Chapter 15 - The Intruder at the Door
The air in Ryan’s apartment seemed to freeze. I remained frozen on the floor, looking at my six-foot-two brother curled into a ball of sheer misery.
“What did she do?” I asked, barely breathing.
“When you collapsed,” Ryan choked out, “Julian was filming from the sliding screen doors. Mom ran out from the kitchen. She saw you lying on the concrete, not moving. The back of your head was bleeding from where you hit the planter box. I was screaming at her to call 911. I had my phone in my hand, dialing.”
He stopped, pressing his knuckles against his teeth until they were white.
“And?”
“She snatched the phone out of my hand,” Ryan said, his voice dropping into a hollow, dead monotone. “She threw it into the swimming pool. She told me if the paramedics came, the neighbors would see the flashing lights and everyone would know our family was sick. She told me to leave you there until you woke up on your own.”
My stomach churned violently. The world spun on its axis.
“She left me on the concrete?”
“For nearly an hour,” Ryan whispered. “Julian kept the camera rolling the entire time. Mom went inside, poured herself a glass of chardonnay, and sat at the kitchen counter watching you through the window. She told Julian, *'If she breathes, she's fine. If she doesn't, we say she tripped on the wet patio stones after drinking.'*”
A knock on the door frame made us both freeze.
Standing in the open doorway, leaning casually against the jamb with his hands tucked into the pockets of a dark leather jacket, was Julian Vance.
He had aged—his hairline had receded, and there was a hard, predatory glint in his pale gray eyes that hadn't been there years ago. He smiled, a slow, greasy curve of his lips that sent a shudder of revulsion straight down my spine.
“Touching family reunion,” Julian said smoothly. “I see Ryan finally told you the gospel truth, Clare. Though, to be fair, hearing it is nothing compared to watching it in full high-definition.”
He pulled a silver flash drive from his pocket, tossing it lightly in the air and catching it.
May you like
“Fifty thousand dollars by tomorrow night,” Julian said, his eyes locking onto mine. “Or your precious mother becomes a national pariah, and Ryan's probation officer gets a copy of him assaulting his sister without the convenient omission of the secondary medical neglect. How does that sound, Bennett family?”
***
