Liar, Liar

by T. L. Martin

  I start the car, and my grip on the steering wheel tightens as I pull onto the street. I can still feel the weight of Eva’s frail fourteen-year-old body in my arms when I caught her fall in my backyard. The texture of her hair when I brushed tangled curls from her cheeks. The thumping of my pulse when she looked at me, her harsh breaths slowed, and her body relaxed against mine.

  The hope in her gaze when I promised she was safe.

  If she has really run away, there’s one place I know she might go. Somewhere she’s familiar with. Somewhere she has contacts. My knuckles whiten as I get nearer and nearer to The Pitts. I know this route better than I should. But this time, when the buildings shrink and potholes litter the street, I look closely at my surroundings. Closer than I ever have.

  A few women loiter at the corner, and I slow slightly. Two of them look old enough to be my mother. Their cheeks are sunken in, and a cigarette hangs idly between one woman’s lips as she watches me. She winks, and her heavy-lidded gaze slides appreciatively along my car. When I shift my attention to the third, something unsettling stirs in my stomach. She barely looks like a woman at all. Her eyes are hollow, like she’s seen more than anyone should in their life, and the pregnant swell of her stomach is a watermelon on her bony limbs. She can’t be older than seventeen. The same age as Eva. My jaw tightens, and I avert my gaze before passing them completely.

  Time stretches, suffocates any hope from my lungs, as I weave through streets I’ve never seen. I circle block after block, ignoring threatening stares from leering men and provocative calls from eager women.

  There’s no sign of her.

  On my second drive through, a familiar graffiti skeleton catches my gaze, and I slow. The same abandoned parking lot I parked in last time I was here approaches.

  My thumb raps the steering wheel, and I slide my teeth across my lip as a thought occurs to me. Even if I find Eva, I might be able to stall Paul for a while, but that’s not enough. Paul is new territory. He was in my fucking house, in the same room as her. I have no clue how long he’s been after her or how closely he’s been watching. I can’t underestimate how dangerous he is, and I can’t fuck this up.

  The bitter image of Eva in my bedroom, wrapped in someone else’s arms, resurfaces in my mind, lingering.

  Festering.

  It took over three years for Eva to let me hold her. Whatever that guy, Alejandro, did to earn that kind of trust from her must have taken time. History. If they were together in The Pitts, he knows things about her—and Paul—that could mean the difference in making sure she stays safe for good.

  Making a decision, I veer into the parking lot. Anything beyond Eva’s safety doesn’t matter now. Alejandro might have been her past, but I’m her future.

  And I’ll make sure he knows it.

  Locking the car, I pace down the cracked sidewalk and turn into a familiar alley. I don’t stop until I reach the same steel door I last saw Eva approach. That night, I couldn’t get close enough to see much without giving myself away. Today, the alley is dead, aside from a homeless person who’s sleeping next to a dumpster.

  Releasing a breath, I raise my fist to the dented door and bang three times. I wait a moment, and when no one answers, I start to knock again, but the door is pulled open.

  A stalky man with scars that pepper his face eyes me skeptically.

  “I’m looking for Alejandro.”

  His jaw flexes. “There’s no Alejandro here.” He moves to shut the door, but I block it with my foot. He narrows his eyes.

  “You and I both know that’s not true. A girl came here for him recently. She needs his help.”

  He watches me coolly, but a subtle current of curiosity flashes in his gaze. He knows who I’m talking about.

  “You look like a fucking cop,” he accuses.

  “Well, I’m not.” Not yet. “I’m a fucking high school student. So, can you get him or not?”

  He folds his arms across his chest. “Who are you?”

  “I’m here for Eva. That’s all he needs to know.”

  “Pretty stupid coming here with his name, you know.”

  I grit my jaw, and frustration courses through me. I don’t have time for bullshit. Eva doesn’t have time. “Tell him her fucking life is in danger. That should get him to the door.”

  The man chuckles. “You really think he’s here? In this building?”

  My gaze narrows, and he shakes his head.

