FanStory.com - The Empty Chair by Begin Again

The sound of the crackling fire was soothing, yet her body felt dreadfully cold. Fiona pulled the crocheted Afghan across her legs, tucking it into the sides of her wheelchair.

Her fingers brushed over the cover of the leather-bound book on the table beside her chair, its pages worn from countless readings. "The Tell-Tale Heart", Poe's tale of guilt and madness, seemed to call to her today. She opened the book, her eyes scanning the familiar words, though her mind was elsewhere — replaying the last time she'd seen Peyton, the charming man with the dreamy brown eyes and dazzling smile.

Her gaze turned to the window and the house next door — where Peyton had lived. A familiar gnawing coiled inside her, but one she couldn't quite put her finger on. Her eyes grew heavy, and her hands rested limply on her lap as she drifted deep into sleep and a dream.

Her mind carried her to a warm, sunny day. She and Peyton sat beneath the giant oak tree in her parents' backyard. They laughed and sipped imaginary tea from delicate cups. Sharice, Fiona's twin sister, joined them and immediately dominated the scene. Her giggles were infectious as she added a splash of sugar into her cup and then her sister's, noting that Fiona would need extra to sweeten her up.

Noting her sister's frown, Sharice stood up abruptly and pulled Peyton's hand. "Let's play something else. I'm tired of this silly game."

Fiona's heart sank, not wanting the moment to end. "We're having fun." Her voice was a whisper, but it didn't matter because no one was listening to her. Sharice's laughter faded as she and Peyton ran off together, leaving Fiona alone, unable to follow. She sat in her wheelchair, despising Sharice for stealing Peyton from her and leaving her behind.

In an instant, the tea party dissolved, and the laughter of her childhood was replaced by silence. Fiona was back in the library now, staring out the window at Peyton's house. Through the glass, she saw him — but he wasn't alone. A woman. Their bodies pressed together and they kissed passionately, oblivious to her watching. Her chest tightened as she wanted to scream, to stop them, but no sound left her lips.

The dream shifted again to a darker, more sinister time. Shadows enveloped the house next door. She watched Peyton enter his living room. He stopped as if listening — there was someone behind him. She saw arms raised high, holding a candlestick from the mantel. As it descended toward Peyton's head — a sickening thud echoed through her mind as his body crumpled to the floor.

Moonlight barely pierced through the dusty window. The figure stood still, breathing heavily. The knife glinted in her hand. Peyton's voice faltered as he lay on the floor, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"Why?" he whispered, his voice cracking, searching the figure's face for answers. His gaze fell to the knife, and realization flickered across his face.

"You love me —" He breathed, his words shaky.

For a moment, the figure hesitated. The blade hovered in the air. A trembling hand gripped the handle tighter, knuckles white. A sudden realization rushed through her thoughts, and she whispered, "You knew?" She hesitated as a tear trickled down her cheek. She sneered, "But you didn't care, did you? I wanted you to love me."

Then, swiftly, almost mechanically, the knife plunged forward. The sound was wet, a muffled gasp escaping from Peyton's lips as his hands flew to his chest, where the blade had buried itself.

His eyes locked onto the woman, pleading as if trying to understand the betrayal. Blood spread across his shirt, the crimson stain growing rapidly.

"Why?" he gasped, his voice barely audible. His body was motionless, except for the faintest twitch of his fingers. The figure stood over him, staring. A tremor passed through her body as the knife slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor. "We — were meant to be together."

Then, everything went black.

Fiona's eyes flew open, and she gasped for air. Though the room was warm from the crackling fire, a cold chill ran down her spine. Her heart pounded as the dream's images lingered, torturing her.

She had seen it — the blood, the shiny blade, and Peyton's lifeless body on the floor.

Without thinking, she reached for the phone on the side table, her fingers fumbling over the numbers. Sharice's familiar voice crackled on the other end when the call connected. "Fiona? What's going on? It's late," Her voice was groggy.

"I did it," Fiona whispered, her voice barely audible before rising in panic. "I killed Peyton."

There was a long pause on the other end. "Fiona, that's nonsense. You've been dreaming again."

"No, Sharice. You need to call the police. I remember now. I stabbed him." Fiona's voice was shaky but insistent, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she tried to make her sister understand.

Sharice sighed. "Fiona, stop. You're in a wheelchair. You haven't left the house in months. How could you possibly —"

"I don't know! But I remember — the knife, the blood." Fiona's voice cracked, her mind swirling. The images from the dream were so vivid, so real. She could still feel the handle of the blade in her hand, slick with Peyton's blood.

Sharice paused, her voice softening, "You've been reading Poe again, haven't you? That's all this is. It's just your mind playing tricks on you, Fee. Please, calm down."

Fiona shook her head, denying anything her sister said. "No, no, you have to believe me. I need you to call Detective Harris. I have to confess."

Sharice hesitated. "You're serious?"

"Dead serious," Fiona whispered. "Please. Call him."

With a sigh of exasperation, Sharice caved. "Alright, I'll be there in a few minutes, and then, if you want, I'll call him. But this is just your imagination, Fiona. You're not a murderer."

Fiona said nothing, her hand clutching the armrest of her chair as she stared blankly at the leather-bound book on the table. The words on the page blurred as she waited.

Deep down, a gnawing doubt still twisted inside her, but she couldn't shake the certainty of what she had seen — what she had done.

*****

Still struggling with her dream, a firm knock on the door shattered Fiona's thoughts. If it were Sharice, she would use her key. For a fleeting moment, her hands pressed against the armrests of her wheelchair as if preparing to rise and greet whoever was at the door. Her shoulders sagged, and a sigh escaped her lips.

After a brief pause, she wheeled toward the door, trying to remain calm. "Who is it?" she asked, her voice steady but tense.

"Sorry to bother you, ma'am. My name is Detective Harris, and I'd like to ask you a few questions about your neighbor."

Fiona's stomach twisted at the mention of his name. She reached forward and turned the lock. "Come in. Did my sister call you?"

The detective stepped inside as the door swung open, immediately presenting his badge. His keen gaze swept the room, noting how tightly she gripped the armrests. Was she nervous, or was it something else? "No, ma'am. I'm here regarding your neighbor."

Just then, the door opened again, and Sharice hurried in, a slight flush on her cheeks. "Fiona, is everything alright?" She looked at her sister and then the detective. "I noticed the Metropolitan Police Parking sticker on your car. Are you with the police?"

"Yes, ma'am. As I explained, I am Detective Harris, and my department received notification that Mr. Cummings was scheduled to return to work three days ago, and they are concerned since he has not contacted them."

Sharice nodded. "Yes, Peyton mentioned a vacation coming up. I wasn't aware of the exact dates."

"And you, ma'am?"

