by Sara Shepard
“Sutton!” a voice booms.
I turn to see Thayer emerge from the clearing. He’s barreling toward me, his hands clenched into fists, his shoulders rigid. I shriek. Time stands still. My limbs won’t move. I scramble for my keys on the ground, but there isn’t time. I turn to bolt just as his arms wrap around me. His fingers dig into my flesh.
“No, no!” I scream. His skin burns against mine. “Thayer, please!”
“Believe me,” Thayer whispers in my ear. “This is hurting me more than it’s hurting you.”
I feel him dragging me toward the thick woods next to the parking lot. But before I can see what happens next—my last moment, surely—the memory explodes like a bomb, leaving me with nothingness.
20
BLOOD DOESN’T LIE
Thirty minutes later, Emma got out of a cab in front of Ethan’s house. It had begun to pour, a bizarre phenomenon for Tucson. It made the air smell like ozone and wet asphalt. The gravel in his front yard glinted under the moon.
Emma dashed across the grass, avoiding raindrops, and rapped on the white door. She leaned her ear close to the wood until she heard footsteps pad down the hallway inside. The door swung open to reveal the foyer. Ethan’s pale blue eyes widened at the sight of her. His dark hair was disheveled, like he’d been sleeping.
“Emma?” he asked, carefully stepping forward and touching her shoulders. “What happened?”
“I needed to see you.” Emma glanced over her shoulder. “Can I come in?”
Ethan stepped aside. “Of course.”
Emma shut the door behind her and collapsed into Ethan’s arms. The weight of everything that happened with Thayer pressed down on her until her head fell into her hands. She sobbed for a good five minutes, her nose stuffing up, tears burning her eyes. Ethan rubbed her back the whole time.
I was happy my sister had someone to comfort her. If only I had someone like that. I was the one who’d just seen that horrible memory, after all—I was the one who’d been brutally murdered by someone I loved. It felt like my insides had been hollowed out. The Thayer I’d picked up at the bus station seemed nothing like the madman he’d become by the end. How could I have been so stupid as to have gotten mixed up with him?
After Emma’s sobs turned to whimpers, Ethan led her through the kitchen and curved around the breakfast bar. A cluster of take-out menus covered the sand-colored granite. Two cans of Coke sat on the long wooden table next to an empty pizza box. The stilted dialogue of a true-crime show sounded from the living room. He kicked open his bedroom door and flipped on the light. “Here, sit,” he said to Emma, gesturing to the bed. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Emma’s legs felt numb as she sank onto the dark blue comforter. She grabbed a quilted pillow and hugged it to her chest. “I saw Thayer,” she started, glancing at Ethan nervously.
Predictably, Ethan’s face clouded. “In jail? I told you not to!”
“I know, but I—”
“Why didn’t you listen?”
Tears flooded Emma’s eyes again. She didn’t need a lecture right now. “I didn’t know what else to do,” she said defensively. “I needed answers. And he gave them to me. He told me he was the only one who knew who I really was.”
“He said that?” Ethan’s eyes widened.
“Uh-huh.” Emma nodded. “He talked about the letters he sent me, too. He must have meant the note that was on Laurel’s car, the message on the chalkboard at the pep rally. He did it, Ethan. I know it.”
Ethan placed his head in his hands. “I’m so sorry.”
Then Emma pulled Thayer’s note to Sutton from her pocket and unfolded it. “I found this today,” she said, passing the paper to Ethan.
He grimaced as he read the letter. When he finished, he folded it neatly and handed it back to her. “Whoa. It’s like he basically confessed that he might hurt her unless things changed between them.”
“I know. And then … he did hurt her.”
I shivered at Emma’s words, the memory once again spiraling in my mind. But where had Thayer taken me? It had to have something to do with my car, right? There was blood on it, after all—surely my blood. If only I could have seen the rest of the memory. I felt like the puzzle was almost complete, save for that missing piece.
