam my head against his. When my thrashing heels find one of his kidneys, he sucks in a sharp breath of pain.

  “God forgive me,” he says right before slapping me across the face. Fiery pain blooms in my cheek and jaw, the shock of it stunning me silent and still. Tears of rage and helplessness cloud my eyes.

  “I hate you,” I sob.

  His forehead drops to mine, his panting breaths warm on my stinging cheek. “If only that were true, dove. You might stand a chance in this world.”

  “Let me go,” I beg him. “Please, don’t do this to me.”

  He’s gone a moment later, striding to the door and pausing briefly on the threshold.

  “You have twenty-four hours to decide. Option A, you let me keep you safe. Option B, you run. If you decide on the latter, you have my word that I won’t try to stop you. But you’d better hope I find you before Maddoc does. Choose wisely.”

  The door closes.

  When I finally muster the courage to venture from the bedroom, the house is quiet and Liam’s car is missing from the driveway. I don’t hesitate, grabbing my keys from the floor just inside the front door and racing to my car. For all I know, there’s already a tracking device on it, but I don’t give a shit if he knows where I’m going.

  Fifteen minutes later, I pull into the parking lot of the nearest police precinct.

  19

  The detective I speak to is a balding man in his fifties with a bulky physique and steady eyes. He hears me out, taking occasional notes on a yellow pad of paper.

  He doesn’t say it outright, but by the end of the interview, it’s clear he thinks I’m batshit crazy. Not an hour after I arrive, I leave, my stomach sour with disappointment and bad coffee.

  In the parking lot, a niggling suspicion makes me call Veritas. An associate answers, and I ask to speak with our manager. Lucille picks up the line a few moments later.

  “Eden?” she asks in surprise. “What’s up?”

  “I just wanted to make sure I’m still on the schedule this week.”

  There’s a long pause. “I’m confused. Shouldn’t you be on your way to Oregon? How’s your dad doing, by the way?”

  My fingers clench on the phone. “Good. He’s, uh… doing fine. So my s
hifts are all covered?”

  “Ohh, I get it, you couldn’t help being your responsible self. Seriously, Eden, don’t worry about a thing back here. Focus on driving safely and being with your family. We’re all so sorry about the accident.”

  “The accident,” I echo.

  She hums in sympathy. “Your final check should have gone through direct deposit today. Let me know if you don’t see it. And if you ever decide to move back our way, please give us a ring. You’ll always have a position here at Veritas.”

  “Thanks, Lucille,” I force out. “Take care.”

  I hang up and toss my phone on the passenger seat, then pound the steering wheel with both hands. Not until the pain overcomes my misery do I let my arms fall to my sides.

  When my former professor explained to me why I craved sexual submission, he told me foremost about the difference between surrender and defeat.

  Surrender, he’d said, was an active choice; it didn’t diminish an individual’s power because the choice itself was a powerful one. At his hands and at Liam’s, I’ve experienced the ecstatic sweetness of surrender.

  And now I know the difference.

  I know defeat.

  I head north on the I-5, through Van Nuys and into the San Fernando Valley. I don’t turn on the radio. I don’t look at my phone when it buzzes repeatedly. I just drive. I’m not running; at least, not consciously. But I also can’t seem to make myself turn around.

  When the sky begins to darken, I take an exit in Bakersfield to fill my gas tank. I don’t know what I’m doing. Where I’m going. I can’t think straight. Can’t even remember the last time I ate. Was it the Thai food yesterday?

  Was that only yesterday?

  At the gas station, I use my credit card at the pump, then head into the attached minimart for coffee and a snack I probably won’t eat. While paying for my purchase, I glance outside just as a car pulls into the station and parks at the pump behind mine.

  It’s a black sedan. Middle-grade, no distinguishing features. A single figure occupies the driver’s seat. I wait for the person to exit the car, but they don’t.