Tell Me No Lies

by A. V. Geiger

  So why couldn’t Tessa shake this secret wish for Katrina Cortez to drop dead?

  Tessa hated to admit it, but she’d found herself missing her old therapy sessions lately. What would Dr. Regan say to all this? She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, summoning up the inner therapist’s voice inside her head.

  I hear you saying that you feel judged by your mother. Could you tell me more about that?

  Tessa groaned.

  She left the bathroom and flopped down heavily on the lumpy motel bed. Why had that particular therapy session sprung to mind? Because of the dream, obviously. That dream had nothing to do with Eric or Katrina—and everything to do with her nonexistent relationship with her mother.

  Tessa remembered Dr. Regan asking that same question over and over. They always came back to it, and Tessa always answered the same way. As far as my mom’s concerned, I’m the worst thing that ever happened to her. I ruined her life from the moment I was conceived.

  Now history was repeating itself. Her mother would probably crow with laughter when she heard. She’d probably consider it some kind of cosmic justice. Tessa covered her face with her hands as the dark thoughts welled up inside.

  She needed more than therapy. She needed her meds.

  But she didn’t dare touch them. Not if she was pregnant. Tessa intended to keep this baby and take the best care of it she possibly could. That was the most important thing. She might have repeated her mother’s mistake by getting pregnant, but she wouldn’t repeat the rest. She would never let this child feel like it wasn’t wanted.

  Never, Tessa vowed. She’d tell her baby that it was a treasure. The best thing that ever happened. And she’d repeat that story over and over and over until her child could recite it by heart.

  Tessa rolled onto her side. Her phone rested on the pillow beside her head, and she picked it up. Eric’s video director had probably called it a wrap by now. Eric must have returned to his trailer and discovered her absence. Did he wonder where she went? Did he even care?

  She swiped past her lock screen. Her eyes went to the Snapchat icon, but there were no new notifications. He hadn’t messaged her.

  Tessa looked away, directing her eyes upward to the motel ceiling. She knew deep down that she was the one who needed to message him. She needed to come clean. The longer she kept this pregnancy to herself, the more the secret would fester—until it ate them both alive.

  But not tonight.

  She wasn’t ready. She’d spent the past few nights sleeping over at Eric’s house in the Hollywood Hills, but she couldn’t think clearly there. She needed a night on her own to plan what she would say to him…and where she would go if he didn’t react well.

  She didn’t have a lot of options. If Eric washed his hands of her, there was only one place Tessa could turn. For a moment, she closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath.

  Eric one…Eric two…Eric three…Eric Thorn…Eric five…

  Then she swiped away from Snapchat and input a text message instead.

  Mom? Are you there? It’s me.

  • • •

  Eric trotted across the pavement of the studio back lot, shielding his eyes against the bright-orange glare of the setting sun. The director had called a wrap to the day’s video shoot after filming a half-dozen takes of Eric’s death scene. At the end of the duel, Eric’s shot went wide, and his rival’s bullet found its mark. Eric died of a gunshot wound to the chest.

  Now, he still wore the remnants of his elaborate costume with the entire left side of his coat in tatters, stained with fake movie blood. He wondered what Tessa would say when she caught sight of him. He’d grown accustomed to the heavy costume, and the bullet hole definitely added to the look. He might keep it and use it for Halloween in a couple months. Tessa could get some eighteenth-century ball gown to match.

  Not that she would be up for Halloween parties. Eric knew better than that. She’d never materialized to watch him shoot the duel, and he did his best to ignore the sinking feeling beneath his ribs. He couldn’t take it personally. Some days she needed solitude. She probably always would…

  He rapped briskly on the trailer door and swung it open.

  Empty.

  Where was she? Eric frowned. Back on set after all? Had he missed her somehow?

  He slipped out his phone, relieved to have it back in his possession. He’d felt naked without it before. He wasn’t used to walking around without Snapchat burning a hole in his back pocket. Strange, he thought, how he’d never used that app before this year, and now it was his go-to form of communication. It was like an inside joke with Tessa. The mutual double catfish. He was Snowflake734. She was RealEricThorn.

  With a dry chuckle, Eric flicked on his phone and saw that she’d beaten him to it. He had a chat message, time stamped five minutes ago.

