Chapter 6: Veronica

Veronica rose early the morning after the party, dressing quickly and hurrying out of the apartment just as the sun was beginning to come up. Truthfully, she'd never gone to sleep, but had lain awake for hours, unable to stop thinking about Logan.

She knew he would try to avoid her and she'd formulated a plan of attack. Which is why she was at the Neptune Grande, knocking loudly on his door at 7:20 in the morning, even though he was bound to be still asleep. And if he did bring home one of those vapid sorority girls who were always buzzing around him, then Veronica would enjoy tossing her out on her perky little ass.

By the time Logan finally answered the door, her knuckles were sore. Judging from the red eyes and the vague, sour smell of alcohol on his breath, he was clearly hung over. But he was alone, and despite her earlier bravado, Veronica wanted to weep with relief.

"Are you stalking me now?" Logan mocked. He was shirtless, wearing only his favorite, black sweats and Veronica had to force herself not to gulp. He leaned an arm against the doorjamb, effectively blocking her entrance. "Wait. Don't tell me. Piz isn't doing it right either?"

Veronica flushed and pushed his arm away, boldly forcing her way into the suite. She faltered once she got past him, unsure of where to begin. She wanted to tell him – what? How sorry she was? That the kiss meant nothing? How much she missed him? But it all sounded hollow and trite, even to Veronica, because, despite her deep regret, she herself didn't understand what had happened.

Besides, the thunderous look on Logan's face made it clear he wasn't going to hear any explanation she had to offer. Since the moment he turned his back on her at the party, he seemed hell bent on keeping her out of his life. There was plenty of time for breakdowns and confessions later, Veronica reasoned, pulling out the file on the dead boy and holding it out to him.

"Of course. I should've known. It's business," Logan said, shaking his head. "You couldn't at least wait for the roosters to wake up?" He snatched the folder from her outstretched hand and strode into the living room, tossing it onto the large ottoman as he slumped into the couch.

Veronica walked over, gingerly sitting next to him, her knees turned slightly towards his just inches away. She took a deep breath. "Did anyone tell you what's been going on at Hearst?"

"No, but let me save you some time. Whatever it was, I didn't do it."

Veronica sighed and began telling him about the construction crew's tragic discovery. "Forensic tests show the bones belonged to a boy, somewhere between the ages of two and five. They think he was buried sometime after 1990, when construction on the building started. But those particular classrooms were built in phases and the work took about three years. They didn't find the skull until a lot of the ground had already been torn up. Other pieces were found in different places, so it's impossible for them to pinpoint exactly when he was buried."

"That's all very fascinating, Veronica. But what the hell does it have to do with me?"

"Lamb hired a forensic artist to do a facial reconstruction of the skull. It shows what the boy probably looked like when he was alive. This is what the artist came up with." Veronica opened the folder and handed Logan the picture of the enhanced skull, watching his face carefully.

"You see it, don't you?" she asked.

Aghast, Logan gaped at the image. He nodded slowly, still staring at the picture, and said, "There used to be this photo, on the piano in our house, and …"

"I know." Veronica took out the magazine photo she'd found and placed it on top of the folder. Logan put the reconstruction picture next to it, and they both stared at the side-by-side portraits.

"Jesus …" Logan breathed. "I don't understand. Who is he?"

Veronica shook her head. "I don't know for sure, but I think he might be your half-brother. Do you know anything about your parents' past, what they might've been doing back then?"

"My parents? Please," Logan scoffed. "You and I both know my mom had nothing to do with this. It reeks of Aaron … But you'd probably find out more by checking the tabloids. I have no idea what he was up to, Veronica. I was two."

"But you guys were living in L.A., right?"

"Yeah. We lived in L.A. until I was like eleven - in the house my parents bought when they got married."

"When was that?"

Logan shrugged. "I think it was in '87 – sometime in the fall."

"I know you were young, but …"

"Other than what I read in the gossip rags, which my mom always claimed were lies, I don't know any details about Aaron's infidelities. Except, my dad did like to spread it around, so there's no telling how many women he slept with," Logan said bitterly. "You know, this could just be some bizarre coincidence. Isn't everyone supposed to have a doppelganger, a lookalike, running around?"

Veronica nodded carefully, her eyes sympathetic. But he refused to look at her. "That is a possibility. There's absolutely no evidence that the dead boy is related to you … Except, there is … the resemblance. It's uncanny."

Logan stared at the images on the ottoman, his face grim. "So what's next? What am I supposed to do?"

Veronica gently explained that Logan would have to give a blood sample for DNA testing. "It's the only way to know for sure."

Logan slumped forward, elbows propped on his knees as he held his head in his hands. "You think my dad did this, don't you? Killed him and buried the body, I mean," he asked, still avoiding her gaze.

Veronica was silent. They'd never really talked about Aaron's abuse, but Veronica had seen the faint scars that crisscrossed Logan's back and arms. She knew the beatings had gone on for years and no one had done anything about it. Feeling her throat close, Veronica could only nod.

Logan let out a long breath. "It wasn't always like that, you know. I was seven before he started hitting me. My mom actually used to bake cookies back then. She was making my favorite that day – chocolate chip – and I begged her to let me have one. But they'd just come out of the oven and she didn't want me to burn myself … Of course, I took one anyway.

"When my dad saw me, he slapped me so hard I fell and hit my head on the marble floor. I must've been knocked out for a good five minutes," Logan picked up the photo of dead boy. "I don't think my mom ever baked again."

Veronica swallowed thickly, reaching out a comforting hand. But she felt him flinch the moment her fingers touched his bare shoulder. Logan stood abruptly and crossed to the other side of the room.

"You should leave," he said, looking away. "Don't worry. I'll go see Lamb and get tested. What do I care, anyway? It's not like I didn't already know my dad was a killer."

Veronica stared him, willing him to look at her, until he finally raised his head and met her gaze.

"I'm fine, Veronica," he said, knowing what she was about to ask. "But you should really go. Your dad is probably wondering where you are."

Veronica gave him a small smile. "I'll go on one condition. Promise me you'll call before you see Lamb. You shouldn't go alone."

"I can call Cliff."

"Logan."

"Okay. Fine. I'll call."

Satisfied, Veronica stood and walked to the door, with Logan following behind. She opened the door, but stopped short, turning back to him.

"By the way, you should know … You were wrong last night about Piz, I mean," she said.

"So? What? He's not the jealous type?"

"I have no idea. He's not my boyfriend."

Veronica grinned as she walked out of the suite.