Chapter 8 Three-Way Acting

# Chapter 8: Three-Way Acting

The hospital room was quiet save for the steady beeping of monitoring equipment and the soft hiss of oxygen being delivered through Leland's nasal cannula. Andrea sat beside his bed, her wedding dress long since exchanged for jeans and a sweater, watching his chest rise and fall in the rhythm of medicated sleep.

Three days had passed since their escape from the cathedral crypt. Three days of police interviews, medical examinations, and attempts to piece together the full extent of Carl Montgomery's elaborate deception. The cathedral's partial collapse had been attributed to a gas leak—the official story carefully constructed to protect the Montgomery family from scandal. The authorities had recovered Carl's body from the rubble, along with evidence of his macabre workshop that raised more questions than it answered.

Leland stirred, his eyes opening slowly, finding Andrea's face in the dim light of early evening.

"You're still here," he murmured, voice raspy from the breathing treatments.

"Where else would I be?" She reached for his hand, careful to avoid disturbing the IV line.

Leland's smile was tinged with sadness. "Running as far from the Montgomery name as possible would be the rational choice."

Andrea's thumb traced gentle circles on the back of his hand. "When have I ever been accused of being rational?"

A soft knock at the door interrupted their moment. Detective Sharma entered, her expression professionally neutral but her eyes sharp with unasked questions.

"Ms. Blackwell, Mr. Montgomery," she greeted them. "I hope I'm not intruding."

"Not at all, Detective," Leland replied, using the bed controls to raise himself to a sitting position. "Have you come with more questions?"

"A few clarifications," she said, taking the seat Andrea offered. "The forensic team has completed their preliminary examination of the basement laboratory in your penthouse."

Andrea tensed, memories of glass containers and preserved specimens flashing unbidden through her mind. "And?"

"The findings are... unusual," Detective Sharma admitted. "The level of scientific sophistication is beyond what our experts typically encounter. They've confirmed your statement that your brother was conducting advanced tissue engineering experiments, apparently using genetic material from both of you." She nodded toward Leland.

"Did they find the tank?" Leland asked quietly. "The one containing what appeared to be my body?"

The detective consulted her notes. "Yes. Preliminary DNA analysis confirms it was indeed a biological entity sharing your genetic markers, but with significant modifications. Our experts are still determining whether it should be classified as a clone, a genetic construct, or something else entirely."

Andrea shuddered. "And the other specimens? The... fusion experiments?"

Detective Sharma's professional demeanor slipped momentarily, revealing genuine disturbance. "Also confirmed. The partial facial constructs combining features from both you and Mr. Montgomery have been documented. The technical skill involved is... remarkable, if deeply disturbing."

Leland squeezed Andrea's hand. "My brother was always brilliant. Even as children, his intelligence outpaced mine by significant margins." His voice carried no resentment, only a profound sadness. "What he lacked was never intellect, but something more fundamental."

"Empathy," Andrea supplied. "Basic human connection."

"Perhaps," Leland agreed. "Or perhaps something else entirely."

The detective cleared her throat. "There's another matter. We've been examining your medical records, Mr. Montgomery, both the official hospital documentation and the private records found in your brother's possession."

"And you've found discrepancies," Leland stated, not a question.

"Significant ones. According to the hospital, you were diagnosed with early-stage ALS approximately eighteen months ago. The progression was noted as unusually slow—possibly even a misdiagnosis that required further confirmation."

Andrea leaned forward. "But Carl's records showed advanced deterioration. Terminal prognosis."

"Falsified," Detective Sharma confirmed. "Along with medication logs showing administration of drugs that don't appear in your official medical history."

"Arsenic," Leland said quietly. "Among other things. Carefully administered to mimic neurological symptoms while avoiding lethal doses."

The detective's eyebrows rose slightly. "You knew?"

"I suspected," Leland corrected. "Not immediately. At first, I truly believed my condition was worsening rapidly. Carl had always been my support system, my caretaker during illness. I had no reason to question his management of my medication."

"What changed?" Andrea asked, realizing there were still significant gaps in her understanding of what had transpired before her discovery in the basement.

