Black Lies

  I stare at the glass, trying to guess what this man wants. Coming up blank, I pull off my clothes, leaving them on the marble floors, and step into the shower.

  The shower is a cloud of fog, the hand before me hidden by a mist of white. I stumble through the steam, my feet feeling their way across the stone floor until I hit the warm body of Brant, his skin jumping underneath my touch. I say nothing, only step closer, into the hot spray, my arms wrapping around his body, my head resting on his wet chest.

  “I’m not very good company right now,” he mutters, his hands sliding down and around me, a hard hug squeezing me into his chest.

  “You’re always good company.” I stand on my tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss on his lips, my first attempt missing as our movement clashes.

  “I’m so lost right now, Lana,” he whispers.

  “You have me. Together, we’ll never be lost.”

  “I have you for how long? You aren’t going to want to put up with this.”

  I run my hands up his arms and across his shoulders, my hands ending up where I wanted them: cupping his face. “Forever. I’ve been telling you that for years, Brant. Years in which I knew about your condition. Years I’ve loved you through. I don’t love you despite this. I love you, including this. Every part of you, even parts you don’t know.”

  He growls, his chest vibrating against me. “That drives me crazy. I’m jealous of him, you know that?” His gruff tone holds an edge of possession, and I smile, glad he can’t see me.

  “Who, Lee?”

  “Yes, Lee.” He says the name like it is dirty.

  “It’s a mutual dislike. He’s extremely jealous of you.”

  “He is?” The shock in Brant’s voice makes me chuckle.

  “Are you kidding? The billionaire who spends his nights with my sexy ass? Of course he’s jealous. He knows how much I love you, even if you are blind to it.”

  He lowers his mouth to me and I feel our connection return, a righting of the balance between our souls. “This is why, right? Why you won’t marry me?”

  I swallow. Run my hands down his chest and around his back, bringing my mouth to his skin and kissing the line of his collarbone. “It was why I wouldn’t marry you. Because of my lies, the secrets I kept from you because of it. I didn’t think you deserved a wife with a secret.”

  He lowers a hand until it cups my ass. Squeezes it lovingly. “And now?”

  I pull away enough to look up, into the steam where I can barely make out the features of his face. “And now… there are no more lies. Not from me.”

  His entire body freezes in that moment, skin tightening, rigidity forming, my hands and body feeling the change. When he speaks, it is only his lips that move. “Are you saying… that now…” his voice drops, vulnerability carrying through the whisper of his words… “that you’ll marry me? With me like this?”

  I step forward, pressing every piece of me against him, wanting to crawl into and hug his broken, terrified heart. “I’m saying nothing would make me happier.”

  He groans, pressing his lips against mine so hard, so strong, that it almost hurts, his hands grabbing at my skin with long, possessive grasps, pulling me against him as if he will never have the chance to touch me again. “That’s a yes?” he asks abruptly, pulling off my mouth, as if the last-minute verification is needed.

  I smile, finding his eyes. “That’s a yes, Brant Sharp. I will marry you and be your wife whenever you want to have me.”

  “Yesterday,” he blurts, returning to my mouth. “Now.” He presses forward and pulls me tighter, my body made aware of the size of his need. “Forever.”

  Then my future husband makes love to me in the shower of our home. And I make sure, for the next fifteen minutes, that no one else crosses his mind. Literally or figuratively.

  Chapter 64

  “When will the doctor be here?” Wearing boxer briefs, Brant pulls on a T-shirt, his hands reaching for jeans when I’d really rather him be in pajamas, in bed, behaving as my patient.

  “In the next half hour.”

  He opens a drawer and reaches inside, grabbing a bottle of Aciphex and tossing it to me. “Ask her what this is, and what it’s meant to treat.”

  I examine the bottle, twisting open the lid to see it stocked with white tablets. “These aren’t Aciphex?”

  “No.” He looks, for a brief moment, sheepish. “Jillian told me they were to control my blackouts.”

