Stepbrother: Scar Tissue - the Complete Serial (An Alpha Stepbrother Romance)

by Lillian Thorne

  No shit, I think to myself. One minute I’m a suspect in the murder of my mother and the next I’m free to go, but now with Leah in the hospital and Constance in my place.

  He sucks on his lips, shakes his head.

  “And, what happened,” he motions between us, “only happened because, well, that’s what the evidence told us.”

  That’s the closest thing to an apology that I’ll get: “I was only doing my job.”

  “What did you want me to see?” I prompt him, wanting to get out of here and see Leah as quickly as possible.

  He opens a drawer to his right and retrieves a VHS tape.

  VHS? What decade is this again?

  “I’m sure you have a few questions.”

  “Naturally.”

  “But this should explain everything.” He waves the video tape in the air, then stands up and walks to the wall on my left. There’s a TV and a VHS player on a black, wheeled cart against the wall that blends in with the clutter of the office. First the hard plastic chairs, and now this? It seems the Milton PD has lifted much of their equipment from the local high school. That explains a lot.

  He pops the video into the player, the antique gears spin and whirr as though it’s struggling to play the video.

  “Make sure you rewind it first. I don’t want the ending to be ruined.”

  He ignores me, standing next to the TV, his arms folded across his waist.

  An image comes into focus, but the sound is too low. Miles pushes a button on the TV and green vertical lines begin line the bottom of the screen. The chair scratches against the floor as I stand up to get a better look at the image.

  It’s a birds-eye view of a room, black and white. Apparently a color camera would be too much to ask from the Milton PD. Maybe I’ll send a few bucks their way. There are two people in focus, but only one person’s face is in view—a woman, Constance.

  I don’t know what question the police officer asked, but Constance is generous with her answer. It’s less an answer than a story. And she keeps talking about someone named Abigail.

  “Well, they took Abigail from me. You know that right? They took her from my arms and kept far away from me. They even stopped calling her Abigail. They were a rotten family. Just rotten.”

  “When you say, Abigail, do you mean Leah?”

  “Heavens no.”

  “Who’s Abigail?”

  “My daughter of course. Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said?”

  Constance had a daughter? I pause the tape and ask Miles who Abigail is and what this has to do with Leah, or me for that matter.

  “We looked into it. She’s not lying when she says Abigail is her daughter. She did have a daughter named Abigail.” He hesitates for a moment, an air of uneasiness surrounds both of us. “But she died nearly 30 years ago. When she’s talking about Abigail in this video, she’s really talking about Leah. She thinks Leah is her daughter.”

  What the fuck…

  I don’t even know what to think right now, but it doesn’t matter because I can’t think at all. It’s as though my brain has simply shut down. My mouth hangs open as I stare blankly at Miles.

  He shrugs, shakes his head, then reaches out and fast forwards the tape.

  “They were wicked people,” Constance begins. “How could they just take my Abigail away from me? She wasn’t happy there. I could tell. Some days she’d come over and I’d give her a little treat and she’d tell me about Judith.” There’s a sharp edge to her voice when she mentions my mother’s name. But then she smiles, a crooked, thin-lipped smile that looks more like a sneer than a smile. “But things always a way of sorting themselves out. And now Abigail can come live with me again. When can I see her? She’s not feeling very well and she needs her medicine.”

  “When you say ‘medicine,’ what kind of medicine are you talking about?”

  “Oh, this and that.” There’s a lightness to her voice, it’s cheerful almost, as though someone asked her for a recipe after tasting a pie she baked. “It’s a secret.”

  “How long have you been giving Leah, I mean, Abigail this medicine?”

  “For years, of course!” The tone of her voice makes it clear how stupid she think the question is. She adds, “She’s always been a sickly child.” She looks absently off to the side, as though reminiscing with herself. “She needs the medicine. She needs me.”

  Miles stops the video.

