"Upstairs," said Perry with a nod toward Sloan whom Troy was supporting with an arm around the waist.

"Why?" asked Troy. "What are you planning, anyway? I'm not hauling him up there if I don't absolutely have to."

Sloan caught a glimpse of the smug little smile that flitted over Perry's lips. "I thought it would be fitting for the son to follow in his parents' footsteps. Another suicide in this house would be fitting, and quite believable, don't you think?"

Sloan's worst fears were confirmed. He managed a passable groan, but all it earned him was a squeeze from Troy's arm. What the hell did that mean? Don't worry, buddy, it'll be quick and painless?

"Yeah, Perry," growled Troy. "You're a fucking genius. A real legend in your own mind."

"Shut up, big brother. I think it's way past time you got down off your high horse, and joined the rest of us down here in the dirt. You're hardly sinless in all this."

"Just shut up, and let's go."

Vance took Sloan's other arm and together they maneuvered their load toward the second floor. As they ascended the stairs Sloan began to feel a tingling in his fingers and toes, similar to the sensation of Novocain wearing off, and he could finally move his lips and tongue. But he decided it prudent to keep that information to himself. At least for now.

His head continued to loll against his chest, and his feet dragged, bumping over the Persian-carpeted stairs. By the time they reached the master suite, Sloan had regained enough control that he was able to actually wiggle his digits. He knew, however, that a wiggling pinky would fall far short of the mark. He would need a few flexing pecs and a nice pair of biceps, in the tradition of Schwarzenegger or Stallone, to ward off his three captors. And despite his strides toward recovery, that didn't appear likely.

With a grunt of relief Troy laid him gently across the wide king-size mattress that Sloan's parents had shared for almost thirty years.

"All right," wheezed Vance, his aging physiology apparently taxed by the burdensome trip up the stairs.

"I've done my part. Now I'm going down to the car to wait."

But Perry planted himself between his father and the doorway. "I don't think so."

Vance shoved his hands in his pockets and glared at his son. "Why are you making an issue of this now? This has always been your specialty. I have no taste for-" Vance seemed to choke on the words.

"Murder? That's the word for it, Dad. You're okay with grand larceny and fraud, but killing is my business, is that it?"

"Frankly, yes. You certainly seem to have no compunction against it. Once you got a taste of it the first time, you couldn't seem to stop yourself. And it never seemed to matter what I thought about it. You went your own way, and to hell with everyone else."

The first time? Murder? Sloan blinked in confusion. Who were they talking about? Who had Perry killed?

"You still haven't forgiven me, have you Dad?" spat Perry. "He would have exposed us and you would have lost everything, and you still can't see that it had to be done."

Vance stepped very close to Perry but Sloan could easily hear him whisper, "He was my best friend. I know you have no understanding of that word, and I blame your mother for tainting your DNA, but to me it meant something."

Sloan's mind raced at a thousand miles an hour. Best friend? As far as Sloan knew Vance Elliott had only ever had one best friend-Jonathan Carver. His mind balked at the implications, but Troy's words laid it all out for him in plain English.

"You didn't have to kill him," whispered Troy. "There were options. There are always options."

"Oh? And what would those have been? I don't hear any specifics. I don't hear any grand ideas coming from either of you. I never did. I always had to come up with the solutions. I'm the planner. The thinker."

"You could have listened to him. He only had trouble when you expanded your illegal activities into the drug trade, and he wouldn't have said a word if things had gone back to the way they were."

"Folding the operation was never an option. That's hardly a surprising suggestion, coming from you, Mister Saint of the Century. You've never approved of what we do, but you certainly didn't complain when our money solved all your problems for you."

"You didn't solve them. You just made them more complicated."

"Complicated?" ranted Perry. "You don't know complicated. Neither of you do. If it weren't for me this whole thing would fall apart. I'm the only thing that's holding it all together."

"Dammit, Perry," raged Vance. "This is my company. I built it from the ground up while you were still in diapers. And I did it with Jonathan's help."

Perry sneered. "Then why didn't you go running to the cops when you found out what I had done? Why didn't you turn in your sociopathic son?"

Sloan could hear Vance's heavy breathing, as clearly as if it were right next to his own ear. "By that time it was too late. And..." He fumbled with the words. "And I don't have to explain myself to you. I'm leaving."

"I'll tell you why," offered Troy. "It's because you like to ignore the things you don't want to face. Isn't that right, Dad?"

Sloan was surprised that he could hear Troy's voice over the red-hot fury that raged through his head. Perry had killed his father? And Vance knew? And Troy knew, added a tiny voice that he didn't want to hear.

"What's that supposed to mean?" retorted Vance.

"For a while you actually believed that Jonathan shot himself."

Vance licked his lips and his eyes flitted to Sloan. "Yes. I knew he was tormented over his decision. The suicide didn't strike me as impossible."

"Even though you knew Perry had gone to visit him that day."

"I don't see the point in this conversation." Vance's voice seethed with resentment. "I don't see the point in reopening old wounds."

"And Joe. You thought he succumbed to a heart attack. You never questioned the convenient timing of his death that happened just a few days after he, too, voiced his reservations to you, and you shared that information with your new right-hand man."

