Page 78 of The Locked Ward

“Why did Annabelle begin to suspect the senator was her biological father after so long?” I ask.

I’m sitting in a straight-back chair—it’s easier on my ribs than curling up on the couch—sipping the sweet hibiscus iced tea Georgia made for me.

“Maybe she subconsciously knew it for a while. Kids tend to pick things up. And when I told her about you, it might’ve made her wonder what other huge secrets Honey had,” Georgia says.

“I explained how a DNA test confirmed you were my sister, which must have given her the idea to send in her own samples. And I was remembering years ago, our families took a vacation and the lake was surrounded by patches of poison ivy. Everyone got it except Dawson and Annabelle and Colby. I was so jealous because I was itchy and miserable for the rest of the week. I looked it up today. Immunity to poison ivy is a dominant genetic trait. Maybe Annabelle remembered things like that, too.”

I nod, then wince. I never realized how many muscles are attached to my torso. Even tiny movements hurt. “I can’t believe he and Honey were together for so long.”

“Gross, right? I don’t think Dee Dee had any idea. But it makes sense he was at the house when you showed up. He could only truly mourn Annabelle in front of Honey. And creepy DuPont was there to make sure no one caught them.”

I take another sip of tea. The retro turntable is spinning Keith Urban’s greatest hits, and the wall composed of windows showcases the city lights around us. Georgia is on the couch, her long legs folded beneath her, finally looking peaceful.

“Did you suspect Honey because she was left-handed?” I ask Georgia.

She shrugs. “No, I figured whoever did it was setting me up with that detail. Besides, there had to be others at the party who were left-handed. Ten percent of us are. Can you name even five other people you know of?”

I think about it for a second, then shake my head. “I guess I never really notice things like that.”

I’m trying to be present for our conversation, but a sense of lethargy is overtaking me. I gave a statement to the police today, which took a lot out of me. I answered all their questions truthfully, but I didn’t volunteer any additional information.

They were focused on pinning the murder charge on Honey; they didn’t react when I casually mentioned that Georgia and I were twins who’d been adopted into different families as infants and that’s how I got pulled into everything.

I detailed Honey’s drinking, her rage, and how the senator had stopped her from shooting me again.

“How are your ribs feeling?” Georgia asks.

“Perfect, unless I breathe or move,” I tell her. “I’ve only ever broken my nose, but this is worse.”

“Ouch. How’d you do that?” she asks.

“A martial arts sparring match last year. It wasn’t that bad, but I kept getting nosebleeds for a week.”

“I’ve only ever had a few stitches—” Georgia cuts herself off. Her eyes widen as she stares at me. “When exactly did it happen?”

I try to remember. “Last March, I think.”

She picks up her phone and taps on it. “Was it a Saturday afternoon? March 16? Around 3 P.M. ?” Intensity fills her voice.

“All the matches were on Saturdays, so probably. That timing sounds right. Why?”

She puts down her phone. She’s turned so pale I’m glad she’s sitting down.

“I was meeting a client at the florist that afternoon and I got this nosebleed. It was awful; I had to run to the bathroom to clean myself up. Just out of the blue, and it hurt . Like someone punched me in the face. I’ve never had a nosebleed in my life before.

But all that week, I kept getting them. I finally went to the doctor, and he couldn’t find anything wrong. ”

I have no words. She doesn’t seem to, either. We just stare at each other.

“I’ve read about stuff like this happening to twins,” she says haltingly. “I just didn’t realize it was happening to us.”

Georgia and I were wrenched apart at birth, but we stayed invisibly linked all along. I’m surprised by how much comfort that gives me.

I think about how I always wanted one best friend, someone as close as a sister.

Maybe my subconscious was seeking Georgia.

We talk for a while longer, sharing more of ourselves. I’m wearing a pair of her soft pajamas, and I already feel closer to Georgia than I ever have to anyone other than my parents.

Close enough that when a silence falls between us, I immediately sense a shift in her energy. She no longer feels at peace.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask.

“Remember that woman who faked her way into being a patient with me? She works for the senator, but not officially. Her name is Patty, unless she came in under an alias.”