  “The medicine she’s referring to is a wicked cocktail of anticonvulsants, barbiturates, and who knows what else. We’re still trying to figure out everything else that was in Leah’s system, and not to mention cataloging the small pharmacy that we found in Constance’s home.”

  “She’s been poisoning Leah?”

  “Yes. For how long, we don’t know. We know she’s been fixated with Leah for a while now, but we can’t get straight answers from her most of the time. She’s caught up in this fantasy world: Leah’s her ailing daughter and all this medicine she’s feeding her is somehow helping her and not slowly killing her. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  The more I find out about Constance, the more I’m leaning toward her as the one who poisoned Leah as a child and not Judith. I hadn’t even considered Constance—why would I? She didn’t have the same access to Leah, but I guess it didn’t matter. I had no idea that Leah actually visited with Constance on a somewhat consistent basis. Couple that with the fact that she believes Leah to be her daughter and it seems clear.

  “Leah had concerns about Judith poisoning her. We searched the contents of her house and found bottle after bottle of herbal remedies—homeopathic medicine—nothing that could be considered harmful. There wasn’t so much as an aspirin.” He shakes his head. “It was night and day compared to what we found in Constance’s medicine cabinet, and kitchen, and office, and well, everywhere. We found bottle after bottle of prescription pills for all sorts of ailments. Barbiturates, amphetamines, insulin, opiates, blood thinners, ketamine, anticonvulsants, antidepressants, and some really wicked stuff called succinylcholine. Things that she shouldn’t have access to.”

  “Then how did she get them?”

  “We don’t know.” He shrugs. “She used to be a nurse. Maybe she created her cache over the years, slowly adding to it so as to not raise suspicions. Or maybe she called in some favors. Multiple favors from multiple people. We’re looking into it now.”

  It’s hard to let go of my vision of Judith. I’ve placed her into this box, and even now after it’s clear to me that she didn’t poison Leah, nor Robert for that matter, it’s hard to take her out of it. I’ll always see her as a terrible human being who I believe harmed Leah more than Constance’s poison.

  There are antidotes for poison, ways to flush it from your system, but emotionally scarring—psychological pain—can’t be flushed away in a day or two.

  “We know now that Constance killed Leah. She admitted to it—in her own way—during our questioning. We can finish watching if you’d like.”

  I’ve heard and seen just about enough. Most of my questions—the important ones, at least—have been answered. And I can work out the others myself. I’m tired, pissed off at myself for not being able to protect Leah, and I just want to get out of here.

  I ask for my car back. Mile’s tells me where I can pick it up. He tries to apologize for arresting me; tells me it was because of the pills they found in my car, ones that turned up in the to report. I listen to part of it, but I no longer care.

  I’m getting out of here.

  I’m getting Leah.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  LEAH

  THE NEXT TIME I wake up, I’m in a hospital.

  Light streams in through the window to my right and spreads a warm, goldenrod blanket across the room. There’s a brown wicker basket filled with all sorts of wonderful, bright flowers on the table in front of me. There’s a tingling sensation filling my core and spreading out through my body, and I feel happy.

  But then I’m
struck by a thought: it wasn’t a dream. What I experienced, what Constance did to me was real.

  A sudden urge to cut overwhelms me, and I sit up, but as I do, I realize that Luke is fast asleep next to me, his hand resting on my own. I sit there a moment, watching him as his back rises and falls with each breath. I don’t want to disturb him, but my desire to see his face again wins out.

  The urge to cut subsides and I grab his hand and squeeze it. He begins to stir, slowly, and after a minute or so he’s up.

  “Hi,” I whisper.

  “Hi.” He smiles back at me then leans in for a hug. I wrap my arms around him and squeeze hard. I don’t want to let go. I want to feel his arms around me, protecting me. I want to keep breathing in his heady, masculine scent. He begins to pull away, but I squeeze tighter.

  “No.”

  He laughs and we continue to hug. Finally, I let go, and he pulls away and kisses me on my forehead. He sits back down in the chair next to the bed.

