Tell Me No Lies

by A. V. Geiger

  He tapped the pistol rhythmically against his outer thigh, and his mind went back to the other night. He’d tiptoed into the bathroom with Tessa’s phone and opened one of the notifications. It brought up Twitter, logged in to his account. Mrs. Eric Thorn was the one causing all the commotion that night. She’d been online and tweeting. Eric must have sat there for half an hour, staring at the screen as MET posted tweet after tweet. And all the while, he kept coming back to the words beside her username.

  MET (@MrsEricThorn) FOLLOWS YOU

  And then the DM button…

  Eric knew what he had to do. It hadn’t been hard once the idea came to him. If Blair was running that account, it would be easy enough to tempt him out of the shadows. Eric had squared his jaw as he typed out his first DM:

  Eric: Hi, my name is Tessa Hart. I’m a publicist on Eric’s team. Eric will be shooting a music video on May 1, and we need some lucky fans to act as extras in the video. Congratulations on being selected!

  MET: ARE U SERIOUS?

  Eric: If you would like to participate, you will need to arrive on set before dawn on the morning of May 1. We suggest that you stay overnight in the LA area on April 30. If you do not live in the area, a hotel room will be booked on your behalf at the Beverly Hilton.

  MET: TESSA?

  Eric: Yes, this is Tessa Hart.

  MET: OMGGGG! I THOUGHT that was you in the pic!

  Eric: Like I said, I’m a publicist on Eric’s team. I will personally be coordinating the extras for this video shoot. Would you like to participate?

  MET: Wait. Waitwaitwait. I can get to LA, but will you be there? Tessa?

  Eric remembered how the mirthless grin had split his face when MET asked that question. Bingo, he’d thought to himself. It had to be Blair. Had to be! Blair must have hacked the account. Why would some fangirl care about seeing Tessa?

  The next message confirmed it.

  MET: Because there’s something I want to talk to you about. But not on Twitter. Better in person.

  Obviously, Blair had taken the bait. He thought this was his big chance to get Tessa alone. Eric had played along.

  Eric: Talk about what?

  MET: There’s something you should know… It’s important. Is there any way we could meet? Somewhere private?

  Eric: I could come to your hotel room the night before. Is that good?

  MET: Good. But don’t bring anyone else. Not anyone, OK? Just you, Tessa.

  Eric: I’ll be there. Beverly Hilton, April 30. Let’s say 9 p.m.?

  MET: Awesome. It’s a date ;)

  Eric had deleted the DM thread afterward. Destroyed the evidence. Tessa had access to his Twitter account, and he didn’t want her to know anything about this particular conversation.

  There was no way she could have seen it though. He might have left his own phone in the bedroom, but Tessa wouldn’t have looked at it. She was asleep the whole time. And even when she logged on to Twitter these days, Eric knew she never ventured near the message tab. The mere sight of a DM sent her spiraling into panic mode.

  Eric tensed his pistol arm again. The light reemerged from its hiding place, warming his skin. The director called instructions through his bullhorn.

  “Clear the set. And…action!”

  Eric looked across the back lot toward the actor playing his nemesis. The sun hung low in the sky, glaring into Eric’s eyes. They only had time for a few more takes before calling it a wrap. Then Eric would head back to his trailer. Change into his regular clothes. Kiss Tessa on the cheek, and make up some excuse to head out again. Some errand to run—an errand that led him in the direction of the Beverly Hilton.

  Tessa didn’t need to know the details. It was better if he kept her in the dark. He’d tell her later, of course. Tomorrow, after it was over. After his “errand” was complete.

  “OK, Eric,” the director’s voice called. “I need you to raise your gun slowly. Squint a little bit, like you’re aiming. That’s it.”

  Eric did as he was told even as his mind raced forward.

  Tonight.

  It would all go down tonight.

  “Good, Eric. Hold that pose… That’s it. Now pull the trigger.”

  THE INTERROGATION

  (FRAGMENT 6)

  May 1, 2017, 3:24 p.m.

  Case #75932.394.1

  OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPTION OF POLICE INTERVIEW

  —START PAGE 1—

  INVESTIGATOR: Thank you for sitting down with us, Mr. Thorn. My name is Detective Tyrone Stevens. This is my partner, Detective Andrew Morales. Today is May 1, 2017, at 3:24 p.m. This interview is being recorded.

