by Sara Shepard
I thought about the shapeless form behind the wheel of my car, bearing down on Thayer. I heard the sound of bone cracking once again.
“So you ran him over?” Emma whispered.
Ethan’s eyes flashed. “I wish I’d killed him. I’ve always hated that guy. I hated him when Sutton liked him, and I hated him when you did. He didn’t deserve to be in her life. I had to show her that.”
Tears ran down Emma’s face, leaving hot salty trails on her skin. “So you and me—it was always about Sutton. It’s just because I look like her.”
“Emma, no!” he breathed, his eyes suddenly soft. “You have to believe me.” He seemed lost for words for a moment, his shoulders knotted in agitation. Then he took a deep breath. The pressure of his hand on her shoulder disappeared. Slowly he helped her sit up, crouching by her side, but the knife still gleamed dangerously in his hand.
Emma’s eyes darted frantically around. The light filtered down through the trees, making filigree patterns over the clearing. Beyond the brush the lights of the city glittered. A boulder jutted into the middle of the trail, and beyond it the path looked steeper than ever. There was no escape. Her only hope was to keep him talking.
A jolt of recognition ran through me. I knew that boulder. This was where Garrett and I had argued. The clearing showed signs of recent disturbance—the cops who had canvassed the area for clues to my death had left footprints and broken branches in their wake—but there was no sign that anyone was nearby at this hour. A few more yards up the path, the tree line broke to reveal the ravine, opening up beyond.
Ethan took her hand in his free one, a shattered look on his face. “I never meant to fall in love with you,” he whispered. “I didn’t know there was someone out there who could make me feel this way.”
He looked so earnest, so hurt, that despite everything, a reluctant pang shot through her heart. Part of her wanted so badly to believe him—wanted to forget everything she’d just learned and go back to ignorantly, stupidly loving Ethan. If there was a way to undo what she’d learned, Emma might have done it. Because she had loved him, more than she’d ever loved anyone. And that was the most painful part.
But then she thought of everything he had done to her over the past three months. The light crashing next to her, the threatening notes, the locket tight around her neck as he strangled her. He’d made sure she felt scared and alone, that she had no one to turn to except him. He’d forced her to stay quiet, to lose her own identity, and to alienate the only family she had in this world. That wasn’t what you did to someone you loved.
She looked down at his hand in hers, her skin crawling with aversion. But she didn’t dare pull away. A vague glimmer of hope sparked at the back of her mind. Maybe if she seemed understanding—even loving—then he wouldn’t kill her. At least not yet.
“So, all those pictures of me we found in the storage unit—you took those?” she asked.
He nodded. “At first I was trying to find your mom. I knew Sutton was adopted. I still remember when she had to read her family tree report in ninth grade, how upset she got.” His gaze went distant again as he stared off into his memories. “She was so beautiful that day—she was one of those girls who looked even prettier when she cried.”
Emma suppressed a shudder. “So you started looking for her birth mom.”
“Yeah. I started investigating the Mercers and almost right away realized Becky must have been their daughter. I hacked the hospital records—and that was when I realized there were two of you.”
“Hospital records are really hard to get,” Emma said. She tried to sound impressed, maybe even a little admiring, but inside was nothing but cold, metallic terror.
He warmed to her tone easily, though—as if he fed on her approval. His eyes brightened as he spoke.
“It was pretty easy from there. I found all your information online. I made a few trips to Vegas to check you out, make sure I had the right girl. I even rode the roller coaster one day. I walked right up to you and bought a ticket.”
Emma stared at him, trying to conjure up an image of him at her kiosk. It seemed impossible that she wouldn’t have noticed him—for months now she’d been staring at him every day, preoccupied by how cute he was, obsessed with the curve of his lips, the curls in his hair. But then, all that time, she hadn’t seen him for what he really was—a murderer.