  “How do you feel?” He asks. His eyes are red and tired; his clothes are wrinkled and it doesn’t look like he’s shaved in a while.

  “I have a slight headache, but otherwise I feel fine. But, what about you? You look like death!”

  He snorts. “Thanks. I’m well, now that I know you are.” I can feel myself blush. I’ve nearly forgotten all about Constance, but there’s a part of me that’s wondering what happened after I blacked out again.

  “If you want to talk about, you know, we can.”

  I didn’t want to remember being strapped to a bed. I didn’t want to think about Constance, but I knew I would have to face it eventually. If I swept it away, I’d feel better for a little while. But something like this won’t just stay locked away. Things like this, pain like this will manifest itself in other ways. No. I had to face it now. I asked Luke to tell me happened after I blacked out.

  Luke recounts what he learned from Miles and the video of Constance’s questioning. It was a relief to know that Gretchen heard my cries for help, but everything else he tells me is awful, absolutely horrible. But I guess it wasn’t anything I didn’t already know. I knew she believed that I was her daughter, but it frightened me just how far she went to try and make it happen, her own sick, twisted reality. She had no qualms killing Judith. But something didn’t sit right with me.

  “Why did she kill Judith?” I ask.

  “I’ve been thinking about that. The best explanation I can come up with is that it was her last resort. I mean, she saw you as her end goal—she’d do anything to have you. I’m certain now that it was Constance, not Judith who poisoned you when you were a child. Miles searched Judith’s house. All it turned up was herbal remedies, homeopathic medicine that wouldn’t cure a runny nose let alone harm you. Constance, on the other hand, had a small pharmacy worth of drugs.

  She poisoned you, as far as I can tell, to raise suspicions over Judith and Robert’s parenting. ‘Why does Leah keep getting sick, and why does she get better when she’s out of her mother’s care?’ It was her attempt to remove you from their home, and hopefully place you in hers. She was trying to play the part of the nice, old lady who would just love to foster an abused child.

  It didn’t work out that way though. You went to Millwood and she no longer had access to you. But that didn’t stop her. She switched her target: Robert. He started getting sick just as you were, leaving Judith to be even more suspicious. I have to say it worked. Everything was pointing to Judith. So when I learned about Robert’s death, I suspected Judith and came back for you.

  When she overheard my argument with Judith, she saw a chance to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak: kill Judith and pin the murder on me. She knew I needed certain pills, and that I carried those pills around with me. She was a nurse, so she could have easily found what pills I took by calling in a favor, or by even asking Judith. She made sure that were in Judith’s system when she killed her. It wouldn’t have been difficult. She probably went over there after I left, crushed the pills and put them in a snack or drink, and fed it to Judith. Then she did what she did best. She killed Judith. Probably with the succinylcholine. It would’ve been the easiest method. Just little injection when Judith was busy.”

  I don’t know what to say. It was clear that Luke had given it a lot of thought and from what I understood, it made sense. But that doesn’t mean that I believed it. I hate to think that there are people like Judith in this world.

  It was too exhausting to think about. I fell back against the pillows and closed my eyes.

  “Too much?” Luke asks.

  “No. I mean, kind of. It’s just a lot to take in.” I take a deep breath and exhale. “But I think you’re right.”

  I can hear Luke move away from me and walk to the table at the end of the bed. There’s a sound of plastic crinkling, something sliding off of the table, followed by the striking of a match.

  “Happy Birthday to you…” Luke sings.

  I laugh and open my eyes. “What? It’s my birthday?”

  “Well, not quite. It’s tomorrow. I wasn’t sure when you were going to wake up, but I wanted to have a treat for you when you did.”

  It was so sweet and thoughtful; I wanted to squeal right then and there.

  He brings the slice of cake over to me.

  “Make a wish.”

  I wish for happiness. I wish for me to leave Milton and never return. I wish for a new life with Luke and me (and of course Crouton!) far away from here.

