“One day, she told me she’d be gone soon. I thought she meant her family was moving.” Molly shook her head. “We lay side by side beneath this perfect night sky, and I stared at the stars, and I thought, ‘If she leaves, I’ll kill myself. I can’t exist without her.’ I kissed her then, thinking that’s what she wanted. But she knew I was doing that for her sake.”
She dropped her head and fought to regain her composure. She took three deep breaths, and when she raised her head again, the record was ready to change sides. She rose and strode across the room as if she’d lived in this home her entire life and knew the exact places the boards would creak beneath her feet.
She turned the record, and her eyes fell on the floor.
Then they fell on Blue.
Swallowing, she walked toward him. Stopped before him as he looked up at her. She held out her hand. He recoiled, and then seemed to realize what she was offering. He shook his head.
“You brought me here against my will,” she said with unintended ferociousness. “And now you refuse to touch me?”
He stared at her face, and then looked back at her hand.
And he took it.
She helped pull him to his feet, imagined shoving him back down when he was halfway up. Imagined crashing her heel into his nose a thousand times until that mask was impaled through his skull.
She smiled at him.
She stretched his hand out to the right, and when he didn’t make a move to do it himself, she placed his left lightly on her hip. The music played, and with his body stiff, awkward, Molly led their feet across the floor.
As one song led to another, Molly struggled to find the words to say what needed to be said. Finally, as she worked through these things in her mind, Blue found the courage to move his hand a little farther around her waist, and to pull her an almost imperceptible distance closer.
Now, she thought to herself.
Molly stepped toward him and bit back bile as she laid her head on his shoulder. He flinched but didn’t pull away. The music played, and the room tilted, and his hands burned holes through her skin.
She raised her mouth to his ear, and she said, “I know why you brought me here.”
His feet slowed, but she pushed against him, led him into another turn about the room, and he followed her like the clouds chasing the sun across an ever-blue sky.
“The sadness you’re feeling fills this house. I’m drowning in it.”
He tensed, but she only danced closer.
“I know what you want to do,” she said, filling his head. Infiltrating his mind. “But you’re afraid to leap. And you don’t want to leap alone.”
Blue pulled back and watched her face.
“You wanted someone who could care for you,” she stated. “And when the time comes, you wanted someone strong enough to not back out.”
Molly wrapped a hand around the back of his head. Touched her lips to the plastic where his ear lay, tasted the chemicals on her tongue. “I don’t want to be the one to kill you,” she said. “But I know it’s what you want.”
He struggled against her. But not hard enough.
“You want release,” she continued, pressing their heads together. “And I will give it to you. Just not quite yet.”
His hands relaxed on her as he took in what she was saying. What she was injecting, like a vial of poison, straight into his bulging, blue vein.
“Not yet, Blue,” she whispered, and swayed with him and swayed with him. “But soon.”
She could almost feel him soaking up her words. Making them his own to have and to hold. It would take him time to accept his fate as one of his own invention, and so she knew to give him time.
Slowly, his hands tightened around her. And as the music played, he allowed himself to bend his head toward her shoulder. She felt his back quivering with emotion, and a smile flashed across her face.
But as he held her closer, and closer, and the emotion overtook his body, her smile dropped away. His sadness seeped into her, and she felt her own despair—despair she’d carried her whole life—reach out to embrace his own.
She found herself holding Blue differently.
Almost immediately, she recognized what was happening to her. She’d been trapped here too long. Had only this person for company. This person who listened to her. Who cooked for her. Who brought her birds to sing away the loneliness. This person who scared her. And feared her.
She knew what it was called when, in order to survive the mental turmoil, a victim forgave the fact that they’d been taken captive.
That’s what this was, she told herself.
It wasn’t because she was so royally fucked up by her father that she craved real emotion, regardless of the delivery.
Blue held her tight.
And Molly held him tighter still.
And the two danced long after the music ended.
NOW
“Thanks for coming in, Cobain,” Detective Hernandez says.
“Didn’t really seem like you gave me much of a choice,” I snap, tiring of these meetings. “Have you figured out what happened to Molly?”
“That’s what I’d like to talk to you about.”
I lean back, hoping beyond measure that they’re about to give me a name or an address. Something that will tell me they’ve finally figured out where she is and that she’s safe. And that they’re this close to bringing her home. Is that too much to ask?
“What happened at the party the night before Molly disappeared?” she asks me.
I freeze.
I mean, I fucking freeze.
She already knows the answer.
I hesitate too long, and then want to punch myself in the face when I blurt, “I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t there.”
I fidget under her stare because if she finds out I just lied, this won’t look good. But it was just a fight. A bigger fight than we had at Molly’s house that day we skipped school, sure. But a fight all the same. I try to appear confident.
She smiles. “I have no fewer than six witnesses who tell us differently.”
I clench my hands into fists beneath the table and keep my mouth shut.