  THORN: Yeah, I know the drill.

  INVESTIGATOR: I need your full name and occupation for the record.

  THORN: Eric Taylor Thorn.

  INVESTIGATOR: Occupation?

  THORN: Like I said, Eric Taylor Thorn. It’s a full-time occupation.

  INVESTIGATOR: Can we go with professional entertainer, perhaps?

  THORN: Sure. Sounds good.

  INVESTIGATOR: OK, Eric. Are you aware of the direct messages exchanged several days ago between your Twitter account and the account with username @MrsEricThorn?

  THORN: How… I thought I deleted that. I don’t understand.

  INVESTIGATOR: The thread was found on the victim’s cell phone. Let the record show that we are looking at a message thread, dated April 26, 2017—

  THORN: That was me. OK? I sent those messages myself.

  INVESTIGATOR: You sent this message here? The one that states, and I quote: “Yes, this is Tessa Hart.”

  THORN: I used her name. It was all me. She didn’t know about it. I was…I was trying to trap him.

  INVESTIGATOR: Him?

  THORN: Blair Duncan. He’s been stalking Tessa for almost a year. I thought he might have gained access to the MET account. That’s his MO. He hacks things and takes creepy photos of her. There’s a whole record of it from last winter in Texas. He was arrested and everything, but the charges were dropped.

  INVESTIGATOR: I see. And you’re saying that Ms. Hart had no knowledge of your plans to entrap Blair Duncan?

  THORN: No way. Are you kidding me? She would’ve freaked.

  INVESTIGATOR: So essentially, you were using Ms. Hart as bait without her knowledge. Is that your statement?

  THORN: No, you’re twisting everything. I wasn’t using her as bait. I was trying to protect her.

  INVESTIGATOR: Without her knowledge?

  THORN: She’s been having a rough time lately. Insomnia. Panic attacks. I can’t convince her to take her meds. It’s all because of Blair…because of the picture.

  INVESTIGATOR: Her meds?

  THORN: She has an anxiety disorder.

  INVESTIGATOR: Do you recall the name of the medication she takes?

  THORN: I don’t know. It’s one of those drug names. Some antianxiety thing.

  INVESTIGATOR: This medication was prescribed to Ms. Hart by a psychiatrist?

  THORN: I guess she’s a psychiatrist. Tessa used to do therapy with her back in Texas. Dr. Regan.

  INVESTIGATOR: Are you aware of any other medications that Tessa may have been prescribed?

  THORN: Why?

  INVESTIGATOR: Please answer the question, Eric.

  THORN: No, I’m not aware of any other drugs. I’m telling you, Tessa had nothing to do with this. She wasn’t even around last night.

  INVESTIGATOR: Can you walk us through what happened yesterday evening? Did you go to the Beverly Hilton?

  THORN: Yes. Listen, I tried to help. Really. I called 911 and everything. You have to understand… I have to worry about the media, how it would look. I couldn’t… It was too late to do anything anyway.

  INVESTIGATOR: The victim was already deceased by the time you arrived?

  THORN: I think so. Someone else got there before me. The door was cracked open.

  INVESTIGATOR: Did you speak to anyone else at the hotel?

  THORN: No.

  INVESTIGATOR: Can you thi
nk of anyone else who knew of your intention to meet someone at the Beverly Hilton that night?

  THORN: No.

  INVESTIGATOR: Could anyone else have seen the messages you exchanged with MET to set up the meeting?

  THORN: No. I don’t see how.

  INVESTIGATOR: You’re sure?

  THORN: Yes, I’m sure! How many times are you going to ask me the same question?

  INVESTIGATOR: My apologies. I’m simply trying to establish who else could have known about your meeting in that hotel. The only two people with access to the @EricThorn account were yourself and Tessa Hart. Correct?

  THORN: Yes. But maybe the MET account was hacked. Maybe Blair…

  INVESTIGATOR: Again with Blair Duncan.

  THORN: He hacked one of my other accounts once. I wouldn’t put it past him.

  INVESTIGATOR: OK, Eric. Let’s go back to the direct messages exchanged on the night of April 26, arranging the meeting. You’re still sticking to the story that you sent these messages yourself?