  RealEricThorn: Did you see this? http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-3264609

  The Daily Mail ? Not again… They must have leaked more photos. He clicked the link, bracing for the worst. Goddamn Blair. How bad was the damage this time? Full-frontal nudity? He prayed they didn’t have a picture of Tessa’s face.

  The article came up on Eric’s screen, but it wasn’t Tessa in the photo. Another girl, standing in front of a large stone building. Eric recognized her face. He’d seen her in countless pictures, although he hadn’t laid eyes on her for almost a year. He knew the face in the second photo too. It looked like an old PR headshot. Eric’s forehead furrowed as he studied the side-by-side images: Dorian Cromwell next to his ex-murderer.

  Why was Tessa sending this to him?

  The article was dated over a week ago. Eric’s eyes skimmed over the headline:

  Exonerated! Fourth Dimension Fan Released. Dorian Facing Additional Charges for Conspiracy.

  Eric didn’t read the rest. He knew how Tessa felt about Dorian Cromwell. Someday, those two would end up in a Twitter war. Eric wouldn’t want to be in Dorian’s shoes when Tessa opened fire.

  He tapped out a message, and she responded right away:

  Snowflake734: Hey, where are you?

  RealEricThorn: Did you see the link?

  Snowflake734: More jail for Dorian. That sucks…

  RealEricThorn: Did you read the part about the girl?

  Snowflake734: No, just the headline. What did it say?

  RealEricThorn: It took them this long to release her because they had to wean her off the meds. They had her locked in a hospital, doped up on so many drugs she could barely speak.

  Snowflake734: That’s horrible.

  RealEricThorn: And all Dorian can do is issue some canned statement from his publicist. “Sorry if we caused you any trouble, dear. Here are some free tickets to my next concert. Blah, blah, blah.” Are you kidding me? He ruined this girl’s LIFE!!!!!!

  Eric cringed. He knew how Tessa identified with that girl. He wished they were having this conversation in person instead of by text. He could barely keep up with her. How did she manage to compose whole paragraphs in the time it took him to write a single sentence?

  Snowflake734: I mean, Dorian’s shady. I’m with you on that. At least he cleared the girl’s name.

  RealEricThorn: It’s just so… UGHHHHHHHHHHH. I hope she hunts him down and murders him for real. He SO deserves it…

  Snowflake734: Where are you?

  RealEricThorn: Like don’t you get it, Eric? Don’t you see?

  Snowflake734: Tell me where you are, and I’ll come meet you.

  He glanced out of the narrow trailer window, scanning for any sign of her. The sun had sunk below the horizon, but the crew still buzzed about outside, preparing the set for tomorrow’s bedroom scene.

  RealEricThorn: She didn’t kill anyone. She was framed. And me… Well, I was framed too. Except I’m the one who framed myself. Nobody’s coming forward to exonerate me. I DID IT TO MYSELF.

  Snowflake734: But, Tessa, everyone already knows you didn’t murder me.

  RealEricThorn: They still think there’s someth
ing wrong with me!

  Snowflake734: What? Who thinks that?

  RealEricThorn: EVERYONE

  Eric glanced at the clock at the top of his screen, tapping his foot. It was getting late. He wanted to talk to Tessa, but he also needed to be in Beverly Hills by nine. He hadn’t forgotten about his plans for the rest of the evening.

  Snowflake734: Why? Seriously, Tessa, tell me where you are. I don’t have a ton of time. I have to be somewhere at 9. We need to talk.

  RealEricThorn: No kidding, we need to talk.

  Snowflake734: OK…

  RealEricThorn: I’m sorry. It’s not you. I’m really upset right now.

  Snowflake734: Where is this coming from?

  RealEricThorn: Nowhere. I texted my mom.

  Eric’s eyebrows shot up. Now they were getting somewhere. Contact with his parents always had a way of ruining his mood too. His relationship with his mom and dad had grown more strained since his return from Mexico—but Tessa and her mother were beyond distant. The last he’d heard, Tessa had no intention of ever speaking to her mom again.

  Snowflake734: Did she answer?

  RealEricThorn: Yeah. I think I preferred noncommunication.