"It's Fiona. I don't get out much, so I only saw Peyton on Sundays. It's a tradition for us to have dinner together." Fiona paused, staring at Sharice for a moment. "But I'm sure Sharice would have more information than I do."

"Why would you say that, Fiona? You know I always work and rarely saw him except for the dinners."

"So, did he have a girlfriend? I'm told he is a very handsome man. Did either of you have any relationship with him other than neighbors?"

Fiona sighed heavily, dramatically almost. "My only close relationship is with this wheelchair. Now, Sharice is the lucky one. She gets out a lot. A regular at the Lazy Saloon, especially on dance night."

"Fiona! You'll have the detective thinking I'm a barfly." She glared at her sister and then turned to the detective. "Don't listen to her. Between work and trying to help Fiona around here, my time is limited for anything else."

"If you say so!" Fiona twisted the wheels on her chair and rolled into the library. "Detective Harris, please come in and sit down. It's much warmer in the library. I'm sure Sharice could make us some tea or, if you prefer, a pot of coffee."

"If you are sure, it's no bother." Sharice was already headed to the kitchen when he turned to ask her, so he followed Fiona. Once in the library, he gazed around the room, looking at the pictures on the mantel. "Quite a nice home you have."

"Thank you. It's my family's home. I grew up here. Peyton moved away and returned about a year ago."

"So, you and your sister knew him as a child?"

Fiona's face lit up. "Yes, we were very close. As a child, we were inseparable."

The three of you?"

"Well, more Peyton and me, but, of course, Sharice —"

Before Fiona could finish her sentence, Sharice entered the room and immediately spoke, "Detective Harris, I forgot that we have a key to Peyton's house." She produced it from her pocket. "If Peyton is missing, I thought you might need this."

Detective Harris took the key and scrutinized it as if it were evidence. "Thank you, but can I ask how you have this?"

"I — I borrowed it a while back," Sharice stammered, her eyes darting nervously. "He said I could use it anytime."

Fiona felt a surge of resentment as she watched her sister squirm under the detective's gaze. Why was she lying?

Fiona looked innocently at Detective Harris and softly murmured, "Told you she had a closer relationship than me. I didn't know anything about a key."

The detective shifted his gaze from one sister to the other, sizing up what he was being told, and it wasn't adding up. "If it's not too much trouble, I think I'd like to take a look in Mr. Cummings house."

Fiona's eyes widened for a moment, and then she smiled. "That's a good idea. Make sure everything is alright over there. Sharice, you're familiar with the house. Why don't you walk over with the detective?"

"That's not necessary."

"No, Sharice would love to help you out, wouldn't you?" Fiona adjusted the blanket on her legs and added, "I'd do it, but unfortunately, my abilities are limited, unlike my sister's."

"I'd be happy to take you over there," Sharice replied, turning her attention to her sister. "Fiona, since Detective Harris is here, did you want to mention your dream?"

Fiona's eyes darted toward the detective and then to Sharice. "Don't be silly, Sharice. Detective Harris is busy and has more important things to do than hear about my crazy dream."

"Well, if you don't mind, I would like to check out Mr. Cummings' home and see if he might have left something that will tell us his whereabouts."

Sharice moved toward the door, opening it as he followed her. "I'll go along with you."

As the door closed, Fiona muttered, "Of course you will. He's a good-looking man, isn't he? One is never enough for you."

Author Notes Fiona - sister
Sharice - sister
Peyton Cummings - a childhood friend
Detective Slade Harris - crime investigator

Chapter 2
The Empty Chair Chap 2

By Begin Again

Fiona wheeled her chair to the window as the detective and Sharice closed the door. Her thoughts jumbled, and she couldn't decipher what was true and what was the dream. She could feel her heart beating wildly against her chest as she gazed at Peyton's house.

"Peyton, darling, where are you? People are worried about you." She sighed heavily. "I miss you."

As the minutes dragged on, she found herself grappling with her thoughts. What if the dream had truth to it? Had she seen the woman with Peyton or imagined it? Was it Sharice?

Her stomach twisted, and she cried, "Peyton, did her jealousy take you from me?"

The cell phone, an unused gift from her sister, buzzed. Fiona allowed her eyes to drift in that direction but didn't move. It buzzed again, vibrating against the table.

Fiona's heart raced. She knew it was Sharice since she was the only one with the number. Why would she be calling? Her mind whirled as the floodgate of thoughts rushed in. "Did they find Peyton? Had something happened at his house?"

She spun her chair around and rolled toward the table. Her trembling hand hovered over the phone, almost as if she felt it would bite her if she touched it. She dropped her hand to the book and seemed to draw strength and comfort from the familiar binding. She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply. As she expelled the air slowly, her hand moved to the phone, and she picked it up tremblingly.

A text message from Sharice appeared on the screen — "We're inside. Detective Harris is looking around."

She moved back to the window. She could see lights inside the house and a man. For a moment, her heart soared as she imagined it was Peyton. He was safe, after all, and this had all been a nightmare.

Her joy crashed as she saw a woman standing near the man. The sour taste of bitterness filled her throat. "Sharice!"

Her angry scream snapped her back to reality. She focused on the window, peering through the thin curtain. It was Detective Harris, not Peyton. What was he doing? Had he found something?

Flashing lights danced across the lawn and the side of the house. Fiona leaned forward in her chair, pressing her face against the glass. Police cars — several of them had parked in Peyton's driveway, and officers were hurrying toward his front door.

Fiona's hands flew to her mouth as she gasped. Tears streamed down her face. A guttural wail from deep inside her body filled the room. "Peyton, my love, was the woman —"

The footsteps on the front porch and the door swinging open startled her, and the wail turned to a scream.

"Fiona!" Sharice rushed into the library. Her face was pale. "Stop screaming. It's me."

"What's happening? Is it —" She turned her head toward the window, unable to finish her sentence.

"I'm not sure what happened. Peyton's not there, but there's been a struggle. The house is a shambles and —"

"And what, Sharice? What did they find?" Fiona's eyes were wild, like a crazed animal. "Never mind — I know what they found. It's Peyton's blood, isn't it?"

Sharice slumped into the overstuffed chair, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed. "It can't be!"

Fiona's facial features changed from hysterical to chiseled stone. "Of course it is! I told you —"

Sharice's head snapped up, and she glared at her sister. "Stop with your idiotic thoughts. You had a dream. That doesn't make it real."

Fiona's voice was icy cold when she spoke, "It was real. I saw a woman — I saw you kissing him. How could you do this, Sharice?"

Sharice jumped from the chair, gasping. "Me? Do you think I did something to Peyton? How can you say that to me? I —" She stopped and turned to see Detective Harris in the doorway.

"I knocked, but I'm afraid you didn't hear me, so I let myself in." The detective looked from one sister to the other, assessing the scene.

