The Truth Beneath the Lies

by Amanda Searcy

  “Do you want me to take you home?” I ask.

  She shakes her head and rubs at the mascara now running down her face. “No,” she says softly. “No,” she says again with determination. She squares her shoulders. “I’m going to stay. I am going to see him get married. It will be good for me. It will end this once and for all.”

  I’m not so sure about that, but as long as the wedding happens and Miss Jones isn’t out driving around, I will have fulfilled my responsibilities.

  Then I can go back to worrying about dying.

  “Do you need help with your dress?” Miss Jones asks.

  “Um, no. That’s okay. I’m not going to be here for the ceremony.” And my dress doesn’t have a zipper.

  She’s confused but doesn’t say anything. I need to meet Mom at the van so we can go to the high school where the reception will be, but I’m afraid that if someone doesn’t watch Miss Jones, she’ll do something crazy—like run in, grab Angie’s veil, and demand that Lawrence marry her instead.

  A black SUV with dark tinted windows comes out of nowhere. This is it. I jump back, instinctively placing Miss Jones between it and me.

  Like a human shield.

  Then the horror of what I have done washes over me. I step out and push her behind me. She isn’t part of this. They’re here for me. I put my hand in my purse. I’m ready. I can pull the trigger to save someone else.

  The back door of the SUV opens.

  Happy bounces out wearing a bright pink shift that clings to the baby weight she’s still carrying. I whip my hand out of my purse and grab on to Miss Jones to keep from collapsing in relief. Concern crosses Happy’s face. I scan the parking lot. Does she see something I don’t?

  “Uh, hi, Miss Jones,” she says. Miss Jones tips her hand up in a halfhearted wave.

  The rest of the doors of the SUV open, and assorted older relatives dressed in their Sunday best spill out. They smile politely at the two pale girls standing at odd angles in the church parking lot.

  As Happy gets the baby, my lungs remember how to breathe. I walk over to her and motion behind me with my head. “I have to go help my mom. Will you keep an eye on Miss Jones? Don’t let her into the church until right before the ceremony starts. Make sure she sits in the back.”

  Happy giggles. “If Angie saw her, she would freak.”

  “Exactly.”

  Happy ambles across the blacktop and calls, “Hey, Miss Jones, wanna see my baby?”

  —

  Mom is rearranging things inside the florist van behind the church. I grab the other side of a box she’s struggling with.

  “Thanks,” she says, and steps back to examine the insides of the vehicle. Her hair is tied back in a scarf. Her face has color. She looks genuinely proud of herself, of her life here.

  “What if it had always been like this?” I whisper.

  “It’s like this now.” She places her hand on my cheek. “That’s all that matters.”

  I want to scream. And cry. And bang my fists on the side of the van at the unfairness of it all. Mom’s doing great. I’m getting better. We have a house. I have a friend. Mom has an almost-boyfriend. One who’s nice. One who will treat her the way she deserves to be treated. One who might actually be in love with her.

  Mom looks over my shoulder and blushes.

  “Ready to go, ladies?” Teddy is decked out in cowboy chic: Plaid button-up shirt. Crisp, ironed jeans. Spit-polished boots. A bolo tie with a silver clasp around his neck. Even his mustache has been combed. I think this is Teddy’s version of wearing a tux.

  “Teddy’s going to help us move some of the heavy stuff.” Mom doesn’t even try to hide her feelings for him anymore.

  “Why don’t you ladies head over to the school? I’ll be right behind you.”

  “Thanks, Teddy,” I say, and pat him on the shoulder. He jumps slightly at the unexpected physical contact. “Oh shoot! I got pollen on you. Mom, do you have a cloth or something?”

  “Um, I think so.” She buries her head in the front seat of the van.

  I give Teddy’s shoulder a quick brush. Then I stick the black monster into his front pocket.

  Like hell I’m going to stay here on the floor waiting for Drake to come back. I roll over onto my knees and search for something to defend myself with. This room has a twin bed with a blue comforter tucked under military style at the corners. A nightstand with a lamp and an alarm clock. A closet sparsely filled with hung-up T-shirts and pressed pants. Nothing on the walls, no personality. This is Drake’s room, and I’m getting out of here now.

