The Bitter Season (Kovac and Liska, #5)(95)

As she moved into her teens, she collected the sympathy and empathy of their substance-abusing mother. She became the key pawn between their parents, a tool used by the passive-aggressive parent against the narcissistic one. But even as angry and vindictive as their father could be, even he couldn’t resist Diana entirely—nor could she resist him. Even as she defied him, she wanted his approval. Even as their father tried to control her, he was drawn in by her magnetism, which was so seductive and so twisted.

And Charlie was lost in the shuffle, pushed to the side, called upon when needed by one side or the other. Charlie the Minion.

He stopped pacing and looked at his reflection in the mirrored doors of his bedroom closet. He hated that the detective had seen him looking like this. He felt ashamed and embarrassed. Exposed. He looked ghoulish with his battered, misshapen face and bandaged hand, like the survivor of a zombie movie. He felt just as battered psychologically. This was the internal ugliness of being a Chamberlain seeping outward like a stain.

He had gone to Diana’s apartment after the disaster at their parents’ house that afternoon. He wanted her forgiveness. He wanted to set her straight, to get her to see Ken Sato for the user he was. She needed to trust him—Charlie. He was the one who had always loved her. He was the one who had her best interests at heart. He was the one who would keep them together, and keep her safe.

She came to the door, her hair down in a wild tangle that tumbled over one shoulder, her makeup streaked with tears, mascara and lipstick smudged.

“I don’t want you here, Charlie,” she had said, but she stepped back and let him in anyway. Typically Diana, a walking contradiction.

Her apartment was its usual mess, looking like it might house half a dozen refugees from some war-torn Third World country—clothes discarded everywhere, dirty dishes and glasses in the sink and on the counter, open bags and boxes of junk food sitting around. It smelled like she had forgotten to take the garbage out for a couple of days and then smoked a lot of weed to cover the smell.

“I can’t believe you attacked Ken that way,” she said.

“All he’s ever done is use you, Di. How can you not see that?”

“He loves me.”

“I love you. I told you not to go to the house, and I was right. It only upset you.”

“I’m upset because of you.”

“I broke in through a door for you. You were on the floor sobbing—”

“I’m in mourning!”

“For what? You hated them both!”

“How can you say that? She was the only mother we ever had!”

“That wasn’t my choice or yours.”

“She picked me, Charlie,” she said, tearing up again. “She came to the orphanage and picked me. And now she’s dead! And Daddy loved me, too. We didn’t get along, but he loved me.”

“Don’t rewrite history, Diana. He loved himself,” Charlie argued. “The rest of us were just there to amuse him or annoy him—you most of all.”

She struck him so fast his cheek was stinging before he realized she’d slapped him.

“It’s my story,” she said, eyes narrowed as she leaned over him. “It can be whatever I want it to be. They’re gone now. I can remember them any way I like.”

“It doesn’t change who they were,” Charlie said.

“Yes, it does!”

In the dark labyrinth of Diana’s mind it made sense. Her perception was her reality, as fluid as quicksilver, and just as toxic.

“You were always a problem, Charlie,” she said with disdain.

“Me?! I’ve spent my whole life trying to save you!”

“Well, sorry for wasting your time,” she said, sneering. “Why don’t you go save yourself and leave me the hell alone? I don’t need you anymore. I have Ken. He’s a real man, unlike you, Charlie. You could never make me happy.”

“Don’t say that!” Charlie cried. “I’d do anything for you. You know that!”

“No, you wouldn’t,” she said, her expression knowing and mocking.

Tears filled Charlie’s eyes. The pain was worse than a knife in his heart.

“Di, don’t!” Charlie begged as she turned away from him and started toward her bedroom. For all he knew, Ken Sato was on the other side, waiting to take his sister away from him forever. He would be left with no one. All he had ever wanted was to be loved and accepted, to belong. Fear froze hard in his chest. He reached out to grab her. “Di, please!”

She spun on him, elbow raised, and caught him hard high on the cheekbone, snapping his head to the left. The second blow exploded against his mouth, the taste of blood like copper on his tongue.

Charlie staggered backward. Diana rushed him, jumping, hitting him in the chest with a knee that knocked the wind from him. He fell hard, the back of his head bouncing off the floor. Colors burst inside his brain, and his vision dimmed.

His sister was on him in an instant, sitting on his stomach, making it impossible for him to get a breath. She hit him again and again, using her fist like a hammer. Charlie raised his arms to block her blows. He begged her to stop, spitting blood and choking on his tears.

Her fury burned out like a flash fire. She got up off him and stood looking down at him as he cried, her eyes as cold and hard as marble. Charlie rolled onto his side and curled into a ball. The pain was unbearable—not from the physical beating, but from within, from his heart. He wanted to die right there.