Fiona turned her wheelchair away from the wind and let her tear-stained eyes gaze at him. "Detective, please come in," her voice was barely a whisper. She pressed her quivering lips together as if she were stifling her pain. Her eyes begged him for help, relief from her misery. "Is — is he —?"

"It's too early to answer that question. We found signs of a struggle and blood on the carpet."

Fiona shivered and turned her head away. "Is it Peyton's?

"Forensics will have to do tests, but odds are, it is his. There's no body, so I can't be sure."

Fiona's mind went blank while her heart beat wildly against her chest. The gnawing in her stomach now felt like a vise squeezing tighter and tighter. She'd seen it — either in a dream or —. She lifted her eyes and stared at Sharice. She remembered seeing Sharice kissing Peyton. Had he refused her advances? Was Sharice the woman?

Fiona gasped. Shaking her head in disbelief, she mumbled, "I — I didn't mean to —" Her voice was barely audible, "It was a dream — wasn't it?"

Sharice's anger vanished as she reached for her sister's arm. "Fiona, please. You need to stay calm and think this through."

With tears streaming down her cheeks, she raised her head and stared at her sister. "I killed him."

Sharice's eyes flared, and she dropped to her knees beside the wheelchair. "Fiona, stop! You didn't kill anyone. It was a dream."

Fiona shook her head violently. "I — I saw it happen. I remember everything."

The detective glanced at the other officer, who had joined them, then turned back to the two sisters. "Can you recall any details that would help our investigation?"

Fiona's mind was racing as she tried to sort through her thoughts. What details could she share? Were they real or parts of a twisted dream? "I — I don't know." She swallowed hard, struggling to keep the bile from creeping into her throat. She wiped away the tears. "He was in trouble. Someone — a woman — was there."

"Someone? You don't know who it was?" Harris pressed.

Fiona's gaze shifted toward her sister and then back to her trembling hands in her lap. "I thought it was a woman, but — I couldn't see her face. Maybe it was —"

"Fiona!" Sharice's voice was shrill as she interrupted. "You are not a murderer. You are sick, and the dream doesn't mean anything."

"But what if it does?" Fiona cried. "What if I saw —" Her eyes locked on Sharice before continuing, "or I was there?" She gasped for air and shuddered. "I — I don't remember."

"Enough, ladies," Detective Harris interjected. "Do you mind if I sit?"

Sharice nodded and pointed to a Queen Anne chair. "Excuse my manners. Please, sit down."

The detective nodded and settled into the chair. "We need to establish a timeline." Directing his questions to Fiona, he asked, "Can you tell me where you were last night?"

Confused by his question, she replied, her voice faltering, "I was here in the library." Her eyes shifted to the book on the table. "Reading, as usual."

"Is that true, Sharice?" he asked, turning to Fiona's sister.

"Yes! I mean, of course. She can't walk. She's been confined to that chair since we were young. There's no way she could have gone anywhere."

Detective Harris nodded and returned his gaze to Fiona. "You need to think carefully. Were you alone the entire night?"

Fiona rubbed her temples. The throbbing in her head felt like a drum beating against her skull. "Yes, I was alone. But —"

"Fiona!" Sharice interrupted again. "You were dreaming. Just dreams."

"But — it was so real," Fiona's voice broke. "I can't shake it. If I'm guilty—"

"Stop," Detective Harris said, cutting her off. "No one is saying you are guilty. But we need to get to the bottom of this."

"Then you need to understand," Fiona continued, her voice intensifying. "I've been having these dreams for weeks. Dark, twisted nightmares. And now this — it's too much."

"We'll investigate," Harris assured her, his voice softening. "But you have to trust us. We'll find out what happened."

Someone knocked on the door, and the officer turned, moving out of sight. The muffled conversation at the door was barely audible. The detective took a moment to study Sharice and Fiona, who had anxiety written on their faces. After a few minutes, the officer returned to the library.

"Sir, I believe there is something you need to see. Forensics would like you over at the house."

Detective Harris stood, gently touched Fiona's arm, and nodded at Sharice. "You'll have to excuse me, ladies. I'm needed next door." He moved to leave and added, "We'll continue this conversation later. Thank you."

The silence was unbearable when the door clicked shut behind the officers and Detective Harris. Sharice moved to the window, brushing the curtains aside to see what was happening.

Police had set up enormous lights in the backyard and near the gate. Several officers were standing around as the Detective approached.

Sharice watched, her stomach in knots, as she worried what they might have found. She turned, intending to ask Fiona if she wanted some tea to settle her nerves, but hesitated when she didn't immediately spot her sister.

"Fiona?" she called as she glanced around the room and the hallway.

No answer.

Sharice's heart raced as she moved through the hallway, her eyes darting through the open doors. "Fiona?" she called again, louder this time, fear creeping into her voice. "Fiona, where are you?"

Then she heard it — the quiet clinking of silverware, muffled but unmistakable.

She followed the sound until she reached the dining room. There was Fiona, sitting in her wheelchair at the head of the table, carefully arranging plates and utensils. Her face was serene.

Sharice's gaze dropped to the table, and her breath caught. Fiona had set an extra place setting.

"Fiona —" Sharice's voice wavered. "What are you doing?"

Fiona glanced up with a soft smile, her hands busy as she polished the silverware. "Setting the table for Sunday dinner, of course," she said, her tone calm as if everything were perfectly normal.

Sharice stared at her, then at the extra setting. "Why are you setting a place for Peyton?"

Fiona's smile didn't waver. She placed a fork beside the plate. "What a silly question. He always has Sunday dinner with us."

Sharice's mouth opened to respond, but before she could speak, Fiona's hand jerked, dropping the remaining silverware. The clattering noise made Sharice flinch.

Fiona's smile faded. Her voice was bitter, "Have you done something to Peyton? Is that why he won't come?"

"What? Why would I harm Peyton?"

"Don't play innocent with me. I saw you kissing him."

"You're wrong, Fiona. I wouldn't —"

"Stop!" Fiona snarled. "I may be in this wheelchair, but it doesn't make me a fool. I know you wanted him."

"Fiona, you don't know what you are saying." Sharice's breath quickened.

"Lies!" Fiona's face twisted in anger as she reached into her pocket, tossing a narrow white obstacle across the table. "Care to explain this?"

Sharice's eyes widened as she stared at the pregnancy test. Thoughts raced through her mind, struggling to find an explanation for her sister. She had taken it in a moment of desperation and tossed it away without a second thought. As Fiona glared at her, she felt as if she was suffocating.

"What is this?" Sharice's voice faltered, her heart pounding in her chest.

Fiona leaned forward, her expression full of rage. "Don't pretend you don't know! Care to tell me why you took this?"

Sharice's mind raced, the blood rushing in her ears. She glanced at the test, then back at Fiona, who seemed ready to explode. "I didn't mean anything by it. It was just — a mistake," she blurted out, her voice filled with desperation.

