Chapter Four

Cecily hated the smell of funeral homes. Since her arrival home, deceit hung in the air, but here, death reeked from every corner and crevice. She pushed the memories of her parents' funeral to the back of her mind and greeted Clarence Bridger with a handshake. He looked the same as he had at Calder's funeral, different color shirt, different pair of trousers, but the same tall, lean, slightly balding middle-aged man.

“Miss Sizemore, nice to see you again.”

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.”

He stretched an arm toward a door. “Why don't we have a seat in my office?”

She skirted the man and slumped into a chair near his desk while he settled into one behind it. “You mentioned you had a few questions. What can I help you with?”

“Did you receive a death certificate with Calder's . . .” A lump stuck in her throat. “Calder's body?”

He shook his head. “I'm sorry to say I can't be of much help there. The death certificate would be filed in the county where he died, not here. If you want a copy, I can help you send for one.”

“Thank you but I'll contact the St. Louis County Clerk to obtain one.”

He opened a folder on his desk, his eyes scanning a piece of paper. “My notes from the coroner say Calder died in Washington County, near Irondale, Missouri.”

Thump. Thump, kerplunk went her heart. “Irondale? I thought-I thought Marcel said they were visiting St. Louis.”

“They probably were and took a side trip to Irondale.”

Cecily rubbed her clammy hands. “It would seem so if Calder died there.”

“I've been down that way once or twice. If memory serves me, Irondale isn't far from St. Louis, an hour by car.”

“What's in Irondale? I mean is it a tourist town or—?”

“Irondale?” He gave a short laugh and shook his head. “No, I'd say it's more like a small town. I don't recall anything that stood out or caught my interest. Guess they had a boy scout camp there some years back.” He cocked his head to the side and his eyes narrowed. “Are you all right, Miss Sizemore?”

No, I'm sick to my stomach and getting worse by the minute. “Yes, fine, thank you.”

“If you're intent on securing that death certificate, you should know, Irondale and St. Louis are in different counties. You'll need to contact the County Seat for Washington County, and that would be Potosi.”

“Potosi, thank you.” Cecily dreaded asking the next question but pressed on. “Mr. Bridger, Mae said she brought you clothing for Calder so you could dress him for . . ..”

“Burial. Yes, she did.” Compassion edged his words. “In the end, Marcel and Mae decided on the closed casket. I’m sorry you weren’t able to see your brother.”

“Marcel said you agreed with that decision.”

“I think it’s best to remember our loved ones as they were in life, especially . . ..”

“Especially what? Please continue.”

“Miss Sizemore, I don’t think—”

“I need to know, Mr. Bridger.” She looked into his eyes. “I assure you I can handle the truth.”

His eyes darted left to right, like Marcel’s had at the cemetery when she pressed him for answers. “Very well. He had multiple injuries to the head and body, and . . ..”

“Go on.”

“His skull and torso were crushed, neck broken.” He blew air through his lips. “Multiple contusions, deep cuts and abrasions.”

Her mouth went dry. Did he say deep cuts and abrasions? She tried to imagine under what circumstances someone would have deep cuts from a car accident. “I see. Where were the deep cuts?”

“I-I don’t see how this will help you in your grief.”

Her voice hardened. “Where, Mr. Bridger?”

“Everywhere.”

“What does that mean, everywhere? On his torso, his legs? How about his back? There too?”

Bridger nodded.

“Marcel said he found him. Did he give you any explanation, like perhaps Calder flew through the windshield?”

“I believe he said he found your brother in the vehicle, pinned behind the steering wheel. The broken ribs and broken thigh bone could have happened under such circumstances.”

Her heart launched into triple beats and her shin bones took on a familiar ache. Bridger squirmed in the chair as if he too sensed what Marcel told him about the accident didn’t add up to Calder’s horrific injuries.

A haze clouded her thoughts, as if a heavy fog had crept up from the river and crawled inside her brain. Broken ribs, broken thigh? She didn’t know how much more she could absorb. “But the deep cuts and abrasions?”

His eyes closed for a brief moment. When he opened them, they were watery? “Look, I don’t see how reliving all this will help you. Calder was your twin, and I know how close twins are. People say they’re bonded for life once they share a womb.”

“Yes, and it’s because of that bond I must know the truth. Something doesn’t add up here. I’ve known Marcel most of my life. He’s always close-mouthed, plays his cards close to his chest, but it’s because I know him so well—”

“You feel he’s keeping something from you?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe because he wants to shield you from—”

“I don’t want him to shield me when it comes to Calder. Don’t you understand, until I know how my beloved brother died, I’ll never be at peace?”

“I’m sorry, so sorry.”

“Look at me, Mr. Bridger.”

His head came up, his filmy eyes meeting hers.

“Do you think the injuries you just described are the result of a car accident?”

“That’s not for me to determine, Miss Sizemore. The coroner who did the autopsy determined the cause of death.”

“I’m asking for your opinion.”