Leland's gaze turned inward, remembering. "Small inconsistencies. Symptoms that didn't align with ALS progression. And then finding a research paper in Carl's study—a case study on chronic arsenic poisoning mimicking neurological disorders."

"So you began investigating your own brother," Detective Sharma prompted.

"I began protecting myself," Leland corrected. "Secretly testing my own blood, examining my medication. And eventually, staging my own apparent decline while actually beginning treatment for the poisoning."

Andrea stared at him. "You were pretending to be worse than you actually were? Why not confront him immediately? Why not tell me?"

Pain crossed Leland's features—emotional rather than physical. "Because I needed to understand how far it went. What his ultimate goal was." He met her eyes directly. "And because I wasn't certain who else might be involved."

The implication hung in the air between them, unspoken but unmistakable. Andrea pulled her hand away from his, hurt flashing across her face.

"You suspected me? Of conspiring with Carl?"

"Not of conspiring," Leland clarified quickly. "But of perhaps being manipulated by him. Of unknowingly becoming part of whatever he was planning."

Detective Sharma watched their exchange with clinical interest. "When exactly did you discover the full extent of your brother's plan, Mr. Montgomery?"

Leland sighed, the sound heavy with regret. "I never did—not the complete picture. I knew he was poisoning me, weakening me intentionally. I suspected he had designs on my position, my company. But the rest—the laboratory, the specimens, the plan to..." he faltered, unable to articulate the horror they had discovered.

"To fuse you together," Andrea finished for him, her voice barely above a whisper. "To create his perfect hybrid of both of us."

"That I never imagined," Leland admitted. "Not even in my darkest suspicions."

The detective made a note in her small black notebook. "Yet you arranged to appear at the cathedral on your wedding day, armed with both evidence and a firearm. How did you know to be there?"

Leland and Andrea exchanged a glance, a silent communication passing between them.

"I received a message," Andrea said finally. "A text from someone claiming to be 'L'—I assumed it was from Leland, asking me to meet at the cathedral crypt."

"But it wasn't from me," Leland added. "I received a similar message, supposedly from Andrea, directing me to the same location."

Detective Sharma's eyes narrowed. "So you were both lured there. By whom?"

"Carl, presumably," Leland replied. "Setting his final plan in motion."

"But that makes no sense," Andrea objected. "Why would Carl orchestrate a confrontation that could only disrupt his carefully laid plans?"

The detective tapped her pen against her notebook. "Unless disruption was part of the plan. A controlled chaos that would provide cover for whatever was to follow."

A heavy silence fell over the room as they considered the implications. Finally, Leland spoke, his voice soft but certain.

"There's something I need to show you both." He gestured weakly toward the closet. "In my jacket pocket. The inside left breast pocket."

Andrea retrieved the jacket—the one he'd worn to the cathedral, now cleaned of dust and debris by hospital staff. From the indicated pocket, she withdrew a folded sheet of paper, yellowed with age.

"What is this?" she asked, unfolding it carefully.

"A letter," Leland explained. "From my mother to Carl, written the day before she died."

Andrea scanned the handwritten note, her expression shifting from curiosity to shock. "This is..."

"A confession," Leland confirmed. "My mother revealing to Carl that we weren't actually brothers—not biologically. That he was the result of an affair, adopted into the Montgomery family as an infant."

Detective Sharma straightened in her chair. "Where did you find this?"

"In a safety deposit box my mother maintained. I gained access to it only recently, after finding a key hidden in her old jewelry box." Leland's voice grew strained with emotion. "Carl never knew. All his life, he believed we were blood brothers—twins separated by two years due to a medical anomaly during birth. It was the story our parents told everyone, including us."

"And this revelation drove your mother to..." Andrea couldn't finish the sentence.

"To take her own life," Leland confirmed grimly. "The guilt of the deception, combined with my father's death the previous year, proved too much for her."

The detective studied the letter. "Did you confront your brother with this information?"

"No," Leland admitted. "I discovered it only days before the wedding. I was still determining how to approach him when..." he gestured vaguely, encompassing all that had transpired.

