justify anything to you. I was doing the right thing. You could never understand.”
Amy inched closer to the foot of the bed. “You know, your mother said some things that night I found interesting.”
“Good for you.”
“She said she didn’t know who you were.”
“She was confused.”
“She said she wanted to see her husband.”
“She’s sick and she was confused. She was talking nonsense.”
“And she said that she was unable to have children.”
Arty said nothing.
“Did you catch that bit?” Amy asked. “I’m pretty sure she only said it the one time, but she did say it.”
“Like I said,” Arty began, nostrils flared, “she is sick
and—”
“The thing is, Arty, dementia can be strangely ironic,” Amy interrupted. “You forget some things, and then you remember others—usually things from the past.”
“I know that.”
“That’s why your mother was calling to your father. She had regressed back to a time when she believed he was still alive.”
“You said that already, bitch.”
“She regressed back to a time when she and her husband had just found out that she was unable to have children.”
Arty laughed. “So what am I? A fucking mirage?”
Amy smiled and looked at Patrick. Patrick smiled back, turned to Arty and said, “No, you’re very real. But you’re also very adopted. You and Jim.”
Arty laughed again. “You two reek of it.”
Patrick smirked, looked over at Henry. “Detective?”
Henry nodded. “It’s true, Fannelli. Your mother’s attending physician was able to get hold of all her medical records dating back several years. A fibroid tumor was found in her uterus when she was twenty. Apparently the tumor was huge. Her uterus was removed as a result.”
Amy took over. “Your mother, while not necessarily past her prime, was no spring chicken when she—” Amy held up both hands and mimed quotation marks “—gave birth to you. I mean, nowadays thirty-six doesn’t seem too old to have your first child. But over thirty years ago? People were poppin’ out two or three before they even reached thirty. Why would such loving, nurturing parents like yours wait so long to have children? Makes you wonder doesn’t it?”
Arty shook his head. “This is bullshit. I would have known. My brother and I would have found out somehow.”
“Different time, Fannelli,” Henry said. “We’re talking the 70’s here. Adoption practices were a bit more lax back then. You could adopt at a young age and keep it a secret from anyone and everyone—including you and your brother.”
Arty stuttered. “I would have…remembered.”
Amy chuckled. “Doubtful.”
Arty’s breaths grew short and shallow. “I’m two years older than Jim. I would have at least been two.”
Now it was Patrick’s turn to chuckle. “Right. And we all remember so much at the ripe old age of two, don’t we? Hell, I’ll even give you four. Can you remember anything from when you were four, Arty?”
Arty pulled at his cuffs again, a clang instead of a clink this time. “I suppose now you’re going to tell me Jim isn’t my real brother either, right?”
“No, no,” Henry said, “I’m fairly certain he is. There’s a minuscule chance your parents adopted two American children from two separate families. I’d bet good money Jim is your biological brother.”
“Do you know what all of this means, Arty?” Amy asked.
Arty didn’t reply.
“It means that you and your brother aren’t really the unique individuals you think you are. You were raised by loving parents…but you weren’t born to them.”
Arty said nothing. Patrick took over.
“Did you ever read The Bad Seed, Arty?” Patrick asked. “It was a fantastic book that came out in the mid-fifties. Written by a guy named William March. They made it into a play and a movie. The movie was damn good too, except for the fact that they changed the original ending. It wasn’t really their fault though; their hands were kind of tied. You see at the time they had to comply with the Motion Picture Production Code, meaning the ending had to be morally acceptable; the bad guys weren’t allowed to win, so to speak.
“Still, the movie was good enough to be nominated for an Academy Award. Patty McCormack was downright creepy as the little girl. You and your stupid brother wish you could be as creepy as that little girl.”
Arty stayed quiet. He just glared at the couple—a mix of hate and confusion.
“I’m getting ahead of myself though. Let me give you the synopsis, okay? Basically the book is about this adorable, seemingly perfect eight-year-old girl who is actually downright evil. The little girl is a total sociopath who can flash her