  I turn the knob centimeter by centimeter. When it pops open, I gasp and wait for Drake to charge me, beat me, do what he did to those other girls. The hallway is brightly lit but empty. I step out. The plush carpet tickles my bare feet and masks the sound of my careful steps.

  I hear something. Soft crying. A child crying. Oh my God. Grace. It’s coming from her bedroom immediately to my right. I have to take her with me. Get us both away from Drake and out to the main road, where maybe we can flag down a car or at least hide until the sun comes up.

  I reach for the door, but I hear something else. Heavy, stomping feet. Drake’s coming back. I dive into the open door behind me. The bathroom. The light is on. If I turn it off, he’ll know. I step behind the shower curtain with the rubber duckies and flatten myself in the tub.

  The door to Grace’s room opens. Paper rips. Something rattles. “Come on, sweetie, have some M&M’s.” Not Drake. Jordan. I pull myself up to my knees. Tears of relief drip down my face. Jordan will rescue us, take us away from Drake.

  A second set of footsteps. I drop back down to the cold surface of the tub.

  “What’s taking so long?” Drake snaps.

  “Relax, dude. This is the easy part.” Soft, tiny footsteps. “That’s a good girl. Have another chocolate.”

  All three of them walk away. I jump up. My foot slips on the puddle I have created, and I have to slam my hand into the wall to keep my balance. I freeze, but then I can’t contain the sob any longer. It leaves my mouth like an explosion. I’m sure Drake must hear. “Jordan?” I call out softly. Jordan, please come and get me.

  But he doesn’t come. No one does. I’m going to have to get myself out of here. Get away from Drake. My mind flashes to Shonda in the woods. Drake can’t see me leave the house. If I end up beaten in the woods, way out here on this island, no one will be coming to save me.

  I step out of the bathroom and creep to the end of the hallway. I’m going out the front door into the dark. I’ll get help and send the cops back for Grace.

  I peer around the corner into the cavernous, glass-walled living room. I lurch back. Drake and Jordan stand with Grace in between them. Three men face them. The two on the ends have stylishly spiked hair and wear twin tan suits over black shirts. They are muscular, nervous-looking. Their eyes dart around the room. The man in the middle is shorter. A belly peeks out from under his black suit jacket, but he’s solid like a brick wall.

  When I look again, Jordan pushes Grace forward. I don’t know what I’m seeing. Jordan entertaining guests? Introducing them to his sister?

  The man reaches out and lifts Grace’s chin. A tiny stub sits in the place where his pinkie should be. He sweeps her bangs off her forehead and twists her head from side to side. Her glassy eyes have a faraway stare to them. She doesn’t look afraid. She doesn’t look like she feels anything.

  Panic rises up inside of me again. Wait. Drake is the bad one. Drake is the murderer. But Jordan stands tall and uninterested as his sister gets checked out like an animal.

  Drake glances over his shoulder to where I’m standing. I jerk back into the hallway.

  I have to get out of here. I’m five feet from the entrance to the kitchen. From there, I will have a clear shot to the front door. But the jumpy guys will see me. They aren’t focused on Grace. They look everywhere but at her.

  The man releases Grace and nods.

  I’m going to make a run for it
.

  “Wait,” Drake says. Everyone freezes. “Where’s the money?”

  One of the jumpy guys snickers. Jordan glares at Drake. The man in the center reaches behind him and slides out a black messenger bag. Drake grabs it, slaps it down on the end table, and opens it.

  “Shall we wait while you count it?” the man says.

  Jordan grabs Drake’s arm. “That’s rude,” he mutters. Drake closes the bag.

  No. My whole world comes crashing down. Jordan, Drake—they’re both in on it. Nothing I believe is real. Jordan doesn’t love me. Jordan’s a criminal. My legs won’t hold me up. I slide down to the carpet.

  The man takes Grace’s hand. My mind spins. I can’t let them do it. Can’t let them take her. I have to do something. Distract them, grab her, get out.

  I’m going to do it. Run out screaming at the top of my lungs. I have so much adrenaline right now I could break down walls with my fists. Outrun them.