Sloan glanced at Perry, and saw a ghost of a smile flit across his lips.

Vance remained stonily silent.

"And for years you believed that Russell's accident was just that."

"I saw no need to question things the authorities accepted as fact."

"Right." Troy's voice was low and deadly, and Sloan noticed that Perry crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, silently observing his brother's torment of his father. "Only when I forced you to look at it realistically, and actually ask Perry about his involvement-only then did you bother to learn the truth."

"And what did that knowledge get me?" shot back Vance. "It's not like I could change anything. They were dead. They had been for years. Nothing could bring them back."

"Your silence implied consent, Dad. You loved your business and your house and your pool too much to jeopardize it by putting an end to Perry's escapades. He made sure you had smooth sailing, and you didn't really care how he did it, or who he hurt along the way as long as things kept running smoothly, and you didn't have to get your hands dirty."

Vance moved to speak, but Troy continued on, his voice and eyes shooting fire. "And I'm sure you never questioned the one incident you knew you could never forgive him for."

Vance swallowed thickly. "What do you mean?"

"Come on, Dad, you know what I mean. You just don't want to face it. You don't want to face the possibility that, ultimately, you were to blame for her death."

Her ? A rush of adrenaline and outrage gave Sloan the strength to sit up on the bed. Vertigo and nausea swirled within him and he almost fell, but he managed to steady himself and glance at his captors. No one seemed to have noticed.

"Wh-what are you talking about?" babbled Vance. "She slit her own wrists, and Sloan let her die. If anyone's to blame, it's him."

No! I wasn't to blame, screamed Sloan silently. And for the first time in his life he truly believed it.

"And whose eyewitness account did you rely on for this information?" continued Troy. "Who did you send to talk to her that night because you were tired of arguing with her?"

"What do you know about it?" spat Vance. "You didn't even know about her death until tonight. You're one to accuse me of gullibility when you accepted the Armand story hook, line and sinker!"

"Perhaps I was gullible, but I'd trusted Sloan my whole life. I had no reason to distrust him. Whereas you had every reason to distrust Perry."

"How-"

Troy wouldn't allow him to speak. "Sure, I believed Sloan, but when we found the blood at the Carver house I began to suspect the truth. Sloan told us about the suicide, but Janelle taking her own life just didn't seem right to me, especially considering what I already knew of Perry's activities. And then I heard your conversation with Sloan tonight and I put it all together." He took a step toward his father. "Come on, Dad, you're no idiot. If I can figure it out, so can you."

Vance took a step back, and Perry just kept on watching, his mouth smiling, and his eyes gleaming.

Their father shook his head. "No. She had been upset by it all. She felt betrayed by me, and guilty for betraying her friendship with Lois. She hated what I was doing and thought she could persuade me to stop. It made sense."

"Of course it did. It always did to you."

Vance just shook his head and took another step back.

"For God's sake think, Dad. Janelle kept company with Mom, but you know as well as I do, that she never really considered her a friend. And she had been widowed for a year. Certainly she was angry with you for the deception, but she felt no guilt."

Vance stood as still as stone, his face pasty and his eyes wide.

Troy was undaunted. "And what did your son-your other son-think of your indiscretion? If nothing else, Perry is loyal to his mother. And I have no doubt he feared Janelle's influence over you. What if she actually managed to persuade you to change your ways? If anyone could it was her. And what if she got too close and figured out what had really happened to her husband? Who would suffer then?"

Vance just shook his head.

"Just tell me this-did you ask Perry to go talk to her that night, or did he offer to do it?"

"Why are you doing this?" whispered his father.

"Because you need to know the truth. You need to face it before you consent to being a party to what Perry is planning tonight."

Vance had literally backed himself into a corner. His face was ashen, and his hands shook. He glanced at Sloan, but the fact that their victim was sitting up and glaring at him didn't seem to concern him. Sloan felt stronger. Maybe strong enough, but he didn't move. Not yet. He had to know the truth. The whole truth.

Vance's eyes lingered on his and something indefinable passed between them. Strange as it may seem, despite their differences, and their mutual hatred, they shared something. They had both loved her.

Finally Vance's eyes shifted to Perry.

"Did you?" breathed Vance, his face a mask of rage and agony.

Perry lifted his hand and casually examined his fingernails. "She was supposed to be dead when Sloan returned the next morning." He glanced at Sloan. "I do love doing that to him."

Sloan seethed, but waited. He wanted to hear the rest. He needed to hear it.

Perry looked back at his father. "But then I heard him drive in. He was early and she was bleeding more slowly than I anticipated. I couldn't take the chance of finishing her by injuring her further. That would have interfered with the suicide scenario, but I knew she couldn't last long. I decided to take a chance that she wouldn't be coherent enough to tell him anything. I slipped out the back, but stayed and watched the house to make sure nothing went wrong."

His lips curled hideously, the smile of a snake that had just swallowed a live rodent.

"But the fact that he found her alive turned out to be an unexpected bonus. She died in his arms while I watched through the windows. A thoroughly enjoyable scene." Perry glanced again at Sloan, but merely smiled at the man that he had stolen absolutely everything from. "You've never written a better one, Carver. I stayed right through the arrival of the police and the finale. It was so moving, I regretted I didn't have a video camera with me to record it for posterity."

