Chapter 22 #3
“Well, that blood you sent actually came in handier than we expected.” Leroux tilts his head, drawing out whatever revelation he thinks he’s about to bestow upon Jeremy.
Jeremy mockingly claps his shackled hands together. “Oh good! You know me, Detective. If I’m not permanently disfiguring you, then I’m looking for ways to help you do your job.”
He swears Leroux turns a shade of indigo that can be achieved only through a sudden, catastrophic cardiac arrest. Wren jumps in to save the moment, again resting a hand on Leroux’s arm like a mother quieting a temperamental child.
“You have a sibling, Jeremy,” she says without any preamble. She drops it down in front of him coldly, her eyes suddenly brightly alive again.
Jeremy slowly turns his head to look at her, taking a second to contemplate what that actually means.
This could be a tactic, a way for them to trip him up and make him think they have all the control now.
He licks his lips, steadying his breathing and attempting to keep himself somewhere near that state of indifference.
“Oh?” he asks, his suddenly shaky voice betraying him.
She nods slowly, methodically.
“You have a brother who your mother immediately gave up her rights to before you were born.”
He flinches, angry that he can feel himself do it.
He looks for signs of deception, but he can’t find a hint of insincerity.
Her eyes are focused on him, unblinking, but somehow they stay relaxed.
Her mouth has formed into an unstrained smile, like she’s announcing the arrival of a new baby to an expectant sibling.
She doesn’t look at all like she’s just confirmed decades of unease, of hating his mother and wondering why she ever stuck around when she openly resented his very existence.
She had already abandoned one, and even she couldn’t take the reputation hit of two surrendered kids.
“Fun little tidbit you dug up,” he says, clearing his throat and keeping his tone as balanced as possible. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Leroux grinning like Vex did when he first walked in the door.
“Jeremy, your brother is Philip Trudeau,” Wren says softly, mock pity tearing into him from across the table.
The words don’t register at first. He pinches the inside of his own wrist, twisting the skin until it’s raw, trying to wake himself, because he is damn sure he’s asleep now.
He feels the pain though and the pricks of blood blooming to the surface, all signs that this is real and not a disturbing dream.
“You’re a fucking liar,” he spits out, not fully caring that the cracks in his armor are showing now.
Wren and Leroux look at each other, both starting to stand.
He watches them as he frantically tries to think his way through this, tries to understand what kind of complex head games this could be a part of.
That’s it—they are playing a fucked-up game of manipulation, so tapped out of original ideas that they are trying to pull from his own playbook and use it against him.
“Looks like you two have more in common than you care to admit, huh?” Leroux asks, grabbing the letters from the middle of the table. “I guess it’s just dear old mom’s DNA at work in both cases.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re grasping at straws. Instead of doing detective work, you think you can threaten easy information out of someone in shackles.” Jeremy’s voice is tinged with anger.
Leroux scoffs. “I don’t give a shit what you believe. You can believe in the Easter Bunny. DNA doesn’t lie.” He salutes Jeremy with the stack of letters in his hand. “Thanks for providing us with some, by the way.”
Jeremy sucks in a shaky breath, thinking through the whole experience in Massachusetts, the way Philip seemed so comfortable around death but would pretend it disturbed him.
Jeremy knew something about it was disingenuous.
He could tell it was a carefully produced act.
Philip was so comfortable killing Richard, like it was a practiced skill he had honed.
“You know it’s true, Jeremy. Somewhere, deep down, you have always known there was more to that connection. You have always known you weren’t the only one,” Wren says, standing now and looking down at him like a parent looks at a child.
He shakes his head, trying to maintain a calm exterior. Something inside him desperately craves solitude, a place where he can think and understand. Now the realization of confinement is hitting him again. He can’t just leave. He can’t isolate. Suddenly the feeling of being trapped is overwhelming.
She continues, “You and your brother, Philip, are just two mutations. You come from a poisonous gene pool.” She leans down, a sly smile painted across her face. “It’s not your fault.”
It’s pity for play, and it’s something she knows will slice him wide open. It’s like a knife twisting in his gut, being pushed deeper and deeper with every passing moment.
“Yeah, it’s a tale as old as time with you and your brother,” Leroux says, motioning to Vex to open the door. Before they leave, Leroux turns around. “Mother can really do a number on ya. You’re a pretty standard case study in that sense. But Philip? He’s pure nature. Much scarier, if you ask me.”
Wren waves her fingers delicately at Jeremy as she joins Leroux in the doorway. “Later, Norman,” she says, and they are gone.