Crossing Lines: A gripping psychological thriller (Behind Closed Doors Book 3) (3 page)

But I can't end the session like this. I can’t let her go, when she’s asking for my help to prevent her from hurting the ones she loves—or worse, killing someone. I'm on the verge of the breakthrough I’ve been working on for five years. Who knows if we’ll continue this the next time, or if it’ll take another five years to get back here again? But the situation is more serious than that.

“Krystal …”

“I'll have Mel call you when I come back from Switzerland in February.”
February? But that’s five months away. It's far too long to live with the status quo, praying everything will be all right.
I try to tell her as much, but she cuts off my protest. “It’s okay. I can wait until then.” She smiles and swings the door wide open. “It was fantastic to see you again, Darryl!”

She’s impossible. As always, it’s her way or no way, and I suppose I have no other choice. I grab my wallet, cell phone, and car keys from my desk drawer and follow her out the door.

Chapter Two

I MASSAGE THE HEADACHE
beginning to throb at my temples. Sitting in the high school office again always brings back memories of visiting the guidance counselor with Faith when I was fifteen. Our parents died when I was six, and I was raised by Faith and her first husband, Calvin. She was with me the day I decided to go after the football scholarship that earned me a place at the pre-med college of my choice. The day I decided I wanted to become a psychiatrist, like Calvin and our Dad.

It was the only time I’d been in the school office for a parent-teacher conference when I was the child. But as the parent, I’ve endured more of these meetings than I care to admit. This is the third time I’ve been summoned to school since the semester started five weeks ago. It doesn't matter what I say to Lisa; this never changes. Until now.

For once she’s done something right and yet the outcome for us is worse than ever. I hate being the bad guy. I hate telling her that she can’t have something she wants, something that might change the very core of who she is and solve every problem I face with her. But to this? Sadly, I have no choice. I have to say ‘no’.

“Don't you think it would have been appropriate to seek my permission before you did something like this?” I snap as Ms. Jackson, the principal of the school, stares at her staff member in accusation. But we all know bickering over the permission to enter Lisa's screenwriting project into a competition is the least of my worries now.

“We had your permission,” Mrs. Rodriquez volunteers softly and offers me the signed permission slip. One glimpse at the proficient forgery and I don't even bother to take it. I turn my scowl on Lisa. “We'll talk about this at home.”
Again
. But Lisa makes no attempt to acknowledge me.

“I'm sorry, Doctor Hawthorne,” Mrs. Rodriquez apologizes. “It never occurred to me to check.”

I sigh. Why am I furious at them for seeing potential in Lisa when so many people tell me she’s a lost cause already? Too many people tell me she’s on the fast track to juvenile detention and her life is predetermined by Faith’s and John’s deaths, when these events occurred before she was even ten years old.

“It's not your fault.” I make a half attempt at smoothing over any feathers I’ve ruffled here today. I don’t know whose fault this is. Probably mine. Because I’m sure Lisa has asked me to sign permission slips before, but I don’t remember signing them. It was always something Isobel had done before our marriage fell apart.

Who can blame Lisa, really? If my final drama assignment of freshman year had been to write a short screenplay and the school had wanted to enter it into a ‘screenwriters of the future’ competition, I’m damn sure I'd have done the same thing had I found myself in Lisa's shoes, twenty-something years ago. But then again, I wouldn’t have found myself there. Faith never forgot to do something as important as signing a permission slip.
Never
.

“One of this year's judges is on the admissions board at a performance academy in Seattle,” Ms. Jackson says, “They think Lisa has an exceptional talent for someone so young.”

“Right.” I nod. “For screenwriting.”
Why don’t I know that my niece has a gift?
My failures as Lisa’s caregiver are starting to stack up. I didn’t even know she was still writing. But some strangers on the other side of the country did, and thought Lisa was talented enough to want her to attend their school.

We’ve never even looked at high schools outside of the district, let alone schools in a different state. So, the brochure I’ve been handed and the accompanying letter that offers Lisa a place on their screenwriters of the future program, in addition to her first place prize of a scholarship, comes to me as a complete surprise.

I’ve never heard of this college in Seattle, prepared to accept her immediately, even though she’s three years from graduating high school. If she’s prepared to put the work in to complete her high school education within the next year, though, they’ll support her all the way.

It all seems a little too good to be true, and yet Mrs. Rodriquez is saying this is the school where dreams are made. It’s one of the country’s leading performance academies and perfect for Lisa's dreams of becoming a screenwriter.

My failure punches me in the gut again. I didn’t even know she wanted to be a screenwriter. But as I look at her again, her eyes tell me she does. She wants this more than anything else in the world, which makes this whole thing even more heartbreaking. I’ve been there.

I’d had my first real man-to-man conversation with Calvin
,
my sister’s first husband
when I shared my plans to become a psychiatrist, like him. But he’d
lied about the money my parents had set aside for my college education, both pre-med and medical school if that was where I wanted to go.

It’s not that we have money troubles, son,
he’d said when he made me promise not to tell Faith,
it's just that there isn’t enough in the pot for you, Georgia, and Caleb to follow your father and me into the family business. One of you will have to miss out.

In other words, if I was old enough to understand the difference between my father and theirs, then I was old enough to make a sacrifice for the futures of my niece and nephew. For the first time in my life I felt like a burden to him and my sister, like an outsider.

I didn’t know I was adopted at the time, and when the stranger I now know as my aunt told me the truth, everything suddenly made sense. I
was
a burden to Faith and Calvin—financially, emotionally, and physically—and I thought they would be better off without me. It wasn’t until I’d read Faith’s letters that I had understood how in just one conversation Calvin had unraveled the very sense of belonging Faith had fought to give me. Suffered for, even, just so I could have it. And the years of being grateful for everything they had given me was just another way for Calvin to crack the bond between me and my sister.

