House of Lies: A gripping thriller with a shocking twist. E. Seymour V.

      It’s way bigger than this.

      I continue towards the market square and finally the car park. With relief, I open up, climb inside, lock the doors and let out a long, perplexed breath. Slumping across the steering wheel, I grind my brow into the plastic.

      Adam smiles, is nice, caring and quiet, ‘enigmatic,’ she said. Life histories are similar in most aspects and dissimilar in a few. A brother is in the mix with Adam and absent with Tom. With a taste for the dramatic, multiple personality disorder floats across my mind, but I sense that this is not what I’m dealing with. It isn’t a medical issue. It’s criminal.

       I am tainted by it.

      To my way of thinking, Tom has a lot in common with arms dealers and gangland figures. They, too, are averse to leaving digital footprints. They, too, shack up with multiple partners. They, too, live a lie. I briefly wonder how many identities Tom actually has and give up because it makes my brain expand and bang against my skull.

      And do I feel rage? You bet.

      A shudder passes through me at the recollection I very nearly weakened and confessed to Stephanie who I was. With a couple of sentences I could proclaim that her belief in Adam’s existence is warranted, that he is alive and has been for the past four years. As cruel as it is to withhold, it feels crueller still to be the messenger. Leave that to others.

      Oh God.

      With a tight chest, I realise that I have absolutely no choice but to report my findings to the police. How I’m going to disclose the information without destruction following in its wake, I don’t know. Revenge is not my motivation. And, after what I was told, I wouldn’t have him back if he begged me. It’s the search for truth that spurs me on. If Tom’s intention was only to deceive Stephanie into believing he was dead, why did two police officers pay her a visit? Were they duped too? Or, I breathe heavily; does corruption lie at the heart of it?

      I briefly wonder what Vick will say. Itching to tell her, I decide to go to the law first. Immediately, I think of D.S. Michael Shenton. With the contact already made, it would be easier talking to him about what is essentially a delicate matter. Before losing my nerve, I pull out my mobile and phone the police station. It takes what seems an age to connect the call.

      “Yes?” It’s a brisk response, as if I caught him in the middle of something.

      “Can I come and talk to you?”

      “Could you drop me an email? Be easier.”

      “It’s not about the article. I have information that I think you’ll want to hear.”

      “Like what?” His voice sharpens.

      “I’d rather not say on the phone.”

      “Has a crime been committed?”

      “I don’t honestly know.”

      “Only there are avenues for– ”

      “Please. I believe it’s a police matter and I badly need to talk to someone.” I hate sounding flaky. “Would you be free at three this afternoon?”

      I hear him exhale.

      “I’ll come to you,” I insist before bursting into a chorus of appreciation and gratitude.

      “I’m at Gloucester,” he says, “HQ.’

      Headquarters is good for this is certainly an HQ matter. “Fine.”

      I start the car, pull out of the car park, and wish I didn’t feel in ruins. Of the potential consequences, I don’t spare a single thought.

       Chapter 12

      Tom felt the cold as keenly as a knife embedded in his chest. It was preferable. At least now he felt something other than numb, crushing remorse for what he’d done to Roz. He made no excuses.

      Jacket drawn tight around him, hood up to mask his profile, he cursed the way in which his life had changed again.

      The second he saw the photographer at the party, he’d known the way it would roll. Earthquake, plague, destruction and fire. Should have got out then. Should have known better. Should have disappeared to a place where the police and anyone else would never find him. Should. Should. Should.

      A puddle of dirt and filthy rainwater shot up in a thin stream, soaking the back of his jeans. Fuck’s sake. If only he were gas-guzzling miles away.

      Trudging on, he wondered if he dared risk a night in a cheap motel. He had the money. He’d planned for that. Somewhere he could hide, think, straighten out his head, calm down.

      Without breaking step, he reached inside his jacket, pulled out a ‘Reddy,’ popped the capsule into his mouth. Better.

      Needed to stay practical, grounded, to drown out the bedlam that threatened to demolish his mental architecture and bring it crashing down. Never meant to use Roz, mislead or dupe her. Never meant to break her heart. Jesus Christ, he missed her, needed her. Craved her.

      Shame flamed his cheeks at the memory of her face, the crushed look in her free-spirit eyes. He remembered them fucking each other in every room in the house, including the sitting room, the very morning he deserted her, the smell of her skin, her hair, and the way she’d given herself to him so freely. With abandon and joy.

      What a bastard. And she’d be right to think so. The thought dismantled him.

      Roz was lovable and funny, light and offbeat, all things he wasn’t. That was the big attraction. Roz looked so much like Steph and yet was so different in countless wayward ways. She didn’t deserve to be treated badly and didn’t deserve him. Roz never knew to what extent he was damaged, that long-ago events had irrevocably changed him. And he could never say anything, because to do so would put her life in danger. Abandoning her now was the best way he knew to protect her.

      Naturally, he’d always known of her grand plan for marriage and children. He’d wanted it too, truth be told, but it was impossible for a man like him. How could he bring a child into this? Guilt flowed through him. Every time she touched on the subject he fed the lie because it was easier, yet the biggest lie of all: he wasn’t who she thought he was. For the past three years he’d been a man who’d grabbed hold of someone else’s life and struggled to cling to it. Fear shattered inside and splintered into a trillion jagged pieces.