by Sara Shepard
I shake my head. “Look, it’s been a crazy night. I need some time to process it all, okay? I’ll be all right. I’ll head down to Nisha’s when I’m ready to get out of here. But right now I just need a little space.”
He doesn’t let go of my hand. For just a moment he looks into my eyes, and I can see everything he wants to say there—how sorry he is, how sad he is, how much he loves me. I look away, toward the bright city lights.
“Will you call me tomorrow?” he asks, a slight tremor in his voice.
I hesitate. I want so badly to break it off with him, once and for all. I want a brand-new start when I walk off this mountain. But if I set him off again, who knows what he’ll do?
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Tomorrow, when he’s sober, when we’re not in the middle of nowhere, I’ll rip the bandage off. I’ll end it and tell him my decision is final. But for now this is the best I can do.
He reaches out to take my hand in his. We stand that way for a minute, him cradling my fingers in his palm. Something about it—how tender he’s gotten, and how ashamed—twists my heart. Then he pulls away, still a little shaky on his feet, and turns wordlessly, walking slowly down the trail to the parking lot. I can hear him even after he disappears from my sight, breaking branches and stumbling.
A profound silence settles over the canyon when he’s gone. All of the city sounds—barking dogs and sirens and cruising motors—have died away.
It’s a strange feeling. All day long, I’m surrounded by voices that tell me where I belong, what I should be doing, who I am. But tonight, in this deep, dark silence, I can decide that for myself. I climb onto a low boulder and stare out over the city. It’s beautiful and calm from here. People are asleep in their beds, never suspecting that one lonely girl is looking at the twinkling lights outside their homes.
I’ve only been out here a few hours, but it feels like years have passed. I’ve learned so much tonight, about who I am and where I came from. About who I want to be. It’s hard to know what tomorrow will hold—I’ll have to face my dad again, after discovering his secrets. I’ll have to face Laurel, who’s spent the night in the ER with Thayer. Then I think about the e-mail draft on my phone. I quickly pull it up, but just as I suspected, the top corner is flashing with NO SERVICE. I reread it, and a little thrill goes through me. I mean every word. The moment that I have a signal again, I’m sending this to Thayer. And my secret twin sister—I will find her, if it’s the last thing I do.
And deep inside my sore, stiff body, I feel a sense of peace. Everything is going to be different, starting tomorrow.
I stand up, brushing the dirt off my thighs. I’ve had enough soul-searching for one night. It’s time for my pajamas and a cup of my mom’s peppermint tea. Time to get down the mountain and find a ride home.
But then someone clears his throat behind me.
I turn slowly to see a guy standing there. He’s tall, with high cheekbones and dark hair. His frayed hiking shorts show off his muscular calves. On his hands he wears black climbing gloves, and a bashful smile plays around his lips.
It’s Ethan Landry.
“Oh. Hey,” I say, jerking my neck backward in surprise. “What are you doing out here?”
Even in the pale moonlight I can see him blush. He kicks at a stone with the tip of his sneaker. “Sorry to startle you. I saw you on the trail from my house,” he says, gesturing to the darkness below us. “I was watching the stars. There’s a meteor shower tonight.”
“Oh.”
Ethan watches me intently, and I suddenly feel self-conscious. There’s blood caked on one leg where I scraped myself, and I’ve fallen in the dirt a half dozen times. I run my fingers through my hair and come away with a leaf in my hand.
Ethan steps closer, and I can see him more clearly now. A concerned frown crumples his brow. It seems odd that he’s out so late, but Ethan’s always been a little bit odd—I remember him carrying around a tarantula in a jar in junior high, and getting in trouble during gym class for looking at the flowers in the outfield when he was supposed to be playing baseball. He’s not exactly in my circle—he’s cute enough, but he’s always been so shy. Then recently, he walked in on a Lying Game prank gone out of control. It was Laurel’s stupid snuff film, and Ethan had pulled her off me and then stayed with me while my head cleared.
Now he shifts his weight, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Are you okay? You look . . . well, you look like you’ve had a long night.”
