The Match

Chapter Thirty-Six

On the drive to Vicky Chiba’s house, Wilde called Hester and filled her in on his conversation with Boomerang Chris. When he finished, Hester asked what Wilde wanted her to do with the information. Wilde told her to tell Oren about the Boomerang connections and decide what to tell the feds.

“You could have just told Oren yourself,” Hester said.

“I could have.”

“I get it,” she said. “You’re still mad at him.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Just not in the mood to trust.”

Wilde said nothing.

“Is it okay if I still trust him?” she asked.

“You need my permission?”

“And your blessing, yes. I’m old-fashioned that way.”

“You have both,” Wilde said.

“Thank you. I used to be so unforgiving.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m older and wiser,” Hester said. “I also love him.”

“I’m glad,” Wilde said.

“Really?”

He assured her that he meant it, and they hung up.

When Wilde pulled into Vicky’s driveway, she was pacing by her front door. “Silas should be here any minute,” Vicky said to him. “Thank you for being here.”

Wilde nodded. As Wilde joined her on the front stoop, a cargoless truck pulled up the street. A bearded man Wilde assumed was Silas Bennett stuck his head out the window, smiled, and hit a loud horn.

“I’m so nervous,” Vicky said through a smile and a wave. “We’ve kept this secret from him since he was a baby.”

Silas parked the truck in front of the house and jumped down from the driver’s seat. He was a burly man with what one might describe as rugged good looks. The sleeves on his flannel shirt were rolled up over the Popeye forearms. He had a bit of a beer belly, but Wilde sensed strength with Silas. His muscles were not from a gym or for show. Silas’s face split open in a grin as he rushed toward his sister and lifted her in the air with a big bear hug.

“Vicky!” he cried in the same deep voice Wilde remembered from their phone call.

Vicky closed her eyes and soaked up her brother’s hug for a moment. When Silas put her down, he turned his full attention to Wilde. “I kinda want to hug you too, Cuz.”

Wilde thought about it and then figured what the hell. The two men embraced briefly but with gusto. Wilde wondered when he’d last hugged another man. Matthew was too young to count. Thinking back on it, the last “manly” hug he shared must have been more than a decade ago with Matthew’s father, Laila’s husband, Hester’s son.

David.

“It’s great to meet you, Cuz,” Silas said.

Wilde glanced at Vicky, who had her eyes on the ground. “Same,” Wilde said.

Silas turned to his sister. “So what’s wrong?”

Vicky’s smile faltered. “Who said anything was wrong?”

“Well, you told me not to come over right away. I assume you were stalling until Wilde showed up. Am I wrong?”

“You’re not wrong.”

“So?”

Vicky started to fiddle with the ring on her index finger. “Should we go inside?”

“You’re worrying me, Sis. Someone sick?”

“No.”

“Dying?”

“No, not that.” She put her hands on his broad shoulders and looked up into his face. “I want you to just listen, okay? Don’t react right away. Just hear me out. In some ways, it’s not a big deal. It doesn’t change anything.”

Silas shot a glance at Wilde before returning his gaze to his sister. “Man, you are scaring the piss out of me right now.”

“I don’t mean to... I don’t...” She looked toward Wilde.

“Start with when you left Memphis,” Wilde suggested.

“Right, good, thanks.” Vicky turned back to her brother. “You don’t remember when we moved to Pennsylvania, right?”

“’Course not.” Silas chuckled. “I was like two.”

“Right. Anyway, Dad drove us. He picked us up from Mrs. Tromans’s. You don’t remember her, of course. Sweet old lady. She adored you, Silas. I’m stalling, sorry. This is hard for me. Dad picked us up. When we got to our new home, Peter was already there with Mom.”

Vicky stopped.

“Right,” Silas said. “So?”

“Mom didn’t give birth to him.”

Silas frowned. “What do you mean?”

“She hadn’t been pregnant. Mom and Dad left for like a week. On vacation, they said. Then they moved us from our home in Memphis to the middle of nowhere and suddenly we had a new baby brother.”

Silas started to shake his head. “You don’t remember it right. You were young.”

“We weren’t that young. Kelly and I... I should tell her I’m telling you this. How could I forget to do that? I should have Kelly here. I can call her maybe. Put her on FaceTime. She can verify—”

“Just,” Silas interrupted, raising both his hands, “just tell me what happened.”