  Before I can move, one of the jumpy guys looks up at the ceiling. Then the other. The man snaps his head to Jordan. Jordan focuses on Drake. Drake’s eyes grow wide. The breath hitches in his throat.

  I hear it. Something outside. Not rain. This is a rhythmic chopping sound. A helicopter.

  It happens so fast, my eyes have trouble keeping up with the motion. The man reaches for the waist of the jumpy guy next to him. A dark object appears in his hand. He points it at Drake. A pop. Drake collapses to the floor, hidden from me by the white leather sofa.

  Grace whimpers. Jordan falls to his knees, his hands prayerlike in front of his chest. “Please. I didn’t know. I didn’t know.”

  All my love for Jordan is still there. My insides haven’t caught up to what my eyes are seeing. When the gun swings over to Jordan, I scream. Even though the men turn their attention to me, I can’t help it, can’t control it. It’s instinctual to protect someone I love. I race to Jordan and throw myself between him and the gun.

  He pushes me away hard. I fall to the floor. The helicopter is deafening.

  The man barks something at the jumpy guys. One grabs the messenger bag, and the two of them run out through the glass door into the darkness.

  The gun swings around. Jordan, me…Grace. Her eyes meet mine. Another pop. She falls quietly, her head landing on Drake’s chest.

  My mouth opens. The air, the sob, the scream—all back up in my throat. Nothing comes out.

  “This is your mess,” the man says. “Clean it up.” He drops the gun in front of Jordan and walks businesslike into the night.

  Jordan picks up the gun. Stands.

  I’m on my knees, but I’m not begging. Everything that has happened is like a movie or a bad dream. I feel like I’m floating over the room watching it from afar.

  He points the gun at me. “Kayla, I’m sorry,” he whispers, and pulls the trigger.

  When we pull up to the high school, all I can think about are the texts.

  Time to pay the piper.

  Tonight.

  I charge over to Teddy, waiting on the basketball court.

  “I don’t know what the texts mean,” he says before I can ask.

  “How can you not know?”

  He shrugs. “Don’t wander off by yourself. Stay in big groups of people.”

  “But—”

  “You’re going to have to trust me. Stay in the middle of the crowd. Do you have your other phone? Is my number still the first one?”

  I nod, pull Toxic Pink out of my yellow purse, and show him.

  “Good girl,” he says. He smiles. “Let’s not worry your mother.”

  Mom steps back to survey the centerpieces on the banquet tables. Everything for the reception is set up on the outside basketball courts. They got lucky with the weather. The sky is perfectly clear.

  “Mom,” I say in a voice that quavers. She turns and looks at me with the smile of satisfaction still on her face. “I love you.”

  She sweeps an errant piece of hair off my forehead. “I love you, too. Now let’s get this finished before the entire town shows up and sees us in our grubbies.”

  The gym is open so that the guests can use the restrooms. When I go inside, I imagine a thousand monsters lurking in its dark shadows Every noise sends my heart beating into my throat. Even the sound of my own footsteps makes me whip around and look behind me.

  Tonight.

  There won’t be any more calls or texts. That was it. The last one.

  I check every corner of the girls’ locker room. There’s definitely no one here, but I can’t relax. I’m beginning to think maybe the anticipation is worse than what they will do to me.

  My zipperless dress came from the old lady section of a department store in El Paso, but it was the only one I could find that didn’t have a plunging neckline. I pull the piece of flowered cloth over my head. The top sits at the bottom of my throat. The rest of it falls shapelessly like a sack around me.

  I fasten a thin black belt around the middle in an attempt to make myself look like I have a curve or two. It doesn’t work. And anyway, it doesn’t matter.

  I stuff my feet into equally frumpy flats. I’m not wearing heels. I can’t run in heels. I know I can’t outrun the demons that want to take me, but at least I can get them away from all these innocent people. No matter what Teddy thinks.

  I sit down on a bench in the cool darkness of the locker room. I open my yellow purse and, for the hundredth time, look at the gun. Could I really do it? Or should I just let them take me away? Poof. Disappeared.

  This sucks.