“Oh, yeah . . . I’m okay.” My smile trembles a little and then collapses. “It’s been a really weird night, is all.”
He touches my shoulder, his hand warm through my shirt. “Do you want to talk about it?”
And suddenly, I do. My voice shaking and weak, I tell him everything. About Thayer coming to town, and how we fought, and how someone ran him down. About my dad being my grandfather, and Becky appearing after I’d wondered about my birth mother so long. About how Garrett had been getting out of control, so angry and so hurt he lashed out at everything around him. It all comes flooding out of me. Ethan doesn’t try to interrupt or offer advice. He just nods every now and then, watching me steadily through his long lashes.
“I feel like a different person than when I climbed up here,” I finish. “I know that sounds lame. But so much has happened.”
“It doesn’t sound lame,” he says. “You’ve been through a lot tonight.” His eyes are focused on my face. I’m suddenly aware that I’ve just told him things I’m not even ready to tell my best friends—and I barely know him. The thought makes me a little nervous. But Ethan’s such a good listener, and he never told anyone about the snuff film. I feel implicitly that I can trust him. When he puts his arm around my shoulder, I feel safe for the first time all night.
“Please don’t tell anyone,” I whisper. “I’m not really ready for people to know all this.”
“Of course,” he says. “I’ll keep all your secrets, Sutton.”
My face breaks into a smile. I feel so much lighter after unloading everything that’s happened. Confiding in Ethan feels so natural, so comfortable—I wonder how we’ve been in school together since we were kids and yet barely ever talked. He’s always been so quiet, almost standoffish. Then again, I probably haven’t seemed like the friendliest person to him, either.
The more I think about it, the more I realize that it’s not just school where I’ve seen Ethan. We’ve crossed paths countless times, at the coffee shop, at the movie theater. Sometimes he’s hanging out alone at the park when I go to the tennis courts, sitting on a bench reading a paperback. We’ve orbited each other for years, and we’ve never connected. Not until tonight.
I smile up at him. “I never had a chance to tell you thanks. For, you know, helping me that night. When my friends were pranking me.”
He shrugs. “You guys sure play rough with each other.”
“Yeah.” I give an embarrassed laugh. “That one got really out of control.”
“Friends aren’t supposed to hurt each other that way.” His voice sounds strangely choked. I put my arm around his waist and hug him.
“You’re right,” I say softly. “You should be able to count on your friends.”
The stars are vibrant overhead now. I tilt my head up to look at their bright light. One in particular catches my eye, pure white and so steady it doesn’t flicker like the others do. It’s so beautiful I don’t notice Ethan’s hand on my chin for a moment. Then he’s leaning over me, his lips soft against mine.
A surprised jolt runs through me. Ethan Landry isn’t a boy I’ve ever even imagined kissing. For a moment I’m so stunned I don’t move. Then I put my hands on his chest and push him gently away.
“Oh, Ethan, no. I’m so sorry if I’ve done anything to mislead you, but I just—I like you as a friend.” My voice is as soft as I can make it. “I’m in love with Thayer.”
“Don’t say that, Sutton,” he murmurs. I stare up at him, and his eyes are fi
lled with earnest tenderness. “I’ve been in love with you for years.”
“In love with me?” I can’t help it. I laugh. It sounds shrill and cruel even to me, and I instantly feel bad. “You don’t even know me,” I say, lowering my voice.
“Yes, I do. I know everything about you,” he says. His voice is strangely calm and commanding, as if there’s no room for argument. As if he could convince me to love him by reasoning with me. “I know you’ve been trying to sleep with Garrett Austin all summer. I know you’ve been sneaking around with Thayer Vega. Neither one of them deserves you, but you don’t seem to get that. I know you’re adopted and that you’ve always felt like your family couldn’t possibly love you as much as they love Laurel. I know you’re afraid Nisha’s going to beat you out for the state title this fall, because you’ve barely practiced all summer. I know you need your friends to be afraid of you so they don’t get too close to you—and so you won’t have to feel hurt if they ever abandon you.”
