by Danah Logan
Rhys looks at me with a sad expression. "Do you want me to keep going?"
I wring my hands together. Do I? "Yes."
"Grandma Ruth flew in and stayed with me. Mom and Dad left as soon as you were found. I never figured out what happened while they were gone, but a few weeks later, you became my sister, and I was to never tell you the truth."
Rhys’s entire body is tense when he finishes. He’s waiting for my reaction to the bomb he just dropped on me.
"Who am I?"
He seems to have expected a different question, but simply states, "You’re Lilly. That has never changed."
Okay, so at least I know my name.
"Who are my parents?"
He hesitates a second. "Your biological parents’ names are Emily and Henry Sumner. You were born as Lilly Sumner. Emily and Mom had been best friends forever. I knew you from the day you were born. We were always together."
I guess that explains all the childhood pictures of us.
"Where are my parents?"
Rhys hangs his head. "I don’t know; I’m sorry. I’ve searched for them online a few times over the years, but nothing recent ever came back."
We’re both quiet. I’m trying to process what I just heard. I was kidnapped. My parents are not my parents. I’m not related to any of the people I live with. Oh. My. God. I was kidnapped. And why don’t I remember any of this? My heart is about to explode out of my chest.
I lean forward, rest my head on my knees, and wrap my arms around my thighs. I mumble, "Why don’t I remember any of this?"
"I have no fucking clue. They never told me shit." His voice is hard. "I was seven, and my best friend needed me. For the first few years, I didn’t question Mom and Dad. I was happy you were back with me. I had missed you after the move. When I was old enough to ask questions, they simply said to me that they couldn’t tell me."
I let this sink in more. Rhys has frustration and disappointment written all over his face. He thinks he’s let me down. I was kidnapped, and I don’t remember anything.
Then, another thought hits me. "Is this why you stopped talking to me?"
His eyes fling up to me, and he rakes his hands through his hair—something he does when he is nervous or stressed.
"No! Shit no." He pauses and fully turns to me. "When we moved back to Westbridge, uh...Wes was all over you. He would always hang around, and"—Rhys takes a deep breath—"I got jealous. Fuck, I sound like such an idiot." He laughs at himself. "Dad saw it and made it clear that I couldn’t have these types of feelings for my sister. You met Denielle and started spending most of your time with her, which helped, but it got harder and harder to play along. When I started high school, it was my chance to start over—to move on from you." Rhys averts his eyes. "Our schedules were different for the first year, which made it easier, but then you started WH. Dad caught me looking at you all the time, and I knew I had to make drastic changes to maintain my façade. One evening, he came to my room and told me I had to get a grip, or he and Mom would need to figure something else out. He never said what they would do, but he basically insinuated sending one of us away. Which wasn’t a fucking option for me."
My blood pressure is through the roof. I don’t know which revelation has shocked me more. I guess you’d assume the fact that I was kidnapped and don’t remember a thing, but I thought I knew my brother. No, he isn’t my brother. But we were so close.
"Well, you seem to have successfully moved on." My voice sounds dry and sarcastic. The feeling of utter betrayal starts spreading through every cell of my body.
Rhys snorts. "I guess I’m a better actor than I thought."
"Katherine?"
Now, his voice sounds hesitant. "Kat and I are..." I can see him trying to find the right words. "An arrangement. We give each other what the other needs: an image. I’ve still been watching over you, even though you haven’t noticed. I try to stay far enough away so no one will notice, but I’ve been there."
Awesome, so he abandoned and stalked me.
We sit there in silence. I see Rhys glancing over at me every so often, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s waiting for me to make the next move.
I feel like I’ve been put through an emotional wringer. I’m not crazy. Relief. I was kidnapped. Terror. I don’t have any memory of it. Anxiety. Rhys doesn’t hate me after all. Relief again, maybe even happiness. I’ve been lied to—by everyone. Betrayal.