"A mistake?" Fiona scoffed, her eyes narrowing. "You think I'm going to believe that? You were hoping for something, weren't you?"

"No! I wasn't hoping for anything!" Sharice's voice rose. She fought to keep her composure, but the intensity of Fiona's gaze was unnerving. "You're twisting this around."

Fiona's laughter was harsh and bitter. "Twisting? Or am I simply seeing the truth for what it is? You wanted him for yourself, and now he's gone. What did you do to him, Sharice?"

Sharice felt her stomach drop under Fiona's accusations. "I didn't do anything to Peyton! You have to believe me!"

But silence greeted the pleading in her voice. Fiona's expression softened momentarily, a flicker of doubt passing through her eyes before being replaced by steely resolve. "You're right! How foolish of me to imagine Peyton and you —"

She returned to her task, setting the last place at the table with shaking hands. "Shall we have a pot roast with baby potatoes and lots of veggies? That's one of Peyton's favorite dinners."

Chapter 3
The Empty Chair Chap 3

By Begin Again

As he entered the library, Fiona sat near the fireplace with a book on her lap. She raised her head when he entered. "Sorry for the interruption, Fiona." He pulled out his notebook and pen. "Where were we before I had to leave?"

Fiona moved closer, putting the book on the table and folding her hands in her lap. She smiled at the detective. "Before we go on, I think there's something important you should know. It's about my sister."

Sharice carried a tray of coffee cups and a coffee pot as she entered the library. Hearing Fiona, her heart skipped, and she froze, stopping at the doorway. She glared at her sister. "What could you have to say about me that the detective would find worthy of hearing?"

"Oh, don't act surprised, Sharice." Fiona's voice was soft, almost pitying. "It's time we're honest about everything."

Sharice placed the tray on the table, her eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"

"I'm talking about the pregnancy, of course." Fiona's words came out in a gentle, almost apologetic tone. She turned to Detective Harris. "Please, Detective, don't be too hard on her. Sharice has been under so much stress lately."

Detective Harris raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting from one sister to another. "Pregnancy?"

Sharice felt her pulse quicken. "That's ridiculous," she said quickly. "I'm not pregnant."

Fiona sighed, shaking her head. "You can deny it, but I saw the test. And when I tried to help her, she got angry and snatched it away so no one else would know." Fiona's eyes filled with concern. "She's been so secretive about it."

Sharice stared at her, dumbfounded. "I did no such thing! Fiona, what are you even talking about?"

"I found the test in the bathroom, dear. I was curious, but you threw it away."

Detective Harris looked sharply at Sharice. "Is this true?"

"No! I don't know what she's talking about!" To keep her composure, she turned to the detective. "She's lying, Detective. She's just trying to confuse things and make me look bad."

"Am I?" Fiona tilted her head, her smile never faltering. "You were the last one to see Peyton, after all. And you've been acting so strangely since then."

Sharice felt her stomach drop. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Fiona shrugged, looking helpless. "I'm just worried about you, Sharice. You haven't been yourself. I thought — well, maybe everything with Peyton got too much for you."

Sharice's anger boiled over. "Stop it, Fiona! You know none of that's true!"

Detective Harris kept his expression neutral as he watched the exchange. Fiona's calm state sharply contrasted with her sister's agitated stance. Still, a nagging sense tugged at him. People don't break that easily under accusations unless they have something to hide or are being lied about. His gaze lingered on Sharice, her crossed arms and flaring nostrils betraying more than mere frustration. Was Fiona baiting her? Or was she afraid of being exposed?

A hint of satisfaction flickered in Fiona's eyes. She leaned forward in the wheelchair and spoke softly, "Detective, in my attempt to protect Sharice, I have neglected to tell you the truth." she turned her head, staring at the window for a moment, before speaking again, "I — I saw —" she paused and studied her hands. "It was late one night. I couldn't sleep, so I wheeled myself back to the library and read near the window. I saw Peyton — and he wasn't alone."

Sharice froze. She could feel Fiona's words like a knife in her back.

Detective Harris frowned. "Who was he with?"

Fiona smiled, her gaze shifted as she glared at Sharice. "The woman with Peyton looked an awful lot like my dear sister."

Sharice's eyes widened. "That's ridiculous! I wasn't with Peyton. Fiona, why are you saying these things? First, you tell the detective I'm pregnant, and then you lie about me being with Peyton."

Fiona raised her hands as if blocking Sharice's anger. "I'm just saying what I saw. Maybe I was mistaken, or maybe —" She let her words trail off.

Frustrated, Sharice turned to Detective Harris, unable to control her anger. "I have no idea why my sister is telling you these lies, but it's not true." She pointed at the leather book on the table. "She gets these crazy ideas for that. The author plants the seed, and she makes it grow."

"Nonsense, Sharice! Do you expect the detective to believe that one of Poe's stories has made me one of his diabolical characters?" She shook her head and whined, "Isn't being in a wheelchair enough torture?"

Sharice's eyes burned with unshed tears, but her voice grew louder. 'You've always done this! Always! Just twisting everything to make me the villain. I'm done with it, Fiona."

"Let's keep this civil, ladies." Standing, he placed his notebook in his pocket. "Maybe we should take some time to cool off. It's been a tough day for everyone. If either of you remember anything else, please let me know."

Fiona's lips curved into a small smile. "Of course, Detective. I'm always here to help."

Still trembling, Sharice stepped toward the doorway, "I'll see you out, Detective."

On the front porch, the detective stopped to speak to Sharice, "It's been a rough day for everyone. Get some rest. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call."

Sharice nodded. "Good night, Detective."

The rusty hinges on the front gate creaked, and a female officer entered the yard.
Detective Harris recognized her as part of the forensic team. "Everything wrapped up next door?"

The officer nodded. "Yes, sir. Forensics is finishing inside and should leave in a few minutes." The woman glanced at Sharice and then back to Harris. "I'll see you back at the station."

"Sure thing."

The officer hesitated. "I think I saw you at the medical building the other day. I was there for my check-up, too."

Sharice's eyes widened, and she stammered, "It wasn't — sorry, you must be mistaken."

The officer shrugged. "It was someone who sure looked like you. No matter." She gave a polite nod to Harris and walked off, leaving the words hanging in the air.

Detective Harris tipped his hat as he moved off the porch, but before he left, Sharice stepped in front of him, anger bubbling beneath the surface. "You shouldn't believe anything Fiona says," she insisted. "She's twisting everything."

Harris stared into her eyes before answering, "We'll sort it out, Sharice. Just—"

"Just what?" she shot back, her voice rising. "You think I'd hurt Peyton? That I'm pregnant? That's absurd!"

