Lie to Me Page 15

  I turn into the driveway where the dorms are located and park in front of hers.

  “Do you want help bringing in your bags?” I ask.

  “No.” She bites her lip again. “I want to tell you something, though.”

  She reaches into the back seat and gathers up her bags, holding them on her lap. I just wait.

  “You know that day when you talked to me?” she says. I don’t need to ask which day. I just nod. “Well, you kind of, like, ran away before I could say anything and I … I wish you had waited. That’s … all I wanted to say.”

  My heart is in my throat, and I don’t think I can speak, but it doesn’t matter, because she’s gone in a flash.

  I watch her until she’s inside the dorm, adjust my glasses three times, and only then am able to summon the will to drive away.

  I’m restless. When I got home from shopping, Mom told me all about their meeting with the other townspeople and how everyone is basically just going to be on the lookout for me and the other teen girls in town, and also on the lookout for any “suspicious” people. Mom told people individually after the meeting to keep a particular eye on Mr. Omerton, without telling them any of the details I told the police. This all seems like a recipe for disaster, but at the same time, it probably won’t be the worst thing to know there are eyes on me.

  But then there’s also Grace.

  Sky asked me what I would do if it turned out Grace liked me, but I didn’t consider it a possible scenario, so I didn’t put any actual deep thought into my answer. I like Liam so much and I’m obviously not going to break up with him, but the idea that I could be with Grace if I wanted to is quite frankly thrilling. It would mean telling my family members—and everyone, I guess, when they saw us together—that I’m not straight, and that makes me a little nervous. Most people wouldn’t care, but there will always be jerks out there, and there will always be those who just fundamentally don’t understand bisexuality. Who can’t get behind the very concept of being attracted to both boys and girls, and want you to pick one or the other. I would be okay, ultimately, though. The thought of telling people isn’t frightening enough to stop me from dating her. I find myself scrolling through her Instagram again, almost as though my hands are moving independently of my brain.

  She’s just so … effortlessly stunning.

  I set my phone down with a flash of guilt. Thinking about Grace like this when I’m dating Liam feels … I’m so torn. I need to see him.

  U home? I text him.

  It’s midnight so … yes, obv.

  I cringe. I didn’t even look at the clock before texting him. Did I wake u?

  No. Something wrong?

  I just want to see u.

  Come to my house? I can meet u by the bridge.

  Sneaking out. Not something I’ve done before. Not something I should do. But …

  Ok. Leaving now!

  I tiptoe into the hallway, closing my door softly behind me. There’s no glow beneath Hunter’s door, and the downstairs is pitch-black, too. I grab my coat and some gloves and slip outside. On the porch, I hesitate for a second, because Mom and Dad would absolutely lose it if they found out I did this. They’re taking my safety so extra seriously now—the whole town is. Dad’s having security cameras installed and everything. But I need to see Liam.

  Clutching my phone and using its flashlight app, I start down the road. I make it pretty far before I start to get completely creeped out. All the way to the library. But then I start to panic. I can’t cross the bridge on foot at night. There’s no way. If someone’s after me and wants to throw me in that water, Liam won’t be able to save me. No one knows I left the house; they won’t even know where to look for me.

  I whip around and run home as fast as I can. When I get back to my bedroom, I immediately start crying. I can’t believe I was so stupid as to go outside at night in the pitch damn dark and freezing cold. Knowing there’s a serial killer out there who’s watching, waiting.

  Just because the other incidents happened in rivers doesn’t mean the killer won’t become desperate enough to off me someplace else. They’ve been stalking Grace in the middle of St. Elm, after all.

  My phone buzzes. A text from Liam. Where are you?? You ok??

  Back home. So sorry, I just couldn’t. Leaving my house at night was so dumb Liam. What was I thinking.

  Ur not dumb. I’m coming there. Is that ok?