“Every time I’ve seen him, he’s looked at me like he knows I’m not Sutton,” Emma whispered. “Thayer must have killed Sutton and lured me here,” she said softly. “And think about it. Since he was missing, he never had to be anywhere at any given time. He would have been able to slip around Tucson easily, spying on me, leaving me notes, threatening me.”
“You’re right,” Ethan said softly. “It would have been easy for him.”
“He’s got me where he wants me. If I say one word against him, he’ll tell the cops who I am. And then they’ll blame me for Sutton’s death. This is playing out exactly as you said it would.” She shut her eyes and started to sob again. “He told me that his lawyer is working hard to get him out of jail by next week. That could be in a matter of days! What am I going to do?”
“Shhh,” Ethan whispered. He took Emma’s hand and rested it against his jeans. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Thayer is still locked up. You’re still safe. There’s still time to prove what he did. I’m here with you, okay? I’m not going to let you go through this alone. I’ll keep you safe.”
Emma laid her head on his shoulder. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“And I don’t know what I’d do without you. If something happened to you …” Ethan broke off, his voice cracking. “I couldn’t bear it.”
It was such a relief just to hear those words. Emma swallowed a sob and smiled gratefully at Ethan. Her lips were about to touch his when she noticed a leather journal next to the bed. It was open to a page near the back and neat letters formed short verses, like a poem. Suddenly, the guilt flooded back. The prank. Laurel had asked her to steal his work. She winced, then pulled away from him.
“I need to tell you something else,” she said. “Something you’re not going to like.”
Ethan cocked his head. “Of course. You can tell me anything.”
Emma stared at Ethan’s hands entwined with hers, hating what she had to do next. But she had to warn him. She took a deep breath. “Sutton’s friends are planning this prank on you. It has to do with your poetry reading.”
Ethan shrank back. “What?”
“I tried to stop them. But they really—”
Ethan waved his hands, cutting her off. He blinked at her hard, as though Emma had just hit him over the head with a shovel. “How long have you known about this?”
Emma lowered her eyes. “Um, a few days,” she said in a small voice.
“A few days?”
“I’m sorry!” Emma cried. “I tried to stop it! It wasn’t my idea!”
Slowly, Ethan’s expression turned from hurt to disappointment to disgust. “I think you should go,” he said numbly.
“Ethan, I—” Emma tried to reach for his hand, but he was already making his way to the door. “Ethan!” she called after him, running into the hall. They were almost to the foyer when she caught his arm and swung him around. “Please! You told me we could be honest about everything! And I thought—”
“You thought wrong,” Ethan interrupted, wrenching his arm away. “You could have called this off instantly. They think you’re the all-powerful Sutton Mercer. One word from you and the prank’s off. Why didn’t you do that? Is it because you don’t want them to know about me? Are you”—his voice caught, and he cleared his throat roughly—“ashamed of me?”
“Of course not!” Emma cried, but maybe Ethan had a point. Why hadn’t she tried harder to nip it in the bud? How had she let it get so out of control?
Ethan’s hand turned the doorknob. “Just go, okay? Don’t bother talking to me until you remember who you are—Emma Paxton, the nice twin.”
“Ethan!” Emma cried, but he’d already pushed her outside and slammed th
e door in her face. It was raining harder now, and the drops mixed with the tears that streamed down her cheeks. It felt like she’d just lost the only good thing she had in the world. She cupped her hands against the glass of the side window and stared into the house, watching as Ethan stormed back down the hall, knocking over a stack of books on the living room table as he went.
It was a scene I hated to watch. Once again, I cursed the Lying Game. If my friends and I hadn’t started that stupid club, Emma wouldn’t be heartbroken right now. Her one and only ally wouldn’t hate her.
Emma rang the doorbell a few times, but Ethan didn’t answer. She texted him to please talk to her, but he didn’t reply. After a while, there was no use in lingering—Ethan had made his feelings clear. She trudged across the front lawn, instantly getting soaked, wondering how she was going to get back to the Mercers. As she was pulling out Sutton’s cell phone to call the cab service again, the phone lit up in her hands. Emma frowned. The number was from the Tucson police station. A horrible thought came to her: What if the cops were calling about Thayer? What if he was being set free?