“As soon as I realized how crazy Becky was, I knew she wasn’t going to be the romantic present I’d hoped her to be.” He chuckled, then glanced at her and sobered. “But you? You were perfect. I couldn’t wait to tell Sutton all about you. You were the proof of how much I loved her—more than Thayer or Garrett or anyone else. None of them could give her a sister.” He sighed. “She would’ve been so excited to know I could lead her to you, if she’d just listened to me. But things didn’t go right, and I had to use you a different way.”
Emma swallowed. “What about those e-mails on Travis’s phone?”
He gave a crooked grin, unable to hide his satisfaction. “Fake. I had that file doctored up for weeks and was just waiting for a chance to use it. I did send him the link, but I didn’t have to promise him anything. Guys like that are so predictable. I knew he’d show it to you.”
She nodded. A heavy feeling of resignation settled on her—one by one, all the pieces of the puzzle were coming together with implacable finality. Even as her heart thrashed in her chest like a frightened bird, a sickly, dull weight pressed down on her. Ethan had thought of everything. All along, he’d had the reins. “And you knew about the video because you’d walked in on the prank happening. You knew it had to be on Laurel’s computer, and you hacked it. Just like you hacked Charlotte’s alarm codes to break in and give me back the locket.” She licked her dry lips. Her hand felt like wood in his, but she squeezed it softly, her eyes still on the knife shining in the moon. “That’s pretty brilliant, Ethan.”
She knew right away she’d said the right thing. He blinked in surprise, a flush of pleasure tinting his cheeks, and she remembered what the psychiatrist had written, about how Ethan couldn’t keep from bragging about his crimes. “And what about Nisha?”
Again his expression fluttered, like he was fighting some feeling that lingered at the back of his mind. “I didn’t have a choice. I knew she’d found those records. After you told me you’d seen them in the hospital, I had a feeling she’d go looking for them. That Monday she was acting weird when she got in from her volunteer shift—usually she at least said hi when she saw me out on the porch, but this time she wouldn’t even look at me. Just scurried into the house with her manila folder clutched in her hands. I called the hospital to ask if they could fax my records to a new shrink, and they told me then the records had gone missing.” He shrugged sadly. “She was going to ruin everything. So I spiked her water bottle with my mom’s Valium. Then it was just a matter of giving her a little push.”
A little push. I shuddered, imagining Nisha rolling slowly into the pool. Imagined her lungs filling with water. Imagined her opening her eyes and staring through the rippling blue at the figure standing overhead, watching her die.
“You two were going to ruin everything,” he said. His eyes narrowed, and he stared at Emma like she’d just said something wrong. She flinched at the sudden mood swing. “I had everything taken care of, but you had to keep digging.” He raised the knife high overhead, his teeth bared like a lion’s. Emma cringed, waiting to feel the blade on her flesh. But instead he drove it into the ground, giving a frustrated grunt. “You had nothing when you came here. I saw what was in your bag. One stuffed animal and some threadbare clothes? Oh, and the journal. Page after page after page of how sad you were, how much you wanted a family, how poor Emma Paxton was so alone. How you wanted a boyfriend.” Emma stared at him. Her heart shriveled in her chest, as if some disease were ravaging it to ash. Ethan’s eyes blazed. “I gave you everything you ever wanted. You should be thanking me!”
Emma kept her face very carefully still, holding
back the tears and the pain that threatened to burst through at any moment. “You can’t kill me,” she whispered. “If you do they’ll know I didn’t kill Sutton. They’ll figure it out, and they’ll come find you. You need me. I’m your cover.”
He shook his head. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to kill you. I never wanted to kill you. I just wanted to take care of you, Emma, and now you’re going to make me hurt you. Just like she did.” His fingers slid out of hers, tightening instead around her wrist. “It’ll be a really sad story. They’ll all think you committed suicide out of remorse for what you did to Sutton.”
A chill shot through her, and she shook her head furiously. “No, Ethan. It doesn’t have to be like this.” She looked deeply into his eyes, sickened by what she was saying, hoping he’d buy it. “You’re right. I should be grateful to you. I am grateful to you. It’s all just been confusing. But I don’t care what you’ve done. I want to be with you.”
