“I’m not sure who to trust right now.”
He sighs. “I can explain. Can we meet somewhere?”
The phone beeps. Call waiting? No, I don’t see anything about another call. Blake is clever, though. Could he find a way to track me through his phone?
Oh no.
If he has a find-my-phone app, he can pinpoint my location. My exact location. Paranoia kicks in, and I’m afraid to even mention a specific place to meet. “The Poe story,” I say. “Meet me by the murder.” I jog a block in the opposite direction before popping the phone battery out. Hoping he won’t realize I’m near the shelter, I throw his phone into the Hudson and watch it sink.
27
ABOVE
If Blake tracked me using his phone, he could be here in ten minutes. I’m torn about meeting Gavin, but I don’t have a better plan. I head toward Sybil’s Cave, trying to reconstruct a timeline of all the disturbing events.
The first incident: the muddy handprint on the bathroom mirror. Blake could have followed me to the cemetery, I guess. But he had lost his keys and couldn’t get into the apartment. At least that’s what he said. If he lied about that, he could have gotten in and left the handprint. But how would he have time to do all that and get to the beach and back?
The second incident: the handprint on the laundry room wall. I left my wash when Blake and I went to copy my keys. He was with me at the store. Even when he was browsing, he was never out of sight long enough. Did he have an accomplice? Grace? Gavin? But Gavin was with us at the hardware store, too. I don’t know how Blake could have pulled that off.
Next: the handprints on my wall. Blake didn’t sleep at home that night. Wouldn’t I have heard him come in the apartment? I think about the pill bottle. Could he have drugged me? We didn’t eat together. But we did drink the smoothies he brought home, and later, I was exhausted.
Then there was last night. Poor Oscar. I don’t even want to know where the blood came from. I’m grateful Blake didn’t actually harm him.
Yet.
I shudder. I don’t know if he wanted to seduce me, drive me insane, or both. Yet he was so thoughtful, helping the homeless man, shopping for Mom’s gift, buying me the yellow dress. He fooled me into believing he was kind and caring.
Even if my dad’s mental illness inspired Blake to make me feel crazy, I still don’t understand why. I suppose if I’m ruled mentally incompetent, if Mom and Stanley were to die, he might control the insurance money and the bookstore. But even his evil-planning-genius couldn’t cause a car crash in Paris. I had to hang on to the hope that they’d make it through this.
On the other side of Sinatra Drive, Gavin waits at the small park marked with a touristy Sybil’s Cave sign. To my right, the Hudson shimmers. A few people jog by. It’s not isolated but not so crowded that Blake could blend in.
I take a deep breath and cross the street to the metal arch. “Hey.”
Gavin closes the gap between us. In two strides, he’s right in front of me, giving me apologetic puppy eyes.
I step back to create space. “Explain.”
He’s silent for a moment as he glances around, and I wonder if he’s looking for Blake, too. “Let’s go to my apartment. We can talk on the way.”
“I want to talk in public.”
“I feel like he could be watching us.”
Giving in, I suppress a shudder. I can trust Gavin, right? With a sense of dread, I realize I don’t have much choice. I launch into my main question as we walk. “When I called from Blake’s phone and you thought it was him, you said you did what he asked—that he told you to date me. What was that all about?”
He sighs. “I’ll tell you, I promise. You go first. What’s going on?”
“Our parents are seriously hurt.” I keep my eyes focused straight ahead. “A car accident in Paris.”
“El, I’m so sorry. Will they be all right?”
If I look at him, see the sympathy on his face, I’ll completely lose it. “I hope so. I need to get away from Blake first. Then I can figure out how to get to my mother. Once I’m safe.”
I tell him how Blake has been manipulating me, how I woke up thinking Oscar was dead. I watch his reaction carefully, trying to gauge his involvement.
“That’s awful.” Gavin seems sincerely shocked.
“At least he didn’t really kill him. I left him at the shelter, but I gave them your number in case of an emergency.”
