The thing that makes me so angry with everything that happened to me and my conviction is that by focusing on me, the police and the prosecutors squandered all of their opportunities to actually find out who killed those two people.
There is evidence there, there must be.
Did the crime tech miss it?
Did they catalog it and not process it?
What really happened to Sarah and Greg?
Isabelle tried to get me to talk about the case. She wanted answers that she thought that I could provide. The truth is that I don't have any.
I was with Tessa and I was helping her launder money. She would never come forward and say that I was with her because it would open herself up to everything that she's doing wrong.
I thought that they would not need my testimony. I thought there would be other evidence about who might've done it.
Unfortunately, the crime scene was clean.
Whoever did it was an expert.
It was almost as if it were a hit and a frame job.
Could that be it?
Did someone frame me?
The light comes on and I pull into the nearest gas station to fill up the car. It's one of those big spacious ones with showers that you could use if you pay with coins and a big store selling not just snacks, but sandwiches, burgers, and other warm food.
I pull my baseball cap over my eyes and pop the collar of my jacket. I wander the aisles, picking up some candy and some chips to make my drive a little more interesting.
I'm not very big on junk food, but it's a distraction and that's exactly what I need.
Speaking of that, I stumble upon an aisle of music. There are audiobooks and CDs.
I try to remember whether the car has a CD player. I hope it does because there are not many places where you can still buy cassette tapes.
I grab the Hamilton soundtrack, something I have never heard before, along with The Rolling Stones Greatest Hits and an Aerosmith CD. There's an odd assortment, but most of it is country.
I like some country like Miranda Lambert, but I don't recognize any of the names here.
Before going to the counter, I also grab some juice from the refrigerated section along with a bag of pretzels.
When I get back on the freeway, I drive for another hour and then see a sign for Yosemite National Park. I've only heard about it, but always wanted to visit.
“Perfect,” I say to myself out loud while “Paint It Black” thunders in the background.
An hour later, I get to the campsite not far from the park. Most national parks require you to register for campsites online or on the phone, but this one is not within the limits and there are spots available.
This is technically state park property, so there's a camp host. Getting a spot here is on the honor system and I fill out the little envelope with all of my details, careful to smudge the ones with my vehicle identification, making it hard to read.
I slip in my fifteen dollars and put the envelope in the box. If the camp host notices that my license plate isn't very clear, then I'll fix it, but if not, then it will be that much harder for anyone to track my whereabouts.
It's already pitch black and it has been for hours. I pull into an empty camping spot and park my car.
This time of year, there isn’t much camping. It's still relatively cold and the people that are here are in RVs.
That's okay with me, I just want to get some shut eye.
I get out of the car and walk to the restroom, using the light from the moon, and then climb back inside. It's cold, but when I get the blanket out of the backpack and put on a hat, it's bearable.
Maybe a motel would've been easier, but this is safer. I recline the seat and curl up as much as I can.
When I drift off to sleep, my dreams take me back to Isabelle.
20
Isabelle
My heart is thumping.
I can't breathe.
My chest tightens with each forced inhale. There is a blindfold over my eyes and something like a scarf over my mouth. It's tugging into the corners of my mouth.
I try to focus my mind, but all of the sounds everywhere overwhelm me. There are three guys in the van, as far as I can tell. Two of them pulled me inside and one put on the blindfold and the gag over my mouth.
Someone is driving the van. There are no seats back here and I'm just lying on the floor.
Whenever anyone around me moves, I can hear their boots slam against the metal floor.
No one says anything for a while and we just drive.
What do they want from me? Where are they taking me?
I don't know the answers to any of these questions and all I can feel is regret. I have all the money on me.
I never threw it in the dumpster. Now they have both me and the money. I should have just done what they said or better yet, I should have just stayed home. I shouldn’t have trusted them.
Why would they let her go now?
Why would they let either of us go?
“It's going to be okay,” my mom says.
I jump, almost out of my skin.
She's here.
Oh my God, she's here!
“It's okay, stay down,” she says, putting her hand on my shoulder.
I try to nuzzle up closer to her, but one of the other men grabs me by my neck and pulls me back.
“You’re hurting her,” Mom says.
“Shut the fuck up!” he yells back.
I want to say something else, but I don't. My neck is dropping and I can barely turn my head.
I’ve had issues with my neck since my early 20s when I woke up one morning and couldn't move at all. The pain eventually went away, but the memory of it didn't.
Now I only sleep on my back, sometimes on my side, but never on my stomach. If I lie on my stomach too long, I feel my neck getting tense and that freaks me out.
When they grabbed me, they pinched a nerve and I feel the pain that I felt that night.
We drive for some time and I can't speak even if I want to. No one says anything so I just lie here and hope that the pain in my neck goes away so that I can fight back when the time comes.