  I think about it. If Mom finds him in my room, a serial killer is no longer my biggest worry. But at the same time … I really want to see him. I’m desperate to see him. I’m heavy with guilt over Grace’s confession and how tempted it makes me. I wonder if I should tell Liam, and I decide not to. It would make me feel better not to feel like I’m carrying an ugly secret, but it would cause him unnecessary insecurity and hurt. That’s not fair. It’s selfish. So I won’t do it.

  Yes. Pls.

  I wait, less patiently than I’d like to admit. When Liam texts that he’s outside, I sneak down and let him in. It’s risky, but I guess it’s also good that there isn’t a way for him (or anyone) to just climb into my room.

  We make it through the living room, up the stairs, down the hallway, and then just as I’m about to close my door, Hunter opens his. He’s sleep bleary and zombielike, obviously headed for the bathroom and not expecting to see anyone. At the sight of Liam beside me, his eyes widen, and he whispers a scandalized “Amelia!”

  “We’re not doing anything we shouldn’t,” I say quickly. “Please don’t tell Mom and Dad. I just wanted to see him.”

  Hunter lingers, indecisive. “Fine, but if I find out that you—”

  “We won’t,” I interrupt. I don’t need to hear how that sentence ends.

  He glares at Liam for a moment, then shuffles away toward the bathroom.

  “That would’ve gone way worse if he hadn’t been half asleep,” I say after my door clicks shut. “Don’t add stealth to my list of skills, I guess.”

  Liam laughs. “I don’t know. You did pretty well. You just can’t predict that brother of yours.”

  “True enough.” Now that we’re alone—alone, alone—I think about what that really means. Liam’s arms are already around me, and a thrill sparks through me. No one will know what happens in here except us. What we say, what we do. It’s a private, quiet moment, and what we make it is up to us.

  “You know I meant it, what I told Hunter,” I whisper. “I’m not quite ready to—”

  “I understand.” He lets go of me, unzips the jacket he’s wearing, drapes it neatly over the back of my desk chair, and stacks his gloves and baseball cap on top of it. He almost looks annoyed for a moment, but then he fixes me with a brilliant smile and says, “I just wanted to see you, too.”

  “Good.” I wrap my arms around him, nestle my face against his neck. I hate that I let Hunter talk me out of even speaking to Liam for so long, and I’m glad I let myself go for it in the end. I press my lips to his throat and revel in the fluttering inside of me when his arms tighten and he lets out a contented sigh. He captures my mouth with his, kissing me the way he does that makes me feel so wanted. I can barely breathe, but I don’t care, because all I want is this: Liam, warming me from the inside out. Making me forget about the fear and the water and the murders. Mostly forget. Briefly forget.

  “Liam,” I whisper, pressing my forehead against his while I catch my breath. “I just feel … I’m scared. All the time.”

  He kisses me again, gently. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  He can’t promise that, as much as he might want to. He doesn’t know what kind of person we’re dealing with. No one does. The murderer might chalk me up to a mistake and leave me alone forever, or they might be watching me when I don’t even know it. Goose bumps pucker my skin and I take a deep, steadying breath. Maybe he can’t promise, but I know he means it. He wants to keep me safe, but he isn’t trying to smother me. And that’s something I can appreciate. I already have parents, and I don’t need Sky a
nd Hunter becoming a second set. I need people to trust me, to let me live my life. If I sit caged in my room, never leaving for fear of someone coming after me, then I may as well have died to begin with. Because that’s not living.

  I don’t know exactly how to find the balance between caution and joy, but I intend to figure it out. And I have to be allowed to do it.

  Liam brushes my hair lightly away from my neck with his fingertips, and then his lips graze my throat. His fingers tangle more tightly in my hair and he says, “Do you trust me?”

  I pull his mouth to mine because right now kissing him is the thing I need. His kiss is the oxygen I breathe, and his arms around me are what hold me together.

  “I trust you,” I whisper.

  His smile when he kisses me again—it’s perfect.

  In the morning, I get another text from the burner phone number. It’s a picture of Liam outside my house in the dark, with the caption:

  Pretty boyfriend. Does he know you’ll be dead soon?