  THORN: Yes! It’s not a story. I’m telling you, I sent them.

  INVESTIGATOR: From the time stamps, it looks like the messages started at 11:16 p.m.—

  THORN: We’ve already been over this!

  INVESTIGATOR: Do you happen to recall where Ms. Hart was at the time when you were exchanging these DMs with @MrsEricThorn?

  THORN: Tessa was asleep.

  INVESTIGATOR: Was she with you at the time?

  THORN: Yes.

  INVESTIGATOR: In the same room?

  THORN: I was in the bathroom. She was asleep in bed.

  INVESTIGATOR: The message exchange began at 11:16 p.m. and continued until 11:42 p.m. You then deleted the thread from your account. Did you delete it immediately after the conversation ended?

  THORN: Yeah. I didn’t want Tessa to see it.

  INVESTIGATOR: To the best of your recollection, did you leave the bathroom at any time between 11:16 p.m. and 11:42 p.m.?

  THORN: Probably not. No.

  INVESTIGATOR: That’s a period of twenty-six minutes when that message thread would have been visible to anyone logged in to the @EricThorn Twitter account. Isn’t it possible that Tessa could have woken up and seen those messages at some point during those twenty-six minutes?

  THORN: No. She was asleep.

  INVESTIGATOR: You’re certain of that.

  THORN: Yes! For the millionth time, Tessa had nothing to do with this!

  INVESTIGATOR: You said Tessa was unwilling to take her anxiety medication?

  THORN: What? Why…why do you keep asking about her medication?

  INVESTIGATOR: Answer the question, Eric.

  THORN: I don’t know. She said she was running low. She didn’t want to waste the last few pills in case she couldn’t get a refill.

  INVESTIGATOR: Do you know if Tessa requested a refill from her former treating physician in Texas?

  THORN: Oh my God! Seriously? What does that have to do with anything?

  INVESTIGATOR: Calm down, son. We just have a few more questions.

  THORN: Your questions make no sense. You’re not listening to me!

  INVESTIGATOR: About what? Blair Duncan?

  THORN: Yes!

  INVESTIGATOR: Let me make sure I have this right. You went to the Beverly Hilton yesterday evening, expecting to find Blair Duncan in the room.

  THORN: Right.

  INVESTIGATOR: But the person you found in the room, already deceased, was not Blair Duncan.

  THORN: Obviously not.

  INVESTIGATOR: You’d previously met Blair Duncan in person?

  THORN: Yes. In December. New Year’s Eve. I-I helped the police capture him.

  INVESTIGATOR: In Midland, Texas?

  THORN: Yes.

  INVESTIGATOR: So you’re certain that the victim in the hotel was not—

  THORN: Seriously, how dense are you? It wasn’t Blair! OK? Blair Duncan is a guy. The person I found in the hotel room was definitely female.

  15

  FEMALE PROBLEMS

  Tessa sat in a corner seat with her eyes down on her lap. She pulled out her braid and let her hair swing loose to hide her face. The waiting room was fuller than she’d expected. Most of the other girls had boyfriends or husbands seated beside them…and bellies the size of bowling balls. Everyone but her.

  “Hart. Tessa Hart?”

  She stood and followed the nurse through a swinging door. How big was this clinic anyway? The corridor looked endless. Door after door after door… One of them stood open, and Tessa peered inside as she passed. A girl about her own age lay on an operating table, feet in stirrups.

  They made eye contact for a fleeting moment. Then the girl grasped her swollen stomach, and her face contorted in pain.

  Tessa looked away. She didn’t like this place. She wished she hadn’t come. She’d forgotten to control her breathing. Now the air rushed in and out in shallow gasps.

  At last, the nurse stopped at a door. The room was empty, aside from an exam chair with a black medical bag beside it.

  That bag… She’d seen it before…

  “You’re here for a test?”

  Tessa nodded, but her throat was too parched to produce a sound.

  “Last menstrual period?”

  She thought back, counting the weeks on her fingers. Sometime after they returned from Mexico. February? It didn’t really matter. She knew the exact date when the damage was done. The night of the YouTube Music Awards: March 3.

  The nurse made a note. “Sit tight. The phlebotomist will be in shortly to take a blood sample.”

