Deceitful (Rules of Deception 1)

With a short rapping, the door opened and a teenage guy slinked into the room. I recognized him from the photos as Madison’s twin brother. I kept my eyes half closed and pretended to drift back to sleep, so I could watch them interact before I was forced to join the conversation. I wasn’t yet ready to meet my pretend brother.

Devon was stocky like a wrestler but not as tall as Alec. His blond hair was cropped short and mussed up with styling mousse to give him a just-out-of-bed look. I had to strain my ears to hear him. “How is she?”

Linda’s face was red and splotchy. “She just woke up.” Devon’s eyes widened as he let his mother wrap her arms around him. “She talked to us, she remembered us.”

“Oh Mom, that’s great.” He pulled back, his eyes darting back over to me. “Did she remember anything about the attack?”

Ronald shook his head. “No, she doesn’t seem to remember anything about that day.”

“So she’s got no clue who did that to her,” Devon said.

“I don’t think we should talk about it in front of her,” Linda said. She walked over to the bed and began stroking my hair.

“Sorry, Mom.” His sneakers squealed on the linoleum floor.

It was probably too soon for me to wake again, but pretending to sleep was harder than it sounded. I wanted to twitch.

I stirred, coughed, and was greeted with startling blue eyes. The photos hadn’t done Devon justice. His smile was all sunshine and his eyes almost matched Alec’s in their intensity.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” His tone was playful and dripping with warmth.

“Devon,” I whispered.

His grin turned lopsided but then his eyes darted to my throat and for an instant his face darkened. I fought the urge to touch the scar.

Major had placed both Devon and Ronald on his list of suspects, along with pretty much every other male in Livingston. But if he’d seen their reaction to Madison’s recovery, he probably would’ve changed his mind. It was obvious that they both loved Madison. How could one of them have done her harm?

“Fluffy has been sleeping on your bed ever since you arrived at the hospital,” Devon said, a slight edge in his voice. “He even buried a dead mouse in your covers once.”

I made a disgusted face, which made them laugh. Hearing their laughter filled me with unexpected joy.

There was happiness, there was love, and there was the impostor who didn’t belong. How could they not see through the mask?

Over the next few days, Linda and Ronald didn’t leave my side. They followed me wherever I went—to every check-up and every X-ray. One of them always spent the night at my bedside. I wasn’t used to having someone care for me like that.

Even Devon visited me every day after school. He always told me funny stories from our—it was strange thinking of it like that—childhood. Sometimes it made me wonder if my own brother would have been anything like Devon if we’d grown up together. I couldn’t even remember the way he looked. My mother had burned every photo of him and my father. It was just one more thing on the long list of things I resented her for.

I bounced my legs, my feet hitting the bed frame.

“Dr. Fonseca will be here any moment. You can’t wait to get home, can you?” Linda’s face was alight with joy.

That was an understatement. After three days of being confined in a hospital room and made to sit through a barrage of useless medical tests—the work of Dr. Fonseca—I felt about ready to burst. I didn’t care where I went. My nose couldn’t take another day of disinfectants and sterility. The smell was burned into my brain forever.

“We’re so glad that you’ve recovered so quickly. Even the doctors said it could take weeks but you proved them wrong,” Ronald said.

He and Linda shared one of their private smiles. When they looked at each other that way, I couldn’t help but feel like an intruder. What they had was something I’d never witnessed before, something I desperately wanted.

Witnessing their happiness and hope was like a constant punch in the gut. I couldn’t help but be reminded of how it was all built on lies that were destined to crumble. I knew our actions were necessary in order to find the killer, but I wished there was some other way.

With a knock the door opened and Dr. Fonseca stepped inside the room. His fingers fumbled with the patient file as he stopped beside my bed. He greeted the family before he turned to me. The edges of his eyes were tight, as if it cost him a great deal to look at me. “How are you feeling today?” he asked. Of course, he already knew the answer.

“I’m feeling great,” I said. “I feel like I’m ready to go home.”