His jaw went slack, all the fury rushing out of him at once. An uncertain frown creased his brow. But she could see that he was listening.
“It’s too late, Emma.” Her wrist ached dully in his grip, but she didn’t break his gaze. “Now that you know, it’s too late.”
“Why?” Emma said softly. “If you really love me as me, not as Sutton, then nothing else matters. We can run away together. Somewhere no one knows us. We can go anywhere.” She twisted her hand in his grip so she could stroke his fingers lightly.
She could see in his face, in the way he leaned just a little bit closer, that he wanted to believe her. But doubt clouded his features. It almost broke her heart, how hopeful he looked, how badly he wanted what she proposed.
Almost.
“You’d do that?” he asked. He let go of the hilt of the knife, bringing his free hand up to hold her face. His hand was cool and dry, but the touch of it made her skin crawl. Somehow she managed to smile and nod.
“Ethan, I love you. I’d go anywhere with you.”
He let go of her wrist then, pulling her into his arms. She rested her head against him, just the way she’d done dozens of times before—right into the crook between his neck and shoulder, in the place that felt like it’d been made for her. She choked back a sob. She had loved Ethan, so very much.
Then she brought her elbow into his ribs with every ounce of strength she had.
His arms flew to his side, a grunt of pain escaping his lungs. She grabbed for the knife as she scrambled away, but her fingers closed on air. No time. Her only chance was to put distance between them. Her fingers clawed at the dirt, her feet sliding across the trail, desperate for purchase. His hand closed on her ankle, and he snarled in fury. She kicked out as hard as she could, but his grip was too strong. Then she opened her mouth and let out a guttural, blood-curdling scream.
I screamed with her, wishing the whole city could hear my cries. I had already died at Ethan’s hands, and now the same thing was going to happen to my twin while I watched, helpless.
Ethan clapped his hand over Emma’s mouth, his pupils wide and dark. “I thought you were different,” he hissed. “But you’re just like your sister. Another lying bitch.”
Emma bit down on his hand, hard. The metallic taste of blood flooded her mouth. Ethan swore and pulled his hand away, and she screamed again.
“You’re a monster!” she shrieked, her voice ricocheting off the canyon walls. “You think I’d go anywhere with you after what you did to Sutton?”
He gave a wordless roar, his muscles tightening as he shoved her hard to the ground. This time he pulled a bandana out of his pocket, wadding it up and shoving it so far in her mouth she gagged. And then the knife was suddenly at her throat.
Emma stared up at him, tears coursing down her cheeks as he opened a thin, shallow cut on her neck. A white-hot fury coursed through me at the sight, so pure and strong I felt like I could rip straight through the veil between life and death.
And then, somehow, I was Emma. Or I was a part of her—not possessing her, exactly, but somehow joining my soul to hers for a moment, lending her the strength of my anger. With a sudden motion, her right leg broke free from below his, and we brought her knee to his groin with all of our combined might.
He groaned, his grip on her wrists slackening for just as long as it took her to roll out from under him. Then she was on her feet. She gasped for breath, and for one split second she thought she saw something impossible.
Her sister—shimmering and translucent in the moonlight—was next to her, standing fiercely over Ethan with her fists balled up. And then, just as quickly, she was gone.
Ethan was already on his feet again. His face was twisted beyond all recognition, a mask of hatred so utterly different from the boy she’d fallen in love with. She staggered away from him, pivoting on her heel to run—but lost her balance and sprawled forward.
Ethan towered over her, the knife in his hand. A single drop of her own blood clung to the blade. “You Mercer girls are all the same,” he said and lunged toward her, the knife flashing before him.
For a split second, time froze. Emma saw her own reflection, pale and frozen, in the blade.
But then a low snarl sounded from somewhere behind Ethan, and suddenly he was flying headfirst into the dirt. Thayer fell on top of him, clinching his arms behind his back.
From far below, the sound of sirens echoed up through the mountain pass. Thayer twisted Ethan’s wrist until the knife fell out and clattered into the dust. Ethan struggled, spitting blood and dirt out of his mouth.