  “Your what?” I hold up a hand. “Wait. We have so much to discuss it’s crazy. The majority of it concerning Jillian. Can you tell me everything in fifteen minutes?”

  He shrugs. “I can do it in five.”

  I pocket the bottle of pills. “Let’s sit on the deck and talk.”

  “When I was eleven, everything in my life started to change. It came with the onset of my family’s purchase of a computer, the introduction to advanced technology affecting more than just my interests. It was as if my brain turned on full force, in a hundred ways at once, an unlocking of a door that I had shut. I was always intelligent, but I was suddenly gifted. I began to apply the simple facts, concepts, mathematics that I knew, and used them in the way that the computer did – as simple rules that can work with each other to conclude an output. My brain was reborn and it was obsessed with discovery. I could think, could process more, do a hundred calculations in a minute, but I also was bombarded with colors, images, thoughts… more than I could handle at one time. I’d want to build three things at once. Or have two different opinions on the same subject, at the same time. I’d argue with myself, presenting both sides of an argument, my mind understanding the nuances and opinions of either side and feeling strongly on both points.” He collects his thoughts, then continues.

  “Everything became, in a series of months, maddening. My brain worked in overtime, and I was exhausted over it. At some point during that time, during that summer… That was when the blackouts started. My brain would go a hundred miles an hour then… nothing. There would be hours of time where I would black out. Say and do things I had no recollection of.”

  He pauses and I wait for him to continue.

  “Then, on October 12th… I woke up from a blackout in a child’s psych ward. Jillian was in the hospital. That was when the doctors and medical tests started. I don’t remember a lot of that time, but when I got out, Jillian moved into our house. I never went back to school, didn’t see my friends again, everything was focused on keeping me home, keeping my brain busy. We discovered I did better if I had a problem and focused on it. Complex math problems, or unraveling code to debug a virus… anything that involved complex thought quieted the madness. This was before commercial use of the internet, back when computers were basic input output computation tools. Data processors. That was about it. I had already learned to build a computer. When I was in the basement full-time, I began the focus of improving the machine, its performance, then—once that was solved—its capabilities.” He takes a sip of wine, glances at me.

  “But the blackouts continued. My parents… they were worried. Worried I would have another occurrence of whatever had happened in October. So I was put on a sedative, something to keep me calm. It stopped the blackouts, but I couldn’t think on it. It dulled everything, including my ability to process intelligent thought—at least not on the same level as before. I grew increasingly quiet, lost interest in computers, in everything. So…” He shifts, lifting a foot and placing it against the stone wall. “Jillian and I made a deal.”

  My mouth dries out as I forget to swallow. “A deal?”

  “I stopped taking the medication, and she covered for any blackouts I had. At that point in time, close to the completion of Sheila, I was in the basement 90% of the time, with her for the majority of that. My parents—I was only seeing them at meals and before bed. Any blackouts I had, Jillian concealed. In exchange, I focused on getting Sheila finished and ready for our meetings with investors.”

  “You were, what? Twelve at this point?”
r />   “Yes, had just turned twelve.”

  “Not old enough to make that deal.”

  “I wasn’t a typical twelve-year-old. I was intelligent enough to make a quantified decision of risk versus reward. And since Jillian was the one most at risk, and since she was the one spending time with me… I made the decision.”

  “No. She made the decision. How much did she make in your initial sale?”

  “A few million dollars. Ten percent of the deal.”

  I keep quiet, allow him to pull his own conclusions of my thoughts on the matter. After a moment, he resumes.

  “When I was around twenty, we started BSX. Stopped selling off my developments and instead moved them in-house. Our income increased ten-fold and I decided I had enough. Enough money to live the rest of my life in wealth. Enough residual income that my children wouldn’t ever have to work. I went to Jillian and told her I wanted a change. Told her I wanted to resume the medicine.”

  “Why?”