The floor of the van is cold and dirty. My thoughts go back to Tyler. I wish more than anything that we’ll be together again.
I wish more than anything that I hadn’t made this decision. I feel like such an idiot.
A fool.
I came here thinking that I could rescue her but, in fact, they just took me as well. I was unarmed. I wasn't prepared. There were three of them here, four with the driver, and they had a plan.
I'm such a fucking idiot.
Suddenly, the van pulls over and stops. I don't feel like we got on an exit or went anywhere specific, so I wonder why we're here.
The door swings open and I feel the light of the day on my face. Oh my God, they're bringing someone else in.
My body shudders.
Instead, they grab me by the shoulders and push me out. My legs drag on the floor and I would have fallen if they weren’t holding me up.
Someone grabs my hands and unties the knot around my wrists.
“You still owe us ten thousand dollars with the two grand late fee. You have two weeks,” someone says.
The door slams shut and the van drives away.
I pull the blindfold off my eyes, somewhat in disbelief. Did they really just… Let me go?
My mom runs up to me and wraps her arms around me.
“Thank you, thank you so much for coming. I don't know what they would have done if you hadn't.”
I begin to cry. My whole body shakes and we hold each other for a long time, thankful to be alive.
She has aged a lot since we saw each other. Her eyes are tired and her skin is sallow. Her hair is fried and uncombed, like it hasn’t been washed in weeks. I want to ask her what happened, but right now I also want to celebrate a little.
“I wasn't sure if you were going to,” Mom says. “I kept praying and praying that you
would, but that was lot of money and I wasn't sure if you were going to be able to come up with it.”
“That wasn’t exactly mine to give,” I say.
“I'm so sorry, honey,” she says and pulls me in close to her.
My mother looks a lot like Susan Sarandon. She's got big eyes and red hair with a fiery personality to match.
Unlike me, she likes to be the center of attention and the life of the party. That always seemed to get her in trouble, but never like now.
Her left eye has a big bruise around it and there are more bruises up and down her arms and legs.
She's dressed in a tight dress, but it's dirty and weathered, like it hasn't been washed in weeks.
“How long have they been keeping you there?” I don't know where there is and I'm too afraid to ask.
“Don't worry about it, honey,” Mom says, giving me a firm squeeze of the shoulders.
“You have to tell me what happened,” I say.
“I know,” Mom says, tossing her hair and straightening her back.
She looks like she has been to hell and back and yet here she is tall, elegant, and confident as ever.
“I will. Ultimately, everything. Just not now.”
“Right,” I say, rubbing my neck a little bit and turning my head from side to side.
The pain seems to have gone away. It seems to have been brought on just by the actual physical pain but also from the tension in the fear of being thrown into the van.
“We need to figure out what to do,” I say, looking around.
There's a big cliff to one side of the road and a mountain going up the other. The road up the mountain is narrow at only one lane each way. Every few minutes, someone drives by, but I'm not desperate enough to flag one down yet.
I feel around for what I have on me. Surprisingly, they threw me back my wallet and my phone. They took the money, of course.
“I don't have any reception here,” I say. “I think we have to walk up to see if we can get some.”
Mom limps along behind me in her heels. She has always enjoyed dressing up and being a very feminine woman.
Unlike her, I can't stand heels and I can count on my hand how many times I have worn them in the last five years.
“How are those flats?” I ask. “What happened to the heels?”
“It was easier to run in flats, so I broke them off,” Mom says. “Didn't do much good. They caught me anyway.” She winks at me and smiles.
I shake my head, unable to understand how she can be so easy-going and joking about something that caused her so much pain, but that's always been her way.
It's not that she's pretending, it's just that she's trying to make light of the situation.
“Thanks for coming for me, Isabelle. I would not have made it if you hadn't.”
She grabs my hand and gives me a squeeze.
21
Isabelle
I let out a sigh of relief.
I know that taking the money without Tyler's permission was a mistake and that he's going to be really mad, but I hope that when he sees my mom and he sees everything that she's been through, he realizes that it's going to be worth it.
I'm tempted to tell her about him, but I hesitate.
My mom and I have had a complicated relationship and just because everything seems okay now, doesn't mean that she's a particularly trustworthy person.
About a mile up the hill, I check my phone and see that I have two bars. I log into the Uber app and request a car. According to the map, there are shops another half a mile up and I make plans with the driver to meet there. Afterward, he drives us up to Running Springs where I left my car.
I debate with myself how much I should tell her about Tyler, eventually settling on not much or not yet. Whenever I think about him, I focus entirely on how I'm going to explain why I took the money. Of course, it was for my mom, but I have no excuse for not telling him upfront and not asking him to help me. This whole thing could've ended up much worse and we’re lucky that it turned out as well as it did.
