Thicker Than Blood - The Complete Andrew Z. Thomas Trilogy

through the softer static, I heard his voice:

'Barry Johnson’s in the trunk of my car you prick…  I don’t think you wanna take the credit for kidnapping that police officer…  I killed him, too… … …  You stay right there…  Want the car keys? So you can get that smelly body out of my trunk. I waive my rights…  Take them out slowly [Door Slams]… … … …  Andy…  What?…  Now I’ve gotta let you in on something…  Oh God… … … …  [Door Slams]  Where’s Officer Johnson’s car, Orson? Where is his car? Oh, you don’t want to talk to me now. Piece of shit…  Where’d he go?…  Where did who go?…  My brother…  What the fuck are you talking about?…  Shit. Oh, shit…  Where’s the car, Orson?…  Oh God…  Tough man doesn’t wanna talk now. Well, that’s okay, cause you’re fucked. Why are you crying, Orson? Huh?…  That’s not my name. Where is he?…  Who are you talking about?…  The man I came in with. Where’d he go?…  You’re out of your fuckin’ mind…  Where’d he go?…  Calm down…  Where is my fucking brother?!!!'

Goldston stopped the tape. My hands shook, and I felt very cold. He could sense my discomfort, so he remained quiet for a moment, allowing me to regain my composure. I took deep breaths and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I looked around the room, at the guards, the cameras in front and behind me, at Laura Webber, and then back to Goldston.

'Andy, I’ve literally spent hours going over what I just played for you. I’ve probably listened to that tape a hundred times, and for the life of me I can’t figure out what happened in that room. I even had several psychologists listen, and they were baffled. I interviewed the detective who questioned you. He said you were a different person when he came back into the interrogation room.' Goldston removed his glasses. 'What’d you feel hearing that tape?'

I stared at the table, my heart racing. 'I don’t know. That was a really fucked-up day.'

'How many people were in that room after the detective left?' Goldston asked.

I looked up from the table. 'You won’t believe me,' I said. 'It’ll seem like I’m crazy, like I’m grasping to save my life, and I’m not. I know they won’t ever let me out of this place.'

'How many?'

'Two.'

'One physical person walked into that police station, Andy. There’s a videotape of it.'

'I know.'

'Who’s Orson?' he said, but I shook my head. 'You don’t know?'

'I don’t know what he is anymore.'

'Is he in your head?'

'No.'

'Then you actually see him?'

'Not since Choteau.'

'What does he look like?'

'Like me. He’s my twin.'

I felt a cool breath on the back of my neck. 'Hey, big boy,' he whispered, and I shivered.

'What?' Goldston said. 'What'd you say?'

Orson walked around the table behind the guards. He stepped over the mass of cords that linked the microphones and cameras to the outlets and leaned against the wall. He smiled, wearing jeans and a dirty tee-shirt. His hair was buzzed like mine, and he had a two-day beard.

'What’s wrong?' Goldston asked. 'Andy, you’re trembling.'

'I’m staring at Orson right now,' I said, watching my brother walk to the table.

'Andy, you’re looking at me,' Goldston said. 'You’re looking directly into my eyes.'

'No, I’m looking at you,' Orson said, standing beside me, his dirty hands on the table.

'Orson,' I said, 'listen to me…'

'Dr. Goldston, I’m Orson Thomas.'

'It’s nice to meet you, Orson,' Goldston said hesitantly. 'Where’s Andy?'

'Right here,' I said. 'Watching you talk to Orson. He's beside me. I'm looking at him.'

'No,' Goldston said, 'you’re looking at me.'

'Who the fuck cares?' Orson said. 'You wanna talk? Talk.'

Goldston gathered himself and cleared his throat. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead, and he wiped them away on the sleeve of his black jacket.

'What makes you come out, Orson?' Goldston asked.

'What do you mean?'

'What makes your personality come out?'

'I’m not a fucking split personality, Doctor. I’m always here. I run the show, not Andy.'

'You’re always aware of him?'

'Yes.'

'Is he always aware of you?'

'When I want him to be. He’s in la-la land most of the time.'

'La-la land?'

'I send him away when I have things to do. Europe, Aruba. That’s his La-la land.'

'But sometimes he physically sees you…'

'Because I make him see me.'

'Does he know we’re talking now?'

I was speechless, walls of false reality tumbling down. Everything I'd lived for became a transparent curtain behind which Orson had lived and murdered. He'd given me a glimpse of it in Choteau, but I'd tucked that hideous knowledge away. I'd denied and forgotten it, letting my brother remain an enigma as I'd done before.

'Yes,' I said, tears trickling down my cheeks.

'Shut your fucking mouth,' Orson said, wiping the tears away.

'So you sent him away when you went to kill?' Goldston said. 'How?'

'I don’t know how I did it. It’s like he lived in a fantasy world when I used him. But it was strange, because sometimes he wrote books about what I did. It was like some part of him knew what was happening even though I sent him away.'

'Can you read Andy’s mind?'

'He’s as much a person to me as you are.'

'Oh, man,' Goldston muttered. He glanced back at Laura, her face white. Everyone’s face had blanched, even the cameraman and the two guards. Goldston turned back to Orson. 'Who was born into this body, Orson? You or Andy?'

'We both were,' Orson said.

'Andy, I want to talk to Orson for...'

'You don’t have to ask his permission.'

'Okay,' Goldston said. 'When did Andy became aware of you and you of him?'

I wanted to speak, but I didn’t. I let Orson talk, though I feared what he might say.

'I don’t know how old we were,' Orson began. 'I lived behind his eyes. I could hear him talk, I saw what he saw, but I had my own, separate consciousness. When we were seven, I started talking to him. I don’t know how, but when I spoke to him, he saw me. I told him I was his twin, that no one else could see me. I told him not to tell anyone or I’d go away.

'Well, he told his mother, and she went right along with it. Just like I was his fucking imaginary friend or something. She’d set a place for me at dinner. She’d buy presents for me at Christmas. Jeanette was always a little weird.'

'But you still didn’t have control over Andy’s body?' Goldston asked.

'No. Not until he was twelve. I can’t explain to you how I did it, but he was sleeping one night, and I moved his arm. I just thought about doing it, and it happened. I realized that when he was unconscious or asleep I could