Olivia was always the sensible one. The responsible sister. She took after their father, a man as cold and driven as the Cape Cod wind, a man possessed by an inner need to be respected and successful. She would be the one to take over his million-dollar businesses. She would become the unwavering compass and resilient caretaker of the Logan family -- whether she wanted to or not.
But Belinda belonged only to herself. Flighty, flirtatious, and possessed of a beauty that promised her a privileged life, Belinda was lavished with attention. Mother and Father, family friends, boys from school, they all adored Belinda. And as she matured into a young woman, her beauty became even more haunting. She vowed never to grow up, to remain forever an enchanting little girl to be worshiped and cared for.
Then came that fateful night, when Olivia was awakened by the low whistle of the wind off the ocean...a whistle that became an unearthly wail coming from Belinda's bedroom. It was the tragic night that their father would forbid them to speak of ever again. The night they would never forget. The night that would send generations of Logans down an unavoidable path of lies, deceit, and heartbreak.
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At first I thought I was dreaming, for when I woke and opened my eyes, I heard nothing but the low whistle of the wind blowing up from the ocean. The stream of moonlight filtering through my sheer white curtain bathed the walls in a pale yellow glow. My window shutters banged against the clapboard and then, I heard the sound again, this time with my eyes wide. I listened, my heart tapping like a steadily growing drumbeat in anticipation of some important announcement or event. After a moment I heard it once more.
It sounded like a cat in heat, but we had no cats. Daddy hated pets, finding them more of an... see more