“Like I said, we had a new baby brother. Suddenly. Out of nowhere. When we asked Mom and Dad about it at first, they just pretended he was ours. They finally admitted Peter was adopted, but they said we had to keep it a secret.”

Vicky told Silas the rest of the story, the same way she’d told it to Wilde inside this very house not all that long ago.

“That makes no sense,” Silas said when she finished. He’d started pacing in the exact same way his sister had a few minutes earlier. Genetics. His big hands formed fists. “If Peter was adopted, why not just say so? Why would our parents pretend he’s their own?”

“I don’t know.”

“It makes no sense,” he repeated.

Wilde, who had stayed silent, finally asked a question. “Did you suspect, Silas?”

“Huh?” He frowned. “No.”

“Even a little? Even subconsciously?”

Silas shook his head. “I’d have believed the opposite more than this.”

“What do you mean?” Vicky asked.

“That I was the one adopted, not Peter.” Silas’s voice was soft. “Peter, he was the favorite.” He held up a hand to stop Vicky from speaking. “Don’t pretend otherwise, Vicky. We both know. He was the golden child. In your eyes too. He could do no wrong.” He shook his head again. A tear ran down his cheek. “I don’t know why I’m upset. It doesn’t change anything. Peter is... or he was... still my brother. It doesn’t change how I feel about him.” He looked toward Vicky. “Or you. It was all so hard on you. Dad was absent so much. Working late at the school, taking trips with friends. Mom was half in the bag most of the time. You got us ready for school. You made us school lunches.”

Vicky was crying now too.

“I don’t get it,” Silas continued. “They had three kids they barely wanted. Why would they adopt another?”

No one had the answer. The three stood there for a moment in silence. Then Silas turned to Wilde and said, “Hold up. If Peter was adopted and you matched Peter, then, well, we aren’t related, are we?”

“That’s right,” Vicky said. “He has no obligation to us. We aren’t blood.”

“Except,” Wilde said, “we are related.”

That surprised them. Then Vicky said, “You mean, like, because an adoption still counts as family? I guess in that case, but genetically—”

“Genetically,” Wilde said, “we are related.”

Silence.

Vicky said, “Do you want to explain what you mean?”

“Silas, you said you signed up for MeetYourFamily-dot-com, right?”

“Right.”

“And they gave you a user number?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember it?”

“Not off the top of my head. It began with a three-two. But I can look—”

“Was it 32894?”

He looked surprised. “That sounds right.”

“And you said you matched someone at twenty-three percent?”

“Wilde,” Vicky said, “what’s going on here?”

“That’s right,” Silas said.

“And when you reached out to the match, did you give your name?”

“Sure. Why not? I have nothing to hide.”

“And the person you matched didn’t reply?”

“No.”

“The person you matched,” Wilde said, “was your brother Peter.”

Neither spoke. They both just stared at him.

“Aren’t siblings like fifty percent?” Vicky asked.

“Yes,” Wilde said.

“Oh my God,” Silas said. “Now it all makes sense.”

Vicky turned to him. “It does?”

“Perfect sense. It’s what I suspected when I first saw the match. I just didn’t think it was Peter.”

“Could you explain to me?” Vicky asked.

“Twenty-three percent,” Silas replied. “That’s a half sibling.”

Vicky still looked confused.

“Come on, Vicky,” Silas said. “It’s Dad. Dad messed around. He knocked someone up. Don’t you see? DNA doesn’t lie. Dad got a woman pregnant. With Peter. Mom and Dad decided to raise him on their own.”

Vicky started to nod slowly. “Dad got a woman pregnant,” she repeated. “Mom took him in. It explains so much.”

“Peter looked like us for one thing,” Silas said. “Better looking. No doubt about it. I bet his real mom was hot.”

“Silas!”

“What? I’m trying to have fun with this because otherwise...” Silas stopped. “My whole childhood feels like a lie now.” He turned his gaze toward Wilde. “You asked me before if I ever suspected. No. But now that I think about it, something wasn’t quite right. I guess that’s true of all families. I haven’t met one that wasn’t messed up in one way or the other. But now, I mean, what the hell, Vicky? Why did we move? I guess Mom would have been ashamed. There’d have been whispers. Our parents were pretty religious.” Silas spread his hands. “So who is going to ask the million-dollar question?”

