Never Die Alone

But the driver, a farmer-type complete with trucker hat, plaid shirt, worn jeans, and boots, had finally gotten the message through his thick skull that the beast was hunting them down. Now the farmer was scared shitless, just like Zoe.

“For the love of God, what kind of trouble are you in?” he demanded as he took a corner too fast and the pickup skidded into the oncoming lane. They narrowly missed a brightly colored Volkswagen bus filled with screaming, happy kids and balloons flying from the open windows, a birthday party that had nearly become a disaster. Fortunately, he didn’t careen into the bus. “Why is that son of a bitch shooting at you? At us?”

The truck shuddered as he righted it, tires screeching.

“I don’t know why!” she screamed, bracing herself and believing that any second she would feel the sting of a bullet piercing her skin or exploding in her brain. “All I know is that he wants to kill me and my sister in some weird ritual that involves zero clothes and red ribbons and being hog-tied and all kinds of weird crap. He’s probably got Chloe and . . . oh, Jesus, I didn’t think he would kill her first, it all has something to do with birth order, I think, but now that I’ve gotten away, God only knows what he’ll do.” She didn’t want to think about it.... Now was the time for action, not worry.

The farmer shook his head, eyes on the road. “This is all some kind of crazy.”

At least he didn’t want to talk her ears off for the twenty minutes it took to reach the outskirts of town. Now, with the city of New Orleans rising before them, her heart leaped with joy at the thought of seeing her mother again, and relief to know that the psycho was far behind her.

But most likely so was Chloe.

And that leaping heart turned to stone.

Zoe didn’t want to believe that she had sealed her sister’s fate by escaping. But then, she didn’t know what had happened to Chloe. Maybe, just maybe, her twin had escaped, too. There was always the chance! Not for the first time she sent up a desperate prayer for her sister’s safety.

The phone jangled in her hands and she let out a sob when she saw her mother’s number.

“Mom!” she answered, her voice cracking.

“Oh, baby, where are you? I can’t believe you’re safe. Oh, my God, Zoe!” Selma said, her voice broken by a sob.

“I’m almost home. I’ll be there soon. Ten . . . maybe fifteen minutes at the outside?” She looked at the farmer for confirmation. He nodded, then held out his hand for the phone. Reluctantly, Zoe handed him the cell.

“Your mother?” he guessed, and Zoe nodded. Into the phone, he said, “This is Rand Cooligan. I’ve got your daughter with me and she’s fine . . . er, safe. But you’d better get the police involved. There’s some idiot taking potshots at her, shooting at my truck, and she’s got a wild tale to tell . . . yes . . . no, no, as I said, she’s okay . . . Yeah, soon. I know, I know. Just hang in there . . . Yeah, I know the area . . . uh-huh. Ten, fifteen minutes on the outside.... What? . . . No, I’m sorry. Just the one. Zoe. Yeah, sure. Here ya go.” He handed the phone back to Zoe. “She wants you to stay on the line ’til we get there. Can’t say as I blame her. You can talk all ya want. I know where we’re going, and the phone’s all charged up.”

“So all these years I had a twin brother and never knew about him?” Jase stared at the old man as if he’d never really seen him before. His cell phone pinged, indicating he’d received a text message. He ignored it.

“That’s about the size of it.” Ed drew hard on his cigarette, lost in thought.

“So where is he? And where is Mom?”

“Don’t know about the boy. But Marian? She’s dead.” He slid a glance at his son, then continued to gaze through the branches of the trees to the street below. Cars and trucks rolled past and a kid crouching on a skateboard skimmed along the sidewalk. A normal afternoon, for some.

“You kept in touch with her?” Jase was astounded. He thought of the one picture he’d seen of her, the haunted woman getting married.

“Nah.” He shook his head. “She had a cousin, in Pocatello, Idaho. That cousin called me years ago and gave me the news. Marian, she got sick early, don’t know what it was. Ended up in a nursing home. Died there. Buried in that town’s cemetery or cremated, I don’t know and I don’t really care.”

Jase felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. Though he’d expected the news. He’d even mollified himself as a child, believing that his mother had to be dead or else she would have returned or reached out to him in some way. Still, the realization that she was really dead came as a shock, as if some part of that little boy still held on to the hope that if she were still alive, he would see her again, feel her arms surround him, smell her perfume. Silly. Stupid. He thought he’d grown out of that fantasy, but hearing that she was actually gone, that he’d never look into her face if for no other reason than to ask, “Why? Why did you leave me?” hit him harder than he’d imagined.

He felt his jaw work and he cleared his throat. “I didn’t find any mention of her death certificate.”

“You were probably lookin’ in the wrong name.”

“I searched Marian Selby and Marian Bridges.”

His father slid him a glance. “Next time try Wilcox. Helen Marian Wilcox Selby Bridges and then whatever else she went by. Probably got hitched a few more times, for all I know, all I care. She was married a few months when I met her. Went by her middle name. Never liked Helen, she claimed. We got together and that first husband, he didn’t like it none, but gave her a quickie divorce and . . . oh, hell, you know the rest.”

“No, Dad! That’s the problem. I don’t. Not by a long shot. And everything I believed, everything you told me, it wasn’t true.” His chest felt tight as bit by bit everything he thought he’d known about his mother was unraveling into a string of lies.

“Well, now you know as much about your mother as I do. Feel any better?”

The bastard. “And your son? What about my damned twin?” Jase asked, and realized he was gripping the railing, his knuckles white.

“I told you. Don’t know where he is, whether he’s alive or dead.” His father dropped his cigarette and crushed the butt with his boot heel. “Don’t care, neither. I did what I could for you and Prescott. Raised you best as I could. Yeah, it wasn’t perfect, not by any man’s measure, but I tried and I was there for you. Stood by you when you needed me. ’Til you were raised. ’Til you inherited.” Ed scowled, and in the disgusted twist of his lips, Jase could see his father’s old disappointment that he’d been skipped over, bitterness over the will that left his father’s money to Jase and Prescott.

“Ah, shit.” Ed stared down. “I can’t change the past, Jason, and I’m not sure I would if I could, but there it is. I don’t know about Jacob, never heard, and really never cared. You and Prescott, you were my sons. I don’t think I coulda handled another.”

“You don’t know anything about him?”

“Nothin’.” He kicked his cigarette butt off the deck under the railing, leaving a streak where the blackened tobacco had swept the concrete. “And that’s the way I’d like to keep it.”

“Not go

“Prescott?” Ed snorted his disbelief. “He’s got more’n he can handle with that wife of his. Lena bosses him around like a bitch mother dog and he’s the whipped puppy. Got him gettin’ rid of the farm, sellin’ insurance, and hopin’ to live near the preacher.” His graying eyebrows drew together. “Two kids and a third on the way. What’s he thinkin’?”

“What were you?” Jase demanded. “You had three.”

“Expectin’ only to raise two,” he corrected. “Didn’t know your mo—that she was havin’ twins until about fifteen minutes after you were born and out popped another. Biggest surprise of my damned life.”