I need to sort through all of this in my head. Alone. Standing up, I blurt out, "I need to be alone right now."
I’m racing out of the room to grab my keys and purse before Rhys can say much. All I hear is, "Okay."
Chapter Seven
I leave the house and drive around for a while. It’s already getting dark, and the streets are empty. Today is one of the coldest days of this winter, which seems fitting for how I feel: cold and alone. They’ve kept me in the dark for ten years.
I don’t want to run into any of my friends. Not knowing where else to go, I end up in the school parking lot.
I park at the end of the lot closest to the football field and turn the lights off. Back here, I’m invisible from the street. I scroll through my playlists and play one random song after another. I try to find something that fits my mood, but thanks to the tornado that just wrecked through what I thought was my life, nothing seems right. I just keep flipping through playlists, then albums, then artists. Eventually, I settle on "A Perfect Day" by Freedom Call, and gut-wrenching sobs instantly start wracking through my body. I cry for everything I just lost—including the knowledge of who I am.
I think about the couple from my migraines. My parents. Shit, what kind of people deposit their daughter with friends after she was kidnapped? My throat constricts. How could my parents keep this from me for ten freaking years. No, I remind myself, they are not my parents. Heather and Tristen? Natty and Rhys’s parents? What the hell do I call them now? I slam my palms against the steering wheel. The tears have dried up, but now I have the urge to scream.
Why did the kidnapper pick me? What makes me so special? Based on my research, that means I’m victim number one. The one all the others are placeholders for. Oh God, I was kidnapped. I’m the reason these poor girls were taken.
My breathing becomes erratic. The car is all of a sudden way too small—I have to get out. I didn’t bring a jacket during my escape, and the temperature has dropped below freezing, but I don’t care. Crouching next to my car, I gulp in the freezing air and wait for the panic to subside.
When my entire body begins to shake from the cold, I get back in the car and crank up the heat. I lean my head against the headrest. What am I going to do? I can’t just move on like nothing ever happened. I’m not losing my mind, but I don’t belong in this family. I have no idea who I am anymore. And if it’s true what the news says, the kidnapper will keep going until he’s caught, or he gets what he wants—me. My heart rate accelerates again.
Breathe.
I sit in the parking lot for another hour until I force myself to drive back home. The house is mostly dark except for the track lighting in the kitchen, which shines into the hallway. I make my way up the stairs without turning on any of the other lights. Reaching my room, I notice a gleam under Rhys’s door. Huh? I don’t remember the last time he was home on a Saturday night. I know for a fact there is a party tonight; the whole school has been buzzing about it all week.
I decided in the car that I want to talk to Rhys more, but I’m not ready. I’m freezing despite having the heater blasting hot air at me ever since I got back into the Jeep. The bone-chilling cold inside of me is not from the outside temperatures anymore, but it also won’t go away. I’ve heard that shock could do that to a person. It’s probably fair to say that I’m in some state of shock after tonight’s revelations.
I opt for a hot shower before facing the boy I believed to be my brother and best friend for years.
Procrastinating, I slowly dress in my PJs—gray sweats and a white, long-sleeve He
nley. I stare at the chaos on my bed. Everything is where I left it, but the pile of notes and printouts is no longer a big question mark to me. It’s part of who I am. It’s all connected to me.
With one last breath, I walk across the hall to Rhys’s door and knock softly.
"Come in."
It takes every ounce of strength not to follow Lilly. The urge to make sure she is safe is driving me fucking crazy, but I know that with one wrong move I’m going to lose her forever.
If I haven’t already.
I stay in the family room, channel surfing for a while, but nothing holds my interest. Back in my room, I see that I have three missed calls from Kat and several texts from her, Wes, and other guys from the team.
Kat: Sweetie, I’m here. Where are you?
Kev, from the football team: Dude, this party is lit. Just saw Nora topless in the hot tub.
Kat: Where are you?
Jager: We have 4 kegs. U on ur way?
