by CJ Lyons
I can’t help it. I lean forward, entranced by his story despite the fact that I already know its ugly ending. “Darrin planned this way back in college?”
Joe nods. A hint of a proud smile plays across his face, though it’s quickly chased away by fear. He glances at the door, but the only sound outside is the wind. “Darrin thinks big, I’ll give him that. Once he got himself exactly where he wanted, only thing he had to do was bide his time, wait for the old man to die and then take care of your dad. But he got greedy. And the whole thing blew up in his face.”
“My mother. She found out what he was doing.”
“Almost ruined everything. Kept finding inconsistencies in the books—that’s why he moved her to work fraud, let her ferret out the clients who were trying to screw the company instead of stumbling over Darrin’s thefts. But then she met your dad, and it was love like in the movies. Suddenly they were married and she was pregnant, and now he had an heir to Cleary and Sons to deal with instead of an old man and a clueless son.”
Joe runs a hand through his hair. “Darrin did get one lucky break when your grandpa died. But by that time, your dad had already redone his will and the family trust. It didn’t leave Darrin with many options, not if he wanted full control of the company and the money.”
My mouth goes dry. I have to struggle to get my next question out. “He killed my parents?”
He glances down at the fire. “No. He really was in London. I know because we had to scramble to set it all up once we realized what your mom had done. She’d been gathering evidence, finally convinced your dad she wasn’t paranoid, that he had been betrayed by his oldest, closest friend. She’d arranged to take the evidence to someone in the FBI as soon as they got you to safety. Of course, she had no idea Darrin had her house and car bugged, was two steps ahead of her.”
He makes a sad sighing sound, the fire blazing behind him. “Darrin. Always thinks of everything. He’s the clever one. They only brought me on board because of my hair—red like your ma’s. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Family calls, you answer. Period.”
His aura is the same orange as the tips of the flames and flickers, as if he’s actually burning. I push back in the chair, his new voice suddenly all too familiar: the fire demon who’s haunted my dreams.
Fear paralyzes me. Despite the fire, my face goes numb.
Because if Darrin didn’t do it . . . “You followed them to South Carolina? You killed my parents?”
My grip on the poker tightens. Then I’m standing over him, surging across the space between us so fast I nearly don’t stop. “I saw you. Out on the dunes. Looking for me.”
His expression morphs into sorrow. “Worst night of my life. I had no idea what I was getting into. No idea what she was going to do—”
“She?” Who? My mother? Then it hits me. Helen. “Helen killed my parents?”
“Only way to protect her family—her son.” Darrin. He’s talking about Darrin as if a lying, cheating thief’s life is worth more than my parents’. “You gotta understand, I thought it would end after that. Figured we’d take off with what Darrin already skimmed, forget the rest. But then the cops called Darrin, asking about who your guardian was, if there was any next of kin, and next thing I know, we’re back on. He couldn’t have planned it more perfectly if he tried, especially with him being out of the country.”
Joe glances up at me, regret plain on his face. The only time I see fear in his aura is when he glances toward the door or the clock. “We’re running out of time. We should get going.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Contempt colors my voice, but it’s an act. Inwardly, I’m a quavering mess, trying to sort through the ramifications of everything he’s told me. All my life I’ve been driven by the guilt of running from my parents when they needed me most. The certain dread that if I ever abandoned Helen and Joe, something just as bad would happen to them. Like everything was my fault.
I guess it was. By merely being born, I’d sealed my parents’ fates.
Joe’s voice cuts through my confusion and despair. “Don’t you see, Ella? I’ve been trying to save your life.”
“By butchering my parents and pretending to be my family and stealing my money and . . .” My voice rises with every syllable. Then it drops to a whisper. “Did you start the fire last night?”
He shakes his head, no, no, no. “I was out there trying to get you to leave, before Darrin and Helen got back, remember? And then I was trying to get in, to save you.” Despite his words, guilt colors his voice.
“Don’t lie to me. You know you can’t lie to me.” There’s menace in my voice, and I hold the fire poker higher. I don’t even recognize myself.
“I’m not lying. Not really. See, that trip to Paris in the summer—that’s when you were meant to die. Some kind of accident far away—I never wanted to know the details. Darrin was going to take care of it. Then we’d divvy up your inheritance and life insurance and what’s left of the company and be on our merry way. At least that was the plan.”
My stomach clenches. “Then why did someone try to kill me in the studio?”
The bilious green of his guilt deepens; not even the flames behind him break through. “I didn’t start it—” he finally says, and I know the other half of his sentence before he says the words.
“Darrin did,” I finish, still not quite believing that we’re having this conversation. It feels like something out of a nightmare.
“He found out that kid, Alec, his dad is a cop down in South Carolina. Same place where the murders took place. When you wouldn’t run away with me and that kid came back and both of you seemed so upset—I called Darrin, told him. He said he’d take care of everything.” He shrugs as if we’re not talking about my life and death. “He left Helen to cover for him at the restaurant, snuck back to the house, and started the fire. You die, the kid makes for an easy patsy. If you live, we blame it on you, lock you away, have you declared incompetent, get control of the money. Told you. Darrin’s a freakin’ genius, right?”