  Snowflake734: What did she say?

  RealEricThorn: Oh I don’t know… That I ruined her life. She had to move out of her house. The reporters wouldn’t leave her alone. So even if I did go back, she wouldn’t let me crash there.

  Snowflake734: Go back? Tessa, where are you???

  RealEricThorn: Look at this. She actually sent me this. Unbelievable.

  The message contained another link. Eric squinted in confusion at the website it brought up.

  CHALET SANTÉ

  Hit Refresh…on your life.

  “What the hell?” he muttered. From the pictures, it looked like some luxury spa resort, but the words in smaller print gave it away.

  Voluntary inpatient treatment in a secluded, technology-free setting.

  “Shit,” Eric swore under his breath. This conversation was starting to make more sense.

  RealEricThorn: She said she’ll only help me if I agree to check myself in for treatment. Did you read it? Ninety-day voluntary lock-in.

  Snowflake734: WHAT? Treatment for what???

  RealEricThorn: For being an obsessed stalker murderer, duh.

  Eric cocked his head sideways, trying to make sense of her words. Could her mother really be that clueless? Tessa had to be exaggerating. But then again, his own mom had greeted his return from the grave by sending him a care package of store-bought cookies and a list of bills that went unpaid during his absence.

  So much for parental support.

  Snowflake734: Forget your mother. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. WHERE ARE YOU?

  RealEricThorn: I’m out.

  Snowflake734: Could you be a little more specific?

  RealEricThorn: I left. I went to a hotel. I’m sorry.

  “What does that mean?” Eric whispered. His shirt collar suddenly felt too tight around his neck. He tugged at the knotted silk to relieve the tension in his throat. She left? Like, she left the trailer? Or…

  Snowflake734: Tessa, we need to talk about this! You can’t leave. What hotel?

  RealEricThorn: I need to be by myself tonight.

  Snowflake734: Are you OK?

  RealEricThorn: No…but I will be.

  Snowflake734: We should talk.

  RealEricThorn: I know. There’s something I really need to tell you.

  Snowflake734: Is it urgent, or can it wait?

  RealEricThorn: It’s fine. Go do whatever you have to do at 9. I’ll tell you tomorrow.

  Eric glanced at the time again. It was dark outside the trailer. He needed to get a move on.

  Some instinct told him to forget Blair. Go find Tessa. She obviously needed him right now. Only her mother could get her this riled up.

  But Blair…

  He couldn’t bail on the meeting. As much as he wanted to be with Tessa, Blair had to be dealt with first. It was a matter of priorities. If he could get Blair Duncan out of the picture once and for all, that would do more for Tessa’s state of mind than any other comfort he could give her.

  “Priorities,” Eric muttered, as he sent off one more text.

  Snowflake734: OK. I love you. I’ll message you when I’m done.

  THE INTERROGATION

  (FRAGMENT 7)

  May 1, 2017, 2:19 p.m.

  Case #75932.394.1

  OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPTION OF POLICE INTERVIEW

  —START PAGE 5—

  INVESTIGATOR: Ms. Hart, I need to ask you your whereabouts on the afternoon and evening of April 30.

  HART: Yesterday? I don’t know. I spent most of the day hiding out in Eric’s trailer at the video shoot.

  INVESTIGATOR: Did you leave the trailer at any point?

  HART: I left before he got back.

  INVESTIGATOR: Where did you go?

  HART: A hotel. Eric’s driver took me.

  INVESTIGATOR: Which hotel?

  HART: Some motel in West Hollywood. I forget what it was called. Something Spanish. Del Mar? Del Vista?

  INVESTIGATOR: West Hollywood? Not far from Beverly Hills?

  HART: If you say so. I don’t know my way around LA that well.

  INVESTIGATOR: What’s the name of the driver who took you?

  HART: Clint. He’s Eric’s bodyguard. He can probably tell you what motel if you ask him.

  INVESTIGATOR: But you yourself can’t tell us the name of the establishment where you spent last night?

  HART: I don’t remember.

  INVESTIGATOR: And you arrived at this motel around what time?

  HART: Maybe four in the afternoon. I’m not sure.

  INVESTIGATOR: Did you leave your room at any other point that evening?

