The Devil's Lair by A.M. Madden Page A

her bag before she walks out without looking back.
     

Leila
    I immediately know. It’s not the look on her face, or the rigidness in her posture that tips me off. It’s not the large gift box she carries. It’s the fact she’s here. The knock on our door and her presence is what has my insides immediately churning with nausea. Jen never visits our suite. All business is conducted either over the phone or backstage prior or after a show.
    “Sit,” Jack commands, motioning toward one of the many surfaces she can choose from. She moves into our living area in slow motion, dragging her feet with each step. Jack leaves us for a moment, leaving us uncomfortably sharing the same air. He returns with Beverly. She quietly goes into the twin’s room, shutting the door behind her. My husband sits beside me, taking my hands in his. His hands feel like they are on fire compared to mine that are ice cold. He tightens his grip when my hands begin to tremble.
    Jen closes her eyes while she consciously attempts to control her breathing. When she opens them, the weariness alters her features from the indifference she normally portrays. She looks exhausted, pained, weary…human.
    “I really don’t know where to begin,” she admits in a voice barely above a whisper.
    I can feel them both looking at me. I can feel the weight of my husband’s smoky grey eyes as I stare at the ground. My denial prevents me from meeting his gaze. If I avoid it, if I avoid the torment I’m sure to see on his face, it may not be true.
    Jen nervously clears her throat and waits until I finally look at her. By the time I do, I am finding it hard to control the tremors coursing through me. A flash of sympathy passes over her face. It’s quickly replaced with determination. She pulls in a deep breath, straightens her shoulders, and says, “Paula is no longer with us.”
    “How?” Jack asks in a raspy voice that doesn’t sound like him. It’s a legitimate question. She was sick, and yes she hasn’t been feeling well lately, but…
    How ?
    “She was a very determined woman. I tried to dissuade her, to convince her there were other options. I failed.” Her brow puckers when she swallows, as if the action causes her physical pain.
    “We went to Belgium to see a doctor who practices euthanasia.” She stops long enough to allow us to react. Jack squeezes my hand uncomfortably as I sit in shock.
    Why? Why would she do that?
    How could she do that?
    I’m surprised by my reaction. Nothing I’m feeling within me surfaces. On the outside I sit rigidly, staring at Jen’s face. I feel like someone injected me with a numbing agent and it immediately causes me to appear deadened inside. I’m anything but. I’m furious. I’m fighting to maintain control.
    “It’s legal in Belgium. She surely did her research and found the best.”
    She adds these facts as if she’s discussing our record sales. As if the fact that it is legal and he is the best lessens the horrific act in itself. More anger swells within. It’s a surprising reaction. It trumps any sorrow I may be feeling. It eclipses any sadness. It bubbles up dangerously as Jen continues to explain the events that occurred in Belgium. I’m sure my husband misinterprets my quivering lip, my flaring nostrils as pathetic attempts to channel my grief. When in fact, I’m desperately trying to not hurt him at the moment, or her.
    I’m not angry with Jen. I sure as fuck am not angry with my husband. The person I am livid with is no longer with us.
    A sudden image of Shane’s face invades my thoughts and causes me to suck in a breath, gasping for air. It’s a strange change of energy. Immediate. A channel switched from a horror movie to a cartoon.
    It’s illogical.
    He’s smiling, happy, and carefree. As my mind blanks of all else but Shane’s face, it makes me wonder if a higher power didn’t carefully manipulate my thoughts at that exact moment.
    “Babe?” Jack takes my chin in his hand, forcing me