We Told Six Lies

by Victoria Scott

  She remembered his hands losing their gentleness after she told him she didn’t love him.

  She had to squeeze her eyes shut against the memory. She had to still her heart that beat wildly for him. Once again, Molly found herself watching the way Blue moved. Trying to recall the wonderfully decadent details that made Cobain the first boy she ever truly…

  No.

  She had to stop, or she’d drown in despair.

  Blue positioned himself behind the counter and started slicing carrots with his knife.

  Her eyes glued themselves to that blade. She licked her lips. Was there anything she’d ever wanted more than to have that weapon in her hands?

  Blue’s eyes flicked up at her. Slowly, he retrieved the black device on the counter and raised it to his lips.

  “Talk.”

  She startled at the sound of his distorted voice. It was the first time he’d spoken in days.

  Molly glanced around the kitchen, trying to conjure some kind of conversation with her kidnapper. “I like the fireplace,” she said. “I’ve always loved them.”

  He kept his gaze directed toward the carrots, and the steel pot boiling on the stove. He’d lowered the device, and she knew he wouldn’t chance speaking without it, so she tried again.

  “My parents took me to this campsite once. We stayed at this cabin that made us feel like pioneers. It was a lot like this. Odd, because it was so different from what I was used to. But charming, too.” She smiled at a memory she’d suppressed. She rarely allowed herself to think of the quiet moments with her father. But even though she knew he was a criminal, while she was growing up, he had also been her dad.

  “My dad…my dad went down to this stream to try and fish. He thought just because he bought a pole that he could somehow summon the knowledge to use it. My dad was good at…people,” she admitted. “But this was nature, you know? And he didn’t have the patience for it.”

  She giggled, surprising herself.

  Even Blue paused, looking up at her cautiously.

  “He called me down there to try fishing because he wasn’t having any luck. I was younger, probably only twelve or so, and there were all these geese down by the water. They’d been slowly moving closer to where he was. Out of curiosity, maybe, or because there was a nest nearby. I don’t know.

  “I was afraid to come over because I’d never been that close to geese before.” Molly shook her head. “Anyway, my dad finally came up the hill and grabbed my hand and hauled me to where he was. I had to step over these little stones that crossed this stream to get to an island in the water. I went first, and my dad followed after me. This one goose got closer and closer to him, and my dad, trying to show me just how benign these animals were, waved an arm at it and said, ‘Get out of here.’”

  “When he turned around, the goose bit him right on the ass.” She started laughing harder. All the fear she’d held inside these last several days exploded from her chest, and soon she was shaking with laughter. It poured from her body because it was better than crying. “No one made a fool of my father, but that goose sure did. The best part was how mad he was. God, if I could have taken that goose home as a pet, it wouldn’t have wanted for anything.”

  Molly laughed again, and she thought she noticed Blue’s stomach suck in, as if he was chuckling, too.

  The muscles in his stomach relaxed, and she collected herself.

  “They sound like good parents, huh?” she said. “But they weren’t.”

  What was wrong with her? Why had she told him that?

  Because she wouldn’t be here forever, she reasoned. Because if she had anything to do with it, he wouldn’t be, either. One of them would leave breathing and forget this ever happened. And the other…

  “What are you making?” she asked.

  Blue didn’t move at first, as if he was contemplating responding at all. Finally, he raised a wooden spoon to show her it was stew.

  “It smells good,” Molly said.

  Blue tossed the carrots into the pot and moved on to an onion, his eyes occasionally darting to an old, yellowing cookbook. Molly watched him with so many questions poised on her tongue. Why did he take her? Was he simply lonely, and would anyone do? Or was the reason more personal? He didn’t seem to want to harm her. The dresses, the food, the singing—it seemed he valued her in some way, or was beginning to, at least. That could change, she knew. So as much as she wanted to ask, she silenced those thoughts and instead talked to him about her school and the things she wished she could be better at—dancing, painting…singing.

  She thought she noticed Blue laugh at the last one.

  She told him she never slept without socks at home (true), and that her favorite memory was one of her and her mom going to see a Broadway show (not true). He glanced up at her occasionally, and the tension began to leave her chest. For now, she was safe. But what would tonight bring? Or tomorrow?

  She was telling him about the red piano she had as a child and wondering how she would execute the next part of her plan, when Blue released a garbled sound. He hunched over and hissed.

  Molly stood up. “What? What is it?”

  Blue slammed into the lower cabinets, stood up, and bent at the waist again. He was clutching his hand, blood dripping scarlet-bright onto the floor.

  “You cut yourself,” she said, stupidly.

  Blue released his hand, looked at it, and slipped to the floor.

  She rounded the counter slowly, her pulse thumping inside her wrists.

  He held his opposite hand out to stop her from coming any closer.

  But she would not listen.

  She took a step closer. Then another. He stood up, still clutching that hand to his stomach, watching her. His shoulders heaved, and blood dampened his shirt.

  “It’s really bad,” she whispered.

  She took a step back. Considered running. Running as fast as she could and not looking back. Would he catch her? If he was this injured, could he?