“It’s possible, I suppose, the broken glass, the impact . . ..”

She came to her feet and looked down at him. “But not likely. Am I correct, Mr. Bridger?”

Beads of sweat marred his forehead and he wrung his hands. “If I had received the body, performed the autopsy, I could offer you my best opinion, but I did not. Calder was sent here to be prepared for burial only. Marcel and Mae insisted the casket be sealed. I always abide by the family’s wishes.”

“Well, that’s the thing, Mr. Bridger. I’m Calder’s family, his only blood.” She extended an arm and offered her hand. “Thank you; you’ve been a big help. I mean that.”

She turned to leave and pivoted around when he called her name. “I’m so sorry about Calder. Living in Des Moines, you get to know a lot of people. Your brother was one of the nicest young men I ever had the privilege of knowing.”

Tears rushed forward when his sweet face loomed behind her eyelids. “He was, wasn’t he? Have a nice day, Mr. Bridger.”

* * *

With Mr. Bridger's words ringing in her ears, “Mae and Marcel decided on the closed casket”, Cecily rode home in a daze. What did Mae know about all this? Was she involved in this conspiratorial mystery? No, it wasn't possible. Mae loved her and Calder, had given up so much to take them in, raise them, and never once made them feel as if they were outsiders.

She pulled into the long drive and parked the Escape in the three-car detached garage. Since coming home, memories chased her at every turn. Eons ago, Mae said the room above the garage served as servants' quarters. Since Gus and Mae had no need of servants, they turned the massive space into a special play area for Marcel, Elliott, Calder and her.

In the long run, the room had become much more than a playroom; it was also the place she and Marcel first had sex. One could never call such an encounter with Marcel making love. Like everything he did in life, Marcel went after what he wanted and took it without limits or control. She did nothing to stop him that first time…or at any time during their two-year relationship. He was an addiction she couldn’t seem to break, like the pitiful heroin junkie who kept coming back for more.

Home from college that fateful weekend, she opted to stay in the playhouse to prepare for an impending exam. More importantly, she needed to sort through her tumultuous feelings for the exasperating Marcel. She'd warred with those powerful emotions for years, thought certain when she started college at nineteen (after a year of aimless wandering) she'd get over him, perhaps meet someone new who’d dispel all thoughts of the man from her mind.

How wrong she'd been.

With a lone candle burning in her private sanctuary, she stood at the window commiserating with the stars. She felt a presence in the room. Looking back, she shouldn't have been surprised to turn and see Marcel standing there. He moved like a silent panther, a creature with stealth and cunning when circumstances called for it, and like the force of a fucking hurricane when he wanted to make a point.

His whiskey-laced voice drifted across the room. 'Did you think a locked door could keep me out, Cecily?'

He came to her hard and fast, without speaking another word. He took her against the wall in a wild tangle of limbs and bodies. Their lips meshed, as if God, herself, had created the perfect melding of their mouths. Arms flailed in wild abandonment, eager to strip away every shred of clothing in a brazen testament to their unrequited love. She matched him deed for deed, his punishing kisses, his forceful assault on her body. She took as much as she gave, without pretense, without regret.

And without a single word spoken during the fierce joining.

When at last he pulled away from her, they panted like dogs after chasing down a rabbit. With his hands on the wall near her head, their eyes locked and held. He reached down and tilted her chin up, those silver orbs burning through her soul. “You're mine, always have been, and I'm yours. Stop running from this crazy thing between us. Next time you come home for the weekend, you'll sleep in my bed, you got that, Cecily?”

Shaken to the very core of her being, she managed a feeble nod before he turned from her and walked from the room. She would have told herself it was all a dream if not for the way her lips ached for hours, if not for the bruises marring her tender flesh from their feral joining. Like a stupid, stupid girl, she went to Marcel's bed after that, fell so hard and so deep she imagined crawling outta Hell would be easier than leaving Marcel.

Until Calder showed up one day on campus.

Cutting across the central courtyard for her next class, she came to an abrupt halt. The familiar chatburst call of the Mockingbird rang in the air─a secret bird call she and Calder had used for years. Knowing instinctively her brother was near, she turned in the direction of the sound. Dressed in a white cotton V-neck and worn blue jeans, Calder stood next to a thick-trunked oak sporting a boyish grin. She didn’t have to ask how he’d found her on such a large campus. Twins had an innate familiar when sniffing out their doubles. She walked toward him, acutely aware the cheeky grin faded and a somber expression crossed his fine-boned features.

What is he doing here?

Eyebrows low, he caught her eyes. “Got time for lunch?”

“Not really. I'm on my way to class.”

“Take time, Cecily. I need to talk to you.”

Something was wrong. Like always, she felt his emotions—panic, desperation, and fear. For who . . . her? Her heartbeat kicked into high gear. “You’re scaring me, Calder.”

He shrugged, but she knew his body language well. Whatever he was about to say would change her life. She felt it in her bones.

