Believing Lies

by Elizabeth, Anne

  I was here for five minutes; how does he know about my diagnosis?

  “I know it may seem early, only one hour…” he started, sitting down on his chair. “But I have some thoughts besides anger management.”

  An hour?

  I was breaking things for an hour?

  Mom and I sat down on the couch across from him. I was holding my bloody hand in my lap, so I didn’t get it on anything else. It created a pool of liquid in my palm, swirling around.

  “I believe Kyle has PTSD from Max and Nick dying,” Dr. Collins admitted.

  I shook my head. “No, I don’t.”

  Mom shushed me and told Dr. Collins to continue.

  You’re really believing some nerd with glasses over your son?

  “While his ‘fit’ was going on, he claimed I was accusing him of murder,” he explained.

  “I thought this was confidential?” I challenged.

  He looked at me, nodding his head. “It is, unless it could harm you or others. I think you blame yourself for Max and Nick dying. Some things that were stated were worrying me that you might hurt yourself.”

  I rolled my eyes and sat back, still being careful with the blood. Mom leaned forward, listening intensely. I wanted to tell her not to believe him, but she would’ve just shushed me.

  She and Dr. Collins talked for a few minutes before we left. I was given a paper towel to clean up my hand. I dipped the edges into the pool of blood, watching the white cloth turn bright red, soaking up the blood. Dr. Collins gave me a weird stare, but I ignored him, dipping all the edges into the blood.

  I had no idea what they talked about. My ears felt blocked; everything was faint for me.

  I’m sure I was being yelled at by Mom when we left. She pushed me into the car, threw her bag into the back, and then reversed. I watched her mouth open and close a bunch of times. I couldn’t tell if she was talking or breathing through her mouth. The entire car ride was silent for me. Not even the sound of passing cars filling my ears like they normally did.

  We arrived at home, and Mom got a phone call. I stayed in the car with her, my hearing coming back. She grabbed her phone and answered it.

  “Hello?” She looked at me. “Yes, I’ll come in. Not a problem. Bye.”

  She hung up, grabbing her bag. She started shuffling things around, grunting.

  “They need me to go into work. Henry will be home soon, so you won’t be alone for long.”

  My parents were so afraid to leave me home alone since Nick died. Which meant that I didn’t get the chance to start figuring out who would kill Nick.

  “That’s okay,” I told her. “I’ll be fine.”

  It would give me time to think about who would do this to Nick. I left the car and ran inside the house, but not before waving goodbye to Mom. I went to my room to find an empty journal. I started to write down everything I knew.

  Nick and I were in a fight. I pushed him, and he fell. But I didn’t kill him; there was a gunshot. I thought it was hunters, but someone was trying to kill him. Or me.

  The realization hit me. That person could have been trying to kill me and missed. I took a shaky breath in, trying to calm myself. The lock on my door taunted me, telling me to lock it. I obeyed the orders out of fear. I sat back down to continue writing.

  Someone knew about our argument and didn’t say anything. They could’ve been a witness and blamed the whole thing on me, but they didn’t.

  Why?

  If someone saw us in the woods and saw me push him, why wouldn’t they just go to the police? I leaned back in my chair, knowing that nothing made sense. I had no idea why someone would’ve wanted me or Nick dead. Then I remembered Mark. If Mark was on drugs, maybe it was he who shot Nick. But he was beaten almost to death after Nick went missing.

  Luke had Nick’s phone after they announced he was dead.

  How did he get the phone?

  A door opening and closing downstairs startled me, making my chair fall backward. I could hear Henry walk through the house. I knew it was him because of his car outside. I went down the stairs to find Henry in the kitchen with a plastic bag. It looked like he had gloves and hydrogen peroxide.

  “What are you doing with plastic gloves and hydrogen peroxide?” I asked, poking at his bags.

  He turned around and rolled his eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business, but a bird hit my car and splattered blood all over the side. I read online that that stuff gets it out.”