The detective studies my face. Dissects my reaction. “One of those same witnesses informed us that you and Molly were engaged in quite the heated argument.”
Fucking Nixon.
She nearly smiles. I can see how badly she wants to. Clearly, she knows I’ve figured out who she’s talking about.
“We called him to ensure he didn’t have anything else he cared to share.” She shrugs one shoulder. “Just covering bases, of course.”
She leans forward, her fingers splayed across a facedown piece of white paper. “I can understand how upset you were. Molly had just broken up with you. Maybe you saw her with another person that night. Must have been hard to see your ex-girlfriend there, having a good time, and you weren’t the one with her.”
My mind clicks on trees in a forest, growing too tall, too thick. Crowding each other for space to breathe.
I clench my eyes against the image as a storm of denial floods my system. Even now—even with all these eyes on me, with all these fingers ready to point me out in a lineup—even then, it’s impossible to accept that I did something to my own girlfriend, one of the only people to ever truly see me.
I know I shouldn’t say it.
I know they won’t believe it.
And yet I find myself throwing a Hail Mary anyway.
“Molly and I weren’t broken up,” I say.
Too loudly, and without enough confidence.
Glances are exchanged. Lips press together.
Detective Hernandez opens the red bag.
Inside is a phone. I’ve seen it before, I think.
“Recognize this phone?” she asks.
I shrug.
I shake my head because I already I know what’s coming. All I had were the words from Coach and Rhana, but I’m about to see the physical proof. And it won’t look good for me.
In a desperate effort to deflect the pain of what’s about to happen, and how it will make me look, I say, “Do you know Molly’s father is in jail? He took money from people and talked this guy into killing himself. Have you guys looked into him?”
The detectives share another glance.
“We’re not at liberty to discuss the details of the case with you. Let’s concentrate on the questions we have for you today.”
It isn’t so much what they say as it is the looks on their faces. They already know about Molly’s dad. They know, they’ve looked into it, and they’ve ruled out him being tied to Molly’s disappearance.
But then, who does that leave?
The possible answer to that question makes me feel sick.
Detective Hernandez turns the phone on, taps until she finds what she’s looking for, and turns it toward me.
My heart jackhammers in my chest, and my palms start to sweat.
Molly’s name is at the top of the text exchange, and on the left side, in green, is a message bubble from Molly—
I broke up with Cobain last night.
Went horribly. I think he pretty much hates me now.
My face scrunches with pain. I’m not sure I believed Rhana when she told me. I’m not sure I believed Coach Miller, either. But there’s no denying it now. Molly told Rhana—she told everyone—that we broke up. That little green bubble feels like a sucker punch to the jaw. The solidity of it rocks the ground beneath my feet. Because Rhana’s words are one thing, but seeing Molly’s is another.
“Perhaps…” Detective Hernandez ventures, “you truly don’t remember what happened to Molly. But maybe you have pieces. Pieces we can work with.”
Because she thinks I’m crazy. They all do. That’s what she doesn’t add.
Is this why my father told me about the medical records? What do they already know?
Maybe to try one last time to convince them, myself, everybody—like a man with his toes at the precipice of madness trying to keep his balance—I say, “I didn’t hurt Molly. I was at the party, and Molly and I had an argument, but that doesn’t mean I hurt her. No matter what any of your witnesses said. And whatever she told Rhana doesn’t mean anything, either, because she was with me that night of her own free will. She wanted to be with me. And I wanted to be with her. And if you did even an ounce of digging into who Molly is, you’d know she’d weave a thousand different stories for a thousand different people.” Even me.
A shard of pain rips through my chest. But it’s the truth.
I suck in a deep breath, press my back against the chair, and raise my head. “I didn’t hurt Molly. No matter what you say, no matter what you show me, I’ll keep telling you what I know in my gut. I wouldn’t have hurt Molly. I loved her.”
Detective Hernandez tilts her head to the side and stares at me, and I stare right back. When it’s clear she isn’t buying what I’ve just said, I stand up. “I’m leaving now, and I’m not coming back again. I don’t know why I agreed to come this time.”
“No one forced you here,” she says. “This time.”
There’s no mistaking the threat. I stand there, shaking with anger. And fear. Terrified that they’re a breath away from locking me behind bars and leaving the real criminal—if there even is one—out there.
Detective Tehrani is the one who says, finally, “Go on, then.”
I spin on my heel to leave, but Detective Hernandez’s voice rings out after me.
“I think it’s time you get that lawyer, Cobain.”
My dad is standing in the lobby when I get there. He’s yelling at the lady at the front desk about parental rights and lawyers, and she’s explaining that I came voluntarily, that I haven’t been arrested, and he’s saying, Well, he won’t be coming voluntarily again, and, by the way, my wife and I won’t be answering any of your goddamned questions, either, so stop calling.
How in the hell did he know to find me here?
