Lost In Lies

by Xavier Neal

  “Never be sorry,” Eiden elbows his brother playfully.

  Sliding a lollipop into his mouth, Peter mumbles, “Unless you’re sorry you’re still wearing that.”

  The three of them chuckle as Justin rolls his eyes, “A little respect, please.”

  “Sorry,” the twins mumble in unison, lowering their heads.

  “I’m good,” Peter glances over his shoulder at me before looking back at Justin, “What fun is it to be the captain of the ship if I can’t push a few buttons?”

  Feeling a physical implication underneath that, I turn to leave just as Justin says, “You may never touch any of her buttons. Are we clear?”

  I quickly dry off, pin my hair in a messy bun, and toss on a pair of yoga pants with a bright-colored tank top. Once I’m satisfied with the look, I meet the group back in the main room. Confused as to why I haven’t see Belle since earlier, I look around before deciding to ask.

  “Where’s…”

  “Doing her part to keep Dubs occupied,” Peter answers unhappily, the lollipop still rolling around in his mouth.

  “Did you already call Nick?” Aiden questions, looking up from his computer screen.

  “Yeah, told him Belle was ditching me yet again. Didn’t know that was going to be true,” I giggle, my eyes meeting Justin’s, who shows no sign of weakness, a stone-cold con artist. It’s moments like these that make it hard to know the difference between fact and fiction with him.

  Aiden smiles and turns his attention to Justin, who rises to his feet. “Very basic from this point on, Peyton. You’re going to slip this into drink. Once he’s out, you’ll send me a text. I’ll fly down from the rooftop and in through his bedroom window.”

  Eiden holds out a little blue pill that is easy to hide as well as lose. I reach out for the small Zip-loc bag and slide it into my purse.

  “He will pass out moments after, so make sure he’s somewhere safe.”

  “Preferably not over you,” Justin smirks.

  I give him a glare before continuing, “How long are we talking?”

  “He’ll be out for about two hours. It’s a lower dosage,” Eiden informs me, picking his cell phone back up in a frustrated manner.

  “How are you holding up?” Justin glances at him, as the twin runs his fingers through his hair.

  “Been better,” Eiden grumbles. “Trying to move enough…” the pause seems odd to me, so I turn my face from him, “product to make enough funds to get us a damn ship, but it’s hard when we’re not there. I can’t ...” he looks at me, puzzled again, before returning his attention to Justin, “guarantee anything. I’m not sure what we have left. It’s just frustrating.”

  “We’ll be back soon,” Justin reassures him.

  “What are you talking about?” I fold my arms across my chest.

  Justin holds up a finger for me to wait and finishes with Eiden, “Call Bear. Have her move some out of the reserves. She can take them to Lily, but she needs to mention they needed to be stripped and sold immediately. Lily will take her cut and push the rest to Jimmy, who will slip the money into Jake’s account. Should set us up until we get home.”

  “I can do that,” Eiden grins for the first time since Peter’s explosion, who for some reason, dismissed himself from this situation, my guess is to either spy on his girlfriend or hook up with one of the locals. Most likely the locals. “Thanks.”

  “It’s what I’m here for,” Justin tips his hat at him and turns to me, “I’ll explain what else it is we do when we get back home. For now, let’s focus on getting that perfume.”

  “All right,” I nod. “Walk me to the elevator?”

  “Yeah,” he answers.

  Two steps away from Aiden, he yells, “Guys! Guys! Darling’s making a phone call, same number!” We head back to see the map pulled up on the screen with a blinking, red dot. “Once the receiver picks up, I can start breaking down walls.” Aiden starts typing rapidly, his fingers looking like he’s making ghost strikes on the keyboard. To his disappointment, firewall after firewall pops up. As soon as he can break one down, another shows up. Aiden’s fingers move faster, but we’re all disappointed when the call ends. “Damn it!”

  “Sorry, pal,” Justin places a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe we should try another route.”

  Annoyed, he snaps, “You don’t think I haven’t thought about that?”