Wes: Dude, where r you? Your gf is LIVID.
Kat: WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?
That fucking party. I glance at the timestamps. Did they start at what? Three in the afternoon? They’re going to be plastered by eight. Idiots. I don’t respond and put my phone back down. I’ll deal with that tomorrow.
Grabbing the laptop from my desk, I sit down against the headboard. My bed is positioned opposite the door, and my gaze sweeps over the room. It’s similar in size to Lilly’s, but mine faces the front of the house—not that it matters since we live on a quiet street that ends in a cul-de-sac. The size is where the similarities to Lilly’s room end, though. Where hers is neatly put together with its lavender paint and matching décor, my room still has the white walls from the day we moved in. My furniture is mismatched victims of Mom’s remodeling projects. The most modern items are my media setup and mattress, both of which I have barely used in the last few years due to my constant absence.
I haven’t looked into Lilly’s case in a while, and had no idea another girl had gone missing. When it comes to watching the news, Lilly and I have always been on the same page. Sitting through endless debates between Mom and Dad during mealtimes has conditioned us for the future. Unless it’s sports related, I stay clear of any type of news show.
I pull up the most recent article my search engine returns to me and work my way back to when the girl was first reported missing. After I finish reading a few of the articles, I lean my head back and stare at the wall above my flat screen. I’ve felt lost for so long. Playing my part, I’d watched Lilly get hurt from my actions over and over, but nothing compared to the shock and betrayal that played across her face when I came clean today.
It’ll be a miracle if she talks to me at all.
I’m so deep in thought that the knock on my door startles me. There is only one other person in the house this weekend, and my stomach is immediately in knots.
Sitting up straight, I call out, "Come in."
Lilly peeks into my room, and her eyes zero in on me. She seems reluctant to come in, and I can’t read her at all. Her face is completely blank. I’ve always prided myself on being able to read her, no matter what. This is not good.
She hesitantly smiles, and some of the knots in my stomach loosen.
"Hi."
Try to look casual and not like the guy who basically just took her life and threw everything she knew out the window. "Hey."
Seeing her in her PJs, my mind instantly wanders. Even in sweats, she looks breathtaking. I’ve missed her so much. Out of self-preservation, I didn’t allow myself to linger in the same room with her—unless necessary. I didn’t trust myself to keep up my charade. This was also the reason she and everyone else started to think I disliked her—hated her. And I never corrected them. I always made sure to be cool and curt, although I wanted the exact opposite. And because of all that, Mom and Dad let me do whatever I wanted. I’ve had the ultimate freedom since I was sixteen. Only so the fucking secret could be maintained. Mom has never been happy with my constant absence, but she accepts it. She knows I’m hurting just as much—if not more.
I mentally shake my head; this is not the time to focus on that. My feelings are not important; I’ll deal with that another day. Lilly is here, and she needs a friend more than anything else.
When she still doesn’t come in, I attempt to make her more at ease. "How are you?"
"Um, not sure." She thinks before continuing. "Relieved, betrayed, angry, scared, happy?"
The last one is more of a question.
"Happy?"
"For not being crazy," she clarifies quickly.
"I guess that’s a valid feeling." I try to sound reassuring. What other reason would she have to be happy? Not because her best friend who dumped her and treated her like shit has finally come clean so his own conscious is lighter.
Selfish prick.
Finally, Lilly steps into my room and sits down in the armchair, tugging her legs underneath. Facing me, she says, "Before getting to the reason I came, I want to ask you something."
Her tone worries me. She sounds like a recording, lacking emotion. "Uh, okay."
She takes a deep breath and levels me with a serious expression. "Are you going back to ignoring me tomorrow? Or Monday? Or—"
I fully straighten from the bed and interrupt her before she can even finish. "No! I’m done with the secrets." I put all the conviction I have behind my words. Unless she asks me to, I don’t give a flying fuck anymore. This secret has been suffocating me for too long. I’m done.
