Laurel watched as Abigail confidently strode into the interview room. Like Laurel, Abigail had natural auburn-colored hair and heterochromatic eyes. They’d inherited those traits from their father, whom Laurel still intended to see in prison somehow.
A trusted pastor in the local church, he had sexually assaulted Laurel’s mother when she was only seventeen, resulting in Laurel, who hadn’t known she had a half sister until just a few months ago.
For the meeting, Abigail wore a deep green skirt suit with a red power shirt beneath the jacket.
“Was this around Christmas time?” Nester chortled.
Laurel looked at him. “Excuse me?”
“The red and the green. What’s up with the red and the green?”
“Oh.” Laurel studied her half sister. She was more prone to wear black than green. “The red is for power. The pencil skirt is because it makes her look like a successful and professional female, which we know is one of Jason Abbott’s triggers.” Laurel studied the woman who looked so much like her. “The color green is known to have a calming effect, so perhaps she wants him to concentrate. Please amplify the audio.”
Nester clicked several buttons.
“Jason, don’t you look lovely in orange,” Abigail drawled, gracefully taking a seat.
“What’s up with the red and green?” He sneered. “Still in the Christmas spirit, even though it’s long past?”
Her smile was catlike. “I’m more of an avenging angel than a whimsical one. However, I’m sorry I haven’t had time to visit. But, you know, success takes precedence.” She covered her mouth with her hand, showing sharpened red nails. “Oh, excuse me. Youdon’tknow. Success has always remained outside your purview, hasn’t it?”
Jason paled but met her stare. “I’m not letting you mess with my head this time.”
“Now, Jason, I just want to help you. I always have.” She tapped her nails on the table.
“Right, you want to help me. You experimented on me! It’s your fault those women died.”
Abigail’s eyebrows rose, and she leaned toward him as if unafraid of his outburst. “Really? I don’t recall raping them, strangling them, or cutting off their hands. I believe that was you, correct?”
He gulped. “I never would’ve done those horrible things if I hadn’t gone through all that behavioral therapy with you, or been on the drugs you shot into my system.”
“Are you suggesting that you’re just a little wind-up toy that I spun in the direction I wanted?” she asked. “Are you that weak?”
He straightened. “No, I’m not weak. You know I’m not weak.”
“Yes, I do,” Abigail said placatingly. “I think you’re smarter than anyone gives you credit for. Definitely smarter than your mother ever thought.”
Jason just stared at her.
“I can’t believe you’re still in here, in fact.” Abigail looked around the dismal room. “Some birds are not meant to be caged, Jason. I would think you are one of them.”
“I agree. My attorney is good, and I will get out of here.” He leaned forward slightly. “Do you think you could help with my case?”
Abigail looked toward the door and then back, her face set in intriguing lines.
“Stop the video,” Laurel said.
Nester froze it in place.
Laurel leaned forward. “Her eyebrows are drawn together and raised. Her eyelids have drooped, and the corners of her mouth are pulled down slightly.” She looked at Nester. “Those micro-expressions show concern or sympathy, correct?”
Nester cocked his head and studied the screen. “Yeah, I’d say sympathy, maybe empathy. I thought she didn’t feel those things as a, what? Psychopath, sociopath, narcissistic nut job?”
“I’ve never employed definitive labels,” Laurel said. “But yes, she’s proficient at simulating authenticity, isn’t she?”
“Well, yeah. Don’t people like her mirror real expressions, real feelings?”
“They do,” Laurel agreed, taking another sip of her tea. She could study Abigail for years, but that wouldn’t put her half sister in prison where she belonged. “Please proceed with the video.”