  I laugh aloud. I have been living with this for a whole year now. Waiting. Moping. Starting to hope that things might get better. That I might make it through.

  No such luck, sweetheart.

  Something inside me snaps, and I feel calmer. This was all set in motion a long time ago. I didn’t have any control then. But I might have some control now. I can keep anyone else from getting hurt. I throw the strap of the yellow purse over my shoulder.

  —

  When the first guests arrive, Mom sprints to make final adjustments.

  “Teddy,” I squeak. He looks down at me. I have to do this without crying. I take in a deep breath. “You make her happy. Will you stay with her? Even if—even after…”

  “Hey,” he says. “Nothing’s going to happen. Do you understand me? Nothing is going to happen.”

  I nod. He smiles a mustache-lifting smile. “Your friend wants your attention.” He points at Happy, who is bouncing up and down and waving. I glance back at him. “I’ll be around,” he says.

  Happy has Miss Jones in tow. Before they get to me, Miss Jones peels off toward the bar. Happy looks relieved.

  “Everything was fine,” she says. “Why would you go to your ex-boyfriend’s wedding?”

  Miss Jones stands alone, pretending not to be chugging a glass of wine. I shrug. “Love can make you do strange things.”

  “Yeah, but she’s, like, supposed to be a teacher,” Happy says with disgust. In his carrier, Manny fusses. “I think he needs a diaper change.”

  “The bathrooms in the gym are open.” She and the baby need to stay as far away from me as possible.

  An army of limos pulls up in front of the school. The guests hoot and holler as Angie and Lawrence step out. Rosie follows, throwing rose petals around them, the groomsmen and bridesmaids, the car, random guests. Mom rushes forward to give her a refill.

  It’s going to be a long night.

  Adrian catches my eye and walks toward me. I turn and push through the crush of guests holding up their phones to take pictures.

  I hang out on the fringes of the party until everyone is seated and eating. The sun is going down, and a cool April breeze is whipping up. I hug myself and lean against the still-warm stucco wall of the gym. Adrian glances at me occasionally, like he’s keeping an eye on me. But I know he won’t be the one. He won’t do anything to me here. He loves his family too much.

  At a table on the far side of the basketball courts, Miss Jones
throws her head back in laughter. The wine in her hand sloshes over the sides of the glass. She’s being entertained by the man sitting next to her. He leans in close, like she’s the center of the universe. I can only see a mass of dark red curls on the top of his head. His left arm is tied against his body in a blue sling. He sits back for a moment, and I catch the profile of his face, the angle of his nose, his lips splitting across his cheeks, the curve of his chin.

  My eyes focus on his chest. The sling covers it, but I still see the tattoo. The carp. The color of fire, and just as deadly.

  I clap my hand over my heart to keep it from running away. It’s my imagination. It has to be.

  Happy devours a piece of cake while Tomás gives Manny a bottle. I tiptoe up and crouch between them.

  “Who’s that guy talking to Miss Jones?”

  Tomás shrugs and shakes his head. “I still can’t believe she showed.” He glances at my yellow purse. I back away from them.

  Mom and Teddy are nowhere to be seen. Rosie wanders from table to table, showering the guests with her endless supply of petals. She has now also acquired a second basket full of white roses. Both baskets hang over one arm. As she approaches each table, she places her finger against her lips in a thinking gesture and decides who’s most worthy to receive a flower.

  I slide along the wall in the shadows, trying to get closer to the man without being seen. The waiters circulate, picking up plates and pouring coffee. The DJ asks for everyone’s attention. All eyes turn to Angie and Lawrence at the head table.

  All eyes but two.

  It’s him.

  At least now I know who’s coming for me.

  It’s the gunman.

  I open my eyes. The darkness lifts, and they begin to focus. I’m alone. I slap my hands around my body, looking for damage. I don’t find any. I dig my nails into the carpet and pull myself inch by inch to Grace. I lift her head. It flops in my arms. Her face is blank. I cradle her against my chest. Her blood creates a red patch that spreads across my white dress and fills in the space between the outlines of my underwear. I rock her while Drake’s snake watches with an unseeing eye.