  HART: No.

  INVESTIGATOR: Did you talk to anyone while you were there?

  HART: I texted my mom, and I Snapchatted with Eric for a little bit.

  INVESTIGATOR: Did you speak to anyone in person?

  HART: No.

  INVESTIGATOR: You didn’t order yourself a pizza or anything like that?

  HART: No. Nothing. I wasn’t very hungry.

  INVESTIGATOR: Tessa, can you think of anyone who might be able to corroborate your whereabouts last night?

  HART: Just Clint. And Eric.

  INVESTIGATOR: Eric saw you that evening?

  HART: No, but we chatted. I told him I was staying at a hotel for the night.

  INVESTIGATOR: But you didn’t tell him any more specifics?

  HART: No. I was kind of upset.

  INVESTIGATOR: You didn’t tell him the name of the motel?

  HART: No.

  INVESTIGATOR: A motel in West Hollywood with a Spanish-sounding name.

  HART: Right. I think so.

  INVESTIGATOR: You’re not certain?

  HART: I don’t know. Like I said, I was kind of upset. I wasn’t really thinking about the name of the motel.

  INVESTIGATOR: You were upset about somewhere Eric was going that evening. Is that correct?

  HART: What? No, I don’t think… What do you mean?

  INVESTIGATOR: Were you aware of Eric’s plans last night?

  HART: No. Not really. He just said he had to do something at nine.

  INVESTIGATOR: You didn’t ask him what?

  HART: We don’t usually make a habit of interrogating each other.

  INVESTIGATOR: OK, Tessa. Let me ask you this. At what point yesterday evening did you go to the Beverly Hilton?

  HART: What? I didn’t.

  INVESTIGATOR: Did you go there before or after you Snapchatted with Eric?

  HART: I didn’t. I never went to the Beverly Hilton!

  INVESTIGATOR: Are you sure?

  HART: I told you, I didn’t leave my room all night. I didn’t go anywhere.

  INVESTIGATOR: Tessa, are you aware that a woman was found dead in her room at the Beverly Hilton Hotel last night at approximately 9:00 p.m.
?

  HART: No. I don’t know anything about that! I was nowhere near—

  INVESTIGATOR: Eric didn’t tell you?

  HART: Eric? Wh-why would Eric…

  INVESTIGATOR: Eric was the one who found the body.

  HART: Wait, what?

  INVESTIGATOR: But you weren’t aware that Eric had plans to meet a woman in her hotel room yesterday. Correct? [pause] Tessa, is that your statement?

  HART: I don’t…I don’t know anything about it.

  INVESTIGATOR: You didn’t intercept any Twitter direct messages setting up a rendezvous between Eric and a woman?

  HART: No, of course not.

  INVESTIGATOR: However, you do have access to the Twitter account with username @EricThorn. Yes?

  HART: Yes, but I never look at the DMs. Not after…after what happened.

  INVESTIGATOR: Tessa, have you and Eric talked since yesterday?

  HART: No. He’s busy shooting his video. We were supposed to talk later.

  INVESTIGATOR: I see. Let’s go over your movements one more time. You say you checked into a motel room yesterday at 4:00 p.m. and did not leave again at any point that evening. You are unable to provide the name of the motel or anyone who could corroborate your story. Is that correct?

  HART: Whatever. It doesn’t matter. You obviously don’t believe me anyway.

  INVESTIGATOR: Tessa, what exactly did you do at the motel all evening?

  HART: I took a nap. I texted my mom. I surfed the Internet. I chatted with Eric. Then I went to sleep again.

  INVESTIGATOR: What time did you go to sleep?

  HART: I have no idea!

  INVESTIGATOR: Did you take any medication to help you sleep?

  HART: No.

  INVESTIGATOR: Have you ever taken any medication to help you relax?

  HART: Sometimes. But not…not lately.

  INVESTIGATOR: What kind of medication?

  HART: Ativan. It was prescribed to me. I have an anxiety disorder.

  INVESTIGATOR: Are you currently under psychiatric care?

  HART: No. Not since last winter.

  INVESTIGATOR: Who was treating you last winter?

  HART: My psychotherapist in Texas.

  INVESTIGATOR: Dr. Laura Regan?