My mouth falls open. Somewhere at the back of my mind, an alarm goes off. This has to be some kind of joke. Some kind of prank. But he’s not done.
“And I know something you don’t know.” A smile sneaks up the corners of his mouth, like he’s been waiting a long time to tell me this. “I know where your twin sister is. Emma. I’ve been watching her for weeks. I found her for you, Sutton.”
For a heartbeat, I feel like I’m paralyzed. Then the anger comes, a quick, savage spike. I didn’t even know about Emma until a few hours ago. How the hell did he?
“Have you been out here spying on me?” My voice rings with a hard edge. I push away from him, taking a step back. “That’s not cool, Ethan.”
A shadow flits across his face. “Aren’t you listening? I found Emma. For you. Do you know how hard that was? I even went to Las Vegas to make sure I had the right girl. It was uncanny—you’re totally identical.”
“That’s not the point!” My muscles tense. Something about this is all wrong. “Ethan, I don’t know how you knew about Emma, but . . .”
“I told you.” His voice is calm but insistent, like he’s reasoning with a child. “I found her for you. Because I love you.”
I feel sicker every time he says it. How long has he been following me? Listening to my conversations? He knows things about me I haven’t even told my best friends. Things I haven’t even told Thayer. And he’s been planning to give me my sister, as a present—like she was some kind of thing. But maybe that’s how he thinks about me, too. As a thing, to be fought over and won.
“Jesus, Ethan.” I shake my head, disgust curling my lip. “I don’t think you know what love is.”
Then I’m turning away from him, determined to start back down the mountain, but his hand darts out to clamp around my wrist. He pulls me back toward him, leaning in to kiss me again. His mouth is almost sickeningly sweet. Panic shoots through me, and before I can think about it, I bite down on his lip—hard. He throws me to the ground, his hand flying to his mouth in pain.
“Are you insane?” I shriek. Then I see his eyes, with their long, dark lashes. Empty and implacable. And I realize: He is.
I scramble away from him, stumbling to my feet just as he lunges, and break into a sprint down the trail, trying to put distance between us. Cacti and brambles claw at my ankles. Behind me, I can sense Ethan more than hear him—his feet make almost no sound on the hard-packed earth, but I can feel him in my wake, his hands just inches from me. I think back to the headlights in the darkness, bearing down on me and Thayer—my car. I’m suddenly certain that it was Ethan behind the wheel.
But I’m faster than he is. I make a mental note to thank Coach Maggie for every sprinting drill she’s ever made me do as I leap lightly over a small boulder. I’m going to get away from him—I’m going to head back to the visitor center, and the instant I have service I’m going to call 911 and have his creeper ass dragged off to jail. I’m going to go home to my family, to Thayer, and I’m going to put this whole god-awful night behind me forever.
My sneaker catches on something and curls under my foot, and my feet dance dangerously under me as I try to keep my balance. To my left the ravine opens hungrily. Before I can move he grabs me around the waist, pulling me off my feet. His breath is hot against my ear. “I don’t understand why you’re fighting this,” he growls, his arms so tight I can’t breathe. “You’re supposed to love me! We’re supposed to be together.”
He spins me around to face him, his teeth bared in frustration. Below us, I can hear the wind howling through the chasm. Pebbles slide away from my feet, sounding like raindrops as they fall. I scream, my voice tearing through the night. A burst of anger shoots through me, burning hotter than my fear. He’s a liar, a manipulator—and he’s been stalking me.
“I’ll never love you,” I hiss, spitting in his face.
He gives a howl of anger, and twists my wrists so hard spasms of pain shoot up my arm. I writhe in his grip, and for a moment we’re motionless, grappling silently for control.
Then my feet are sliding out from under me, my body slipping out of his grasp, and I am falling. The last thing I see is his pale, shocked face, his hand still outstretched toward me. Then the darkness swallows me, and the world is nothing but wind and stone.
I fall. Or rather, I tumble. My body careens off every outcropping of stone and every protruding branch. I flail around, grasping for any kind of handhold. For a minute my fingers close around a clump of exposed roots. Then the roots tear free from the earth, and gravity has me again.