"Good night," he replied curtly, stepping past her and opening the gate. Walking toward his car, he wondered why Sharice lied about being at the medical building. He trusted his officer to know what she saw.

*****

As Sharice pushed through the door, her anger boiled over. "How could you do that, Fiona? What were you thinking?"

Fiona sat in her wheelchair and continued to read Poe's "The Tell-Tale Heart," unfazed by Sharice's outburst.

"Are you even listening to me?" Sharice snapped, stepping closer, her voice rising with each word. "You can't just throw around lies like that!"

Fiona glanced up. "I was just telling the truth. You can't expect me to hide things from the police, right?"

"Truth?" Sharice laughed. "That's rich coming from you. Why have you twisted everything to make me look guilty?"

Frustrated, Sharice knocked the book from Fiona's lap. It hit the floor with a thud, and a glint of metal caught her eye. A knife slid out from the hollowed-out center of the book, clattering to the floor.

Fiona's eyes widened, but her expression remained calm. "You shouldn't have done that," she said. "I paid extra for that prop."

"Another one of your tricks!" Sharice snarled, holding the knife up for emphasis. "I oughta burn that book." She turned the knife over, the blade gleaming in the firelight. "You and your stupid toys. When will you grow up, Fiona?"

"Give it back to me, Sharice." Fiona's voice was low and chilling. "Give it to me, or you'll be sorry."

Sharice's eyes flashed with anger. "No, I've had enough of you and your games. That book has done nothing but put strange ideas in your head."

Fiona's smile was cold, her gaze sharp. "Now, who's talking nonsense? It's just a story with a stage prop."

Sharice, still gripping the knife, lunged forward. In one swift motion, she grabbed the book and hurled it into the fire. But before the knife could follow, Fiona rolled her chair into her sister and knocked her backwards.

For a tense moment, they struggled—Sharice's hand still clutching the knife, Fiona's grip tightening.

Finally, Sharice jerked away, slamming the knife down on the table. "Get yourself something new to read," she spat.

"How about "My Sister the Serial Killer?" Fiona's lips curled into a twisted sneer.

Sharice's eyes narrowed. "You're sick, Fiona. I've had enough of you. I'm going home."

"Good night!" Fiona called after her, an evil satisfaction bubbling inside.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Fiona rushed to the fireplace, leaving her chair behind. The fire hissed and popped as the book's pages curled in the flames and turned to ash. "You're going to pay, dear sister," she whispered, her smile spreading as her mind worked through the next steps. "I promise you'll regret crossing me."

Chapter 4
The Empty Chair Chap 4

By Begin Again

Sharice sat the bags of groceries on the kitchen counter and glanced down the hallway, wondering where Fiona was. She didn't want to see her, but she knew she should at least check that she was okay.

"Fiona!" She waited, but her sister didn't answer. "Fiona, I've brought groceries."

In the library, Fiona sat in her wheelchair, staring out the window. Sharice's voice had reached her, but she was still stewing about their argument last night. She'd sat for hours, using the poker, as the pages of her book burned one by one, but the morning brought a new day with a new strategy.

"Fiona! I was calling you. Didn't you hear me?" Sharice stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, waiting for an answer.

Her sister's head snapped around and apologetically whispered, "I'm sorry, Sharice."

"You don't have to be sorry for not hearing me. I was just worried."

Fiona's eyes welled with tears. "I meant I was sorry for all the terrible things I said to you last night. Please forgive me."

Sharice was shocked. She couldn't recall another time Fiona had seemed so humble, almost broken. "It's okay, Fiona. We were both distraught about Peyton, not knowing what happened to him."

"We can't let things come between us, can we? We're twins and should always stick together. I am truly sorry, Sharice."

"It's okay. Today is another day."

Fiona smiled. "I baked this morning. Your favorite jelly-filled croissants."

"I thought I smelled pastries when I brought the groceries in."

"Would you share a cup of tea and a pastry with me? Just to prove to you how sorry I am."

"It's not necessary, Fiona. We both were upset —"

"It is important to me, Sharice. I won't feel right until we have tea together." She paused and smiled at her sister. "Remember the tea parties the three of us always shared? Let's have one in remembrance of Peyton. Please?"

"Sure, why not? I'll get the tea and pastries, and we can sit by the fire and talk." Sharice turned and headed to the kitchen to prepare the tea.

Fiona watched her sister leave, her hands tightening around the armrests of her wheelchair. "Yes, sister dear, a tea party is perfect. We shall sip tea and make amends," she mumbled to herself.

She pulled a small packet from her pocket and opened it, preparing for her next move. She knew there wasn't enough poison to kill her, but it would be enough to scare Sharice.

Sharice returned in a few minutes and placed the cups and teapot with cream and sugar on the table. "I'll be right back. The pastries smell delicious, Fiona. You are being especially kind."

"Just a small peace offering. You'd do the same for me, I'm sure."

As Sharice returned to the kitchen to get the pastries, her mind raced, trying to figure out what angle Fiona was working at. Years of being together had taught her that there was no way Fiona would surrender so easily.

As Sharice placed the tray of pastries on the table, Fiona stirred sugar in the cup and emptied the small packet with a quick, deliberate flick. She saw Sharice's sharp eyes narrow. Perfect!

Sharice settled into the chair closest to Fiona. Raising an eyebrow, she asked, "What did you add to my tea?"

"Oh, just a little extra sugar and some cream." She slid the cup toward Sharice. "I made it just how you always want it."

Sharice's gaze shifted from one cup to another, her suspicion of Fiona growing. "That was kind of you, Fiona, but I think I would prefer mine plain today. I've been using too much sugar lately." A coldness entered her voice as she handed the cup to Fiona. "You drink this one." She smirked as she lifted the poisoned tea to Fiona.

Fully aware of what was happening, Fiona sipped the tea without hesitation, her eyes never leaving Sharice. She knew that there wasn't enough poison to kill her.

She could taste the bitterness of the poison as she set her plan into motion. Her throat tightened, and she could feel the nausea swirling in her stomach, but she forced a smile.

"Delicious." Her body swayed, and she coughed. "I — I don't feel well."

Sharice's face paled, but Fiona continued, "Was something in the tea?" She stared at Sharice and cried, "Did — you — poison me?" Her voice trailed off as she slumped over, clutching her stomach.

Sharice stood frozen in shock. Knowing the tea was meant for her, yet terrified as she watched.

Fiona struggled to lift her head as she coughed violently. "You poisoned me. You switched the cups —"

"Fiona, I didn't —" Her face drained of color, and her eyes widened in panic. "This is another of your twisted games. You're just acting, aren't you?" Fear gripped her. Without waiting for another word, she rushed to the kitchen and out the back door, yelling, "Enough is enough, Fiona."

Fighting the effects of the poison, Fiona reached for her phone and dialed Detective Harris's number.