And when it was time, he hammered a wedge right into that crack by telling my aunt where to find me and letting her tell me I was adopted, instead of giving Faith the opportunity to explain that my birth parents had died when I was a baby, and our parents had adopted me, and when they too had died, Faith had fought Calvin to keep me where I belonged, in the family.

He had stolen my identity from me. That single act tore away the very core of who I am. At thirty-nine, I’m still trying to find it.

I’m the sole heir to the Carey Cosmetic fortune, a company my birth-parents had owned, and my aunt later sold after their deaths. Despite a generous settlement to Isobel in the divorce and a large monthly alimony with three excessive allowances to Faith’s children, and after outlaying the setting up of Faith’s charity and supplementing the heavy losses Hawthorne Wellbeing suffered during the storm that was my takeover, I will still never want for anything ever again. Except, maybe—
No,
I shake my head.
It’s impossible. Money can't buy that kind of happiness.

“We sent a letter home before the summer recess.” My attention snaps back to the school office and Mrs. Rodriquez as she continues, “When Lisa brought us the requested samples of her writing with the signed permission slip we thought you knew about this.”

Once again my fury spikes and I turn to Lisa. But the nonchalant shrug of her shoulders and the blank stare tells me more than I want to know.
I screwed up. Again.
“Why didn't you remind me, Lisa?”

“Remind you?” she asks. The raised brow mixed with her expression of contempt only tightens the knot deep in my stomach. She hates me. She’s hated me since the day Izzy left. “I didn't even tell you about it.”

I don’t know whether to be angry, happy, or terrified. I can’t process this turn in events. Lisa had done something good, and yet this day is turning out to be the worst day ever. “Seriously Lisa, why didn't you tell me?”

“Well,” she shrugs, “You don't want me around, and I figured you'd never admit something like that to Uncle Drew.” She tosses her once-blonde-but-now-raven hair over her shoulder. “Besides, I'd rather live anywhere except for Hawthorne Creek.” Her heavily made-up eyes narrow as her jet black lips pause and pout. “Even if that means I have to be here with
you
.”

Her words cut like a knife in my chest and take the air from my lungs. My mouth hangs open for a few moments until the room opens up around me. Awareness of the principal and Mrs. Rodriquez heats my cheeks. I swallow and turn my attention away from them before starting a conversation I'd rather have without an audience. “Why would you say something like that?”

“If you loved me, you'd let me go!” Lisa pouts.

“No. I would not.” I shake my head. “You're fifteen. There isn't a chance on this earth I'd let you move across this country without me.”

Her eyes brighten for a second.
Maybe I said something right?
But then she sneers. “That's just another way of saying no.”

“You're damn right it is. Moving to Seattle is impossible for us, Lisa. What about the charity, and the practice?”

“Of course, Faith's legacy is more important. As always.”

“What about Caleb and Georgia?”

“What difference does that make? Caleb's in LA and Georgia's in Florida. They were allowed to run as far away as possible from you. Why can't I?”

I bite back the retaliation on the tip of my tongue. I remind myself this is full-on teenage rebellion and rage, and I know I shouldn't rise to it. “They are old enough to make that choice. What about Caitlyn and Zoe?”

“When will you realize? Calvin killed them, just like he killed Faith, and killed my Dad!”

“Lisa—”

“They're dead, Darryl. Dead!”

“Please,” slowly I shake my head, “don't say that.” They're alive. I know they’re alive, and I’ll never give up trying to find them. Never. They need a home to come back to when we find them, Lisa.”

“So, my life is on hold until you give up?” She spits spitefully, “How wonderful for me. Just one more reason to hate you, I guess!"

“We’ll talk about this at home.” I turn to face her teachers. “Sorry," I mumble as I pick up my jacket. “This was a waste of your time, and I hate to ask, but obviously she's become adept at forging my signature, so can you email me anything in future?”

“Doctor Hawthorne,” Mrs. Rodriquez sighs. “I understand this is a shock to you, but I'm not sure you appreciate just how talented Lisa is." She folds her hands together and rests her forearms against the desk. “This performance academy is one of the best performing arts schools in the country, second only to Jordan Academy in LA. They don't make exceptions, and they don't take late admissions. Yet they're willing to do both for Lisa.”

“I understand. However, Seattle is on the other side of the country.”

“But this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for Lisa. I really think you should consider this. Not only for her,” she stands slowly, “but for yourself too.”

I look at the teacher. “I'm sorry, but Lisa can't study at a school on the other side of the country. We need to stay in New York. Conversation over.”

I’m on my feet and about to leave when Miss Rodriquez speaks again. “Forgive me for being candid, Darryl, but just in case you didn’t hear me the first time, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for Lisa, and it may have come at an appropriate time. Maybe your family would benefit all around if you reconsidered.”

“And what about the rest of my family? My business? My sister's charity? As much as I'd like to just up sticks and move for Lisa, we have too much tying us to New York.”

“I think she'd be happier, more focused, and away from the influences of her less desirable friends, if you understand what I mean. She has the smarts and the potential to become a model student, and she's a talented writer. You could really take her future completely in the opposite direction if you were prepared to let go of the past—”

“Mrs. Rodriquez,” the principal warns.

“You know nothing about our lives.”

“I knew your parents,” she says quietly. “Before I taught you, Georgia, and Caleb, I taught your sister. Now, I teach Lisa." She had, and it had been a shock to find my former teacher here at Lisa’s high school; we were miles away from the school in Southampton where we’d all attended. “I know your family very well, and I don’t believe your sister raised you this way, Darryl.”