What Lies Beneath

Chapter 19

Unfolding himself from the chair, he took a few steps towards her. “Close. But not quite.”

Olivia c****d her pistol, the comforting double click resonated throughout small the space. He strolled past her towards the kitchen, completely undaunted by the fact that a loaded pistol was aimed at his chest. Opening and closing cupboards until he found what he was looking for. “Ah-hah!” With a tumbler in each hand, he turned and placed them next to the half bottle of bourbon. He poured the amber liquid into the two glasses. Motioning for her to take a seat at the counter, he slid one tumbler towards her. “Think I’ll stand,” she deadpanned.

Sitting down, he shrugged. “All the same to me.”

“Are you going to tell me how you escaped custody?”

“I haven’t been in custody, Detective.”

“For f**k’s sakes, Finley, stop your bullshit game! What are you doing here?”

“Like I said. I’m not quite Finley, Love. Name’s Kalum Young.”

Kalum Young? “Finley’s my identical twin brother.”

Twin brother? Could it be? Were they telling the truth - had Finley not been at that party? Her mind was racing, she was so sure. She had convinced herself that Finley Scott had killed Dona Holden.

Fuck.

“You’re the man in the photo,” she whispered. She could see it now–not in the subtle way Kalum wore his hair longer, or that Finley might be a little leaner. No, not in those slight inconsistencies. The real and striking difference was in their eyes. Finley had been royally pissed off, but there was no malice in his eyes. Kalum’s eyes were gleaming with bitterness and just a hint of insanity glinting in their depths. “You killed Dona Holden.”

Nodding as if the fact meant nothing, he took a sip from the glass. “Yes, that was regrettable, of course.”

“Of course.” Olivia had to keep her eyes from rolling - he didn’t regret a single thing. “Finley got the better deal.”

“What are you talking about? What deal?”

“In life.” He shrugged.

“I don’t understand. Is Finley covering for you?” This man would try the patience of a saint.

“This will not make sense unless I start from the beginning.” He got up, grabbed the bottle and headed for the one-seater. “Sit, relax. I could never hurt a pretty thing such as yourself.” He smirked, and she wanted to scoff, but the detective in her knew to keep him calm and talking.

Taking a seat at the kitchen counter, she pushed the glass of bourbon to the side and rested her Glock on her lap, still in hand and still armed. A breeze got caught in her hair. Turning her head, she saw the front door was still open and her jacket was still in the doorway where she left it. Pushing up from the chair, she walked over slowly to retrieve it and closed the door behind her. Kalum was watching her intently. She was planning on sitting back down with the jacket, but he intercepted. “You can just drop that on the counter behind you, nice and slow.”

Shit! She was so close to her phone. Not giving away her frustration, she did what he asked.

Satisfied that he now had her undivided attention, he took another sip and started. “We were only a couple of hours old when Finley and I discarded on the steps of the CPS, two nameless, unwanted boys. Inquiries were made at the local and surrounding hospitals and clinics, but there were no twins born in a fifty-mile radius that day. There was this couple waiting to adopt a newborn, the only problem was that they couldn’t care for two. Finley had been the lucky winner that day. It could have just as easily been me.” The bitterness in his eyes reflecting in his voice.

“they placed me in foster care, and that’s where I was until the age of sixteen. Being moved from one foster home to another, and another. Without ever knowing, I had a brother. So imagine my surprise as I opened up the paper one morning and saw myself staring back at me.” He sat in contemplation for a few minutes.

“I was in New York at the time, made a life for myself as an IT tech. I have moved on, I was happy even - despite the years of a***e. Did you know, that when you break a man’s nose for trying to r**e you at fifteen years old, you get yelled at because now they need to find you a new place to stay?” He laughed without mirth.

“When I turned sixteen, I packed my s**t and basically walked to New York. I could have stayed, but being spotted by one of the social workers was not an option–I wasn’t going back to another foster home.

“Along the way, a trucker picked me up, gave me the couch in his crappy apartment along with a job as a packing boy. Life with Harold wasn’t that bad, just as long as he stayed away from the bottle. Son of a b***h had a nasty right hook. Anyway, I stayed for a while, having a roof over my head and a job. The now and again beatings seemed like a good trade. At least he didn’t have a taste for young boys.” He grinned at his own crude joke.

“Got my GHD and put myself through college, the day I got my diploma I was nineteen years old. I left Harold b****y before I got out. Make him think twice next time he picks up another boy.

“Armed with my diploma, I begged every IT company in the City for a job. Some sucker took pity on me and hired me. I had to live in a homeless shelter for a couple of months while I saved the money for a place of my own. It was a long hard f*****g road, but I made it.” Lost in the past, he stared at nothing.

“It was a few years later I saw the picture of Finley in the paper. There was a fire somewhere, and he saved some kids, I guess. The local hero”, they called him. I had been searching for my biological parents but failed attempt after failed attempt to track them down had eventually convinced me to just let it go.

“And then I saw that picture of Finley, a man that looked exactly just like me? What were the odds? I was so excited at the thought of having a brother I almost quit my job there and then to head back to Newburgh, but I calmed down enough to do some research first. See what type of person he was, what he has done with his life, you know, just general stuff.