When he answered, she whispered into the phone, "It's Fiona. Please — help me. I think — tried — to kill me." Coughing, she doubled over in pain and dropped the phone.

*****

The ambulance and Detective Harris arrived at Fiona's home simultaneously. While the EMTs unloaded their equipment, he raced inside.

"Fiona!" The wheelchair was empty. He started toward the kitchen when he heard a moan from the library. As he rushed back, Fiona moaned again. She was lying on the floor in front of the sofa.

"Fiona!" He lifted her carefully from the floor and placed her on the sofa as the EMTs entered the house. He stepped back, letting them take her vitals while he noted the cups of tea and the pastries.

"We've got to take her to the hospital, sir."

Fiona raised her hand in protest. "Wait —" she gasped for air, and another moan escaped her lips. "Sharice —"

Having seen the two cups, Harris bent closer to Fiona. "What about Sharice? Do you want me to call her?"

"Noooo!" Fiona swallowed hard, turning her head away before she whispered, "She did this."

"Sharice? Are you saying she poisoned you?" Harris stared at Fiona, surprised at her accusation. They'd fought, yes, but poisoning your twin sister. That was diabolical!

"Sir, we really should get her to the hospital."

The EMT stood next to the gurney, impatient to get his patient to the hospital and get her stomach pumped.

Fiona struggled to move, pointing toward the woodbox by the fireplace. "In there."

Harris stood and hurried to the box. When he opened it, his eyes widened, and he turned to Fiona. "What is this?"

Coughing, she gasped, "I found it in the spare room. Sharice put it there."

Taking gloves from his pocket, he lifted the knife and a bloody t-shirt from the box. As the men lifted her onto the gurney, she cried, "I told her I found them. I asked why, but she laughed at me." Coughing violently, she pulled her body into a ball. "She was jealous — so —" Gasping, she mumbled, "she poisoned me."

Detective Harris called in the forensic team as the EMTs wheeled Fiona into the ambulance. "I'm at the house next door to the murder scene. I think I might have motive and an attempted murder, too."

*****

After several hours of grilling Sharice and unable to shake her story, Detective Harris watched her walk out of his precinct. It was difficult to believe that Fiona might have planned her own poisoning, but he'd had stranger cases. Sharice had admitted to being pregnant but was adamant that the baby was not Peyton's. She even told the detective that she was planning to leave the state and marry the father of her baby, but she'd been uncertain how Fiona would react to being left behind.

The detective didn't know who was telling him the truth — the disabled sister or her twin.

As Sharice left the police station, she received a text from Fiona.

"Please come to dinner. I'm sorry."

Her rational side told her to stay away, but the lifelong protector wanted to believe that Fiona needed her and was genuinely sorry. Ultimately, she decided she needed to face Fiona and get things out in the open, regardless of what it was.

*****

Arriving at Fiona's house, Sharice was extremely nervous. She didn't want another confrontation. She hesitated at the doorway as her hand rested on the handle. Every nerve in her body screamed not to go inside, but she knew it was something she had to do. Despite knowing the danger, she needed answers — ones that only Fiona could give.

She tried to tell herself that her sister must have learned her lesson while lying in a hospital bed. She didn't want to believe that she could still be scheming, not after almost dying from the poison.

She opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. The smell of roast and vegetables drifted in the air. "Fiona, it's Sharice."

A soft, gentle voice answered immediately, "Sharice, I'm so happy you came. Please come in and join me. I've opened a bottle of your favorite wine."

Sharice's gaze shifted to the empty place at the table reserved for Peyton. It was just as she'd feared — a cruel, silent mockery. Fiona had set the table as though Peyton were coming to dinner, as if he were still alive and well, just running late.

"I know what you did," Sharice said, her voice low and shaking with restrained anger. "You poisoned yourself to frame me. And I know you planted that bloody shirt and knife. Why, Fiona? Why are you doing this?"

Fiona didn't flinch. She folded her hands delicately, resting them in her lap. "Oh, Sharice, always so dramatic." Her voice was syrupy sweet. "I'm only doing what needs to be done. Peyton was always between us, wasn't he? You and your secrets, running to him like I didn't exist. And now — well, now it's time to set things right."

Sharice's heart pounded as she stepped closer to the table, her hands clenched into fists. "What did you tell the detective?" she demanded. "What lies did you feed him?"

Fiona let out a soft, mocking laugh. "Lies? Oh no, dear. The truth. You poisoned me, remember? Your fingerprints were on my cup." She lifted her glass, swirling the liquid inside. "That's what they all believe, Sharice. And they'll believe so much more when I'm done."

"You've gone too far, Fiona," Sharice said, shaking angrily. "You're going to pay for what you've done to Peyton, to me. I won't let you destroy everything."

At this, Fiona's smile widened, her eyes gleaming. "Oh, but it's not over yet. Not until you're gone."

Sharice couldn't stand it anymore. She lunged toward Fiona, her chair scraping against the floor, and the next thing she knew, Fiona's wheelchair tipped over with a loud crash. Fiona's body crumpled onto the ground, but even in her fallen state, that wicked smile didn't leave her face.

The room felt as though it was closing in on Sharice. Her breath came in short gasps as she realized what she had done — not that Fiona was hurt, but how it would look. As if on cue, there was a knock at the front door.

"Detective Harris," Fiona gasped from the floor, still managing to sound pleased. "He's right on time."

Sharice froze, her pulse racing. She couldn't be caught like this, not with Fiona on the floor, the wheelchair overturned. It would be the final piece of evidence to implicate her — just as Fiona had planned. Sharice turned and bolted for the back door without thinking — her only hope of escape.

She heard the front door creak open just as she slipped out the back and Fiona's voice calling, "Someone help me."

Chapter 5
The Empty Chair - Chap 5

By Begin Again

Detective Harris stood outside Fiona's door, his knuckles raised, about to knock, when he heard the sharp crash of furniture inside. His instincts flared. He pounded on the door and then turned the handle. The door swung open just enough for him to see a figure darting through the kitchen.

"Sharice!" he yelled, but she was already gone. He cursed under his breath and stepped inside.

The dining room was chaos — plates smashed, chairs toppled, and in the center of it all, Fiona lay sprawled on the floor, her wheelchair overturned beside her.

She clutched her stomach, her face twisted in pain. "Detective," she gasped, her voice trembling. "My sister — she's got to be stopped."

Harris knelt beside her, checking her pulse and then the surroundings. It was a mess. "Sharice did this?" he asked, his voice sharp, his mind trying to piece together the events as fast as he could.

Fiona moaned and stretched her hand toward the detective. "Could you help me up? I can't believe she deliberately tipped my chair over. Something's desperately wrong."

"Are you hurt? Should I call the ambulance?"

"No, I'm just bruised. Nothing to worry those EMTs about."