  “Whoa,” Justin holds up a hand. “I meant to go back through the paperwork and itinerary we got on Darling back when we were trying to steal the Sous Clef. See if you can match any movements with anything here in Landlin. Try to find the connection. Look into even further back when Peyton was younger—maybe before she was born.”

  Aiden nods, and we disappear. Once out of earshot, I look up at Justin, “So find the perfume, then text you?”

  “Right.”

  “Then you’ll send Jake a text to tip off the Dark Watchers that you’re going to try to steal it tonight and that our ship leaves first thing in the morning?”

  “Right.”

  “Then I’ll unlock the window closest to the office, they’ll try to break in, Nick will wake up and hear the commotion, and you all will get spooked and flee the scene. I come home, tell Peter, ‘Oh no, I think that’s a waste of time. I discovered the real bottle last night.’”

  “Please put more act into than that,” Justin chuckles as the elevator opens.

  “I will,” I wink. “See you shortly.”

  After waiting to be buzzed in, thinking that I might be stood up, Nick finally lets me in. On the short elevator ride, I do my best to hold my composure together, knowing this is make-or-break-it time.

  Exiting the elevator, I head to Nick’s door, where I hear a voice right on the other side. I prepare to knock but hesitate when I realize it’s Arnett.

  “She says her last name’s Darvin, but she hesitated like she meant to say—” My ear presses against the door in the moment of silence. “I think so. I can’t get a photo of her without being conspicuous.” Who could he be talking to? I couldn’t hear anyone else in the room. Local police? Is it a crime to use a fake name? Well, yeah, I know it is, but I mean, that’s not enough to contact the authorities, is it? Or worse, could he be talking to Nick’s parents? “I could act like that and take one on the sly, but I…” His voice cuts off. “Yes. I’ll try.”

  Hearing a hand hit the doorknob, I pull out my own phone as if I were sending a message when Arnett opens the door and hangs up his phone. Startled, he says, “Peyton! I, um, didn’t know you were there.”

  “Just coming up,” I thumb down to Aiden in my contacts list. “Had to answer a text from a friend first.”

  Suspicious, he tilts his head, “Could you ... hear me out here?”

  “No.”

  “But you didn’t act startled when you saw me.”

  I feel the pressure of his questions tightening around my neck, like a noose determined to kill me, which is when Nick appears from behind him, “That’s because she was most likely wrapped up in thoughts of me.”

  Arnett scrunches his nose and glances over his shoulder, “I’m sure.” Moving out of my way, he turns and says, “Do you kids mind if I get a picture of you two together? Your parents have been asking to see the lovely lady of your choice.”

  Nick presses his lips together, “And since when do they care about who I’m seeing?”

  “Since you’ve spent almost every waking moment with her,” Arnett clears his throat as Nick blushes.

  “Est-cela un problème?”

  “Vous me dites.”

  “Good night, Arnett,” Nick holds onto the door.

  He grunts and shakes his head in return, “Good night, Nicholas.”

  Once he’s out of sight, I plant a small kiss on his cheek and sigh, “Good evening.”

  “It is indeed.”

  “Sorry about just dropping in like this. I was tired of being alone,” I confess, my cell phone still twirling around in my hands as I’m anxious to send a text.
>
  “I know how you feel. Ever since Dubs met Belle, I haven’t been able to get a hold of him. I got so desperate that I even attempted calling his parents, but there was no answer there either. It’s like he’s a total ghost.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder, “Though with you around, it seems to help ease the pain.”

  “Good to know,” I hum and follow him back to the living room area. “Hey, do you mind if I use your restroom?”

  “Go ahead,” he points, and I escort myself to his bathroom. Pausing, knowing I have to slip something into his drink, which he doesn’t have, I call back, “Do you mind grabbing us something to drink?”

  “Sure,” Nick calls as I slip into his bathroom.

  Once inside, I lock the door and sit on top of the toilet seat, my fingers grazing the keys to type Aiden a message.

  Me: Check Arnett’s phone records and locations over the last few days, please.

  Quickly, I receive a response.

  Aiden: Will do.

