Because You're Mine(63)

She returned his embrace until she finally struggled to pull away. “Son, what’s wrong? Are you all right?”

He dropped his arms to his side. “I don’t know, Mom. I keep having these weird memories.” He ran his hand through his hair.

“Memories?” His dad stood and came close enough for Jesse to smell his cologne. “That’s a good thing, Jess. We should call the doctor. Your memory must be coming back.”

“But they’re not my memories,” he blurted out. “I’m remembering things that Liam knew.”

His mother frowned. “What do you mean? I don’t understand.”

“I don’t understand either.” He faced them both, glancing from one to the other. “Did you wonder when I wanted to take drum lessons? When I insisted on buying that big bass drum? When I wanted to learn to play the bodhran?”

His mother stared up at his father, then glanced back at Jesse uncertainly. “Well, yes, it did seem odd. You’d never shown an interest in music, though we took you to piano lessons when you were five or so. I assumed the injury brought that latent talent to the surface.”

“What else doesn’t fit the Jesse you knew?” His life was like the beach by his house. Where his foot left an imprint, the sea left it distorted and unrecognizable.

“What’s this all about, Jess?” His father’s voice boomed with displeasure.

“I don’t know who I am,” Jesse said. “I hoped you might.”

His mother cupped his face in her hands. “You’re our own dear son. Jesse Hawthorne. Go to your room and look through your scrapbooks again. The doctors said that would help anchor you.”

“Why am I so confused?” He wanted to beat his head against a wall. Maybe that would open up his memories.

“It will come back,” his father said firmly. “You have to be patient, Jesse.”

“Have you noticed anything else odd about me?” he asked. His parents exchanged glances. “What? Tell me!”

“You seem to be right-handed now instead of left-handed,” his mother said.

He needed to sit down. Grabbing a chair, he sank onto it and put his head in his hands. “What’s happening to me,” he whispered. “Am I turning into someone else?” Had Liam been right-handed?

A knock sounded at the door and Jesse raised his head. His mother glanced at him with worry in her eyes, then went toward the living room. He heard the murmur of voices, then steps approaching the kitchen. His mother appeared in the doorway with Detective Adams in tow.

Jesse rose to face the officer. “Detective Adams.”

“Sorry to bother you at suppertime, ma’am,” Adams said to Jesse’s mother.

Jesse stood. Was he about to be arrested? He realized he didn’t care. Maybe in a jail cell he’d have time to think. He could find a way to get back to who he was.

“I need to get a DNA sample,” Adams said.

Jesse wanted to roll his eyes. “You already got one, didn’t you? Right after the bombing?”

Adams nodded. “We need a sterile sample this time. For a new test.”

“I’m not sure our attorney would approve,” Dan said.

“Is this about the bomb?” Jesse’s mother asked.

“It’s just routine.”

Dan folded his arms over his chest. “I think you’d better get a court order.”

Adams frowned. “Okay.”

“Oh, let him have his DNA,” Jesse said. “He had it once. I don’t have anything to hide. He’s not going to find anything from me on the bomb.”

His father sent a glare his way. “Talk to your lawyer first, Jesse.”

“It will only take a few minutes,” Adams said.

Jesse didn’t understand any of this, but he was tired of arguing about it. He stood. “Let’s get it done.”

He ignored his father’s objections and followed the detective to the front yard, where he got in the van and followed the officer to the police station. An impassive female officer in the lab swabbed his mouth and had him sign a release form. He jogged back to the van and pointed it back toward Blackwater Hall. The thought of facing Alanna and the rest of them made his mouth go dry, but he was embarrassed about the way he had left.

Lights blazed from the mansion when he parked the van and got out. Something slithered by the pond, then he heard a splash. Probably a gator. The grass was wet and slick from the rain as he jogged across the yard to the porch. The peachy scent of the flowers by the steps contrasted with the fecund aroma of earth and leaf mold.

The air was alive with small sounds: the hoot of an owl, the cacophony from frogs and crickets, the splash of living things in the pond. And out beyond those sounds, the gentle swell of waves from the Atlantic as they played a melody on the sea grass.

The sounds should have been pleasant, but the place gave him the creeps. There was an air of desolation and danger about the estate. Did Alanna like it out here in the wilderness? She didn’t seem the type to enjoy such isolation.

He rang the bell, and Grady let him in. He managed a smile when the other man welcomed him, then followed him to the dining room where the rest of the house’s occupants were gathered. They hadn’t filled their plates yet, and all of them turned to stare when he entered the room.