  “Man, you have no idea.” He pushes out a sigh and mutters, “This girl, she’s always in some kinda trouble, isn’t she?” Pulling a folded piece of paper and a pen from his pocket, he hands them to me. “Write your number on the back, but I make no promises.”

  I scribble my info down, then hand the paper and pen back to him. “Thank you.”

  He nods, and I start to walk away.

  “Hey.”

  I pause and look back at him.

  “No bullshit. Is her life really in danger?”

  “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”

  His lips thin, and he gives another nod before he disappears into the club.

  I head back to my car, start it up, and pull onto the street. My eyes are peeled on the road, taking in every detail. I won’t give up. I’ll search for her for as long as it takes.

  A few blocks pass, and I spot the same women I drove by earlier. Only two of them are still there. The smoker and the pregnant girl. This time, the unease in my stomach wraps around my ribs, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m pulling to a stop in front of them. Both women approach me, and I roll down my window.

  The older one smiles, cigarette dangling between her fingers. “Hey, handsome,” she says in a raspy voice. “Two for the price of one for you.”

  My gaze slides to the younger girl, and my insides go cold when she stares through me. Her hand rests on the swell of her stomach, and I notice her jeans are zipped down to allow them to fit.

  I clear my throat and glance away, feeling slimy as hell. “How much?”

  The older one checks out my car and lifts a shoulder. “Hundred bucks.”

  I know she’s high-balling me, but it doesn’t matter. Reaching into my wallet, I pull out two hundreds and hold them out.

  The smoker is about to grab the cash when the pregnant girl pushes my hand back into the car and hisses, “Jesus, is this your first time or something? You pay us after.”

  I extend the money again. “Take it. You’re worth more than anything I could put in my wallet, but this is what I have.”

  The girl frowns, staring at the money. She looks back up at me, and her hand is unsteady when she finally takes it. The older woman reaches out an open palm, and the girl gives her one of the hundreds, tucking her own into the back pocket of her jeans.

  “I’m looking for someone. A girl, seventeen. She used to live here and probably just got back in town.”

  The pregnant girl takes a step back, eyes me up and down. “You a cop?”

  “No.” I push out an irritated breath. “I’m not a cop, all right? I’m her . . . I’m her brother.”

  “Well,” the smoker says, “either way, we can’t help you. Sorry.”

  My phone buzzes.

  “That’s it?” the woman asks before she takes a pull of her cigarette.

  I stare at the ID on the screen.

  Caller Unknown.

  “You don’t want us?” the younger one asks.

  I look up at her, hit accept, and my gaze flicks between the two of them. “I have someone. She’s all I need.”

  They both stare at me while I drive away, and I put the phone to my ear while I search for a place to pull over.

  “Hello?”

  The voice that answers is low and calm. “Easton Rutherford.”

  My gaze narrows, and I pull into a parking lot. “Is this Alejandro?”

  “Yes. I hear my cousin is in danger.”

  “Your cousin . . .” My brows furrow, and Eva’s words replay in my head. It’s not what you think. I�
��m so sorry. I can’t tell you. Her cousin. He’s her fucking cousin.

  An exhale pours from my lips, my grip on the phone shakes, and I feel like a fucking asshole.

  “That’s right.” There’s a pause. “Bet it all makes sense now. It’s a pleasure to meet you. So, Easton.” The calmness in his voice fades, and a menacing tone seeps through the phone. “Tell me who I need to kill.”

  Eva

  “It’s a beautiful day to be alive. Wouldn’t you agree, Evangeline?”

  Nausea rolls through me with each spin of the car’s wheels. The windows are sealed so tight I can’t get air. And he’s so, so loud.

  “In fact, I haven’t seen a day this lovely in, oh, I don’t know . . . four years, ten months, and sixteen days.”

  I shut my eyes, but it doesn’t keep him out.

  He’s not real, I tell myself. This time, the pathetic lie is smoke that chokes me. I’ve fought so hard to suffocate the nightmare that lives inside me, and now, a monster has climbed out of my broken box. It’s impossible to fight when I can’t even breathe.

  “You’re a hard one to catch, I’ll give you that.”

