Stolen(94)

Birth mother.

Laura pictured the words written in the air with the bloody finger again. Another lie!

“Oh, honey, don’t look at me like that. And don’t worry. I’m your real father. I love you, and I just thought you should know . . . before it ends . . . that you have another mother. She’s beautiful, and absolutely crazy. Just like you.”

“I don’t believe you!” But somewhere, deep inside, an ache that had nothing to do with drugs or even fear for her life took hold. “If what you say is true, the police would know about her. I would know about her.”

“Not so. Only the family attorneys knew about the closed adoption. I convinced Tracy that your biological mother couldn’t have taken you, because she didn’t know who had adopted you. That was a lie, but it was for your own good. I told Tracy that if the police found out and got a court order to unseal the adoption records, it would be a disaster, and then your biological mother really would know how to find you.”

His words were like a grenade, exploding inside her, shattering her heart into a million pieces. She grabbed her chest—it wasn’t moving. She opened her mouth and gulped in air.

Breathe!

The oxygen turned her blood cold and her mind hard. She forced herself to look at her father. “People close to the family had to know I was adopted. They would have thought my biological mother was a suspect. They would have said something.”

“Cayman and Webber knew. And I appeased them by having Cayman look into Lisa’s—that’s your birth mother’s name—whereabouts the night of the kidnapping. She was in an institution at the time. No surprise there. Like I said, she was unhinged, just like you.”

Lisa.

Could it be? Her head was pounding with the lies and half-truths that had permeated her entire life. Tears stung her eyes, distorting her vision. She cupped her hands over her mouth, breathing and rebreathing the same air to keep from hyperventilating. Separating the lies from the truth seemed impossible. Only . . . there was one truth she could cling to.

Something she knew beyond any doubt.

She was not a murderer.

Even if her father was telling the truth about this Lisa, he was lying about Angelina.

He stuck his hand out and opened his palm. It was filled with different colored pills and capsules—a kaleidoscope of death.

She knocked his hand away, and the pills went flying like confetti.

“Liar!” she screeched, surprised by how strong she suddenly felt, as if sheer rage had raised her from the dead. “Angelina did scream.” She could hear that scream in her head. “But I was the one who ran into her room to help her. I remember! I remember!” The doors in her secret mind began to fly open one by one. “You were on top of her. You had your hands around her throat. I saw you!”

He was breathing hard and fast. He looked at her with feral eyes. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Laura. You were never supposed to see. I could’ve killed you, too, right then, and made it seem like an intruder had done it all. But I love you, so I tried to find another way out.”

A terrible feeling of dread came over her, but she was finished running. There was nowhere left to hide. “If you love me, for once, just tell me the truth. Don’t let me die without it.” Though it made her want to crawl out of her skin to touch him, she reached out and rested her hand on his arm. “I’m begging you, Daddy.”

“And then will you take the pills? Please don’t make me shoot you. I don’t think I can bear it.”

No! “Yes, but I’ll know if you’re lying. I remember too much. You killed Angelina, and then you set everything up to look like a kidnapping so no one would suspect the truth. But what I can’t remember is what happened this time—to Harriet and me.”

There was something shiny next to her father, an object, partially concealed by the covers. A knife? He must’ve laid it down when he took her in his arms. She could see the black handle and the edge of a blade protruding from beneath the sheets. Her heart raced as she realized it was within her reach . . . almost.

He patted her hand. “You should’ve stayed my little girl. I tried to keep you with me, always. But you wanted to grow up, and when you stopped taking your medicine, you started to think things through. You became too curious. Even after you went off to college though, I had hope. Tracy and I came down for parents’ weekend, just to make sure that you were happy. That was the real reason, I swear.” He paused and raised her chin with his finger. “I hoped you could be happy.”

She wanted to be sick again, but fought it off.

“What did you do to Harriet?” If she got out of this alive, she wanted to be able to tell Harriet’s mother what had happened to her daughter. A mother deserves to know.