She gives a brief nod and expels a sigh. Her simple reaction to my reassurance releases the remaining tension in my core. She doesn’t hate me—or at least she’s still talking to me. I think?
When did I become such a fucking pussy?
"So, um...I would like your help in finding out what happened to me."
I can’t stop the grin that automatically spreads across my face. I turn my laptop for her to see the different case articles displayed on my screen.
Since everything is already spread out in Lilly’s room, we go there, and she shows me her notes and research.
Holy crap, how much time has she put into this?
Something is off about her, though. She talks like herself, but not. I can’t put my finger on it. She is different. But who wouldn’t be in her situation, right?
We go over her migraines more, and I’ve just started reading her notes when her stomach informs us it is way past dinner time.
We both turn toward the alarm clock on her nightstand. With raised eyebrows, she states, "Well, that would explain why I am starving." It’s past nine, and neither of us has eaten since before noon.
"I’ll order pizza," I say as I get up to get my phone.
I walk into my room and find my phone already lit and buzzing with an incoming call—Kat. Great. I stare at it, waiting. When it finally stops ringing, I see I have eight missed calls from her. Eight? (Not counting the ones I ignored earlier.) Fuck. Me. I’m in deep shit.
I contemplate for a second and hit the callback option. Let’s get this over with.
I’m greeted with, "Where the fuck are you?"
Yup, she’s pissed.
"I’m not coming."
"You better be joking! Everyone is here. Do you have any idea how that makes me look? Get your ass in your car and—"
"No!" She needs a serious attitude adjustment, and it’s my own fault for staying with her for so long.
"Excuse me?" I can hear the disbelief in her voice. I don’t think I’ve ever told her no.
"You heard me. NO! I’m busy." I hang up.
When I turn, Lilly stands in the doorway. "You need to go?"
But instead of her being angry, or disappointed, or even relieved, there is nothing. It’s like a switch was flipped; she went from being my Lilly to someone I don’t even recognize. A cold shiver runs down my spine.
"Nope, all good," I say with false cheer. I know she heard the exchange. "Ordering pizza now."
"You can go."
This time I can hear a hint of panic in her voice.
"Calla, I am exactly where I want to be. I’m not going anywhere. You still eat pepperoni and sausage?"
She nods, and I grin brightly. "Cool. Let me make the call, and I’ll be right back."
The pizza arrives forty-five minutes later, and we’re sitting on the floor in her room, eating, when she peers at me through her lashes. "What were my parents like?"
I finish chewing to buy myself time.
"Emily was a writer. I don’t remember for what, though. We could probably find that out. Mom knew her since kindergarten, I think. I’m not sure where she met Henry. I think they were married for a few years before you were born—or at least together for a few years. He was an architect—traveled a lot." Those are all facts, not really what she asked for, so I add, "They were nice. I liked them. Henry was awesome. He always played with us when he was around, instead of hanging out with the other adults."
I purposefully don’t call Emily and Henry her mom and dad. In my mind, my parents are her parents. They have raised her for most of her life and made sure she was safe as well as loved. To me, that’s what constitutes them as Lilly’s parents, not the blood relation.
Lilly squeezes her lips together for a moment, contemplating something. "What was I like?"
I smirk, remembering. "You were…you—always on the go; still are. You were sweet and funny. We lived close by, so there were a lot of barbecues and shit. You were somewhat of a tomboy. When you were five, you beat me up with a stick."
She looks up with a shocked expression. "Nuh-uh!"
I burst out laughing at her face. "We were playing pirates in the yard, and you refused to be the damsel in distress. You took my sword"—I make air quotes around the word sword—"and started hitting me with it, yelling I can be the girl."
Lilly barks out a laugh, and it feels so good to hear that sound coming from her. It’s the first genuine expression she’s shown all evening. Then, all the color drains from her face. "Why don’t I remember that?"