“But eventually I resented him. The more I read, the angrier I became. What had I lacked that got picked over me? To live his cozy, well-loved life and I left to the mercy of the CPS.” Draining the glass, he got up and poured another. Resting his hip on the counter he looked down at her untouched drink but he said nothing about it. Instead, he continued on with his tragic tale.

“I applied for a transfer to Newburgh, and when I finally made it back, I became a spectator of his life. I knew everything about him, who called him, texted him, I even knew that he was secretly into country music.” Giving me a pointed look, he added. “We are not the same in that regard.” Yes, Olivia thought sarcastically, that was the glaring difference. Not the fact that the one is a murderer and possibly a psychopath to go along with it.

“When the text came through for the party and he had declined because Amanda wasn’t feeling well, I took the opportunity. I never intended to kill Dona Holden. I was just looking to ruffle the perfect feathers of his life, cause some drama, possibly a break-up, but never that. No, I never wanted to kill anyone.”

“Everyone was glad that Finley made an appearance, after all–seems like he is a well-liked guy, that brother of mine. While having a beer and chatting here and there, I saw Dona standing there looking all sad and just a little pathetic. Recognizing a kindred spirit, and of course, an opportunity. I went over to have a chat. She was hesitant at first, knowing Amanda and Finley were a couple and expecting a baby, but after a few shots, we were having quite the time.

“She was really into me, well, into Finley, that is. Had a crush on him and everything. It was perfect really.” Smiling, he reclaimed the one-seater.

“We headed out to my car for a quickie but there wasn’t enough space so we slipped into the thicket and got busy, right there in the bushes. It was dirty and raw, and I loved it. The more she called out Finley’s name, the rougher I became.

“I must have snapped sometime in between because later when my muddled brain cleared, I stood with a rock in my hand and a very dead Dona at my feet. Like I said, I never had the intention of killing her or framing Finley for her murder.” He looked over to her to see her reaction.

“I know,” Olivia lied.

“I was angry, but I wasn’t that angry. Anyway, I kept track of the investigation and when the heat was really coming down on the poor sucker, I wanted to hand myself over. But then it happened again.”

Again? Cold dread washed down her spine. “What happened again, Kalum?”

“I killed detective Collins,” he confessed.

Oh f**k. f**k f**k! This wasn’t good, Olivia thought. He’d already killed two people, one of whom was a detective. Did she make a grave mistake allowing him to talk? Her g*n-holding hand twitched at the thought. She debated whether she should just end this, arrest him and be done with it. He interrupted her nervous thoughts - for a twice murderer. He had a soothing voice.

“It would appear that I might have some issues.” He chuckled, shrugged and continued. “I was hoping to kill the Detective would kill the case along with it. Turns out I was right. As the case faded into the past, I just went on with life while keeping track of Finley’s. Everything had worked out just fine until Suzie sent that SOS. I waited for more, but it never came. After a day or two of total silence, I knew something had happened that’s when I found out that they were arrested for obstruction of justice.” Shaking his head as if Finley and Suzie had somehow disappointed him. His eyes landed on her. Smiling, he pointed a finger at her. “That’s when I found you, the gorgeous, yet utterly broken, Detective Olivia Pearson.”

“So you’re confessing now? Handing yourself over, like you wanted to before?”

“Oh no, I am just clearing Finley here. I have no plans to go to jail. Quite frankly, I don’t think I’d like it much in prison.”

“That’s the whole point of prison, it is not meant to be enjoyed. You know, for punishment purposes and all.” He gave a non-committal shrug and refocused on her.

“I have to say, Detective, you have had quite the life yourself.”

“My life is irrelevant here.” Olivia had to be very careful not to show just how much his comment unnerved her.

“I have done my homework on you. I know your mother drove off a bridge with you in the car, some sort of murder-suicide, only you had survived, haven’t you?” How does he know this? “I know what happened to your dad, Olivia.” Alarm swept through her and she could feel the warning signs of a panic attack pushing against her mind, but she had to fight it off, she could not allow him this hold her. She could just shoot him and claim it was self-defense. He had killed a detective before, why not again? It would be so easy. Lift the g*n, pull the trigger, done.

“What do you want?” she asked instead.

“I want a way out and you’re going to give it to me.”

“Don’t be so sure.” She stood, ready to react.

“Would you like to keep your little secret between us?”

No one would even miss him, Olivia thought. She’d be doing the world a favor, ridding his evil presence from it. The thing is, her life wouldn’t be over if her secret came out. She just rather it didn’t. That’s all.

Taking the glass from the counter, she downed it and stood to pour another, walked over and filled Kalum’s glass. She wasn’t being polite; she needed to see if he was armed, but she saw no signs of a g*n. Cursing under her breath as she headed back to the kitchen, she made a new plan. Standing with her back to him, she placed the bottle back on the counter. Taking the glass in hand, she placed the g*n ever so carefully on the counter right in front of her, reaching for her jacket as she slowly downed the second glass, her fingers just brushed her phone when she felt the cold metal of a g*n to the back of her neck. Nearly choking on the bourbon, she lowered the half-empty glass.

“Did you honestly believe I would bring a knife to a g*n fight, Love?”

Fuck! “Now empty the chamber nice and slow. Yeah, the magazine as well. There we go. Now get your phone and call your chief. We got ourselves a hostage situation here.” Staring at the unloaded g*n, the bullets on the wobbled countertop, she cursed herself.

She should have just shot him, she thought.