Dying to Tell (6 page)

Hysterical laughter bubbled in her throat. Nope. Didn’t want the loony lady attacking the cops. Or killing herself before they could convict her and pronounce her death sentence.

“Sadie?” Jake asked quietly.

Her hysteria must have been showing through again. “Do you know what medication Dr. Tynsdale gave her?”

Jake placed one hand on the thick metal bars. “Whatever it was, it must have been strong. She conked right out, and I haven’t heard a peep since.”

Amelia was so still, so quiet that she looked dead. For a minute, Sadie held her breath, watching for her chest to rise and fall.

She blinked back tears. She wanted her sister back, talking, laughing...normal.

Then Amelia made a low moan, indicating she was alive. At least physically.

Sadie shuffled inside, not wanting to startle her, but worry made perspiration bead on her neck, and her hands felt clammy. “Amelia, it’s me, Sadie.” Just as she would approach a skittish colt, Sadie moved forward slowly, gauging her sister’s reaction. Amelia still didn’t respond, so she closed the distance, careful not to make any sudden loud noise.

Tension swirled in the musty air. The metallic scent of blood lingered on Amelia’s skin and permeated her hair.

Papaw’s blood.

Sadie felt the insane urge to ask for a damp cloth so she could wash the stench away.

Instead she scooted down on the side of the cot. “Amelia, it’s me, Sadie. I came to talk.”

She gently rubbed her hand across Amelia’s back in a soothing gesture, then eased the blanket from her head. Her sister shifted slightly and released another low moan.

Her hair was wiry and straight now, the russet strands tangled and unkempt. Sadie brushed a strand from Amelia’s cheek, as her grandmother used to do when she was little, and grimaced at the pale, bruised skin beneath her eyes. “Amelia, wake up and look at me. I need to know what happened with Papaw.”

The lump beneath the blanket shifted slightly, and Sadie urged her to roll over. For a moment, the familiar pain and guilt overwhelmed her. Why had Amelia suffered so much, while Sadie, her twin, was normal?

Her lungs tightened at the streaks of dried blood on her sister’s cheeks. Amelia’s face looked gaunt, and more drops
of something brown were splattered across her forehead and chin.

For a brief second, anger at Jake for not letting her sister clean up rolled through her. Then she sucked it back. No emotions here.

Suddenly Amelia jumped off the cot, crouched on the floor in the corner, and hugged her knees to her chest. Her hair fell over the bloodstained cheek as she rocked herself back and forth. Then she began to twirl her hair around her finger.

“Amelia?”

“Who are you?” a tinny voice whispered.

Sadie knotted her hands. That voice didn’t belong to her sister, or to the person who’d called her from her grandfather’s house to warn her that Amelia was about to kill her grandfather. It was a little girl’s voice. A child about three. Sadie had met her before.

“Bessie,” she said, “is that you?”

Amelia’s head bobbed up and down, then she glanced around the dingy jail cell. “I wanna go home. I don’t like it here.” A lone tear rolled down her cheek, and she rubbed her nose with the back of a grimy hand. “I heard the chimes. One, two, three...they’re singing.”

The chimes—the wind chimes or the chimes of the clock? Sadie never was quite sure what her sister was talking about. She had an odd obsession with both, as if they were somehow connected.

“I’m trying to hear them, Bessie,” Sadie said softly. “Tell me where they are.”

But Bessie began to wail. “He took us in the dark. I don’t like it, I hate the dark.”

Sadie sighed. Dr. Tynsdale claimed Bessie was the innocent little child her sister had once been before her mind was fractured. Amelia resorted to Bessie when life became too traumatic
for her to deal with the ugly reality. When bad things—violence—happened.

And her grandfather’s murder was as bad as it could get.

Jake watched the scene between Sadie and her sister with a mixture of pity and frustration. If Amelia were any other criminal, he could throw the book at her and not lose a wink of sleep. And if she would snap out of it, confess, and explain why she’d killed her grandfather, it would make his job a helluva lot easier. Then everyone could understand and move on.

But she was a mentally ill woman, one who saw the world through a distorted lens. No telling what thoughts had been in her head when she’d pulled that trigger.

He’d hoped seeing Sadie might shake Amelia back to reality, but judging from the disturbing sound of the little girl’s voice, this was one of the “others” Sadie had talked about years ago. He’d never met any of them, but Sadie had assured him they were real.

As real as an insane person could make them.

Sadie’s face twisted with anguish for a brief moment. Then, with an effort, she set her face, her expression unreadable.

But when she spoke, her voice was soft and soothing, as if she were speaking to a child.

