Page 72 of Master of Lies

“Ah, damn,” he murmured. “Weird. Makes me feel like a retroactive perv.”

“Tough titties,” I told him. “Suffer, bitch.”

We stared at each other, and out of nowhere, we both dissolved into laughter and just lay there, snorting and choking helplessly in the blankets together.

“I don’t know about this shit you dosed us with,” Jed said. “Not much of a hardcore interrogation drug, with the two of us rolling around in the bed giggling like idiots. It seems more a recreational drug for a girls-gone-wild slumber party. Next up, pillow fight.”

“Yeah, I think this stuff is experimental, at best,” I agreed. “But me getting toasted right along with you was definitely not part of the plan. I was going to handcuff you to the bed and give you a taste of your own medicine. I was going to interrogate the shit out of you.”

“Yeah?” Jed’s eyes dilated, and a delighted grin spread across his face. “Wow. Cool. Did you have, you know, an outfit? Black latex? Stiletto heels? Red lipstick?”

“Don’t patronize me, you oversexed son of a bitch.”

“I love it when you’re stern,” he crooned.

That pushed us over the top again, even worse this time. The harder we tried to stifle the laughter, the worse it got. When the paroxysms finally petered out, we just lay there, facing each other, staring into each other’s eyes, just drifting.

Such a strange, wide-open feeling. As if we were having a conversation without words on some level far removed from our conscious minds. I felt naked, intensely seen, as if my soul had its doors flung completely open. And he felt the same. I knew it, because I could see inside him. I could see all the way to forever. And it was beautiful.

Who knew how much time passed, in this strange floating state. I certainly couldn’t track it, and I wasn’t even capable of looking at a watch or a phone.

Finally, he reached out, very slowly stroking my cheek with a tip of his finger, with reverent tenderness. “Hey,” he said. “Frey. Who’s Aunt Jean?”

I flinched as if he’d slapped me. “What the fuck, Jed?”

He just waited. “Who is she?”

“None of your goddamn business!”

“I told you the truth,” he said gently. “Now tell me yours. When I came in the door, you screamed this woman’s name. Who is she? What did she do to you?”

I rolled over so my back was to him. I couldn’t bear to be seen. It took me several minutes to come up with an entry point into that tangle of dark memories.

“Remember Sandee’s mean foster parents?” I asked. “The ones who locked her in the basement?”

I heard his sharp intake of air. “Oh, shit! You’re telling me that part of it was real?”

“Yeah, for some reason, I gave that same story to Sandee. I guess I figured it would explain her many character defects, all at once. I wasn’t really thinking about what that meant for me. I was just trying to put together a believable personality.”

“You succeeded,” he said, his voice wry. “So, she was a relative?”

“Yeah. My aunt. Jean Winters. She and my Uncle Orren Winters. Jean was my mother’s older sister, but they weren’t close. Of course, you knew my parents died in a car accident when I was seven years old, right?”

He nodded. “Your brothers told me about that.”

“A drunk driver,” I said. “They went out to a blues festival. Never came back.”

“I know how that is,” Jed offered. “I was ten when my dad smashed up in his truck coming home from the bar. Except in his case, he was the drunk driver.”

I winced. “I’m sorry.”

He nodded acknowledgement. “So tell me about Aunt Jean and Uncle Orren.”

I rolled onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. “We got sent to live with them after the accident,” I said. “I was seven, Shane was almost thirteen, Ethan was fifteen.”

“And they were both bad? This aunt and uncle?”

“They were terrible. Their house was a nightmare. Aunt Jean was insane. Being married to my uncle might have been what did it to her, but she couldn’t have been too stable to begin with, to marry him.”

---