  I force my eyes open to see salt and pepper, salt and pepper—and suddenly, I’m so, so small. “Let me go,” I whisper.

  Stupid little girl.

  His icy gaze pierces me through the rearview mirror. “I think we both know I can’t do that.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “What would any man in my situation want? To reunite with their long-lost little girl, of course.”

  The car sways. Bile stings my tongue.

  “I’m not yours.”

  He tsks with disappointment, and the vehicle slows. “Maybe I didn’t make this clear enough in the past, but our arrangement is special to me. At least, it once was.” His voice lowers, and the grating sound burns like venom beneath my skin. “I admit, your choices have left me . . . bitter.”

  He pauses for a stop sign, makes a right, and I look out the window at my surroundings. I don’t recognize the street or suburban houses. Blue skies are the backdrop, thin rays of sunlight beaming through white clouds. My stomach twists. It really is a beautiful day.

  He pulls into a covered driveway, turns off the engine, and unbuckles his seat belt. My muscles tense. He opens the door and gets out. I hold my breath, stare at the crisp lines of his suit while he slinks around the car. Then he stands at the passenger door opposite me. My lungs are sealed without oxygen. I’m light-headed. I blink, and a monster is sitting beside me.

  Empty blue eyes lock on mine, cold fingers brush my hair, my neck. My limbs are leaden, and I’m thirteen years old, perched at the foot of a bed that isn’t mine.

  You’re a good little girl, aren’t you?

  Blunt nails stroke my cheek.

  That’s right, sweet, sweet girl.

  Trace my jaw.

  I’m your new daddy.

  His other hand comes up, and a white cloth appears through my spotty vision. I realize too late what the material is for. The cloth covers my mouth, my nose, catching my scream. I clutch his wrist with both hands. My nails cut into his skin, alarm seizes my nerves, but I’m already gone.

  Lost.

  Lost.

  Lost.

  My eyes are heavy, and my heart stutters as every lie I’ve ever told myself twists and knots together. Strong. Brave. Unbreakable. They weave around my neck and strangle me. Everyone knows how this story ends.

  Because bad men don’t meet Karma.

  And bad girls don’t get their happily ever afters.

  My eyes drift open, and an ache splits my head in half. I groan and wait a moment for my hazy vision to clear. A bedroom takes shape in front of me. My gaze travels along the wall, and it lands on a window. A window with bars lining the outside of the glass. My breath catches in my throat.

  Déjà vu.

  I sit up, squint through a wave of nausea. The bare mattress beneath me is lumpy and crawling with stains. I swallow and drag my legs over the side of the bed. Standing, my knees wobble, but I guide myself to the window, lean one hand against the glass for support, and peer past the bars. Suddenly, I see too clearly. Stucco walls may block the view of Detroit, but I know exactly where I am. I used to stand in this bedroom’s doorway, so good at being invisible, and watch my mom’s silhouette as she stared out of this window. Graffiti climbs up the neighboring apartment building’s cracked walls, and dozens of barred windows mirror this one.

  So, this is what prison looked like from my mother’s eyes.

  Home has never felt so sinister.

  A slam whips my eyes to the door across the room. The muffled sound of cabinets opening and closing hits my ears, and a shaky breath pours out of me. A monster is out there. And yet, I’ve never wanted to escape a room so badly. I can’t be here. I would return to that fucking hotel room before coming back here. But there’s only one way out. Desperation closes my throat, stings my eyes, and spurs me on across the spotted, torn carpet.

  I try the knob, but it’s locked from the outside. My knuckles whiten when I bang on the door. “Let me out.” The plea is unsteady. I shut my eyes. I can’t be here. I can’t be here. “Let me the fuck out!”

  Silence ticks, ticks, ticks in my ears.

  Then his voice slides under the door. “Watch your language, little girl. That’s your room now, so I suggest you use this time to reacquaint yourself with it.”

  “This isn’t my fucking room.” I pound on the door, and tears burn my cheeks. “Let me out!”

  He laughs, a sound quiet but bitter.