"Are you sure?"

Fiona smiled. "I haven't had someone worry about me as you do since Pey—" She let her voice trail off and looked away. "Never mind. Can you put me in my chair, please?"

Detective Harris set the wheelchair upright and then lifted Fiona into it. "Are you sure you are okay?"

"Yes, Detective. Maybe now you will believe me when I say that Sharice tried to poison me. She's a very clever girl." Fiona dropped her gaze to her lap and murmured, "Forgive me. I shouldn't talk so harshly about my sister. She's always wanted things she couldn't have, and Peyton's attention was one of them. I should have just stepped aside and let her be happy, but —"

"Fiona, do you believe Sharice murdered Peyton and is trying to murder you, too?"

"I — I shouldn't — speak of my sister in that way, Detective. She's done a lot for me over the years. At the moment, she seems confused."

"But murder?" Harris paced back and forth across the dining room, stopping to look over the scene from time to time. Three places had been set, but why? "Fiona, why was the table set for three people?"

Fiona glanced at the table and then down at her hands again. "Sharice insisted. She said Peyton was coming."

"Peyton? Why would she say that? Had she heard from him?"

Something was chilling about the space reserved for Peyton. Why would she want to set a place for a dead man? Was he still alive somewhere?

Fiona shook her head. "I don't know. She said that soon he'd be back and that they'd be together forever, regardless of what I wanted. I was afraid, so I put the extra place setting on the table like usual." She gazed at the detective before adding, "My sister needs help. You've got to find her before she hurts someone else."

Harris pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed the station. "I need an APB," he ordered. "Sharice Simmons fled the scene and is wanted for questioning regarding an assault on her sister." His mind shifted to the knife Fiona had given him earlier, and he added, "The suspect may be armed and dangerous."

He hung up the phone, eyes still scanning the mess. Something about Fiona's story nagged at the back of his mind. Everything seemed too well-orchestrated for a crime of passion.

"I need to go, Fiona. Do you want me to leave an officer posted outside?"

"No, that won't be necessary. I'm sure Sharice is sorry for what happened."

"But you said she tried to poison you, and now this."

"I'm sure that was an accident — a misunderstanding." Fiona turned away from the detective, picking up broken pieces of china from the table. "Maybe — someone else planted the poison in the sugar. Why would Sharice want to kill me?" A tear trickled down her cheek, and she wiped it away. "If you don't mind, Detective, I'll be fine after I rest. Thank you for coming."

"It's my job, Fiona. I need to keep you safe." He touched her shoulder, hoping to comfort her. "We'll figure it out."

She murmured, "Thank you," and then rolled her wheelchair into the library.

*****

After Detective Harris left, leaving a police car parked outside, Fiona sat in silence, staring into the flames as they crackled in the fireplace. Regardless of the warmth, she felt cold and empty.

As she stared out the window at the dark emptiness of Peyton's house, her mind drifted to her favorite author and Peyton. Feeling the loss, she moaned, "My darling, must I speak of you through Poe, whispering my sorrows?

'In dreams, I hold you close and tight, but in waking moments, you vanish from sight.'

"How could someone I never knew understand my pain, but the one I loved couldn't see?"

She stood and walked to the bookcase, searching the shelf for one particular book. Opening it, she removed an envelope, pressing it against her breast, before returning to the chair. She closed her eyes as she remembered childhood days filled with laughter and happiness, days spent with Peyton, making promises of being together forever. Her mind clouded as her thoughts drifted to her sister and how she'd wooed Peyton away, always leaving her behind and alone.

Not wanting to remember, she opened the letter, and a torn piece fluttered to the floor. She unfolded the letter as if it were something priceless. Her lips curled into a twisted smile as she read —

"My love, I can't wait for the moment we can start our life together. I dream of our future — just you and me — escaping and leaving the world behind. We were meant to be — just you and me."

Her eyes misted as she clutched the letter, murmuring, "I knew you always loved me. It's always been us."

As she reread the letter, her eyes lingered on the words, 'We can start our life together.'

Her hands trembled as a dark realization dawned on her. Her eyes traveled to the torn piece of paper, and her anger surged. With a primal scream, she yelled, "Peyton, how could you? You belonged to me."

Her face contorted into a rage, and she crumbled the letter and hurled it across the room. Her breath was ragged as she stood and walked out of the room and down the hall, stopping near a cabinet filled with memorabilia from the past. She slid her hand behind the cabinet and pressed a lever, opening a secret door.

Inside was a tiny room built as a secret playhouse for a child restrained in a wheelchair. A table covered with lace was set up for a tea party.

Fiona slid the door closed but didn't press the latch. Instead, her eyes lit up as she glanced around the room, taking in all the beauty. She fluffed her hair, straightened her dress, and lifted the arm of an old record player, setting it on a record. The gentle sounds of a waltz filled the room, and she swayed with the music until she finally started twirling around the room.

When the song ended, she moved to the table, choosing the chair she'd always sat in. Her face lit up as she smiled. "All is right in our world."

She lifted the teapot, poured a cup of tea, and then filled the other cup, adding sugar to each one. She raised the delicate cup to her lips as a tear slid down her cheek, and her smile faded. Her voice cracked as she spoke, "Peyton, why did it come to this?"

She waited as if anticipating an answer and wiped the tears from her face. She inhaled and attempted to smile. "I forgive you, my love. I know you fell under her spell and thought you would be happy, but you were wrong. You and I were always meant to be. You understand that now, don't you?"

Fury flashed in her eyes. Her voice turned icy cold. "Peyton, you know we belong together, right?" She sneered at his lifeless body, decaying in the chair across from her.

Her tone softened again. "We'll be together just like you promised. I know you'll love me like I love you."

With trembling hands, she poured another cup of lukewarm tea and added two spoons of sugar — ones she'd laced with poison.

Her face was calm, almost serene, as she raised the cup to her lips, whispering, "To us." Before the last bit of life drained from her body, she reached across the table and took Peyton's hand, whispering, "Forever."

Chapter 6
The Empty Chair - THE END

By Begin Again

Hidden from sight in Fiona's backyard, Sharice stared at the house they grew up in, and a flood of memories swept through her mind. As children, they always seemed to share the same likes and dislikes, but she had to admit that as they entered adulthood, Fiona appeared to change. She became withdrawn and secretive, though she never complained about the accident and her inability to walk—until the other night.

Sharice leaned against the garage wall, trying to remember Fiona's exact words. Wasn't it something about being in the wheelchair was torture enough? There had always been the possibility that she would walk again. The doctors said they believed it was more psychological than physical, but Fiona would never discuss it. Had her parents and she been wrong not to press harder for her to walk? Was it her fault that Fiona was spiraling out of control? Was Fiona hopelessly in love with Peyton and blamed her for the loss of him? Maybe she should have told Fiona about Alex, the love of her life, but she hadn't wanted to rub salt in open wounds. There were so many unanswered questions.