  I show Mom immediately and then screenshot and send it to Detective Cheney. Mom wants me to stay home from school, but I talk her out of it. Her worry is a double-edged sword—I had to tell her Liam came here last night, but she’s not even mad about that. She’s just worried about his safety and wants to call his dad.

  “I don’t think his dad will care,” says Hunter, surprising me. “I’ve never heard him say anything that wasn’t a criticism to Liam, and anytime he actually comes to anything at school, he’s scowling.”

  This information jolts me. What Hunter said isn’t news, exactly, but it’s a level of detail that I hadn’t attained about Liam’s dad. And Hunter doesn’t even like Liam. It makes me think about how centered I’ve been on myself, how I’ve actually asked Liam next to nothing about his home life, telling myself that if he wanted to share, he would, and I feel like a jerk for that. Our relationship feels so real and important and beautiful, but have I even bothered to get to know him on a deep level? I’ve been so wrapped up in what’s going on with me that my interactions with everyone around me have been … not superficial, exactly, but I certainly haven’t been asking about their lives nearly as much as I should.

  “I’ll ask him,” I tell Mom. “I’m sure he’ll give me his dad’s number for you.”

  At school, I abandon Hunter in the athletic building as soon as I see Liam. There’s still plenty of time before morning assembly, so I take him to the stairwell that leads down to the pool, the famed ideal location for private conversations (or make-out sessions).

  I show him the text I got, and he is, of course, outraged.

  “The police really weren’t able to trace the number?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “And the messages are too short and generic to try to glean, like, a style from them. My mom was worried this might put you in danger, and she wants to call your dad. Is that possible?”

  His expression darkens. “I’m not in danger. Only girls have died.”

  “Sure, so far, but we don’t know what the killer might do with boyfriends of survivors. I know that sounds flippant, but seriously, we don’t.”

  “Your mom does not need to talk to my dad, Amelia.”

  I’m annoyed by him brushing this off so much. “Maybe not, but what’s the harm if she does?” When he doesn’t say anything right away, I bluster on. “Is there a reason you don’t want your dad hearing from my mom? I feel like … maybe I’ve been too self-absorbed lately and I just … I don’t feel like I know enough deep stuff about your life. Do you feel that way?”

  “Are you telling me you don’t think we have deep conversations?” His voice rises. “Or maybe what you’re actually telling me is that you don’t listen when I speak.”

  I open and close my mouth. My face feels hot. We haven’t fought yet and it had to happen eventually. But I don’t like the look in his eyes, the flashing anger. It makes me think about what Hunter said about the squirrels, lined up all neatly.

  “No, I’m not saying that. I do listen, and obviously we talk about stuff, but you’ve told me basically nothing about your family, Liam. All you’ve said is what people think of your parents, not what the truth is. So why don’t you tell me why my mom can’t call your dad?”

  “Because he is a complete monster. Is that what you want to hear?” He’s not shouting, but it feels like shouting. I find myself compelled to inch away from him, and something about that seems really wrong. “Why do you think I’ve never had you over to my house? Why do you think you didn’t see him at a single one of my soccer games this season? He couldn’t even muster interest in the championship for Christ’s sake. He cares about nothing and no one except himself, and if your mom calls to tell him a serial killer might target me, he’ll probably tell her who cares.”

  My throat tightens. “I had no idea.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” he says gruffly. “I didn’t want you to have any idea, but you pressed it, so there you go.”

  “Liam—”

  I start to reach for him as he storms away, but something stops me. He doesn’t want to be followed, that much is very clear.

  Just the start to another super great day of school, I guess.

  * * *

  I don’t hear from Liam until nine o’clock at night. To be fair, the silent treatment went both ways. But still.

  I’m sorry about this morning. I shouldn’t have gotten so mad at you.

  It’s fine, I understand.