  I nodded, sitting down on the chair by the table. Henry turned back around and continued going through the cabinets. He finally gave up and just grabbed a water bottle from the fridge.

  “How was therapy?” Henry asked, sitting down in front of me. I was shocked that he was even asking me questions.

  “Um,” I said. I didn’t want to admit what happened at therapy.

  “It was fine.”

  He nodded, taking a sip from his water bottle. He swallowed before speaking.

  “Mom said you went crazy on the dude and tried to kill him.”

  My head snapped up to meet his taunting eyes. He smirked at me, knowing he got the reaction he wanted. I watched as he shrugged his shoulders and chuckled at me. I felt my nose twitch with anger.

  “You don’t know what you are talking about, Henry,” I spat at him, pushing my chair back. “I got mad, that’s all.”

  He pointed at my hands and grinned. “Is that why you’re bleeding?”

  I looked down to see blood pouring from my previous glass cuts. I hadn’t realized I was clutching my fists until then. My nails must have reopened the wounds that crossed my palms. They trickled from the middle of my palm and to the bottom on both sides, almost reaching my wrists.

  “Shut up, Henry,” I warned him. I could feel heat radiating off my body. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to grab him by the head and bounce it off the dining table.

  “At least I don’t need to see a therapist,” he pointed out, walking away. His back was facing me now, so I couldn’t see his face.

  “That’s because you have more problems than a therapist could solve.” I snorted. “You’re a psychopath.”

  As soon as the word left my mouth, I regretted it. I watched his head snap to the side. His face wasn’t smirking any more. His eyes were dark. I watched as he threw the water bottle to the side, the plastic breaking open and spilling water everywhere. Before I knew what was happening, he was standing in front of me with his hand wrapped around my throat. I could feel his grip getting tighter as I lost the ability to breathe. I tried to yell, but his hands were holding my vocal cords. All that came out of me were grunts. I watched as his eyes turned darker and darker. I could feel the color draining from my face. My eyes wanted to pop out of their sockets because of the pressure. Henry just grinned and tightened his grip on me.

  I pried at his hands, trying to get them off. But they wouldn’t come loose. It felt like we were standing there like that for hours. I even tried kicking him, but I could only land them on his knees, which didn’t affect him. He kept holding on to my throat, making my lungs beg for air.

  I hope I pass out.

  I could feel darkness swarming me. I was waiting to black out, so I didn’t need to feel my lungs burning without oxygen. His eyes maintained on mine the entire time, like a lion killing its prey. Suddenly, it was gone. Like a switch, the anger left his eyes, and his face dropped. He let his hands loose, and I fell to the floor, gasping for air. Henry stared at me, watching as I grabbed at my neck, filling my lungs with air. I still felt the pain of his hands there; I still felt the scorching hot pain my lungs were going through. I looked back at Henry, who had a blank expression on his face.

  “I’m going to my room,” he stated, grabbing his bag then leaving. I watched as he walked down the stairs, slamming the door behind him.

  I lay on the kitchen floor, begging to pass out. Begging that I would forget this happened. That this was a hallucination. That my brother didn’t try to kill me.

  Please.
>
  19

  Day Thirty-one

  I tried my best to ignore Mom and Dad, so they never saw the marks around my neck. I wanted to tell them what happened, but I didn’t think they would believe me. I had just gotten out of the mental hospital because of subconscious self-harming. They would send me right back.

  Luckily, I didn’t see them that morning. I heard Mom knocking on my door, and I pulled my blanket all the way so it was practically covering my entire neck and pretended to be asleep. She just opened the door, looked at me, then left. I crawled out of bed when I knew Dad and Mom were gone, and I went into the bathroom. The mirror showed me a swollen neck that was badly bruised. I didn’t want to try to speak out of fear of worsening it. Redness circled my eyes that looked bloodshot. Anyone looking at me would think I was high.

  I threw on a hoodie and hid it as best as I could. Walking downstairs, I knew Henry was still home, so I kept my head down. He was sitting at the dining table on his phone. He didn’t even look at me when I left through the front door. I texted Marie and told her that I was going over to her house. She didn’t reply, but that didn’t stop me.