“Dad, Dad,” I say, grabbing his arm. “It’s okay. Let’s go.”
My dad frowns and points at the lady. “I’ll be back.”
He walks me all the way to the car without a word, because his anger already found a target inside that station. I wish he’d say something to me. Anything. His silence allows Detective Hernandez’s words to ring through my skull.
Lawyer.
Lawyer.
Time to get that lawyer.
THEN
Something ugly lingered between us.
I knew what I needed to do to bring us closer again, so I grabbed my bag and shoved in a pair of gloves and a mask. It must have been from Halloween, that mask, hidden in a box in our garage.
I grabbed something else, too. Something shiny and glittery and empowering. Something that should have been used to make meals for four in a quiet kitchen. Instead, I slipped it into my bag for another purpose.
My dad was in the living room as I headed toward the door. He stood in front of the window staring outside like he just remembered there was an entire world beyond caramel corn and buzzing rides.
“Taking the car?” he asked when he saw me.
“If it’s all right.”
“Sure. But be back soon, okay? Your mom will be home for dinner.”
He said it with such optimism. As if my mother’s presence at the dinner table was the start of something new, something better.
“Sure,” I said.
And then I left with my mother’s knife.
A knife I planned to use.
I hopped in the car and pulled out of the driveway. My knuckles whitened as I gripped the steering wheel and drove to Steel and then parked down the street. I knew Duane would be coming out soon.
When he appeared carrying the bag, I readied myself. Chad was an idiot for allowing Duane to drop the money at the bank. He should have paid for a pickup service, but that would have cut into his bottom line, and his only aspiration in life was for the owner to pat him on the back and invite him over for dinner twice a year. A dinner Chad would talk about for days because Fitz has an indoor pool. A goddamned indoor pool with heaters and pink LED lights and a surround sound system and…you guys have got to see it.
I followed Duane and thought about you lying on a hotel bed covered in cash like they show in the movies. You’d be undressed and reaching for me, and I’d bend you over because that’s what you’d want after what I did for us. Fear mixed with adrenaline, and I felt myself grow hard.
Duane parked near the bank slot at the mall. Near, but not near enough. He should have pulled right up to the deposit pull, but he didn’t, because he’s a cocky bastard.
I left my car on the street and softly closed the door behind me. Then I ran through the lot, ducking between the cars. Duane walked slowly, keeping his eyes on the phone in his hand.
I shouldn’t have been this excited, but I couldn’t stop thinking about my training at Steel. It was Duane who showed me how to run the register and how to do the paperwork for a new patron and set up their keycard. He did this thing every time I had to ask a question twice. He laughed. Every single time, he’d give a short, sharp laugh. Maybe he didn’t mean it the way it felt, but it still humiliated me.
It would be me who laughed this time.
When I was no more than ten feet away, I stepped out from between the cars. Glancing around, I ensured no one was watching, and then grabbed him from behind. Shoved him to the ground. Before he could make a sound, I leaped on his back and held the flat of the knife against his cheek.
“Don’t say a word,” I hissed, ensuring my voice sounded different.
Duane rolled ov
er and looked up at my mask. His eyes filled with horror as I grabbed the bag from beside him, stood, and kicked his phone away.
I danced from foot to foot, thinking I needed to do something else. Say something else. Guilt flooded me as I watched a dark, wet spot bloom between his legs.
“Don’t do anything, man.” His voice shook, and it broke something inside me that I figured was unbreakable. “I’ve got a girl.”
I’ve got a girl, too, I thought to myself. And we need this.
As much as I hated Duane, I didn’t like seeing him this way, scooting backward along the pavement, his eyes swollen with fear, his hands reaching for—
He pulled a gun.
“Oh, shit,” I said and turned to run.
“Cobain,” he yelled.
And I stopped. Like an idiot.
“I fucking knew it. What the fuck, man?”
I turned around and watched as Duane leaned over, put his hand on his knee, and caught his breath as he kept that gun trained on me.
“Did you think you’d get away with this shit?” he asked. “Why do you think Chad has me take the cash instead of you?”
He waved the gun as if to answer his own question, and my stomach lurched.
He tipped the gun toward himself. “Throw the bag over here and drop that pitiful knife.”
I did both, and after he picked up the bag, he held it in front of his crotch.
He stood there staring at me for a long time. So long that I finally said, “This was a mistake. I’m just going to go. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“Shut up, I’m thinking,” he yelled, and then spotted a woman walking to her car beneath the mall parking lights. She didn’t look in our direction, but he still lowered his gun next to his leg.
He watched her until she got in her car, backed up, and pulled away. Then he looked at me and said, “Okay. Okay, here’s how this is going to go. Lucky for me, this is the biggest haul of the week. So I’m going to take a few hundred, and tomorrow you’re going to change your name on the close-out sheet so it looks like you did the last count.”
We Told Six Lies Page 18