He nods solemnly.
We reach the building where Grace and I had the psychic reading. The blue neon sign still glows. “Why are we stopping here?” I ask.
He points to the windows above the shop. “This is where my cousin lives.”
“You live above the psychic?”
“Yes. We should get inside in case Blake is nearby.”
“It’s not like he’d be hanging around your building.”
Gavin presses his lips together. “I can help you. I’ll tell you what I know.” He motions to the steps leading up to the door.
I pause as the realization sinks in. Gavin lives above the place where I had my Tarot reading. He is literally offering me help from above. The psychic was right. Not in the way that I expected, but still. I feel less like a lamb being led to slaughter as I follow him inside.
28
LIES: PART I
The apartment Gavin shares with his cousin is railroad-style, with one room behind the other in a straight line. The pull-out couch in the living room is opened into a bed and there’s a bookshelf against the wall filled half with books, half with folded clothes. From this first room, I can see a kitchen, followed by a bedroom.
“Home sweet home.” He sits at the kitchen table, motions for me to sit next to him.
“It’s your turn now,” I say. “How did you meet Blake?”
“He was visiting my cousin.” He takes a deep breath. “Listen. Blake told me that he had a stepsister with low self-esteem and that he wanted to boost her spirits. It seemed deceitful, and I wasn’t interested. Then he showed me your picture and said … he said he would pay me. I was to show up at the bookstore and buy cat books, then visit you at the shelter a few times. After that, he said it was up to me.”
Nausea passes over me like an ocean wave. “How much money did …” I swallow. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“It gets worse.” He stares at the floor.
“How is that possible?”
“He kind of gave me information about everything you like. So the odds of us connecting would be better, he said.”
“Like what?”
“The vegan food. Your favorite sorbet flavor. The memoir you were reading. Obviously, your love of cats.”
I’d like to storm out in a fit of rage, but honestly, it’s all too much. I can barely move.
“I know it sounds awful, El. I shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have pretended to be someone different. I’m not a vegan guy looking to adopt a kitten. I’m sorry that I deceived you.”
Gavin could have been Blake’s accomplice in tricking me. If he showed Gavin the photo from the cemetery … but no, I was with Gavin and Blake when the handprint appeared in the laundry room.
“Don’t even bother apologizing.” I finally summon my energy and stand, grasping the chair so he can’t see my unsteadiness. I hate having been so trusting, so easily duped. I feel like I need another shower.
“Wait,” he says. “The thing is, I did like you. I still do. I mean, the setup was fake. But once I got to know you … I gave back the money to Blake. All of it. I told him I wouldn’t trick you anymore, like with the cat noises. He was furious.”
I stand perfectly still, like an unstable bomb that might detonate with the smallest hint of motion. I drop my voice to a whisper. “What about the cat noises?”
Gavin covers his eyes with his hand. “I didn’t realize what he was doing—the extent of it. He said it was a joke, planting the recording of that cat meowing near our picnic area. He told me to deny hearing anything. After the ghost tou
r, our kiss … the next morning, I told him no more. I let him know how I felt about you. But I was trapped. He said if I didn’t do what he wanted, he’d reveal the whole story about how I was a pretend boyfriend who didn’t really care.”
Gavin stops, sighs deeply.
“Poor you.” I don’t try to hide my disdain. “What exactly did he want you to do?”
“On Friday, he told me to break up with you. Before noon.”
“That’s why you dumped me?”
“I thought … I thought once he was away at school, I’d contact you again. Maybe you’d get the message from the old man at the bookstore and you’d call me. I was hoping that if Blake never told you the truth, maybe we could get back together. I’ve been miserable since Friday morning. But I couldn’t lie to you anymore.”
“Is that all? Did you lie about anything else?”
Gavin shakes his head.
I don’t know who I want to strangle more: Blake or Gavin.