  Hatred, vile and staggering, floods me with molten flames. I bang on the door again as my mom’s beaten body—black and blue, blue and black—flashes in front of my eyes. Bang. Her broken goodbye crushes my chest. Bang, bang, bang, my heart bleeds raw. I was never supposed to come back here. This was my mother’s hell, the place we left behind. Yet I made it easy, so fucking easy, for him to drag me back.

  Breathing hard, I stumble away from the door, away from him.

  Stupid girl.

  Stupid lies.

  The backs of my knees touch the mattress, and I sink onto it. How was he able to bring me here? There’s no way he’s living in this piece of shit. Did he buy the apartment after my father died? I drag my gaze upward, look at the ceiling fan. My stomach lurches, and, this time, it’s not drug induced. I imagine my dad’s limp body strung up by the fan, and a scream locks tight in my throat.

  Did your guilt finally kill you? I silently ask him. Or did you choke on your fucking debts?

  A knot forms in my chest.

  How could you do it? How could you sell me? My eyes shut, lungs constrict, and I struggle to inhale. It’s the first time I’ve allowed my thoughts to go there, and now, trapped in the same room as my father’s ghost, it’s all I can think about. Why me? What’s so wrong with me that the only person who wants to keep me isn’t a human at all but a monster?

  Dirty.

  The word drills into my head without mercy.

  Damaged.

  Relentless and loud, so loud.

  Worthless.

  The scream trapped in my throat climbs higher, vibrates on my tongue, and I clench my teeth. Shut up. Shut up. SHUT UP. Whiskey eyes flicker into my mind. Gentle touches, shared secrets, whispered promises. My airway opens slightly, and I release a slow breath.

  Shhh . . . You’re okay. You’re safe now. Safe . . .

  Easton wanted to keep me. He wanted to protect me. I wipe my cheeks, and my hands shake. I wonder if he’s looking for me. I wonder if it even matters. If he manages to find me, could he save me? That’s the thing about monsters: they’re never really gone. For almost five years, I escaped mine, and yet he was always with me—his voice in my head, grip on my throat, and blood on my hands.

  My gaze slides to the door, and awareness turns my veins to ice.

  I will never be rid of him.

  I can’t be saved.

  “Knock knock.” As if to prove I�
��m right, the door opens, and he stands on the threshold. “Comfortable?”

  The instinct to look away pulls on my neck like a leash, but I force my gaze to remain on his aquamarine tie. I jump from one gratuitous diamond design to the next in a silent game of hopscotch until I summon the courage to look him in the eyes. I grip the edge of the mattress, heartbeats fast and sharp.

  His lips tip up, but the smile looks different than I remember. Still thin, slow, and vain, but . . . something is off. My nails scratch at the mattress’s seams. A ray of sunlight highlights his form, and I don’t understand what I’m looking at. Crow’s feet and receded hairline. Soft belly and sun-spotted hands. Where are the snake eyes? Where are the fangs, the claws, where’s the crimson blood staining his neck? He’s not supposed to look so . . . human.

  “This place suits you, you know? Something about its . . . essence.” He runs a palm down the front of his tie, as if he could smooth the ridiculousness out of it. My eyes slide behind him, to the open door teasing me with freedom. “So rich with history. I swear I sometimes hear ghosts in the walls.”

  Anger and fear pulse through me, adrenaline kicks to life beneath my skin. Don’t think. Don’t think.

  “The only thing that would suit me right now is to claw your eyes out.” The last word is still on my tongue when I spring from the mattress and run.

  He catches me in the doorway. A screech climbs up my throat, my fingernails sink into his cheek, and his curse fades as a punch to my ribs knocks the breath out of me. Black spots blink in and out of sight. He grips my hair, spins me around. A burn rips through my scalp when he shoves me face-first to the floor. I catch myself with my palms, elbows shaking. His knees straddle my calves, hot breath on my neck. The unwavering adrenaline spurs me into action, and I slam my head back as hard as I can. I hear a distinct crunch. Pain shoots through my skull, ears ringing like a siren.

  “Fucking cunt,” he spits, breathing hard. He locks my arms behind my back with one hand and presses my cheek into the carpet with the other. “Could’ve learned a thing or two from your mother.”