  Parts of my bruised neck were showing from the front of the hoodie, causing stares. I tried my best to hide it, but you could see the marks of the hands that choked me. A mother took her children and crossed the road with them, just to avoid walking past me. I knew it was my fault because when I turned around to look at them, she was crossing back over.

  I made it to Marie’s and knocked on her door, eager to get inside. Marie opened the door, facing the ground. She was looking at something on her phone.

  “Hey, Kyle,” she said, moving out of the way. “I was just about to text you back, but I got distracted on—” She looked up to my face. “Holy hell! What happened to you?”

  I pushed past her, walking straight up the stairs. I heard her mumbling about me being a rude guest, but I didn’t want her grandparents to see me. I shuffled into her room, pulling my hoodie back. She stomped in, stopping when she saw my entire face.

  “Kyle, are you high?” she asked, just staring into my bloody eyes. She focused on my neck. She gulped, taking a step closer to shut the door. “Did you do that?”

  “No,” I groaned, my voice hoarsely toying with me. It was a struggle to even get my throat damp enough to speak. Swallowing was even more painful this time than the last time this happened.

  “Woah. Don’t talk,” Marie said. “You’ll just make it worse.” She placed a pillow at the edge of her bed for me to lay my head on. “You need to rest.”

  I nodded, putting my feet up on her bed. Her pillow was soft and covered with a band logo.

  “Was this Henry’s doing?” she asked, taking my shoes off.

  Marie might not have realized it, but she had motherly instincts. She would’ve never admitted it either. In the hospital, she always made sure I was eating and checked up on me constantly. Any time another patient would give me trouble, she was right there, backing me up. Even now, she takes care of me in a way I never imagined someone would. Not even my parents.

  She was my sister.

  My family.

  I didn’t say anything, and that was more than enough of an answer for her. She placed my shoes down before pacing the room. I felt her anger bouncing off the walls. Her arms were crossed, and I could see her nostrils flaring.

  “I’m going to kill him,” she threatened. “Doesn’t he care about you at all? He knows you’ve been through this before; this could cause serious, permanent damage to your throat.”

  I closed my eyes and let exhaustion take over. Marie was still fuming, with her veins popping out. I didn’t fall asleep, but I was happy just lying there.

  “I bet he’s the one that killed Nick.”

  I sat up, pain shooting from my neck down my spine. I gasped at the sudden discomfort and reached for my neck. Marie came stumbling over, helping me sit up straight.

  “That was kind of stupid, Kyle,” she fumed. I eyed her while moving my neck in a circular motion to relieve the pain. Marie sat there with her eyes furrowed together.

  “I’m fine.” I tried to convince her in a raspy voice. She shushed me again before standing up. She pulled out a notebook and a pen and handed them to me. I hesitated before grabbing them, realizing I had no other choice.

  —Is this really necessary?—

  Marie was standing over my shoulder, reading as I wrote.

  “Yes,” she replied. “Now, was this Henry’s doing?”

  I went to nod, but the pain from my neck stopped me. I groaned, writing down my answer. I watched as the second I wrote Y, she was steaming.

  “Why?”

  I shrugged my shoulders, then thought about it.

  —He is psychotic.—

  Ever since we were younger, Henry had a weird obsession with pain and items that caused pain. Mom would find him playing with knives or scissors. He had a fish when he was five but took it out of the water to watch it suffer. Mom bought him a new one, which he strangled with his fingers. As he grew up, he stopped killing things. But his obsession with dangerous objects grew. He started playing with fire, burning anything flammable I had. Guns were something on his list, but Mom and Dad never allowed him to. If he knew about the pistol in Mom’s drawer, someone would probably be dead.

  “I can see that,” Marie agreed. “Was he always like this?”