“I really am sorry. About everything.” He gets up, looks like he’s about to touch me. I glare at him, and he steps away. “How about something cold to drink?” he asks.
Next to the sink, clean dishes are stacked on a draining rack. I suddenly remember when I was little, Mom washing dishes and teaching me to dry them. I complained it was unfair that the washer finished chores first, and she explained that the dishwasher also had to wipe the table. Everyone finished at the same time. Just like that, life returned to being reasonable.
Now nothing feels like it will ever seem reasonable again. I’m in denial, listening to Gavin unravel the past days, lie by lie.
The tears come. I can’t hold them back anymore.
“Bathroom?”
He points and I rush through the door, not wanting him to see me fall apart. I run the water so he can’t hear me sob. When I can finally breathe normally, I turn off the faucet and blot my eyes with a tissue. I toss it in the trash, where it lands on an empty bottle of red paint.
I storm into the kitchen, clutching the paint. “What is this?”
Gavin looks at me with sad eyes. “I was getting to that part.”
“What part? You told me that was all the lies!” I squeeze the empty bottle with all my might.
“All of my lies,” Gavin says. “But my cousin will be home soon to explain the rest.”
The kitchen feels stuffy, like the air is made of cotton. Dizziness overcomes me and I sway.
Gavin has closed up the bed. He guides me to the couch, turns on the ceiling fan. He sits next to me, but not too close. I breathe with my eyes closed for a few minutes.
The last piece. That’s how Blake managed the handprints. He duped someone else into helping him.
The key turns in the front door. A tall, redheaded girl saunters into the apartment.
“El, this is my cousin, Zoey.” He pauses. “She’s Blake’s girlfriend.”
29
LIES: PART II
I blink, trying to comprehend the redhead in front of me. Gavin’s cousin is a girl.
“Excuse me, but I’m not Blake’s girlfriend anymore,” Zoey says. “I’m his ex. As soon as I can find him to break the news.”
I recognize her—she sat next to Gavin at the burger place. Her name sounds familiar, too. Blake said he was sleeping at a friend’s to take care of a dog named Zoey. Of course! The pet-sitting was another lie. I could guess where he’d been sleeping.
“When did you decide to dump him?” Gavin asks.
“After I saw him kissing someone else.”
She means me, of course. I’m about to explain how our kiss was meant to be a distraction, a way to get him off his game, when she holds up a picture on her phone. It’s Blake and Grace, with Grace staring up at him like she’s completely in love.
I gape at the photo. Grace was telling me the truth about her and Blake. Is there anything of mine he hasn’t touched, hasn’t ruined? Since he arrived, everything has gone wrong.
“How long were you dating?” I ask.
Zoey pours herself an iced tea, takes a long drink, but doesn’t sit. She paces, her heels clicking across the wood floor. “About six months, since he flew into Newark. I met him when he filed a complaint at the airline where I work in customer service. Later, he admitted he made it all up as an excuse to meet. I was flattered at first, before I realized he loved manipulation more than he loved me. People don’t matter to him much. You’re either useful or not. And I was very useful.”
“Blake was in New Jersey six months ago? That was when we were supposed to have our family dinner, but Blake never showed. Why would he fly all the way out here and not come to the restaurant?”
Zoey smiles, but it’s more devious than cheerful. “He did go to the restaurant, actually. A fancy place, right? The three of you were already sitting down, laughing, having a great time without him. He was incredibly pissed off.”
“So, you helped him play tricks on me just because he was angry?”
“He told me about how you dated his best friend and then cheated on him. He was getting back at you for what you did. Revenge.”
“What? That’s a total lie!”
“I didn’t understand what he was up to until Gavin and I had a long talk. Besides, Blake told me that faxing papers and leaving handprints were simple pranks.”
It falls into place—Zoey was Blake’s accomplice. She could leave the handprint on the mirror while he was at beach and go to the laundry room while we were at the hardware store. It’s a lot to take in.
“Wait … faxing what papers?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “Some records that were supposed to come from a psychiatric hospital.”