  He could.

  He kicked the lower cabinets and turned toward her as if reading her thoughts.

  Those painted eyes snapped her back to the moment. He expected her to run. But Molly had plans for him that were much more sinister than merely escaping. Where would the fun be in that?

  She closed the distance between them slowly, one foot in front of the other, and in the same moment, Blue saw what she was eyeing.

  He didn’t make a move for the knife.

  He could catch her if she ran, but he most certainly couldn’t get to the blade before she could.

  Her hand spidered toward the weapon. She was toying with him, and he knew it. He backed away from her, his body colliding with the upper cabinets. The pot simmered behind him, meat bubbling in its black belly. The small blade wouldn’t do enough damage to take him down before he reacted, but it would hurt plenty. That’s all she wanted him to see—the threat of more pain.

  Her hand hovered over the knife, and Blue pressed himself as far away from her as he could get. His chest heaved, his blood painted the floor, and Molly thought, This could be it.

  Blue gasped as her hand darted past the knife and grabbed the paper towels instead. She pulled off several sheets and handed them to him. He considered her for a moment before jerking them away and pressing them to his injury. She saw the wound, then, and knew it’d do best with stitches. And also, that he would never get them.

  Molly grabbed the knife, flipped the short blade toward herself, and offered him the handle. “Careful,” she said, and it was everything she had to keep the smile off her face.

  He jerked back. Then, when he realized the blade wasn’t directed toward him, he reached out and snatched it away.

  “Keep pressure on it,” she said, walking back to her seat. “And keep it elevated.”

  Molly had grown up with the best of everything, and
that included a doctor that made house calls to those rich enough to afford the luxury of skipping disease-filled waiting rooms. Every sniffle, headache, and bruise sent her mother running for the phone. Her favorite parts of the doctor’s visits, because they were rarely needed, were asking him questions about the human body. About all those bloody, thumping parts that wormed together to make people operate.

  He’d always humored her and gave her lollipops that tasted how Lysol smelled.

  She waited while Blue sat down and got himself together. He was so quiet that she wondered, for a moment, if he had died. Could it be that easy?

  But then she saw him. He stood up, fumbled once, and leaned against the counter, staring at her. He held the towels to his hand and watched her and watched her, as if he were trying to figure her out.

  She was not what he expected, she knew. And that was the point.

  He took a step toward her, and Molly tensed. She had controlled the moment before, but now he was armed again. He was her keeper again. But that was always how this was going to go.

  He took another step and reached out his left hand to lay the knife on the counter. Her eyes snapped to it as if it were a snake, rattling the tip of its tail, reminding you of its venom even as you backed away.

  He walked toward her slowly, as she had done him, and then bent down, keeping his inky, painted eyes on hers. She tried to see past the mesh covering to the color of his irises, but he seemed to understand what she was doing and dropped his head.

  Then he dropped to one knee.

  Then the other.

  Molly’s mouth fell open as he stayed like that, kneeling next to her. What did he want from her? What should she do now? The gash in his hand was forgotten as he bowed his head and let his arms fall loose by his sides.

  He made a strange sound and then bent at the waist. All Molly could think as she watched him fold into himself was that he seemed tired. So very tired.

  She knew the feeling.

  Gently, moving slower than seemed humanly possible, Blue turned his head sideways and laid it, softly, softly, on her lap.

  She froze.

  It was the first time he’d ever touched her in this way, and she had to play this very carefully. Her life depended on it.

  She raised one trembling hand and placed it on his head.

  He raised his arms and wrapped them around her legs, gripping her tighter than he ever had that knife.

  She placed her other hand on the back of his neck and, after squeezing her eyes closed, said, “Shhhhhh. It’s okay.”

  He wept.

  She knew how hard he fought the reaction, but he released those tears anyway.

  They stayed that way for a long time.

  Her hands on him.

  His hands on her.

  And just like that, here was Molly’s opportunity to unfold the next piece of her plan. She wet her lips, guarded her heart, and said, “You are so sad. So very sad.”

  He tightened his grip on her legs, and his head grew heavier.

  Molly took a steadying breath and said, “You’ve been sad for such a long time. I can feel it seeping from every part of you.”

  She wasn’t certain whether she was correct, but she suspected she was. It didn’t matter. Daddy taught her how easily influenced people were. Tell them they seemed happy, and they brightened. Ask them what’s wrong, and they searched themselves until they found an answer.

  Studies show, Daddy said, that people’s moods alter to match what others see in them.

  The fingers on Molly’s hand twitched as they crawled toward Blue’s mask. Before she could convince herself to stop, she slipped those fingers beneath the mask and swam them through his hair.

  She gasped at the feel of him.

  At the soft locks gripped in her palm.

  And though he jerked beneath her touch, he didn’t pull away.

  “Shhh,” she said again as she stroked his hair. “Shhhh.”

  He held on to her as if she were the only thing in the world worth having. And as she gently soothed him, she reminded herself that she hated him. That she would, most certainly, kill him.

