“No, don’t! Please!”

“What’s the matter? Once upon a time you used to like it when I took your clothes off. You kept saying you wanted to have a baby together, despite me telling you that wasn’t a good idea. You understand now, right? Besides, it isn’t like I haven’t seen it all before.” He pulls the tights down to my thighs and puts his hand there, moving it slowly up. “It isn’t like I haven’t seen every single part of you, tasted you, been inside you. There is nobody on this earth who knows you better than I do. I know who you are. Who you really are. And I still love you.”

I turn my face away as his hand moves higher.

“You can pretend like you didn’t want it now, if that makes you feel better. But we both know that you did. Having me inside you was about the only thing that seemed to calm those nerves of yours, wasn’t it? Before a big interview, or one of your silly red carpet events?”

“I didn’t know who you were—”

“Didn’t you?”

I don’t answer.

“Had I really changed that much when we first met as adults? Look at you, with your perfect tits and curls and big pretty eyes. You could have had anyone, but you wanted me. Your own brother.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I just want us to be together. That’s all I ever wanted, but it was never enough for you, too busy flirting with directors or actors like Jack Anderson. Well, we’re going to be together now, till death do us part. We might not have very long. I’m sick.”

He climbs on top of the bed and arranges his body around mine. His fingers entwine with my own, and his head rests on my chest, so that I can smell his hair and see the pink skin beneath the beginnings of a bald patch. The weight of his body crushes me, but I don’t say anything. I keep perfectly still and silent until he falls asleep.

As he starts to gently snore, I hear only one voice inside my head, and it is Maggie’s, not my own.

So long as you never forget who you really are, acting will save you.

I silently repeat those words as I lie wide awake. I cradle the idea in my tired mind, rocking it gently, trying not to wake it or him, trying to keep the thought as quiet as possible, scared that someone else might hear it and snuff it out. Right now, it’s all I have left to hold on to. My fear thaws into hate, just enough to allow me to dare to think of a way out of this, to imagine an ending that isn’t my own. I start to rehearse my lines and play out the next scene in my imagination. Life is like a game of chess; you just have to play it backwards and work out all the moves you need to make in advance, to get where you need to be.

The wind starts to pick up, a mournful howl singing through the old house. Outside the window I can see the tree I used to climb when I was a little girl. It looks dead. Its branches sway in the breeze, creaking with effort, and its fingers of twigs tap on the glass like blackened bones.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It gets dark inside the room before it does outside the window, and when it is almost completely black, I know exactly what I need to say and do.

Seventy-four

I kiss the top of his head.

Gentle, tender, loving kisses.

He stirs on top of me, then looks up.

“Kiss me,” I whisper. “Please.” He kisses my mouth, still half-asleep. The taste of him makes me want to retch, but I kiss him back. His eyes are open the whole time, filled with confusion, examining my own. As soon as our lips part, I let the words out.

“I always knew that it was you.”

He stares at me for a long time, a frown folding itself onto his brow. “You knew?”

“I pretended not to, but of course I knew who you really were. I remember everything, you know that about me, so how could I forget my own brother?” I can see that he wants to believe me, but that he doesn’t. I need to try harder. “I’ve missed you since you left me. I know what that feels like now, and I don’t want us to be apart again.”

“You want us to be together?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Yes.” I nod.

“Together how?”

“In every way. Now that we’ve come back home, nobody needs to know who we are or what we do. We can start again. We can both have what we wanted.”

He frowns. “You still want to have a child, even though you know who I am?”

“Yes. That’s what I always wished for—a child. It would be a second chance. For both of us.”

He sits up a little. “I’m sorry about the Fincher movie.”

This catches me off guard and I struggle to keep my face neutral. “How do you know about that?”

“Because I know all your passwords, and I read all your emails, and I told Alicia White where he would be. It would have been too much for you. You would have been away too long again.”

I swallow the hate down. “You’re right. You’ve always known what was best for me.”

He seems surprised by my answer, concentration scratching itself onto his face.

“I did have a passport made for you, in your real name, just in case there were any complications with the van on the ferry. We could change the way you look a little, and you could have a life here. A real life. You hate all the attention acting brings anyway—”

I seize on this. The most believable lies always contain fragments of truth.

“Yes! I do hate it, you know I do. I get so scared all the time. A new life, a simpler life here with you, that’s all I want now. Kiss me how you used to. Please.”

He does, still watching me, as though this is a test he is expecting me to fail. He undoes the white blouse slowly, one button at a time, examining my face for any sign of betrayal. Then he reaches up to untie my hands, but I already know he has no intention of doing so. I know him just as well as he knows me.

“No, don’t, leave them tied. I want you to know you can trust me. I’m never going to run away again. I need you. I fall apart without you and I’ve been so lonely since you left.”

He looks confused, then he kisses my breasts, still checking for a reaction. I arch my back and feel him harden against me. He never needs a blue pill when I play my part. His head moves lower and I moan the way I know he wants to hear. He unties the rope around my feet, removes my white tights, and I smile while he unfastens his belt.

When it is over, he unties just one of my hands and holds it, then lays his head on my chest. When I think enough time has passed, I ease my fingers out of his, and when he starts to snore, I reach for the Jesus statue, stretching my arm as far as I can without moving the rest of my body. My fingers make contact with the cold metal. I grip it with all of the strength I have left, then smash it hard against his skull. He whimpers like a wounded animal, blood running down his face and over his eyes, as they stare at me in disbelief. I hit him again.

I know I don’t have any time to waste. I untie my other hand and crawl out from underneath him, fleeing from the room, wearing nothing except the white blouse. I run through the house, trying to remember the layout in the darkness, bumping into things I don’t remember, trying to find the nearest way out. I can already hear him coming after me before I reach the back door. The flaking wood has swollen over time, and I have to yank it hard to force it open.