  Blood sample? Tessa gulped. She’d been expecting to pee in a cup.

  Her eyes roved around the windowless room and across the stark white tile floor. The black bag sat beside her within arm’s reach, and Tessa couldn’t take her eyes off it. She knew with a sudden certainty where she’d seen that bag before—and what it contained.

  Needles.

  Tubing.

  Packets of sterile gauze.

  A tourniquet in case of heavy bleeding…

  Tessa nudged the bag open with her elbow. Just a peek. She saw the label beneath the clasp. Black marker on white tape, in handwriting Tessa knew almost as well as her own.

  PROPERTY OF CARLA HART

  3 Sycamore Lane

  Midland, TX

  Mom?

  A knock sounded. Once. Twice. The doorknob slowly turned. A cold tremor sliced through her, and Tessa slammed her eyes shut. She heard the door creak open. And she recognized the voice that greeted her, dripping with I-told-you-so contempt.

  “You knew what would happen, Tessa. How many times did I warn you?” Tessa heard the snap of latex gloves against her mother’s skin. “You’re a Hart. It’s in your blood. You know, I got knocked up the first time your daddy ever looked at me sideways…”

  • • •

  Tessa jolted awake. Her hair stuck to the sides of her face, drenched with sweat, despite the blasting AC. She lay on her side with her legs curled to her chest on the unfamiliar motel bed. Black spots danced in front of her eyes as she sat up. Too quickly. The gorge rose in her throat, and she barely made it to the bathroom in time.

  Long moments ticked by as she kneeled in front of the toilet, struggling for breath.

  This was why she couldn’t be at Eric’s video shoot right now. The nausea was getting too intense—and too hard to explain.

  Tessa stood and washed her mouth out with water cupped in her hands. It was a dream, she told herself. It didn’t mean anything.

  But Tessa knew it was more than a bad dream. She’d known for weeks. She had to face the truth. It was all playing out the way her mother had predicted.

  And Eric was starting to suspect.

  She wasn’t showing yet, but she knew she was acting funny. The morning sickness was hard to conceal. Not to mention the mood swings. Bloating. Tenderness. She’d googled early pregnancy signs the other day, and she ticked off nearly every check box on the list.

  So far, sh
e’d blamed it all on anxiety, and Eric seemed to buy it. Why wouldn’t he? It was true in a way. Anxiety had always made her pukey. And Tessa had plenty to be anxious about, since that picture surfaced in the Mail.

  But Tessa knew she couldn’t use that excuse forever. At some point, she had to tell him the truth, and the thought of that conversation filled her with dread. She’d awakened before the second half of her mother’s favorite lecture, but Tessa could recite the rest by heart.

  He’ll blame you…

  Good luck collecting child support…

  Your whole life will be ruined. Trust me, I speak from experience…

  Another wave of nausea swept through her, and Tessa leaned over the sink. What if her mother was right? Eric wouldn’t take the news well. He wasn’t ready to have a kid. He might even want her to get rid of it.

  Tessa’s hand rose to her throat. Eric one…Eric two…Eric three…

  She could never do that. It wasn’t an option. She supported abortion access, but only as a choice for other people. Not for herself. Not when she had been the product of an unwanted pregnancy. She would never have existed if her mother had made that choice.

  So that meant this baby was coming, and Eric had to be told. Maybe he’d be happy. Excited. Tessa wanted to believe that, but she knew she was kidding herself. Why would Eric let himself get saddled with a baby and a baby mama when he had plenty of more attractive options?

  Like that wardrobe person…Katrina. The thought of her made Tessa grind her teeth. Every time she walked into some backstage dressing room, she found that girl with her hands all over Eric’s body.

  Tessa couldn’t help nursing a low-key hatred for Katrina Cortez—with her smoky eyeshadow and bad-girl piercings. She was one of those girls who snarled more often than she smiled. The type who only listened to hard-core punk bands and turned up her nose at anyone who fangirled over the kind of music Eric made.

  But that didn’t stop her from wanting Eric’s body. She was constantly touching him. Could she be any more obvious?

  Tessa rolled her eyes. She should probably do a journal entry. These were distorted thoughts. She knew better than to make assumptions about people based on how they looked. And Katrina worked in wardrobe. It was her job to fuss with Eric’s clothes.