  Once confirmed, I turn the faucet on to give the illusion of freshening up and slip my phone in my purse and the Zip-loc in my pocket. Coming out, I see Nick bringing glasses into the living room. I do my best to linger in his bedroom. I know, from experience, that if I were going to be knocked out, I’d rather wake up in my bed.

  “That painting looks familiar,” I sit on the edge of his bed and point to an abstract painting on the wall that I KNOW wasn’t there the last time.

  Nick meets me in his room, puts the glasses down on the nightstand, and nods slowly, “It should. You’re a lover of the art world. This painting’s by Tim Darling.”

  “What?!” My arm gesture spills both glasses onto the floor.

  “Whoa,” he chuckles.

  “Oh my gosh, I didn’t ... I didn’t mean to! It was an accident! I’m so sorry, Nick! I know, I mean, I'm sorry. I…”

  “It’s OK,” Nick assures me, “I’ll grab a towel from my bathroom.”

  “I’ll refill the drinks,” I sigh, grabbing the glasses.

  Maneuvering around the splash, I head straight to the kitchen. My father’s painting? How can that be? I’ve ... I’ve never seen it before! I know all my father’s paintings! I even know his earlier pieces that he sold before I was born like Sierra, Sienna, and even Izzie, which was the first piece he sold for more than $10,000. There’s no way my father painted this and I don’t know it. It’s just impossible, though to be fair to myself, I’ve been dealing with the impossible a lot lately.

  Placing the glasses on the countertop, I open the fridge, grab the juice from the top shelf, and re-pour it. I grab the bag out of my pocket, place the pill in what will be Nick’s glass, and fill it almost all the way to the top. I pour myself a glass halfway so I can tell the difference and put it back.

  I raise the glass to my lips like I had been drinking it as I arrive back in Nick’s room, “Sorry again.”

  “Not a big deal. Didn’t mean to startle you,” he tosses the towels in the laundry hamper in his bathroom. I hand him his glass and sip from mine. After mimicking my action, he starts over, “As I was saying, Tim Darling painted this one. Fairly famous painter.”

  “I’m aware of his work.”

  “He’s fantastic.”

  “I agree.”

  “This is one of his older pieces. One of his first.” Continuing to down the glass, he takes a seat next to me.

  I rack my brain to recall this piece, knowing my father kept pictures of all his works. My brain kicks into memory mode, where the image of my father sitting beside me on the couch showing a very small me a black scrapbook of his pieces, then as a shy preteen, up until we moved into the penthouse. Every so often, when he’d add a new piece, we’d scan through the photos together, me marking my favorites, including the works that dated back to fourth grade, saved by my illusive grandmother.

  “What’s its name?” I politely ask, knowing how he names all his pieces after women.

  “Elaine,” the name slides off his tongue easily, choking my heart a little. “Tim’s first love. Painted with her favorite colors. He was 17 years old, love struck.”

  “Never heard that story before,” I place the glass down and fold my arms across my chest.

  “Arnett says he’s a good friend of my father’s. They’ve been friends since the end of high school. Met as seniors, became friends, told him all about this girl named Elaine. She wasn’t your average girl. He, um, he said she was like an angel. Had wings to make him fly but no halo. He painted this for her; the romance was quickly ended when his parents found out. All he would tell my father is his father told him, ‘Sometimes, there are bigger things at play than us. Who are we to destroy those things that were lifetimes in the making?’”

  The speech rings in my ears as my mind flashes back to the day I left, my father saying those same words to me. I attempt to shake them off before clearing my throat, “So how’d your father get this piece?”

  “Elaine disappeared and refused to take the piece with her. Wanted Tim to keep it to remember her by. He knew his father wouldn’t allow it, so he gave it to my dad. Asked him to keep it safe. Dad locked it up in storage until just recently. Apparently he asked Arnett the other day to take it out, mentioning something about I'm finally ready to have it around. He hung it in my room and said, ‘Tim is a great man, and someday you’ll know why.’”

  “Ever met him?” After receiving no response, I glance to see Nick indeed passed out. Unsure of how to sort out the feelings he’s just stirred up, I lick my lips and rise to my feet. My inner demons are going to have to wait on this one. I have a job to do.