Andrea's mind raced, reassessing everything she knew about the Montgomery brothers in light of this revelation. "His obsession with becoming you—with literally fusing your identities—takes on a whole new dimension with this information."

"Yes," Leland agreed. "What I initially interpreted as jealousy or ambition might have been something far more fundamental—a desperate need to establish the biological connection he'd always believed existed."

Detective Sharma handed the letter back to Andrea. "This adds complexity to an already byzantine case, but doesn't change the fundamental facts. Your brother engaged in criminal activity—kidnapping, assault, medical malpractice at minimum. Not to mention the damage to the cathedral and endangerment of the wedding guests."

"I understand," Leland said quietly. "And I'm prepared to cooperate fully with your investigation. The Montgomery family will also cover all damages to St. Catherine's, of course."

The detective nodded, then hesitated before asking her next question. "There's one detail that continues to trouble my team. The body in the basement freezer—the one wearing the wedding tuxedo—has been confirmed as a sophisticated medical mannequin, not an actual corpse. Yet both of you reported seeing what appeared to be Mr. Montgomery's dead body multiple times."

Andrea and Leland exchanged another glance, mutual confusion evident in their expressions.

"That's impossible," Andrea said. "I saw him—it—clearly. In the basement freezer, in the crypt. It was Leland's face, his body."

"I saw it too," Leland confirmed. "Through the surveillance cameras Carl didn't know I'd discovered. It was unmistakably designed to resemble me."

"Yet the forensic evidence is clear," Detective Sharma insisted. "The 'body' is a medical training mannequin, extensively modified but never living tissue. The DNA samples taken from it are synthetic, not human."

The implications of this discrepancy hung in the air between them. If there had never been an actual corpse, what else about their shared understanding might be inaccurate? What other elements of Carl's elaborate deception might still be unraveling?

Before they could pursue this troubling question further, a nurse entered to check Leland's vital signs, politely but firmly suggesting that the detective conclude her interview to allow the patient to rest.

"We'll continue this discussion tomorrow," Detective Sharma said, gathering her notebook and standing. "In the meantime, I've arranged for additional security for both of you. Just a precaution."

After the detective departed, Andrea helped Leland settle more comfortably against his pillows. The revelation about the brothers' true relationship had cast everything in a new light, raising questions she wasn't sure she wanted answered.

"Why didn't you tell me about your suspicions?" she asked finally, unable to keep the hurt from her voice. "About Carl poisoning you, about your mother's letter... any of it."

Leland's eyes, though tired, held steady on hers. "For the same reason you didn't tell me when you first suspected something was wrong with 'Leland'—with Carl impersonating me. Protection, misguided perhaps, but sincere."

Andrea sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb his IV lines. "I thought I was losing my mind at first. The little discrepancies, the subtle differences in behavior. By the time I was certain something was wrong, I was already trapped in his web."

"We both were," Leland acknowledged. "Each playing our parts in his production."

"But why test him the way you did?" Andrea pressed. "Pretending to be sicker than you actually were, letting him believe his plan was working—what were you hoping to discover?"

Leland's gaze drifted to the window, where night had fallen over the Boston skyline. "The truth," he said simply. "About who he was. About what he wanted. About whether the brother I'd grown up with, trusted with everything, was capable of the betrayal I suspected."

His voice broke on the last word, the emotional pain clearly exceeding the physical discomfort of his recovery. Andrea reached for his hand again, threading her fingers through his.

"And when you confirmed it? When you knew he was poisoning you, impersonating you?"

"I began gathering evidence. Documenting the medication tampering, securing financial records, preparing legal measures." Leland's expression hardened. "And yes, obtaining the gun you saw at the cathedral. I knew confrontation was inevitable, but I wanted it on my terms, not his."

Andrea considered this, trying to reconcile the methodical, evidence-gathering Leland with the man she had agreed to marry—the man she had thought she knew completely.

"There's something else," she said finally. "Something I found in Carl's study before... before everything fell apart. A photograph on his phone's locked screen. You and him as children, taken on the day your mother died."

Leland's breath caught. "You saw that?"