Laurel stepped out from behind them, her arms crossed over her chest. “You’re right. We Mercer girls are all alike,” she said, her voice cold. “We’re bitches you don’t want to mess with.”
32
BACK IN THE STATION
“Please, tell me again what happened after you hung up with Miss Paxton.” Detective Quinlan handed Laurel, Emma, and Thayer each a cup of hot chocolate, his eyes bright over the deep lines of exhaustion carved underneath. It was after midnight, but the arresting officer had called Quinlan at home. He’d arrived at the station still buttoning his shirt, his hair disheveled but his expression alert and edgy.
“I called Thayer,” Laurel said. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold. She darted a furtive glance at Emma, then turned back to Quinlan. “He picked me up, and we went to Dr. Banerjee’s house, though I didn’t see Ethan’s car anywhere. We looked in all the windows and couldn’t see anyone inside.”
The three of them were sitting on a vinyl couch in a room that was clearly meant for children. Cartoon tigers and monkeys grinned from the jungle-themed wallpaper. A dairy crate of broken toys sat on the floor next to a rug decorated with a hopscotch pattern. Emma stared blankly at a wooden labyrinth game atop of a stack of Highlights magazines. Her eyes traced the lines of the puzzle, her thoughts as lost and wandering as if she were in a real maze.
So far, Quinlan had let Laurel and Thayer do most of the talking, and she was grateful. She tried to take a sip of the hot chocolate, but her hand was shaking, so she carefully set it down. Her body ached to the bone. Images shot randomly through her mind, unbidden and startling. The glint of the knife in Ethan’s hand. Sutton’s decomposed body, her empty eye sockets staring out at the sky. Ethan’s face leaning toward her for a kiss, his eyes heavy-lidded. Ethan’s fingers laced through her own. She shuddered at each one. Everything she’d known, everything she’d believed had been a lie—and now there was nothing left for her to hold on to.
“How did you know they’d gone to the canyon?” Quinlan asked, rubbing the stubble on his jaw.
Laurel stared down into her hot chocolate. “It was a hunch. We thought he might take her back to the same place he’d killed Sutton. We knew we were right when we saw his car near the entrance. So we called the cops and followed them.”
Quinlan’s mustache twitched. “After the 911 operator told you not to give chase.”
“We weren’t just going to sit there and do nothing,” Thayer broke in angrily.
“We didn’t know how long it would take the cops to get there.”
“And it’s a good thing we did follow,” Laurel added sharply. “He was about to kill her.”
Emma looked up at the detective then. His normally hard gray eyes had softened, and they came to rest on her. She swallowed. “They’re right. Ethan would have killed me if they weren’t there to stop him.” The EMTs had bandaged the cut he’d made at her throat—it had scarcely scratched the surface, but now it seemed to throb with her heartbeat.
She reached for her cup again and took another sip of the hot chocolate. It was the cheap, just-add-water kind, but it was soothing and sweet. The knots in her stomach loosened a little from its warmth. Thayer and Laurel sat protectively on either side of her. Laurel’s leg was touching Emma’s, and Thayer’s hand rested between her shoulders, warm and gentle. She didn’t feel safe, exactly—she wasn’t sure she’d ever feel safe again. But they had rescued her and hadn’t left her side since. Through the swirling, heartbreaking confusion of shock and grief, a sense of gratitude filled her. She’d lost so much. But she hadn’t lost them.
I focused on Thayer. He was pale and tired, the vulnerable expression in his eyes contrasting with the fierce set of his jaw. That was what I had always loved about him—how strong he was, and how deeply he felt.
Quinlan clasped his hands around one knee, jogging his loafer up and down. “I owe you an apology, Miss Paxton. You and Sutton both.” He sighed, opening a bristling file folder. “We’ve actually been interested in Ethan for a little while now. I’ve been going over the parking-lot surveillance photos from the last few months, and he shows up in dozens of them. He’s out there all the time. It seemed like . . .”