“The hospital sent proof of my dad’s real cause of death. You’re telling me that wasn’t real?” I’m dangerously close to bursting into tears again.
Zoey shrugs.
Mom told the truth after all. I’ve been so angry with her, but Blake was deceiving me the whole time.
30
TANGLED WEB
Zoey’s apartment feels uncomfortably warm as this new information sinks in. If Blake faked my father’s mental illness, Dad is still the same man I’ve adored my whole life. It’s mind boggling. Nothing has really changed over the past few weeks, just my perception swinging from one idea to the next. Dad as a mental patient. Mom as a liar. Blake as a stepbrother who cared about me.
I feel like someone opened the door on me while I was changing clothes. Naked. Foolish. I have a hard time unraveling all the layers of deception. Blake made me think my dad had a breakdown so I’d be more susceptible to feeling mentally ill myself. Then he proceeded to make me feel exactly like I was going insane.
Gavin is quiet as Zoey continues to pace. I’m sure they have more information. I decide to throw out ideas about all the strange occurrences to see what they’ll reveal.
“The day the bookstore was trashed. I don’t know when he got a key, but he threw books all over the floor.”
“I copied all your keys for Blake when you visited the hardware store,” Gavin admits. “You were down the aisle talking to him.”
I think about the Poe collection on the bookstore floor. “Remember when we had our picnic at Stevens? Did you tell Blake we talked about that Edgar Allan Poe story?”
Gavin nods. “He asked a lot of questions about our conversations.”
“What about the psychology books—the order my mother placed?”
“That was Blake, too,” Zoey says. “He said you showed him how to do special orders.”
The deceit was like a chess game to him. I feel exhausted, and it makes me remember the medicine in Blake’s room with Zoey’s name on it. “There was a prescription bottle—”
“I wondered where those pills went,” she says. “Sometimes I need them to sleep.”
He drugged me—he must have. The more I think about it, the more I’m sure. No wonder he could get into my room and leave handprints without waking me.
I mentally run through the other od
d events of the past days, like how Norma said someone complained about noise. Blake probably called her. It had to be him. That would give her an excuse to show up, and he knew that would spook me. How many other ways had he manipulated me?
“He followed me to the cemetery, right?”
Zoey nods. “He texted me a photo of a muddy handprint. I mimicked that on the mirror. Then I left one in the laundry room. He knew you’d never suspect him because he was with you.”
“What about the black flowers? Did he leave those?”
She scrunches her mouth, looking puzzled. “No, that doesn’t sound familiar.”
“Did he ever say anything about moving a photo of my dad?”
She shakes her head.
I’m surprised, but Blake might not have told her all the details. Zoey and Gavin didn’t even realize what the other one was up to. Blake likes to control everything, including the information he shares.
“Look,” Gavin says. “Maybe we should call the police.”
I consider it. “We don’t have any concrete proof, though. Is any of this even criminal? He took the bookstore money from the register, but then left it in my purse.”
“That one was risky,” Zoey says. “He planted it ahead of time, but you didn’t notice the envelope until you were at the store.”
“Why would he do that?” I’m in shock. “He is crazy. Absolutely crazy. The amount of planning he put into conning me—”
“He’s a sociopath,” Zoey says, as calmly as if she were describing his sense of humor or the way he drives. “It’s all a big game to him. Everything is about winning. But he can be incredibly irresistible when he wants.”
A big game. I’m just a pawn he maneuvered in some bizarre scenario he set up.
“He didn’t really lose his keys,” I say.
She digs through her purse and tosses them to me. I tuck them in my backpack, happy that she can’t intrude anymore.
Gavin’s phone pings. “We’ve got a problem. I just received a text. It’s from you, El.”
“Let me see.” I read my supposed text to Gavin aloud. “I can’t believe you broke up with me like that. I never want to see you again. He’s got the first part right.”
Black Flowers, White Lies Page 15