No one spoke.

“Okay,” Silas said, “I’ll do it: Who was Peter’s mother?”

“She,” Vicky added, turning to Wilde, “has to be the connection to you.”

“Wait,” Silas said. He faced his sister. “Did Peter know that he was adopted?”

“Yes.”

“When he was a kid?”

“No.” Vicky explained how Peter learned the truth via Love Is a Battlefield.

“I don’t get it,” Silas said. “Peter learns he’s adopted. He puts his name in DNA sites. He stays anonymous because, I don’t know, he’s a big fancy star and people are lunatics with big fancy stars. You are a match, Wilde. He reaches out to you. Anonymously. Okay, I get that. But what about me? I matched him as a half brother. I wrote to him. I put my name.”

“So he knew it was you,” Vicky said.

“Right. So why wouldn’t he reach out and tell me? Why would he close down his account and never reply?”

Vicky looked older now, wearied and pained. “I think it was all just too much for him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everything was taken away from him. His family was a lie. His life with Jenn was a lie. He’d been betrayed by Marnie and the fans he loved. The abuse he took. The betrayals from all sides. They added up. Peter was a gentle soul. You know this. It was all too much for him.”

Silence.

“You think he killed himself,” Silas said.

“Don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Silas said. “I guess I do.”

Vicky turned to Wilde. “You promised to tell us more about what Marnie did to him,” she said, her tone tinged with both sadness and anger. “All we know are the rumors, that Marnie lied about Peter, that he never roofied her or sent her photos. Did she lie, Wilde?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Why on earth would Marnie lie?”

Wilde debated going into the long rationale Marnie had offered up about meeting another woman who claimed it really happened to her, but that didn’t feel right. He simplified it instead:

“It was what you told me the first time we met,” Wilde said. “Some people will do anything to be famous.”

“My God,” Vicky said. “What’s wrong with people?”

Silas just stood there. His face reddened.

“So that’s it?” Vicky asked. “Marnie lied about Peter. Jenn believed her. They ruined his life. Then you add on about his being adopted and...”

“There’s another theory out there,” Wilde said.

“Out where?” Silas asked.

“Fan boards, I guess. I should warn you. You won’t like it.”

“We’re listening,” Silas said.

Wilde turned to Vicky. “How much had Peter’s popularity dropped recently? I mean, the last year, say. Before Marnie went on that podcast.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I can see his Instagram posts,” Wilde continued. “The likes in the last year — they were way down, maybe ten or fifteen percent of what they used to be. A friend ran a social media marketing report for me. Anyone can do that. There are free sites, but I paid ten dollars for a more extensive one. On all the major platforms, Peter’s numbers had plummeted.”

“That’s normal,” Vicky said, taking a step back. “I told you that too. I still don’t see what you’re suggesting.”

“I’m not suggesting anything,” Wilde said. “Some of the fans are posting a theory.”

“What theory?”

“That Peter is behind it all.”

Silas’s mouth dropped open. Vicky looked as though Wilde had slapped her across the face. “That’s insane.”

“What,” Silas said, “you mean, like, he told Marnie to lie about him?”

“Something like that.”

“And say he roofied her?” Vicky added. “Are you listening to yourself? Peter is hated now. He’s been completely canceled.”

“Peter may have miscalculated,” Wilde said. “That’s the theory anyway. You know how reality shows operate. Controversy sells. Peter may have been tired of his nice-guy image. It’s almost like when the hero pro wrestler suddenly turns into the villain.”

“This is crazy,” Vicky said, waving her hands in the air. “You didn’t see him. The heartbreak. The depression. He’d never do something like that.”

Wilde nodded. “I don’t buy the theory either. But I wanted to run it by you. I wanted to see if there was any merit to it.”

“There isn’t,” Vicky said firmly.

Silas looked up into the sky for a few moments. He blinked and said, “I hope it’s true.”

Vicky gasped. “What?”

“If it’s true,” Silas said, “if Peter planned all this, that means he’s not dead. It means he wants everyone to think he’s dead. It means now that he’s been exonerated, even if he faked it all, maybe he can come back. Think about it, Vicky. Suppose tomorrow Peter shows up. With the way he’s been unfairly treated, he would be bigger than ever — maybe the biggest thing in reality TV history. If he and Jenn got back together, wow: The return of PB&J — what do you think the ratings would be on their televised second marriage?”