“Come on, I’m parked over here.” He led her toward a nearby side street and opened the passenger door of his car. “Climb in; we'll grab a hamburger.”

They pulled into the parking lot of a small, off-campus café called Tessa's Table. After the waitress took their order, Cecily looked across the table at him. For the first time in her life, she couldn’t decipher his expression. “What is it, what's wrong?”

“Look, we all know what's been going on with you and Marcel, even though Mae, Elliott and I have never interfered, never said anything. We've always wanted what's best for both of you; you know that, right?”

“Of course, I know that, but─”

“I'm going to ask you to do something, something harder than you've ever done in your life. You're all I have left and I love you more than anything in the world, you know that too, don't you, Cecily?'

“Yes, I know, and you love Marcel too, right? This isn't about us, is it?”

“Yes…yes, it is.” She didn't have to look to know he was wringing his hands under the table. “You can't be with him, Cecily. You have to go away.”

“Go away? What in hell are you talking about? I love him, Calder.”

“I know you do, but maybe-maybe if you leave now, you'll get over him.”

“Get over him?”

“Yes, with enough time and distance—”

“Stop! You can't just waltz in and tell me to leave Marcel, tell me I have to leave the only home I've ever known without telling me what the hell is going on.”

“I can't tell you.' He'd blown air through his lips and shook his head. “I swore an oath.”

“You swore an oath to whom, Marcel?” Anger surged up her chest. “You’re my other half, my soul. Your loyalties are supposed to be with me! We took an oath, no secrets between us.”

“I know, I know, and I hate like hell I have to break that one promise.” His hands came out from under the table and he reached across and held hers. “You trust me, don't you; you know I would never, ever do anything to hurt you?”

Shock kicked in, and her head swam with chaotic thoughts. She could only manage a feeble nod.

“No, say it. Say you know I'd never hurt you.”

“Okay, you'd never hurt me, not intentionally, but you're hurting me now.”

“Only because I have to in order to protect you.”

“Protect me? Shit, Calder, what are you saying? You need to protect me from Marcel?”

He looked away and blew another puff of air. “Yes, from him and from living there.”

A dreadful foreboding replaced the shock. “Give me something. What don't I know about Marcel? He's cheating on me, seeing someone else?”

His head snapped back toward her. “No! Never. God, I wish it were that simple.” As if he was collecting his words, a lengthy pause ensued. “We don't, after all these years, we don't know them, have never known about them.”

“Calder, my heart is beating a million miles a minute.” She had searched his face for answers, for a clue, for anything. “I feel as if I'm outside my body listening in on a conversation that doesn't belong in my life.”

He squeezed her hand. “You remember how many times we talked about locked doors, secret phone calls, all that?”

“Of course, I remember. Is that what this is about?'

'That's what I can't tell you, that's why you have to trust me.”

“I’m not leaving, not going anywhere unless you give me more.”

“Oh, God, this is so hard. Marcel does bad things, and he’s very good at it.” His eyes locked with hers. “Very, very good at it.”

She rubbed her temples, her frenzied thoughts like scrambled eggs. Oh, God, the bruises, the cuts.

“Bad things? Is he-is he involved with the mafia?”

“Could you live with that? Think about it, and think hard. Could you?”

“No. I-I could never be with someone who─”

The waitress had delivered their food to the table, interrupting her answer. The moment the woman was out of earshot, her questions and his elusive answers droned on. No matter how much she pried, prodded and begged he’d fielded every single question without giving her a concrete answer. He had alluded to the mafia but didn’t actually say Marcel was involved with them. She could no longer think. Her world had been turned on its axis.

One more question, Calder. “Elliott too?”

Calder had nodded and then dug into his jeans’ pocket and slipped an envelope across the table.

“What the hell is this?”

“Ten thousand dollars for you to start a new life. You can go anywhere you choose and if you need more money, I’ll send it.”

She had stared at the hamburger on her plate and almost tossed her breakfast. “Where did you get the money?”

“I’ve been saving up.”

How had her life changed in the blink of an eye—after one conversation with the only blood relative she had left in the world? And now he was shoving an envelope across the table and telling her he packed up all her clothing and would drive her to the airport.”

Tears fell in rivulets down her cheeks, but she knew in her heart everything Calder had said was true. He had always protected her, would never hurt her.

“Does Marcel know I’m leaving…does he know you came to talk to me?”

“God, no. If he found out I convinced you to leave, he’d probably break my legs but . . ..”

“But?”

“After he broke them, he’d have to admit I did it to protect you.”

She would never get answers from Calder, no matter how long they sat there. In the end, she had acquiesced, allowed him to drive her to the airport. Their tearful goodbye had crumbled them. First to gather his emotions, Calder had stepped back and touched her cheek. “Call me when you reach your destination.”

She had looked at the incoming and outgoing flight board and wondered how she could possibly choose a destination. But choose she must. When she turned to Calder again, he had disappeared.