"Only briefly. I noticed because you both looked so happy in it—arms around each other, laughing at something off-camera. It seemed strange that he would choose that specific day for a cherished memory."

Pain crossed Leland's features. "It was the last time we were truly brothers," he said softly. "The last day before everything changed. After Mother's death, Father withdrew emotionally. The family business became his only focus, and by extension, my training as his heir. Carl was... sidelined."

"Creating the rift that eventually led to all this," Andrea concluded.

"Perhaps," Leland acknowledged. "Or perhaps the seeds were planted long before—in the secret my mother carried, in the fundamental lie at the heart of our family."

They sat in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts, the steady beeping of the monitors marking time. Finally, Andrea asked the question that had been haunting her since their escape from the cathedral.

"What happens now? Between us, I mean."

Leland met her gaze directly. "That depends entirely on you. I would understand completely if you wanted to walk away from all of this—from the Montgomery name, from me, from everything associated with the nightmare you've endured."

"Is that what you want?" Andrea challenged.

"What I want," Leland replied carefully, "is what I've always wanted: your happiness, your safety. If that means releasing you from any obligation you feel toward me, then that's what I'll do."

Andrea studied his face—the face she had fallen in love with, the face Carl had so meticulously mimicked. "You know what the strangest part of all this is? Despite everything—the deception, the danger, the horror of what we discovered—there were moments when Carl was pretending to be you that I... recognized you in him. Genuine moments of connection that felt real."

Leland's expression was unreadable. "He studied me for years. Practiced my mannerisms, my speech patterns. The impersonation was bound to be convincing."

"It was more than that," Andrea insisted. "There were times when I felt I was truly with you, even though it was him. As if some essential part of you existed in him as well."

"We were raised as brothers," Leland said quietly. "Shared the same home, the same experiences, the same parents—even if biology told a different story. It's not surprising some similarities developed."

Andrea wasn't convinced this explanation captured the complexity of what she had experienced, but she let it go for now. "The ring box," she said instead. "The one you gave me in the crypt. I still have it."

Leland's expression softened. "Have you opened it?"

"Not yet. With everything that happened afterward—the collapse, your hospitalization, the investigation—it didn't seem like the right time."

He nodded understanding. "It contains my grandmother's ring—the original one, not the replacement Carl provided after he stole the first. I'd kept it hidden as a surprise for our wedding day."

"How did Carl get the first one?" Andrea asked. "I really did lose it while swimming at the Montgomery summer home."

"You didn't lose it," Leland corrected gently. "He took it—presumably as part of his plan, though the exact timing suggests he may have been improvising aspects of his scheme as opportunities arose."

Andrea shook her head in wonder at the layers of deception they had been living within. "What a perfect performance we all gave," she murmured. "You pretending to be sicker than you were, me pretending not to notice the differences when Carl replaced you, and Carl pretending to be you while plotting something even more twisted than we imagined."

"A three-way performance," Leland agreed. "With none of the actors fully aware of the complete script."

Andrea stood, suddenly needing space, air, distance from the tangled web of Montgomery family dynamics. "I should let you rest. The doctor said your recovery will take time—the arsenic damage, while not permanent, requires careful treatment."

Leland reached for her hand one last time. "Andrea," he said, his voice carrying an urgency that stopped her. "Whatever you decide about us—about our future—know that my feelings for you were never part of the performance. Never an act."

She squeezed his hand gently before releasing it. "I know. But I need time, Leland. To process everything, to determine what's real and what was manipulation—not just by Carl, but by circumstances, by fear, by all of it."

"Take all the time you need," he replied. "I'll be here when you're ready—whatever your decision."

As Andrea left the hospital room, her mind returned to the detective's troubling revelation about the mannequin in the freezer. If what they had both believed was Leland's corpse was actually an elaborate prop, what other aspects of their shared reality might be equally illusory?

And more disturbing still—if Carl had gone to such lengths to create the appearance of Leland's death without actually having a body, what had his true endgame been?

These questions followed her into the elevator and out into the cool night air, where the city lights blurred through tears she hadn't realized she was shedding.