Vicky shook her head. “He didn’t do that. He wouldn’t do that. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“So what does make sense?” Silas asked.

Her eyes were wet. “That Marnie lied, and then everyone turned against him. On top of that, his own family — me, really — lied to him his whole life about his birth. He felt abused and betrayed by everyone around him. Maybe Marnie was the final straw that broke him. Maybe it was Jenn not believing him. Maybe it was this McAndrews guy threatening to reveal more pictures or whatever. Or maybe...” She started to sob. “Maybe he found his real mother and couldn’t handle that.”

They stood there in silence.

“Wilde,” Vicky finally said, “I want you to stop looking for him now. It’s enough.”

“I can’t.”

“Peter doesn’t have the answers you’re looking for.”

“Maybe not,” Wilde said, “but someone is out there killing people. We need to stop them.”

Wilde started back toward the Ramapo Mountains. He figured a night under the stars near the Ecocapsule would do him good, but he also wanted to see Laila.

Laila.

She hadn’t invited him over, and he never made assumptions where that was concerned. That wouldn’t be fair to her. If she wanted him there, cool. If she didn’t, who was he to get in her way with Darryl or anyone else? Wilde was chewing that over when his phone vibrated. The caller ID read “PETER BENNETT” again. Wilde answered and said hello.

“I have something for you.”

It was Boomerang Chris.

“I’m listening.”

“You asked me to look into the compromising photos of Peter Bennett — the ones already out there and the ones McAndrews threatened to release.”

“Yes.”

“First off, from what I can tell, McAndrews was intending to double-dip.”

“How?”

“You already know that someone hired McAndrews to ruin Peter Bennett via online innuendo and bullying.”

“Any idea who?”

“Not yet, no. That’ll be trickier. Like you said, they paid McAndrews through his son’s law firm to protect themselves via attorney-client privilege. This isn’t an uncommon move, but it adds an extra layer. All I can tell you is that whoever hired McAndrews also emailed him those compromising photos.”

“Okay.”

“So that’s the first thing. The second thing is more intriguing.”

Wilde waited.

“The photos are real. For the most part. I mean, they aren’t photoshopped.”

“What do you mean, for the most part?”

“They’re solid — no shadow errors, no warping. Even EXIF metadata is right for these images. But someone intentionally blurred the edges and cropped them in weird ways.”

“Weird how?”

“Well, maybe not so weird. It’s Peter. No doubt. But whoever sent the pictures? They didn’t want to be seen.”

“You mean whoever he’s having sex with?”

“Yes.”

“That would make sense. They wanted to be anonymous.”

“Maybe,” Chris said.

“You said McAndrews intended to double-dip,” Wilde said.

“Yes.”

“You mean sell the photos to Peter?”

“Exactly.”

“Did they meet?”

“Peter Bennett and Henry McAndrews? I don’t know yet. I’ll keep digging.”

They hung up. Wilde started into the woods. Night had fallen. He let his eyes adjust to the darkness. He started up the mountain toward the hidden Ecocapsule. It would be a two-mile hike. Not an issue. The tree branches were silhouetted by the moon tonight. The air was crisp and still. His footsteps echoed in the black. This was Wilde’s kind of night. He had experienced thousands in his lifetime. A man could think in this stillness. He could relax his mind and ease his muscles. He could see and comprehend in a way that was impossible for those facing lit-up screens and noise and energy and even other humans.

So why didn’t it feel right?

Why was he — he who had spent his life diving into the dark, he who loved to bathe in the solitude — suddenly unable to focus under the best of conditions?

When his phone rang again, the interruption, usually the most jarring of annoyances, felt like a reprieve, like a life preserver. He saw the call was from Matthew.

“Hello?”

“You coming back?”

“It was getting late so—”

“You need to get here.”

“Why? What’s up?”

“I got into the final DNA site. DNAYourStory.”

That was the site that had matched Wilde and Peter in the first place. “You found a match?”

“Yes.”

“It could be me,” he said.

“No, it’s not you. It’s a parent, Wilde. It’s either Peter Bennett’s mother or his father.”