  He sighs. “Not knowing about my blackouts… it was a constant fear in my life. I’d have them without even knowing it. Jillian would wear a long-sleeve shirt, and I’d wonder if she was covering up bruises from my touch. We were still, for the most part, sequestered from the outside world. And I wanted to live, to have a life, to work in an environment where I could collaborate with others, have relationships, friendships. I wanted normality, and I was willing to sacrifice my career for it. Willing to set aside computers and live a muted intellectual life if it meant security in knowing and controlling my actions. In knowing, more importantly, my lack of unknown actions.”

  “What’d she say?”

  He snorts. “She didn’t take it well. Thought it was a horrible idea. Brought up the projects we had ongoing. Printed out our ten-year plan. Cursed me for wasting my talent. But she came around. Tracked down my old doctor, the man you met this morning at Jillian’s. Put him on salary for BSX.”

  Some sort of a growl comes from my mouth. He laughs, holding out his arms. “Come here.” I move, from my chair to his, the chaise longue not big enough to allow anything other than my curl on his lap, his arms coming around and hugging me to his chest. “Dr. F tried me on a different medication, whatever’s in that bottle. It was supposed to be a downer with caffeine, something to calm me while keeping me alert, focused. It worked immediately. My brain processes were as strong as ever, my blackouts stopping.”

  I wait for more, the moment stretching out until my curiosity can’t hold it in any longer. “And?”

  “That was it. I’ve been on that medication for almost two decades. Haven’t had a blackout since.” I lean back and look up at him. His mouth is tight, eyes distracted. Working out the problem before him.

  I lead his horse to water. “So… you believe that? Or do you think that she’s been lying to you? Hiding blackouts from you?”

  He drops his eyes to me and I see the pain in the lines around his eyes, the tightening of his jaw when he swallows. “She’s… been like a mother to me. I’ve depended on her for so long. I can’t imagine—I don’t know why she’d do that.”

  Bullshit. He knew exactly why she’d do that. But I wasn’t going to insult his intelligence by spelling it out. Knowing him he probably had half of a Venn diagram already completed in his head.

  “There’s another issue.” He looks away, sighs, readjusting me on his lap. “Jillian says she’s had me declared incompetent, with herself appointed as my conservator.”

  “Conservator? Meaning she’d be in control of your business, your finances?” I frown. “Can she do that?”

  “The question of my competency could certainly be challenged. I can see a valid argument for the possibility that another one of my personalities was making choices that negatively affected my life, and that that decision-making ability should be removed from my person all together.”

  “But… you’re brilliant. You’ve been in control of your decisions for twenty years!”

  “And did I ever risk what I had? Did you ever see me take actions as Lee that might have endangered myself or our lifestyle?” He turns me in his lap so that we have direct eye contact. Eye contact that I avoid as I think through the last two years.

  Lee: seeing multiple women. Endangering our relationship, his possible exposure to STDs. Lee: drunk, in fights, bloody and bruised. A liability nightmare as well as danger to himself and others. Lee: a heavy drinker, prone to tempers and driving under the influence. More liability. More risk.

  “Did I?” Brant pushes the question, his hand pulling my face back to him.

  “In ways,” I answer carefully. “Lee is a loose cannon. He doesn’t have your level of control, nor intelligence. Doesn’t think things through, but acts first. But he also isn’t going to walk into your bank and withdraw your money. He has no idea that he is you; he isn’t going to mess with your business or finances. The risk he posed to you was more one of liability. That he might do something that Brant Sharp is then sued for. He is not a dangerous man by intent, he is just a reckless one.”

  Brant groans, dropping his head back. “That sounds disastrous.”

  “When is this happening? The competency thing.”

  “My days are a little confused due to the medication, but I believe it’s happening this morning.”

  Behind us, the sliding door moves, Anna’s head tentatively sticking out. “Mr. Sharp? Ms. Fairmont? The doctor is here whenever you’re ready.”

  “Thank you.” I smile at her, waiting for the door to close behind her, then I meet his eyes. “Let me call my family’s attorney. Have him stop Jillian. I don’t want to trust BSX legal—”

  “I don’t either,” he interrupts. “I agree. Use an outside attorney. Your father’s will work until we can find permanent counsel.”