I don’t even have words to answer that. It’s all so . . . outrageous. I feel like the stupid girl in the horror movies who opens the basement door. Only it’s my life that’s devolved into a Hitchcockian bloodbath.
“It’s not what I wanted, believe me.” Cowardly yellow shame swirls through Joe’s aura—shame mingled with fear. “I didn’t even want Darrin to send you to Paris. I told them, she’s eighteen now, the trust is open, let’s clear it out then clear out ourselves. But no, he had to have it all. Not just the trust and the company—there’s another five million in life insurance riding on you being dead. That’s why if Darrin finds us, he’ll kill me as well. Because he thinks I’m trying to make off with the golden goose. But all these years, watching you grow, seeing how talented you are—I love you, Ella. Like you were my own kid. I can’t let anything bad happen to you.”
Stunned, I step back, slamming into the forgotten chair behind me. I sink into its embrace, the poker dangling from my fingers. He’s telling the truth. I don’t need my synesthesia to know that. But suddenly the truth is worse than the lies I’ve been living.
“My parents. Tell me about my parents. How did they really die?”
The door flies open. Helen stands there, silhouetted by the porch light, her aura cascading around her like a flowing cape. It’s a color I’ve never seen on her before: a boastful sunflower yellow. It takes me a blink or two to spy Darrin standing behind her, her aura is so blinding.
“Good work, Joe. Stalling until we could get here,” she says. “I told Darrin you’d never let the family down. And I was right, wasn’t I?”
CHAPTER 40
Ella
Helen’s words slap me into action. I spring from the chair, poker raised, ready to strike. Then I see the gun in her hand. Aimed at me. Gone is my gram, the woman who guided me through adolescence, who helped mold me into the person I am now.
Before I can swing the poker, Darrin steps forward,
and in one swift movement he wrenches the poker away from me and strong-arms me back into the chair.
I land with a gasp, staring up at them. “Was any of it real?”
Joe answers, “Yes. Of course it was.” Earning him a glare from Darrin, who stands beside Helen, between me and the door. I can’t tell if Joe’s lying to me or them or himself. His aura is a muddle of colors, as confused as he is.
But I can’t miss Helen’s shushing motion with her hand hidden from Darrin. Signaling Joe to shut up and follow her lead. Maybe, like Joe, she’s had second thoughts about killing me? If so, if I can convince them to take action, we can overpower Darrin.
“Does it matter?” Helen says. “The past is nothing, we need to focus on the future.” She eyes me. “A future that we now need to rearrange.”
“A slight alteration,” Darrin adds as if I’m not even there. “Everyone knows how upset she’s been—even the cop saw that. Like he said, mental illness often runs in families.”
Helen nods in approval. “Like father like daughter? That could work. Forensics will be trickier this time around.”
“Another fire? The police already believe she began the one last night.”
Joe is scowling, focused on them as if reading a book written in a foreign language. His aura is the same burnt umber that surrounded him last night when he wanted me to leave with him. Concern, fear, worry . . . for me? Or himself?
He rises and positions himself between me and the others, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his jacket. I remember his pistol—will he use it on his own aunt and cousin? I’m desperate to find a way out, but there’s nothing behind me except the wall and fireplace. No weapons, no escape, only this chair to shield me if they begin shooting.
How has my life come to this? I don’t have time to wonder or worry; I need to focus on a way out. I tap my phone, blind-texting Rory again, hoping against hope that my message makes it out. Not that it will do me much good—no one can make it here in time.
I’m alone. But not helpless. I grasp my keychain with the Howler inside my pocket. Would it be enough to keep them from shooting? Or would the noise startle them into pulling the trigger? They’re so close, there’s no way they could miss me, so I decide to save it as a last resort.
I examine the auras of the three people I once thought I knew best. Darrin’s is his usual inky indigo but Helen’s ebbs and wanes as if reflecting the flames of the fire beside me. Despite her fierce words, could it all be an act? What would persuade her to let me live? What do I have that she wants?
“I can sign over the money,” I say, marveling at how calm I sound. All three of them turn to stare at me. “I know Darrin controls it now, but what if I signed it over to you, Helen? Surely you’re tired of waiting for him to dole out your share after he gets the first piece of the pie?”
I stand, slowly, making myself seem meek, no threat. I focus on Helen—or whatever her real name is—and not the archway beyond Joe that leads into the rear of the house. If I can make it past him, I can get out the back and down to the lake or into the woods. All I need is a chance.
Helen nods slowly, almost as if she’s hypnotized by my offer. Her expression shifts, and remorse shines through her aura. Is this all just an act for Darrin’s benefit? Have I convinced her to help me? “Exactly what your parents offered. Your father, he begged me to spare you and Mia. Said he’d pay anything, sign anything, even take his own life to seal the bargain if that was the only way to save you both.”
But then she shakes her head, her aura turning to guilt-tainted ochre. “That’s when I killed Mia. And I told your father if he didn’t kill himself, you’d be next.”