  —Yes. Except he never got this physical before.—

  Henry never hurt Max or me until Max died. Then Henry used me as his punching bag. Nothing too scary, but enough to make me cry and get him in trouble. Growing up, I feared Henry. Even with Max. Everyone did. I would overhear my parents wondering what to do with him. Max was the only one who wasn’t afraid of Henry. He would play with him and not get mad when Henry broke a toy. And he was the first one to greet him when Henry came home from school.

  Marie got quiet and sat down on the bed. “I was just rambling earlier, but…” She paused for a moment. “Do you think he was capable of killing Nick?”

  Henry was scary, but there was no way he murdered Nick. I knew he wouldn’t have done that.

  —No, because Henry isn’t capable of killing humans. There’s no way. Besides, he has no reason to kill Nick.—

  Marie nodded, leaning back on her bed. She stared at the ceiling for a while, keeping her thoughts to herself. I nudged her so she would talk to me. She looked at me from her position before groaning and sitting back up.

  “It’s just, it doesn’t make sense to me as to why someone would kill Nick,” she confessed. “I never knew the guy, but I did a lot of research on him, and no one hated him!”

  I should tell her about the phone.

  —Luke has Nick’s phone.—

  I handed her the notebook and watched her eyes widen. She snapped her head back to me and pushed it back into my hands. “Elaborate, please.”

  —I was at his house and found it in his drawer. It was Nick’s phone. A picture of Noelle and Nick was in the background, and I unlocked it with his passcode.—

  Her eyes scanned the paper, grinning with each second that passed. She stood up, running over to her desk. I went to follow her, but my muscles were sore. Marie came back to me, showing me a new notepad that flipped back like a policeman’s one.

  “I stole it,” she admitted. Her pen traced the paper, eyes going back and forth. “This is an investigation. Everyone is a suspect unless proven otherwise.”

  I snatched the paper from her.

  —This isn’t some stupid game. My best friend is dead.—

  She looked at me with empathetic eyes; she held the notebook down in her lap. “I didn’t mean it that way, Kyle. But you know damn well that the police aren’t going to do anything. It’s in our hands now. We are going to find out what happened to Nick.”

  She was right. The biggest lead that the police had was that the blood from the forest was his, and he was killed with a gun. Anyone with a DNA tester and half a brain could’ve figured that out. Ms. Walt
er complained about how the police said they had nothing. That the guy in the forest was a pro. He knew what he was doing.

  I nodded. Marie smiled, continuing to write down things in her little notepad. Her eyes lit up, and she turned to me.

  “We should go back to his house and steal the phone!” She grabbed my arm, gasping. “There could be clues that could help us.”

  I shook my head. I wasn’t going back into Luke’s house until I knew it was safe. Deep down, I knew Luke couldn’t hurt anyone. He goes to protests to give rights to trees—there was no way he could do this.

  But what if it’s all an act?

  “I get it,” Marie said. “We will just have to do our investigating from far away.” She put her notebook in her back jean pocket. “Besides, Luke doesn’t seem like the murdering type. Maybe he just found the phone and didn’t know what to do with it.”

  I grunted in response, making my throat burn. I almost had to gasp for air. My phone started ringing in my pocket, and I pulled it out. The hospital where Mark was, was calling me. I pointed to it and showed it to Marie.

  “What do they want?” she asked. I shrugged my shoulders. She snatched the phone from me and answered it. I tried to grab it from her, but she pushed me away.

  “Hello?” she asked. I couldn’t hear what the hospital was saying. “This is his sister.”

  I dropped my hands and almost laughed at her. She narrowed her eyes at me before putting her finger to her lips to shush me. I leaned back, knowing there was no way I was getting the phone from her.

  “Okay, I understand.”

  I sat up, fear stunning my body. I wasn’t sure what had happened, but my mind was tormenting me with what they could’ve said.

  “I’ll let him know. Yep, goodbye.”

  Marie hung up the phone, giving it back to me. She placed her hands in her lap and started eyeing the room. I sat there, patiently, waiting for her to tell me what they said. After a few seconds, I hit her shoulder. Not hard, but enough to get my point across.