When I land, my lungs claw inside my chest for what seems like ages before I can take a breath. The world is brilliant with agony, shimmering and surreal. When my eyes focus again, I can see a shard of bone protruding from my left leg.
From somewhere nearby I can hear something scrambling around. I try to pull myself up on my elbows, but everything goes white with the effort. Sweat and blood drip down into my face. And he’s here now, standing over me. Ethan.
“Please help me,” I croak. “My leg’s broken. I can’t walk.”
Ethan kneels down next to me. For a minute his face is cloaked in shadows. He fumbles around next to me—I can’t see what he’s doing. Every time I try to move my head the world spins. But then a cool white light illuminates the angles of his face. He’s pulled my iPhone out from my purse—I can make out the polka dots on its Kate Spade cover.
“There’s no service down here,” I say. Pain ripples out from my leg in sickening waves. “Please. You have to walk back to the parking lot and call 911.”
He looks down at me, his face strangely blank in the electronic glow of the phone. It’s almost like he doesn’t recognize me. For some reason this scares me more than anything that happened at the top of the cliff. I start to cry, my body heaving in choked, painful sobs.
“I can’t believe you made me do this,” he says, his voice hollow with disappointment. “After everything I did for you. I didn’t want this. I thought you were different, Sutton.”
Then he’s kneeling down over me, fumbling at my shirt collar. His fingers close around the locket at my throat, and he pulls so sharply the chain breaks.
“Give it back!” I scream, my breath ragged. “Give it back, you asshole!” But he’s already moved away from me, into the shadows. The gentle twinkle of the stars has become pulsing and rhythmic. They throb in time with my heartbeat, flaring and then fading, flaring and fading.
Then he’s back, looming over me. He’s nothing but a dark shape blocking out the stars behind him. There’s a jagged, pointed rock in his hands. He holds it high overhead.
“If I can’t have you, no one can,” he says.
I close my eyes, but I can still hear it whistling through the air as he brings it down over my head.
Before I can even scream out, the world explodes in light—the grand finale of a summer fireworks display—and then, just as quickly, my world goes suddenly, finally dark.
30
THE ENVELOPE, PLEASE
> Emma stared down at the records in her hand. Written in black ink across the top form was the patient’s name.
Ethan Landry.
For a moment she thought about stuffing the paperwork back in the envelope, back into the Tampax box under the sink. She’d had the chance to look at this once before, when she’d broken into the hospital about a month earlier. But she had chosen not to invade Ethan’s privacy—and she still didn’t want to.
Ethan had been honest with her about the whole thing. When she’d asked him about the files, he told her the story: how his dad had been beating his mom, and Ethan had intervened, hitting his father over the head with a beer bottle—only to have his mother call the police on him. She’d reported him as “violent” and had him admitted to the psychiatric ward. Emma’s heart ached when she thought about it. In a way, Ethan had been abandoned by his family, just like she had.
But her eyes moved across Nisha’s note again. Sutton, I’m so sorry. She’d been so certain that the evidence Nisha found was some kind of proof that Garrett killed Sutton. But it seemed obvious from her note that Nisha had no idea Sutton had died. What had she called and texted so frantically about, then? Why had Garrett come to kill her if she didn’t have evidence against him? Emma’s fingers clutched the folder sharply. She didn’t understand any of this.
But I did.
“Get out of there!” I screamed, terror churning inside me. The whole world was upside down. My sister was alone in a house with my murderer—and she trusted him. She loved him. She didn’t suspect a thing.
Emma bit her lip. Whatever Nisha had seen in Ethan’s file had clearly freaked her out, even if it had nothing to do with Sutton’s murder. She glanced back into the bedroom. On the other end of the house she could hear movement, drawers opening and closing as Ethan searched Dr. Banerjee’s study. As quietly as she could, she shut and locked the bathroom door, and started to read.
REASON FOR TREATMENT: Patient was referred to our facility for court-ordered psychiatric services upon his family’s relocation to Tucson. This was a condition of Ethan’s acquittal in the San Diego Family Court System.