  Searching around, I move his pillows then start digging through his dresser drawer. A girl that could make him fly with no halo? A fairy. It had to be. But I want to know, was it Belle? I mean, she said her name was Elaine, but she could have lied, you know? Maybe Elaine was a Dark Watcher. Maybe she was working with Alex against the Precious Society! What if she was the reason my father almost didn’t join the society? I mean, that would give him reason not to just hate Peter but hate Alex even more. Enough daydreaming—I have a job to do.

  Dropping to my knees, I begin searching under Nick’s ridiculously clean bed, lifting up the corner up of his mattress, knowing that’s where I would hide my notebook. Grunting in disappointment to see the box spring devoid of anything, I head over to his closet and start riffling around, digging through pockets and old boxes, doing my best not to get too much out of place. Did my father have to give me the same exact speech his father did? He couldn’t have paraphrased it? Is Dad punishing me for his own father’s stupid mistake? Though if his father hadn’t stopped him, would I have ever been born?

  I find myself defeated again and slide against the closed closet door. Running my fingers through my hair, I wonder how on earth Justin stays calm in a situation like this. Between the questions arising about my father to the pressure sitting on my shoulders, I can’t even think clearly. Crawling over to my purse, I pull out my phone and make a call.

  “Hey, Aiden,” I sigh.

  “Hey, Peyton, that girl I went out with the other night called!”

  “That’s great. I…”

  “Can you believe it? She actually called me. Me!”

  “That’s awesome, but…”

  “She’s a gorgeous girl too! Long blond hair, bright features, sparkling smile, and—”

  “Aiden!” I yell into the phone. “I hate to interrupt you. In fact, you can tell me all about it when I get home later, but right now, I need some advice.”

  “Sure,” I hear the keys on his keyboard come to a halt. “Wait, from me?”

  “That’s why I called you.” The agitation in my voice must be apparent.

  “Shoot.”

  “Let’s go back to when you guys were studying me at the penthouse. Let’s go back to when you were busy looking under my mattress. How did you know to look there? Why not in my closet? Why not in my drawer?”

  “Well, we checked the basics, but really, if you�
��re in search of something special, you have to check the person. You loved your sketchbook and wouldn’t want it far from you at any given moment, not even when you slept.”

  “My mattress,” I mumble. “So if I were looking for something that meant something to someone, I would need to look somewhere that meant something.”

  “People often ramble off information about things that mean something to them. They can’t help it. Their brain gets excited, their lips can’t be stopped, and it just pours out of them like water.”

  I search around, and my eyes land on the painting we were discussing earlier. “Elaine.”

  “What?”

  “I gotta go. Thanks, Aiden.”

  “Peyton, wait, I—”

  I cut the call off and slide the phone into my pocket. Darting over to the painting, nearly tripping over Nick’s feet, I take a leap of faith. The painting can’t hold perfume, but what if, just what if, it’s a clue to where it is? What if it’s right underneath? My eyes start at the painting and trail down to where Nick’s different bottles of glue and paint are when I notice it.

  “I’ll be damned,” I pick up the bottle of perfume and admire how much the replica in the locked-up case looks almost perfect. Putting the bottle down, I pick up my phone and call Justin, “Hey!”

  “Told you I believed you.” I smile, and he continues, “Time for part two.”

  After hanging up, I do like we discussed. I walk around and unlock the bedroom window before heading out of Nick’s room to unlock the windows in the back living room.

  I travel back to where Nick lies sleeping and sit next to his motionless body. My fingertips run across his forehead, a little sad that I have to treat this poor guy this way, the other part of me wondering if Elaine ever put my father in a situation like this.

  Feeling that I’m no longer alone, I raise my eyebrows, asking Justin without looking directly at him, “Did you ever slip this into my drink?”

  “Once or twice,” Justin admits, strolling around, his hand sliding in his pocket. “We needed a better look inside that journal of yours. It was damn near sown to your hand. You never parted with that thing, not even while sleeping.”