“It’s all over the news, Julian. The cops want you for… torturing and murdering all those people”, Fiona’s sad eyes looked straight into his as she gently stroked his chin. Julian hadn’t visited his mother in over 12 years, yet as he looked at her now it seemed like only yesterday that he’d set out on his own. “I didn’t do it. I swear on Dad’s grave ma, I didn’t…” his voice quivered as he sat meekly on the soft sofa that he knew so well. Couldn’t he just go back to the days where that was all that mattered? When he used to spend evenings sitting on that very same sofa, playing with his dad while his mom cooked supper? “Ma? Did I have a brother? Or a cousin that looked like me?” Silence… “Ma?” Julian was stopped by a slow gentle placing of Fiona’s finger on his lips. “I should have told you this a long time ago…” Fiona’s voice drifted off as tears slowly began streaming unchecked down the wrinkles of her face.
Julian listened silently as she spoke, silently nodding every now and then and placing a reassuring hand on her weary shoulders. He was born Kevin Blaedon, identical twin brother of Kyle Blaedon, raised in an abusive home which saw him taken away by social services – but not before his biological father had beaten to death not just his wife, but also landed both himself and Kyle in Intensive Care for over three months. His father was sentenced to death for the murder. She wanted to adopt both of them, but the courts wouldn’t allow it, thinking she and her husband would not be able to support both boys. “I lied to you my baby… I’m so sorry…” she sighed softly. “You just wanted to protect me from my past Ma. It’s okay – honest.” Julian’s mind raced at the news as he held her gently in his arms.
Vernon watched from the window. Julian didn’t even notice him trailing him – the fool. Something just didn’t seem right – he’d never known about this old cow, no acknowledgement of her existence in his life before. Ever since he’d seen the almost mirror-like image of himself in Julian 10 years ago he’d been following him like a shadow, but this? All his poking and prodding to find out who he was and where he’d come from had turned up an infuriating blank. He frowned as he tried to figure out what to do next. It was too soon to go after Jeanette, and the kid was sleeping.
Jeanette read the letter over and over again. Sighing to herself she looked out kitchen window at the police car standing outside wondering what could possibly happen next. Reynold Pierson held the scalpel tightly in his little hand as he watched Jeanette through the back door window. He wanted to prove himself to Vernon, show him that he was just like him – and he knew that Vernon wanted this woman dead. It was easy for him to fool Vernon into thinking that he was asleep – he wanted to do this on his own. He waited patiently for the cops to change their watch.
What Inspector Tracy Cameldo did not expect was the fingerprint they found at the scene of Melanie Pierson’s murder. Reynold’s prints? She stared at the triple tested results, and then back over Julian’s file on the other side of her desk, eyes frowned in concentration. What was she missing? It’s there; she knew it – if only she could find it – that one piece of the puzzle that would solve it. Suddenly she read through the adoption papers again and something jumped out at her. “But then…” she didn’t have time to finish her thoughts before she was dashing through the precinct and into her car, praying to God that she was in time.
“So that’s who she is…” Vernon smiled as he watched Julian leave his adopted mother’s cottage. “Well, say goodnight to your mommy Julian – It will be your last” the scalpel slid out from his jacket pocket. Fiona walked slowly to her bedroom, her bones – and heart – aching from what she’d had to reveal to her poor son. The lies that had kept her family safe have now almost certainly destroyed it. Vernon walked with deadly intent quietly up the stairs, so close to his unsuspecting prey he could smell her. Vernon walked through the door – only to find Fiona sitting up in bed obviously waiting for him. “I’ve been expecting you Vernon” her quiet voice floated through the room as she continued, “I didn’t tell him about you Vernon. But I’m tired of living a lie – just get what you came to do over with.” Vernon stood there dumbstruck – how did she know him? How the hell did she know his name? He rushed through to her and slid the blade effortlessly into her heart. The look of pure love shone through her eyes as she touched Vernon’s cheek, a small rivulet of blood running slowly down her lips. “I’m so sorry my baby, sorry that you had to live the life you’ve had to. Sorry that you never got to know me. Forgive me child…” her chest raised for the last time as the light from her eyes died. Vernon stood over Fiona’s body – a tiny pool of blood forming around her. He didn’t know what was going on, but whatever it was he did not like it; not one damn bit at all.
Seeing his opportunity, Reynold snuck into Jeanette’s flat – a strange look on his face. He’d been patient, just like Vernon had taught him. He’d been practicing over the last couple of hours while waiting – slicing and dicing birds, dogs, cats, whatever he could get his hands on; slicing their flesh and hacking off their limbs, drawing small shapes in the bloody pools of animal blood. He followed Jeanette silently as she went through to the shower. He watched her as she undressed, waiting for her to busy herself with the shower before he makes his move. He crawled now, sensing the moment. Two meters… one meters… almost th… Cameldo burst into the bathroom as he was just about to slice Jeanette’s Achilles tendon. She grabbed the now screaming boy mere millimeters from the startled woman.
Reynolds sat in the interrogation room, speaking quietly to Cameldo: “he told me to do it ma’am… he said that he was going to cut me up like how he cut up my mom… then he took my hand and made me touch her… I didn’t want to do this!” he all but blubbered as tears ran down his face, the picture of pure innocence. She took him in his arms to comfort him as he placed his head on her shoulder; an unseen sadistic smile filled his face.
We live in a world created by lies, but the worst kind is most probably the proverbial white lie, a truth that is twisted into something which it is not – ready for use for the gain of others. Whether we mean to or not, these white lies are the ones that damage the most. They can destroy lives and families if used in the wrong (or is that right?) context, yet we are all guilty of one or other white lie whether intentionally or not. But why? Why do we do it? The answer lay in the fact that we can justify what we are saying because, well, it was true – so technically we are not lying. We find ourselves bending the truth to our will, but at what cost? We see the havoc it wreaks in others’ lives and yet we continue to do so, safe in the knowledge that “we were only telling the truth”. Yes the truth hurts, but a white lie cuts like a knife. Just remember one thing though – what goes around comes around. Beware the day that you fall victim to little white lies.