“Bessie,” Sadie said, “do you know what happened with Amelia?”

Bessie frowned, the innocence of a child who was lost behind those steel bars. “She’s sad.”

“Yes,” Sadie said matter-of-factly. “Because of Papaw.”

Bessie wrinkled her nose. “This place smells. I want to go home.”

Jake jammed his hands in his pockets, looking for signs that Amelia was faking the child persona, but if she was, she was a damn good actress.

“Do you know what happened to Papaw?” Sadie asked.

Bessie swiped at the tears streaming down her cheeks with the back of one hand. “No...Amelia said he’s gone.”

“Do you remember me?” Sadie asked. “We used to play together when I was a little girl.”

Bessie’s face brightened. “We had coloring parties.”

“That’s right.” Sadie laid a hand on her sister’s arm. She was trying to be patient, act unaffected, but the slight tremble of her fingers as she stroked Bessie’s hand betrayed her suffering.

Jake retrieved his cell phone from the clip on his belt and stepped aside to phone the doctor. If Bessie was talking, maybe Tynsdale knew how to reach the alters.

He’d also heard Sadie was some kind of therapist. Maybe she could get Bessie to open up.

Still, he didn’t stray so far that he couldn’t watch his prisoner. Amelia had shot her grandfather. Who knew what she might do next?

She might attack Sadie. Or she might confess the crime and her reason for resorting to murder.

Sadie wished like hell that Jake wasn’t watching. But he was the sheriff, and he’d be peering over her shoulder at every turn. Demanding to talk to her sister. Grilling her to confide whatever Amelia or the alters revealed.

She had to stay on guard every minute she was here.

Her cell phone vibrated in her purse, and she checked the caller ID. Her coworker at the clinic in San Francisco. Probably wanted to know if she was all right.

She’d have to lie to him, too.

“Can we have another coloring party?” Bessie asked.

Her heart broke for the child in front of her. For her sister, who had no idea what she’d done. For what would happen to
Amelia’s fragile psyche when she realized she’d taken her own granddaddy’s life.

“Yes, honey,” Sadie said. “I’ll find us some paper and crayons.” Maybe Bessie had seen something.

Maybe she would draw a picture and give them some clues as to what had happened between her and Papaw, and who’d fired that gun.

And who had called her with the warning that Amelia was about to commit murder.

J
ake scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. Sadie had always taken care of her twin. She’d admitted that she never knew who she might find in her house—a child, a scary teenager, or God knows who else.

Back in high school, she’d worried that her sister might get hurt while she was in one of her alter states. She’d never said Amelia was dangerous, though.

But if one of Amelia’s alters had killed her grandfather, would that alter hurt Sadie if she pushed her too hard?

The thought sent a bolt of irrational fear through him that had nothing to do with the case.

“Bessie, let me get those crayons and paper.” Sadie gestured toward the cell walls. “We can decorate your room here just like we did when we were little.”

Bessie’s cries grew quieter. “I like to draw.”

“Me too,” Sadie said. “I have my own studio at my apartment now.”

Another pained look darkened her eyes though, making Jake wonder what kind of art she did.

“I want my dolly, too,” Bessie whispered.

“I’ll bring her next time I come to visit.” Then she helped Bessie to lie down on the cot. “Why don’t you rest a minute and think about what you want to draw while I get our supplies. Okay?”

“’Kay,” Bessie said with a big yawn.

She stretched back out on the cot, and Sadie covered her with the blanket. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Promise?” Bessie whispered.

Sadie patted her sister’s back. “I promise.”

Sadie started to walk away, but Bessie lifted her head. “Sing ‘Hush,’ Sadie. Please.”

Sadie paused, then sank back down on the cot and began to sing, “Hush little Bessie, don’t say a word...”

Mike appeared through the double doors, and Jake threw up a hand to ask him to stop. It was difficult, witnessing Sadie playing parent to her twin. He doubted she’d want Mike watching the scene, too.

An image of Ayla flashed through his mind, and he grimaced. He’d hated his ex for her selfishness in abandoning their baby daughter. And sometimes he wished Ayla had a sibling to keep her company.

But Sadie might have been better off not having a mentally ill one.

Stop feeling sorry for Sadie. You have a case to wrap up, and she’s the key
.

Mike gestured toward the front, and mouthed the word
Chad
, and Jake grimaced again. Amelia’s lawyer had arrived.

Now he would probably move Amelia to the psych ward, and any chance Jake had of hearing her side of the story would be lost between the doctors, her illness, and the red tape.

Sadie felt drained as she stepped from the jail cell. She might be a professional, but this case was her family, her past. Remaining objective was going to cost her, big-time.