"Dammit, Perry. How could you do that to me?" screamed his father. "I loved her. You knew that."

Perry lost his smile. "Exactly."

"You son of a bitch!" screamed Sloan. In his rage he found the strength to fling himself from the bed, and hurtle himself toward the evil Humpty Dumpty twin on the other side of the room. "I'll kill you, you slimy bastard!" he screamed as his hands latched around Perry's scrawny throat.

But he was still too weak to do much damage, and a surprisingly potent blow to his gut sent him reeling. He coughed and his knees crumpled beneath him. When he looked up he realized why Perry's fist had felt like it was made of iron. In it he gripped a large semi-automatic pistol. And it was pointed at Sloan.

"It's about time you got your legs back. I hate it when things are too easy."

"Did Janelle fight you?" asked Vance who had advanced on his son. "Did she give you a thrill before you sliced open her wrists?"

To Sloan's amazement, Vance appeared to be on the brink of tears. But he felt no sympathy for the man, only cold disdain.

"Yes, actually," taunted Perry. "I can see why you enjoyed her. She had a real fire about her. Her appeal was obvious. But I couldn't let your hormones jeopardize everything we had achieved." He dropped his voice to a deadly whisper. "And I couldn't let you continue to do that to Mother."

"You're a vile little weasel," hissed Vance. "You're your mother through and through. I'd cut out your heart for this, only I don't think I could find that cold, black thing in there amidst all that slimy yellow-"

A muffled pop cut off Vance's last words. Sloan realized with horror Perry had turned the gun on his father. Vance staggered back as a crimson stain bloomed across his chest, his eyes a vivid hazel against the stark white pallor of his complexion. His lips mouthed a silent word that Sloan couldn't identify, before another pop from the gun drove him back against the wall. His eyes wide and sightless, Jonathan Carver's former friend slipped down the wall as his soul slipped into oblivion. He left a bloody trail in his wake-streaks of red that dripped down the wall, a vivid reminder of all the blood that this house had seen.

Sloan dragged himself to his feet. Still wobbly from drugs and shock, he stared at the empty shell that had been Vance Elliott, and then he glared at Perry.

His hand was shaking, but his face was set in stone.

"Very good," whispered Troy.

Confused, Sloan looked his way, and was startled to see a gun in Troy's hand. A pearl-handled Colt .45. His father's gun. The one that Jonathan had killed himself-mentally Sloan corrected himself-the one that he had been murdered with.

The gun was pointing at Perry. It trembled slightly, but Troy's face was a study in determination.

Perry turned to look at his brother, and an indiscernible emotion colored his features. "What the hell?"

"You two are so predictable. You always have been. I knew if I pushed you into this discussion, one of you would kill the other. I didn't really care who did who, as long as one of you ended up dead, and the other ended up in prison for the rest of his life for a murder rap." Troy sucked in a breath. "It's damn well about time."

Perry's eyes glinted like a cornered snake's. "I knew I shouldn't have trusted you."

"Why not? I've always gone along with you before. I was always a sniveling coward. For years I followed Sloan like a lovesick puppy, letting him persuade me to help him with his stupid pranks. And then I let you blackmail and manipulate me into things I knew were wrong. You had no reason to think I had changed now."

"So, why did you?" "I'm just sick of it. I'm sick of lying to Carolyn, and I'm sick of putting up with your shit. I couldn't allow you to hurt Sloan. And I finally got smart." Troy's chest heaved and Sloan saw something glitter in his friend's eyes. Tears. Perhaps he hated Vance, and had for years, but no son could watch the death of his father without experiencing a morsel or two of regret, and a few token moments of pain. Troy took control of his emotions and continued, "I figured you wouldn't be able to resist showing off your skills, and making me watch you kill Sloan. You're so proud of your bloody achievements. You couldn't stand the fact that no one really appreciated your talents. You couldn't see past your huge ego." Sloan watched and listened, viewing it all as if through a dreamlike haze. "So, what now?" asked Perry. "You turn me in to the police?" "Yes." Troy lifted his weapon and trained it on Perry's head. "Drop the gun, little brother." The gun remained, dangling at Perry's side. "Or what? Or you'll shoot me? I sincerely doubt it." "Don't test me. I hate you more than you know. I'll do it if I have to, and it'll be self-defense."

"But what about those two witnesses in the doorway?" said Perry through an evil grin.

Troy sighed. "That's a desperate ploy, and pathetically obvious. Drop it or I'll shoot. I won't tell you again."

"Troy?" asked a soft, female voice. "My God! What's going on?" Both Sloan's and Troy's heads swivelled around toward the door, and a split second later a dull popechoed through the room. Bree and Franki screamed, and in slow motion, Sloan saw Troy's body hurtle backward, and the gun fly from his fingers. He landed on the floor with a sickening thud, and Sloan thought fleetingly that maybe Troy was the man he thought he was after all. He just hoped he hadn't made that discovery too late.

But before he could scramble to his friend's side a blinding pain lanced through his skull, and in an instant