“Uh, hello?” Emma yelled over the rainstorm, trying to quell the nerves in her voice.
Detective Quinlan’s voice boomed on the other end. “Evening, Miss Mercer. We got the blood results back from your car.”
Emma tensed. “W-what are they?” She braced herself, sure he was going to say the blood was Sutton’s.
“The blood is a perfect match for Thayer Vega,” Quinlan’s low voice pronounced.
Emma stopped short in the middle of the street, certain she’d heard him wrong. “Thayer?”
“That’s right,” Quinlan said. “Any idea how it got there? Mr. Vega certainly isn’t talking.”
“I …” Emma trailed off, not having a single thing to say. She paused next to a spindly mesquite tree, trying to catch her breath. She felt completely blindsided.
“Sutton?” Quinlan prompted. “Is there something you need to tell me?”
Emma huddled under the tree, not that it provided much shelter from the storm. There was so much she needed to tell him. Did she dare? Could she somehow convince him this time that she was Sutton’s twin, but that she hadn’t wanted to steal Sutton’s life? Would he believe her if she told him Thayer had been sending her threatening messages—and that Thayer had killed Sutton? She doubted it. Sure, she had Thayer’s note from Sutton’s locker, the one that said he was going to snap, but while it was proof enough for her, it was unlikely the police would consider it definitive evidence.
“I-I’m sorry. I have no idea how it got there,” Emma answered finally. She shut her eyes, thinking. “Were there any other fingerprints on the car?”
Quinlan sighed. “Just yours and your father’s. He was a co-owner of the vehicle, correct?”
“Uh-huh,” Emma said distantly. She recalled Mr. Mercer talking about how he and Sutton had restored the Volvo together.
There was a cough on the other end. “Well, since there’s no longer any reason for us to hold your car, you can come pick it up,” Quinlan said gruffly.
“Thanks,” Emma said, but Quinlan had already disconnected. She held the phone outstretched, staring at it as though it were an alien life form. Wind tossed a cold, wet leaf against her ankle. An engine whined in the distance. The world was still turning as usual, but Emma felt utterly changed. Thayer’s blood. But … how?
I was as stunned as she was. I thought back over the memory I’d just regained. It didn’t make sense—Thayer was the lunatic after me, not the other way around. There was only one answer: I must have somehow managed to get into my car and hit Thayer before he killed me. I was glad for that—Thayer may have taken my life, but at least I got a piece of him on my way out.
21
MOTHER KNOWS BEST
That night, Emma rolled over in bed and looked at the bright neon green digits of Sutton’s alarm clock. It was 2:12 A.M. She’d been crying since a cab dropped her off at home, and her throat was so parched she could barely swallow. In all her life, she’d never felt so confused and alone. Not when she had to move out of Henderson and say good-bye to Alex. Not when she’d had to stay in the state home for an entire month when social services couldn’t find her a foster family. And not even when Becky had left her at her neighbor’s and had never come back to get her.
All those times were hard and sad, but when she left Henderson, she could still call Alex. When she was at the state home, she could play with the girl who shared her bunk bed. And when Becky left, she could cry to her friend’s mom and say she missed her.
But now she was living with a secret so big she was sure the weight of it would crush her. And with Ethan mad at her—so mad that he might never speak to her again—she had no one to turn to. She couldn’t tell anyone else who she really was. She couldn’t make a list of Things I Hate About Being Sutton or Things I Miss About Being Emma or even keep a journal, for fear that someone might find it and discover her true identity.
And the news about Thayer’s blood terrified her. Did that mean Sutton had hit him? What if that caused his limp? Madeline’s voice echoed through Emma’s mind: He’ll never be able to play soccer again. It was his biggest love—the thing he was best at—and now his future is ruined. Maybe there was a motive here. What if Thayer was so furious at Sutton for hurting him that he got her back … by killing her?