Still, I have to tell Mom something about Tyler, right?
No one is supposed to know that we’re together and though I know that I needed to help my mom, I also know that she has a history of not being the most reliable person.
I decide to tell my mom to wait outside so that I can talk to Tyler alone.
She hesitates, but eventually agrees.
“Tyler! Tyler!” I walk around the cabin, but he is nowhere to be found.
Maybe he just went on another walk?
No, something seems off.
I check the bedroom again and see that my backpack is missing along with… All of his stuff.
No, he couldn't have… I don't let myself finish the thought.
When I get back to the kitchen, I see that the cupboard where we had the money is open.
I remember closing it specifically and now I realize that Tyler must have found out that I took the money.
I check my phone again.
There’re a lot of missed calls and text messages from him. I didn't call him back as soon as we got out of the van because I didn't want him to worry.
I thought that I would just come back here and explain everything in person.
“Is everything okay?” Mom asks through the door.
“No, not really,” I say, opening it.
“What happened?”
“He's gone,” I say.
“Your boyfriend?”
“Yes,” I say, sitting down on the couch.
I start to shake and I begin to cry. I bury my head and my palms and press my head to my knees.
Mom drapes her arm around me and gives me a warm embrace. I don't remember the last time my mom held me like this or even the last time that I cried.
We haven't talked in a long time and, frankly, I had given up on her.
“I'm so sorry. I shouldn’t be crying,” I say, trying to wipe my tears away.
They stream down my face and I eventually just give up and let them flow through me. I'm crying for Tyler, but it's not just about Tyler.
There's this entire release of energy and emotions that have been building up in the pit of my stomach. I know that I did the right thing, but I also know that I have betrayed him.
That's why he left.
He took everything that belongs to him and most of the food out of the refrigerator.
He didn't have a car, so how far could he have gone?
When I calm down a little bit, I grab my phone and call him. A prudent curt message says that this phone has been disconnected.
I shake my head.
“Why did he leave?” I ask, not so much my mom, but the universe.
The problem is that I already know the answer. He left because I’m a liar and he can’t trust me. The only thing that we had is our trust.
The minute that he found out that I took his lifeline, I took all of his money, he knew that I was compromised. He knew that if he wanted to make it out of here alive, he couldn't trust me.
Suddenly, a second round of tears starts to flow out of me. I hate that he thinks this about me.
I hate that he thinks that I betrayed him. I would never betray him.
I love him. I took his money, but I did it to save my mom.
I stand up and start to pace around the room trying to get out some of the energy that's being cooped up within me.
After a few moments, I feel like I'm about to explode.
Mom keeps trying to tell me something, but I push her away. I can’t hear her, can’t process anything right now except for my own dark feelings of regret and remorse.
I look at my phone and I want to throw it against the wall. Why didn't I answer my calls?
I was afraid of his wrath but should have been more afraid of his disappointment.
Now he’s cut off his phone. He probably thinks that I'm working with the cops and that I'll use it to track him.
He thinks that I have betrayed him and no matter wha
t I do, I can't get that thought out of my mind.
I don't know what to do now. I keep pacing like a caged animal and I don't realize how much time has passed until my mom comes out of the shower with a towel wrapped around her.
“Do you have any clothes that I can borrow?” she asks.
I nod, point to the bedroom, and say, “Take anything you want.”
We’re not really the same size and when she comes out, she’s swimming in my clothes.
Suddenly, she looks like the child and I'm the adult. Perhaps that is appropriate. That was often our relationship status when I was growing up.
I want to tell her so much about Tyler to try and process all of this, but I can't.
The one thing that I can do now is to protect him and keep my promise to keep his identity a secret. No matter what.
“The money belonged to Tyler,” I say.
His name slips out, but it's common enough that it should not be a problem. “I took it without his permission. I helped him get it, but it's all his. I was worried that he wouldn’t let me have it.”
“I'm so sorry, Isabelle.”
“He probably would have let me have it to save your life, but I didn't even ask. I was so selfish.”
“Don't blame yourself, honey. If you hadn’t done what you did and you had asked him and he said no, then they would've killed me. You saved my life. That's worth something, right?”
I nod and she wraps her arms around me and pulls me close to her. I sob into her chest and she holds me for a long time. She hasn’t held me like this in a very long time.
“How long do you have this cabin for?” Mom asks after I pull away.
“A few more days.”
“That's good.”
Something outside of the window catches my attention and I look up. That's when I see Mrs. Bowden driving by the house, very slowly. Our eyes meet and she looks terrified.
She grabs her phone and starts to dial, shaking her head.
“We have to get out of here,” I say. “Something’s not right.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We can't stay here,” I say, shaking my head.
The Perfect Lie (The Perfect Stranger) Page 9