  “You should call your parents.”

  He frowns. “I know. It’s not a conversation I’m looking forward to having.”

  “Do you think they’ll side with Jillian?”

  He shakes his head slightly, his gaze fixed unseeing on the water. “I don’t know,” he says slowly. “We’ve all let her run things for so long, without question. I don’t know if I would have believed it had she not chained me to a bed.”

  I watch his hands tighten, the first hint I’ve seen at anger. I curl into his chest. “I love you,” I whisper.

  “I love you too, Lana. Thank you… for sticking with me through this.”

  I grin. “Thanks for not giving up when I turned down your other proposals.”

  He tugs at my hand, running his fingers over the bare digits. “The ring is at the office. Let’s get it today. I don’t want to go another night without seeing it on your finger.”

  “Deal.” I untangle from his lap and stand. “Ready to see the doc?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Chapter 65

  I’ve previously met Dr. Susan Renhart several times. Almost as tall as Brant, she greets us both with a tight smile, showing none of the bright grins she showers on the HYA children. I introduce the two of them, then Brant explains what he best remembers.

  “I’ve been on these pills for almost twenty years,” he pushes the bottle over, her eyebrows rising at the name on the bottle, her hands opening it with a practiced efficiency and sprinkling the white pills along her brown palm.

  “What were you told that they were?”

  “A depressant of sorts, one that had a caffeine agent. Something to keep me productive while keeping me calm enough to avoid a blackout. Whenever I get stressed, I take one. I also take two a day, in the mornings.”

  I listen with half an ear, interested in his words, but needing to call the attorney. I scroll down on my cell phone, to John Forsyth’s number, a man I haven’t spoken to in years, and press Send.

  The doctor rolls the pills in her hand before keeping one and dumping the rest back. “When’s the last time you took one?”

  “It’s been about two days. The morning before last. And… having not taken them, I may have had black
outs in the time during which I was at Jillian’s. I’m not sure.”

  “Blackouts?” she frowns. “I thought the issue was DID.”

  “It is.” He stops, glances at me. “I’m sorry. I’m so used to thinking of them as blackouts, that’s what I know them to be.”

  She shrugs. Dismisses the thought. “Did you take any medication at Jillian’s?”

  “Not willingly. But the doctor there injected me with something. Maybe twice, I’m not sure. I want to know what’s in my system now. And have documentation of that, should we need it.”

  She nods, pulling items from her bag. “Let’s pull some blood and get a urine sample.”

  “Layana,” the attorney’s voice, a booming bass of a sound, crackles through my cell, and I step away, into the hall.

  “Hey John. I need your help.”

  Team Jillian shows up before Dr. Renhart has finished, the guard shack calling the house to alert us of their presence. It takes less than four minutes for her brigade to leave, the three Escalades doing a quick roundabout through the cul-de-sac outside our gates. I guess the sight of three armed guards blocking our gate changed Jillian’s mind. I watch from an upstairs balcony, and try to understand the woman below me. A woman who seems staunch in her belief that she is in the right, justified. Even in her lies, her deceit. For what? The good of Brant? The good of BSX? Or the good of herself? I step away from the window and walk downstairs, Brant’s form by the door, his hand clasped by the doctor’s, goodbyes in full force.

  “The results of the blood tests won’t be available until tomorrow. I’ll email you the findings as soon as they are processed. But I would guess, speaking to you about your experience… anything you were injected with will pass through your system in the next twenty-four hours.” She fishes a card from her pocket. “This is Dr. Henry Terra. He’s, as best I could tell from my connections, the foremost authority on DID. I would suggest you call him immediately, if not for your own psychological therapy, then to get his legal advice and support for whatever battle you end up fighting. I have to assume treatment of DID has progressed since you were a child.” She turns to me and reaches out, wrapping me into a firm hug. “Once you sort this out, I expect to see you at HYA.”