I stare at her in horror. Who is this woman? How could I have ever loved her?
“Nice try.” Darrin laughs at my pathetic attempt to win over his mother. “We might be crooks, but we never cheat each other.”
“Because family is off limits. We never treat family as marks,” Joe puts in. His aura morphs into a desperate shade of puce, and I realize he’s trying to save us both. “And after fifteen years, isn’t Ella family? Maybe we should hear her out.”
I sidle the tiniest bit to the side, edging behind Joe and toward my escape route.
“That’s rich, coming from the man who almost cost us everything,” Darrin tells him. “Did you really think you could hide Ella from us? You’re such a sentimental fool, trying to save her.” He shakes his head.
I glance at the clock. It’s been almost long enough since I first texted Rory for her to get here if she sped—but now I don’t want her anywhere near the lake house. Not with this new Darrin, this bloodthirsty stranger before me.
“How many years have we been planning this, and you risked it all for a girl who’s not even blood?” Helen scolds Joe. She steps forward, and for a second I think she’s going to slap him.
But then she stops. I freeze, looking at her past Joe’s shoulder, thinking she knows exactly what I’m doing, edging toward an escape route. She’s going to shoot me, I just know it. Set the stage of my insanity before Rory can arrive—she and Darrin will happily make my friends witnesses, use them to build the case against my mental stability.
Joe knows it as well. His aura goes from fearful brown to defiant red as he steps in front of me. “Stop. You don’t have to do this.”
“Relax, cousin,” Darrin says. “You’ll get your fair share, just like I promised.” He turns to Helen. “I’ll check the barn. There should be a gas can out there. You’ll take care of the rest?”
Helen merely nods. Goose bumps crawl over my flesh as I realize they’re talking about me.
Darrin leaves. Helen waits until he’s crossing the space between the house and barn before she speaks. “What am I going to do with you?” She’s addressing both Joe and me. “Can’t you see? Even if Ella signed over the money, Darrin could still go to jail if she ever changed her mind and set the cops on him. I have to protect my boy.”
I can’t help but notice that she’s speaking of me in the third person as if I’m not standing right there. Not just third person—past tense.
“But we’re family too,” Joe insists. Both their auras are clouded by conflicting emotions and I can’t tell if he’s getting through to her or not. “There has to be a way.”
“Darrin’s put his whole life into this. I can’t let him down now.”
“What about your idea of having Ella committed?” He’s between me and Helen, acting like a negotiator. He turns to me. “We’d find a nice hospital, peaceful, in the country, you could do your art. You’d only be there long enough for us to get free and clear, create new identities.” Then he faces Helen. “All those countries, no extradition. What’s the one you’re always talking about? The Maldives, beautiful beaches just waiting for you. Don’t you deserve a rest after all these years of hard work?”
As he’s talking, I keep edging toward the archway leading to the back of the house. But Helen spots my movement.
“Stop!” She raises the pistol but Joe is partially blocking her aim, so I take my chance and turn toward the rear of the house. I only need to make it four steps, just four steps . . .
She fires. The sound is deafening. I jump, thinking she’s hit me, but when I look back I see that Joe has lunged toward Helen. His hands are raised, fingers spread wide as if they can magically stop a bullet. His face is wide with shock because of course the bullet keeps going, though his hand and into his neck. Blood sprays out even as Helen screams, “No!”
His aura darkens and he crumples to the ground.
Then she turns to me and shrieks, “You did this! You killed him!”
This woman is no one I’ve ever met before. A complete stranger, her eyes dark as coal, the cheerful light that usually illuminates them dead and buried. She aims the pistol at me, and this time there’s no one to stop her from pulling the trigger.
CHAPTER 41
Alec
It takes a while, but finally Max and I are in Rory’s VW, speeding up th
e twisted mountain roads to Ella’s family’s cabin by the lake. While we’d been dissecting and debating my theory, a bizarre text message from Ella’s phone had propelled us into action: Laker sooss.
“I still don’t trust you,” Max tells me after we drop Rory off at the police department, armed with my research. She let us use her car since neither of us have one of our own. Rory argued that she should come with us, but someone had to explain to the police what was going on. After the fire, there was no way they’d believe me, and there was no way Max was going to leave Rory alone with me, so after a few seconds of emotional calculus, Max finally agreed to let me come with him to Ella’s lake house.
“Who’s to say you didn’t fake all that so-called evidence,” Max continues, almost elbowing me as he whips the steering wheel around, taking a steep curve too fast. “That’s just as likely as people I’ve known practically all my life turning out to be murderers and thieves. I mean, who could do that? Kill two people—”
“Can you just focus on the road?” I put in, my hands braced against the dash as we speed around a corkscrew switchback. Who designed these crazy roads?
“I know what I’m doing. Anyway, who could kill two people, then take over their lives and wait all those years for the payout?”
“It’s called a long con. There was almost no risk that they’d ever be caught—at least not until someone examined the trust fund accounts or checked to see if they’d changed their names. Other than Ella, who would do that?”