  It’s not fine, though. I can’t stop thinking about our fight. It wasn’t the worst fight I’ve ever had. It wasn’t the loudest or the cruelest. Steve was unkinder to me last week, even. But the feeling I got when he was angry with me. That impulse to step back, the voice in my head that screamed I wasn’t safe. What was that? It felt important. It felt like a message I needed to heed.

  Wouldn’t it be funny, whispers a nasty voice in my head, if you’ve been dating the serial killer all along?

  That voice turns wheels that I suddenly wish were left unturned. Liam’s not the serial killer. No way is he the serial killer. To date me after trying to kill me would be so beyond sick. But also … he has hated Hunter for years. Then there’s the death of Alec’s sister shortly after he tried to lure me away from Liam at the Halloween party. And Steve spread rumors all over Hen Falls Elementary about Liam’s dad. Three boys he hates, three sisters who were killed or almost killed. He also knows I missed seeing his championship game-winning goal because of Grace. Who started being followed shortly after that night. A dark family history and an absence of parental affection. A necklace that reappeared out of nowhere. Neatly arranged rows of dead squirrels in middle school. A dead beetle he gifted to me that’s usually found on corpses.

  No. I’m not going down this path. I’m completely overreacting to an incredibly minor fight.

  Aren’t I?

  My phone screen lights up—he’s calling me now. I reject it on impulse, not ready to talk to him while I’m working through whatever I’m feeling right now. I’m trying to think of a good excuse I can text him as to why I didn’t answer when an excuse presents itself right outside my window: police sirens and flashing blue lights.

  I move to my window and lift the blinds. There are four police cars parked in front of my neighbor’s house. I snap a picture and text it to Liam with the message, Something’s happening, call u in a bit.

  WHOA!!! is what comes back.

  I squeeze my phone between both palms, barely noticing when Hunter busts into my room without knocking.

  “What’s going on?” he asks.

  “It looks like they’re arresting Mr. Omerton.”

  I move so he can stand beside me.

  “Do you think he’s the one who … ?”

  I can barely breathe. “I don’t know. Maybe? What else would they be arresting him for?”

  We both watch as Mr. Omerton emerges from his house, hands in the air. It’s over so quickly. There is no standoff, no shouting, nothing. I don’t know what I expected. This
could be it. All my worries could end with this arrest. I wish that made me feel better. I wish it made me feel anything.

  I stand in the window long after the flashing lights and the sirens have faded away, waiting for that feeling to come.

  But it never does.

  Turns out, I’m not the only one Mr. Omerton’s been staring at lately. One of the neighborhood watch people noticed him at the library, spying on girls in the YA section. It’s a pretty small thing, really, but between that and what I’d already shared, they decided it was worth looking into him and found some disturbing stuff. After the arrest, I had to go talk to Detective Cheney again, but she wouldn’t tell me any details about what they’d found as it was “not my business.” I, personally, think it extremely is my business, but Mom pointed out that Detective Cheney has to follow the law and that this is all part of an ongoing investigation. The only thing I know is that they found pictures of Lydia and Maria and me on his computer—among others—plus several high school photos (including the one of me) and that he’s charged with the two murders, and with my attempted murder.

  My parents are absolutely elated. Everyone is.

  Everyone except me.

  Maybe he did it. I guess I hope he did it. But I don’t feel like he did it.

  “What do you want to do this weekend?” Liam asks me. We’re over our fight—other than my lingering unsettled feeling—and we’re walking together to class from morning assembly, fingers entwined.

  “I don’t know. I guess I can kind of do anything now, huh?”

  He grins, his smile as disarmingly beautiful as ever. “Must feel pretty good.”

  I return the smile and lean into his arm as we walk. “It does feel good.”

  Saying it doesn’t make it feel true, but my hope is that eventually it’ll start to. Mr. Omerton’s arrest just seems … too easy. I’m relieved he’s behind bars, but it’s hard to let go of the tension, the fear. Mom suggested therapy to me again last night, and this time I’m thinking I should take her up on it.