  Then she reminded herself again.

  Just to be safe.

  NOW

  I wait for Rhana in the parking lot.

  I know what car she drives—a Ford Mustang, custom painted pink because that’s the girl she is. Ten minutes before school starts, she shows with another student I’d seen around campus.

  When the girl steps out and I see the flash of blond, my heart leaps. From this distance, the girl looks exactly like Molly.

  Could it be? I think.

  But of course it isn’t her.

  When Rhana spots me, I wave. She frowns and tells the girl she’ll catch up with her later. The girl looks at me as she passes by, and my skin tightens as a chill rushes over me. Even her eyes are similar.

  I watch her go before turning my gaze on Rhana.

  “A replacement?” I ask.

  Rhana grimaces. “What are you talking about?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing.”

  Rhana pulls her bag up farther onto her shoulder and sighs. “What do you want, Cobain?”

  “Do you know where Molly is?” I ask, cutting past the bullshit.

  Rhana frowns. “You’re asking me that question?”

  “I am,” I say. “I know you were jealous of her.”

  “Jealous? Of Molly?” Rhana releases a sharp laugh. “Look, you want to know what I really think? Who cares where she went? We’re all better off with her gone. That chick was crazy.”

  I frown. “I thought you two were friends.”

  “Yeah, we were. And then I told her I didn’t want to hang out anymore because she was always hiding crap from me. She’s got, like…major issues, and I’m allergic to drama.”

  I shake my head because this isn’t adding up. “Molly said she stopped hanging out with you.”

  Rhana looks past me at the school, like she’s running out of patience. Or, maybe she wants to ensure we don’t have an audience. “I’m sure she did. She said a lot of things. Mostly whatever got her what she wanted.”

  I look up and away, pretending that what she says next won’t bother me either way. “What did she say about me?”

  Rhana’s face softens. “That you were nice. That you were infatuated.” Rhana bites her lip. “And that you talked about money a lot.”

  “Money?”

  Rhana rolls her hand. “How broke your parents were. How you wanted more money than you were making at the gym. How you were going to get rich no matter what. I don’t know. She made it seem like it’s all you ever talked about.”

  My teeth snap together, and I look down, utterly confused.

  “Were you?” Rhana asks. “I mean, are you like that? I know your family probably doesn’t have a lot, but I didn’t…I don’t know. I’m sorry about the things I said about you.” Her voice lowers. “I’m sure she told you.”

  I scowl at her. Molly hadn’t said anything, but of course her friends were telling her to stay away from me. Still, it stings.

  “After she broke up with you, I felt really bad about it. I kept wondering if it was because everyone talked crap about you. I mean, what if she really was happy and we made her think she wasn’t?” Rhana dug her finger into her ear. “You seemed so weird afterward that I almost…I don’t know.”

  I take a step back, my mind spinning around this information. Molly told Rhana she dumped me. She lied. My hand goes to my stomach, and I feel…almost sick. That’s the third person that’s said she broke up with me. But, of course, she didn’t.

  Right?

  I clench my eyes shut. Open them. Do my damnedest to stay calm as I say, “Rhana, Molly and I never broke up.”

  Rhana narrows her eyes. “What are you talking about?
”

  “I mean, we were together up until the moment she left.”

  “Together, where?” Rhana pauses. “She said you’d never even been to her house. I mean, are you sure she invited you to hang out? You didn’t just show up and—”

  “Listen to me. Listen. We never broke up.” I say it louder than I mean to. “We were in love. I think.”

  The last part is too quiet, and I see the doubt solidifying on Rhana’s face. “I…I’ve got to go, Cobain. I’m sorry about Molly and whatever, but I’ve got to get to class.”

  “Rhana, wait.” I grab her arm. It’s a mistake.

  Rhana tears away from me like I’m contaminated. Looks at me with big, accusatory eyes. Any trace of pity is gone from her gaze.

  “Don’t follow me,” she snaps.

  I watch her as she strides away and think about the things she said. She didn’t like Molly as much as I believed. Molly hadn’t fooled everyone like I thought, either. I think on Rhana’s version of our relationship, too, but that’s not what I dwell on most.

  If Rhana had anything to do with Molly vanishing, then she’d be moronic to talk negatively about her. Rhana is cleared, in my mind. Which leaves few people to check out. And if none of them did it, I’ll know Molly ran away.

  That should make me feel relieved, considering the alternative. But instead, I feel mixed up. Jittery.

  Like I need to run and never stop.

  THEN

  You invited me to your house.

  Your mom almost never left, but that day, she had somewhere to be.

  We skipped school, remember? We were too excited to sit in class knowing what awaited us. So we took off. I’d never been more nervous in my life. I wasn’t certain what would happen. But I knew what I wanted to happen. I knew I wanted you. All of you. And it seemed you wanted me, too.

  We walked straight to your house, and you let me in like it was your name on that mortgage and not your mother’s. You started to walk down the hallway to your room but held up a finger when I started to follow.

  “Just…just wait in here for a minute, okay?”