She'd been pacing for hours, unable to shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong. Despite the arguments and silly accusations, she knew she was all Fiona had and was responsible for checking on her sister. Fiona needed help before anything else went wrong.

Sharice had seen the officer in his patrol car parked at the curb, but after Detective Harris left, she hadn't noticed any activity in the house. She couldn't stand here any longer. She needed to talk to Fiona. The yard was dark, and it was easy for her to slip across and enter through the basement window, something she'd done many times as a teenager. If anyone were watching the doors, they'd never be any wiser.

Once in the house, Sharice climbed the basement stairs and entered the kitchen. Except for a light in the library, the home was completely dark. Sharice tiptoes down the hallway, thinking her sister might be asleep. As she entered the library, her eyes shifted to the window and the empty wheelchair.

Sharice gasped and instantly called out, "Fiona! It's Sharice." When no one answered, she began to panic, running from room to room, yelling, "Fiona, this isn't funny. Where are you?" After several minutes of checking every room, she pulled out her phone and called the police department.

"Detective Harris, please. I must speak with him."

Moments later, the detective picked up the phone. "Detective Harris speaking."

Sharice's voice sounded rushed, "Detective, it's Sharice. Fiona's missing."

"Sharice, calm down. She couldn't have gone too far in a wheelchair. Have you checked every room?"

"I have, and more than once. The wheelchair — it's empty."

"Empty?" The detective frowned.

"Yes, it's in the library by the window where Fiona always sits, but I can't find her. Please, you have to come. I'm afraid something terrible might have happened. She hasn't been herself lately."

"I'll be there in ten minutes." He hung up the phone, his mind reeling with possibilities. Both sisters had given him reason to be suspicious, but now, with Fiona missing — how does a girl who can't walk just disappear without the wheelchair?

*****

From the front window, Sharice saw the detective arrive. He'd parked and then stopped to talk with the officer in the other car. By the time she opened the door, two other patrol cars had arrived.

"Detective, thank you for coming so quickly." Sharice stepped aside and allowed the officers to enter. "I've checked everywhere."

Detective Harris moved toward the library. "Nothing seems to be out of order except the empty wheelchair. No sign of a struggle."

"No. Everything's exactly as I found it. Where could she be?"

He instructed each officer to check each room and the outside thoroughly before he turned back to Sharice. "Has anything like this happened before?"

"No, of course not." Tears welled in Sharice's eyes.

"But you mentioned she would disappear and reappear again sometimes."

"But that was only a few minutes, and she was in the wheelchair. She went from room to room, and I didn't always know where she'd been." The tears spilled down her face. "This is different. She couldn't just disappear."

"I'm sure there's an answer. Could she have gone out with someone — a friend?"

Sharice shook her head. "Peyton — he would have been her only friend." She paused, gasping for air. "She would never have gone without her chair. Something dreadful has happened. I know it."

Detective Harris nodded and walked around the room, glancing out the windows and checking for clues. Walking down the hallway, he noticed the bookcase appeared to have been moved a few inches from the wall. His brow furrowed as he moved closer. With a quick nudge, it moved further, revealing the hidden door.

Sharice had followed him and gasped when the bookcase moved. Detective Harris studied her reaction as he asked, "What do you know about this door?"

Sharice stammered, "I'd forgotten about it. Our father built a secret playhouse for Fiona. It's a very small room, but it was big enough for a young girl in a wheelchair to have tea parties."

"Would Fiona have gone in there?"

"I — I have no idea. I suppose she could have, but why? She hasn't spoken of it since we were children. How could she and why leave her chair?"

"Good questions." The detective shoved the bookcase away, clearing the entry, and opened the door to the secret room. The stench from Peyton's decaying body greeted him first, followed by Sharice's scream as they both saw the grim sight.

Fiona's lifeless body was slumped over the small table. Her hand rested limply on Peyton's hand. The smell was overwhelming.

Choking, Sharice crumbled as she stared at her sister and their friend. The detective wrapped his arm around her and helped her from the room. Once he had her safely settled on the sofa, he called out for his officers. He pointed toward the secret room and said, "We need a forensic team. We have two bodies — one appears to be the missing sister, and the other, I believe, is the missing neighbor."

Armed with the updates on the fingerprints on the knife, Fiona's accusations that Sharice tried to poison her, the disturbing dinner party, and now this, Detective Harris believed he had no choice but to arrest Sharice for the murders of Peyton and Fiona.

His face was grim as he moved to her side. "Sharice, I'm afraid I have to place you under arrest."

Her eyes widened in horror. "You — you think I did this? Are you crazy? I wouldn't —"

"I'm sorry, but the evidence says differently."

Sharice sobbed. "You're wrong. Fiona framed me. I didn't do this. I couldn't hurt her. I loved her. You've got to believe me."

The detective nodded at the officer, who walked over to Sharice. "Please stand, Ma'am. I am placing you under arrest for —" As the officer placed handcuffs on her wrists and read her the Miranda rights, Sharice's mind went blank. The EMTs rolled the gurney through the hallway, and she could do nothing but stare.

*****

The following day, as Detective Harris took a second look at the original crime scene, Peyton's front door opened, and a woman walked in, expecting to find Peyton. Her eyes widened, and she brusquely asked, "Who are you? What's going on?"

Detective Harris showed his badge and fired off his own questions. "This is a crime scene investigation. Who are you?"

The woman gasped, and her hand grabbed the door to steady herself. "Crime scene? What's happened?" Then, realizing she needed to identify herself, she opened her jacket to reveal a badge. "I'm Detective Anna Lexington. Where's Peyton?"

"Are you a friend or relative?"

"I'm his fiance. I've been gone for six weeks, undercover. Now, will someone tell me what's going on? What's happened to Peyton?"

"Maybe you should sit down."

"I don't want to sit down. I want to know what's happening and where my fiance is?" Anger shot from her eyes.

The detective looked at her, stunned. This revelation changed everything. He sighed, and then, his voice low, he said, "I'm sorry to inform you that he's dead — murdered."

"Murdered!" She struggled to keep her composure. "Did that crazy woman next door do it?"

Detective Harris sighed. "Yesterday, we found their bodies in a secret room next door."

"Oh, no. She killed Sharice, too?"

"Sharice? You think Fiona did this?"

"We've known — Peyton and I — for some time that she didn't need that wheelchair. Peyton caught her in his house several times. We were going to move as soon as my undercover duties were done. And now —" She buried her face in her hands. "It's too late. I should have listened to Peyton. We should have told Sharice."

"You can't blame yourself." Detective Harris shook his head in disbelief. "It appears I might have the wrong sister in jail."

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