  I take a deep breath and blow out the candle and with it the painful life I’ve been living.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  LEAH

  April 8th, 2014

  It’s funny how life can change so quickly, for better or worse. In the past few months, I’ve been lucky; my life has changed for the better and in ways I never could’ve imagined.

  Right now, for instance. I’m sitting here, writing this entry, at a large oak desk in a penthouse suite that overlooks the heart of Tokyo.

  There’s a gentle breeze that flutters my hair every now and then, coming in from the open door that leads to the veranda. Luke is standing out there, his arms perched on the edge of the railing, holding something—what exactly, I can’t tell. His back is to me, but I can imagine his face. I can picture the way his eyes soften as he smiles, the slight wrinkle of his nose, the single dimple on his left cheek.

  I just gave myself goosebumps. My heart still races whenever I think about Luke—a feeling I hope will never fade.

  But enough of that…

  I’m in Tokyo… Japan!

  I never thought I’d travel anywhere. Definitely not outside of the country or out of Texas for that matter. But I am out of Texas and out of Milton. And surprisingly, this isn’t my first time.

  It seems like every month Luke is whisking me away on another adventure. Paris. London. Milan. Been there. Done that. India? New Zealand? Thailand? Check, check, and check. Those are only a few of the places. I can’t even remember them all!

  My life is surreal; it’s a dream I couldn’t even imagine living less than a year ago—or ever. But here I am, sitting in a luxurious penthouse, high above the Tokyo skyline, without a care in the world. The possibilities seem endless.

  My life with Luke, although with its own set of ups and downs has, overall, been amazing.

  I’m working for him now! His assistant. It has its own sets of ups and downs, but I enjoy working closely with Luke, even though he can be a real asshole sometimes.

  I remember my first day on the job. He takes me into the office, and of course he immediately tries to undress me. I’d like to say I stopped him. I mean, having sex in his office? On my first day? It was wrong, but I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it. And the next time it happened… and the time after… Okay, you get the point.

  I love Luke. And these past few months have been some of the happiest I’ve ever had.

  I’m actually happy. It’s so strange writing those words, but it’s the truth. I’m happy

&nbs
p; Even with all the terrible things that happened, I think everything turned out alright. Constance is spending however much time she has left in a psychiatric hospital, like Millwood, but for violent offenders.

  I know some people might think I’m crazy—after everything Constance put me and my family through—but I can’t help but feel sorry for her.

  I’ve been told that time heals all wounds, but I’m not sure that’s true. I think that there are some wounds that can’t be healed by time. Sure, the pain from most wounds can disappear over time, or at the very least diminish. But when I think about this, and then think about Constance, I know for certain that it isn’t true. It’s more like, ‘time can heal most wounds.’

  I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose a child. As a nurse, Constance spent her life helping sick people, mending them. But when it came to her own daughter, her own flesh and blood, there was nothing she could do. And that affected her deeply. A hole opened up inside her and no matter how much time passed, no matter how hard she tried to plug it with alcohol and other distractions, it remained. Deepened, even.

  When I came along, she saw me as the solution. The answer she could never find. And well, the rest is history.

  I could be angry about what she did, about all the pain she put me through. I could scream and yell from the highest tower, from mountaintops, about how evil and fucked up it was that she did that to me. I have. But it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t make me feel any better.

  Time has passed; the wound is beginning to heal. There’s still more healing to go, but the pain no longer consumes me. Now, when I think about, which isn’t very often, I feel sorry for Constance. She loved her daughter dearly, and through her own twisted logic, did all she could to make things right. Fill the gap in her heart.

  I’ll be the first to concede that what she did was wrong, fucked up—whatever—, but I can, in some way, understand it.

  But, it’s all behind me now.

  I haven’t thought about cutting in nearly a year; I haven’t used my rubber bands in that same time. I don’t need them anymore. I have Luke. I have my job. And, of course, Crouton! But most importantly, I’ve found happiness. That’s all that matters now.