“Right.”

“I asked her for help. And she relished telling me I didn’t have a chance. If Tony Wagner’s death wasn’t from natural causes, I know she’s behind it.”

I put down my tea. “You think she killed him?”

“She would’ve hired someone. It’s easy enough to do.”

Georgia is twisting her hands together. Maybe she’s thinking that Tony would still be alive if she hadn’t asked him to track the senator.

“He was a nice guy, Tony,” she says. “He pretended to be a curmudgeon, but he wasn’t. I don’t think he had any family, but he found you for me. He told me he’d had a brother who’d died in his forties, so he recognized the importance of siblings.”

I nod, remembering that he sounded like a good guy when I spoke to him, too. “And Patty may have decided to exterminate him like a bug because he tried to help you.”

Georgia blinks. “Wow, you’re really angry.”

“I despise the Pattys of this world.”

“I don’t know if the coroner has released the cause of death. But it’ll be easy enough to find out. Do you think there’s anything we can do?” she asks.

Yes , I think. It’s important to always fight back hard. I feel a hitch in my pulse.

But I’m circumspect with my words. “If she did it, she needs to pay. More than that, she knows a lot about both of us and I don’t like that. I still don’t know if she had someone break into my apartment or car to leave a listening device. I need to search.”

“If Patty had someone do that, it’s probably gone by now,” Georgia tells me. “She seems to pride herself on not missing a single detail.”

“Let’s give it a little time so we can think clearly. It’s never a good idea to plan revenge when you’re upset,” I say.

Georgia gives a little laugh. “Not like we have a lot of practice planning revenge, but okay.”

I smile but remain silent. There are a few things about myself I will never share with Georgia or anyone else.

Georgia pulls herself off the couch. “You look wiped out. You need to go to bed.”

I watch as she shakes a few Advil into her palm, noticing how quickly she has reverted back to herself. Her red-gold hair is smooth and shiny, and her shirt and skirt drape across her body as gracefully as if they’re couture.

She hands me the Advil, and I wash it down with the last of my sweet tea.

“You take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch,” I offer.

“Don’t be a fool, we’re sisters. We’re both taking the bed. But if you snore, I’m going to suffocate you with a pillow.”

I smile. “Ditto.”

“Can I ask you to do one last thing? Delete that video and destroy the thumb drive Tony sent,” Georgia says.

“I’ll do it tomorrow,” I promise.

I stand up, bracing myself against the arms of the chair and enduring the stab of pain in my midsection, then shuffle to the bedroom.

As I brush my teeth, I hear her moving around the apartment, clinking silverware as she fits it into the dishwasher and clicking off the lights.

When I turn off the sink water, I hear another sound: soft sobbing.

I walk back into the living room. She’s on the couch, her head in her hands, crying like her heart is broken. I walk over and rest my hand on her shoulder.

“I had to hold everything in at the hospital.” Georgia looks up, her cheeks damp and her eyes reddened. “I guess I need to finally let it out.”

“I get it,” I tell her. “Do you want to be alone?”

She shakes her head. “I’m glad you’re here.”

She wipes her eyes, then looks down at the broken nail on her left index finger. She has filed away the rough edges, but it’s still much shorter than the others.

“Do you know how this happened?” she asks, tapping her finger.

I shake my head.

“I was fighting off Honey. She killed Annabelle, then attacked me and tried to pin it on me. What sort of mother could do that to her children?”

I was the lucky twin, I remind myself again. But all I say is, “Honey was never your mother. She doesn’t deserve that title.”

Georgia nods and wipes her eyes again as fresh tears stream out.

“I feel guilty I didn’t protect Annabelle in the end,” Georgia says haltingly.

“That’s what big sisters are supposed to do.

If I’d come back a minute or two earlier from the bathroom, maybe I could’ve stopped Honey…

When I was in the hospital, I kept thinking about that.

I even prayed to Annabelle, telling her I was so sorry. ”

I sit down on the couch beside her, wincing as my ribs protest. I stay there with my sister, my hand on her back, as she cries for everything she lost.