Emma flopped back into Sutton’s down pillow, the soft feathers molding perfectly to the shape of her head. Everything felt so impossible. Why was she doing all this? What was the point? Maybe she should take off again and leave it all behind. If she wanted to run, now was the time. With Thayer behind bars, he couldn’t track her every movement. She could finally be free. She was eighteen. She could get her GED, declare residency somewhere, and apply for in-state tuition …
But even as she thought it, Emma knew she wouldn’t leave. She was living the life of someone she wanted so desperately to know, trying to get justice for her sister. She would never be able to forgive herself if she just gave up, because giving up meant that the person who had murdered Sutton, who had robbed Emma of the chance to get to know her twin sister, would walk free.
It was unimaginable that my murderer would get away with it. I couldn’t accept that, and I hoped Emma would have the strength to stick around—even though I also knew it was getting more and more dangerous for her to be here.
Emma flung the covers off her legs and padded across the bedroom. She unlocked the door and tiptoed down the dark hallway, descending the stairs and narrowly avoiding the stack of magazines Laurel had left on the bottom step. A scraggly aloe plant cast long shadows across the tile. A dripping noise sounded from outside the living room window and Emma watched rain fall in slow drops from the drainpipe. In the hallway, moonlight cast an eerie glow across the family photographs. Emma caught her reflection in a scalloped, gold-framed mirror at the end of the hall. Her dark hair hung long and loose, and her oval face looked like a white sheet against the darkness. She rounded the corner into the kitchen and felt the cold tile beneath her bare feet. She was about to open a cabinet when a shadowy figure moved in the corner. She jumped backward, her hip slamming against a chrome dial on the stove.
“Sutton?”
Emma’s eyes focused on Mrs. Mercer, her body hunched forward as she held Drake by the collar. The dog let out a low bark.
“What are you doing up so late?” Mrs. Mercer straightened and let Drake go. He came over and sniffed Emma’s hand before curling into a ball at the foot of the fridge.
Emma tied her messy hair back into a ponytail. “I couldn’t sleep so I came down to get a glass of water.”
Mrs. Mercer put her hand on Emma’s forehead. “Hmmm. Are you feeling okay? Laurel says you came home soaked from the rain.”
Emma forced a weak laugh. “Well, I didn’t have an umbrella. Last time I checked, we lived in Arizona.” She took in Mrs. Mercer’s rumpled hair and robe. “What are you doing up?”
Mrs. Mercer wav
ed her hand dismissively. “Oh, Drake was whining, so I got up to let him out.” She went to the sink and filled a glass, dropping two ice cubes in it. The cubes cracked loudly in the water. She sat at the counter and pushed it toward Emma, who took a grateful sip.
“So …” Mrs. Mercer propped her chin in her hand. “Why can’t you sleep? Anything you want to talk about?”
Emma put her head down on the counter and sighed. There was so much she wanted to talk about. She couldn’t talk about Sutton’s murder, but maybe she could get some advice on Ethan. “I hurt a guy I care about and I don’t know how to fix it,” she blurted.
Mrs. Mercer looked sympathetic. “Did you try apologizing?”
There was a soft rumbling noise as the ice machine deposited a new batch in the freezer. “I tried … but he didn’t want to hear it,” Emma said.
“Well, maybe you need to try again. Figure out exactly what you did wrong and exactly how you can fix it, then make it happen.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” Emma asked.
Mrs. Mercer leaned back in her chair and ran her fingers along a pineapple-printed dish towel. “Sometimes, actions speak louder than words. Show him that you’re sorry, and hopefully everything will fall back in place. Just be the best Sutton you can be. He’s got to understand that people make mistakes sometimes. And if he can’t forgive you, he’s not worth keeping around.”
Emma thought about this for a moment. Sutton’s mom was right: She’d just made a mistake, nothing more. And maybe she couldn’t be the best Sutton she could be, but she could definitely be the best Emma. Ethan had said Emma had forgotten who she was—the nice twin. With so much going on, it was hard to maintain her identity—and know what she wanted. Emma’s needs felt so secondary in comparison to what happened to Sutton. Wanting anything beyond staying alive and solving her sister’s murder seemed like such a luxury.
