He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into you.

—Friedrich Nietzsche

CHAPTER 38 DEIRDRE

CHAPTER 38

DEIRDRE

On Saturday night, I slept in my own bed in the dungeon room, even though there was police tape on my busted door like it was a crime scene. I taped a couple of black garbage bags together to cover it up and collapsed on my futon. I was too confused about the thoughts churning in my brain to share them. Two days earlier, I’d been ready to nail Theo’s ass to the wall for murder. Now, I was looking at him in a different light, just as I was seeing my sister in a new way. I had a tendency to jump to conclusions, and I was realizing I’d leaped to some of the wrong ones.

It didn’t help that I woke up Sunday morning to find an email from my brother-in-law: Deirdre, I’m at the Berlin airport now, about to fly. I get in Sunday at noon and I need to talk with you. Could we meet? Thanks, Theo.

I lay on my futon, staring at the message for a while before crawling out of bed at eight. Sounds good, I wrote back. I’d like to talk. I’m free all afternoon. It was four hours until he landed, so I had time for more digging before meeting him face-to-face.

There was no one I wanted to talk to more than Juliet.

I’d never been to her apartment, but I knew exactly where it was. The Thraxtons had their showpiece hotel on Park Avenue, but there was also a smaller boutique property on Crosby Street below Prince. Juliet occupied the penthouse suite, which had its own elevator. On my way to the subway I called her.

“Were you serious last night about swapping sibling stories?” I asked.

“You better believe it,” she answered. “When and where?”

“I can be at your place in a little over an hour.” Weekend service out of Queens was brutal, but I didn’t explain that.

“Excellent,” Juliet said. “I’ll order mimosas.”

She hung up before I could tell her I didn’t drink.

I got lucky and caught a train a minute after I walked into the Grand Avenue–Newtown station. The M train practically took me to Juliet’s door in forty-five minutes. This Thraxton property was prettier than the glass-and-steel behemoth uptown. It had curving sides wrapped in silver and white metal. Inside was an art gallery, with paintings on display and a cathedral-like ceiling that inspired awe even in a cynic like me.