The Darkest Lie

by Pintip Dunn

  He drops his hand from her face and winds it around her waist. She sighs and leans into him.

  “Briony, don’t listen to him.” I rise on my toes. I have to make her understand. “He’s lying. He’s a madman and murderer. You can ask your brother. He’ll tell you. He knows the truth.”

  But she no longer hears me. She closes her eyes, and he grins at me over her head. Smug. Triumphant. I want to take the bucket of ice and dump it on his head.

  “Let me handle this, darling,” he says to Briony. “Go wait for me upstairs, and I’ll be along shortly. Okay?”

  “Okay.” She glances at me over her shoulder. An expression I can’t read flits across her face. “Please hurry.”

  Seconds later, she’s gone, the door banging a few times against the jamb.

  Liam turns to me, a sneer twisting his features. “For once, I thought I’d found my equal. I thought you would be the one to understand the complicated nuances of my relationship with my father. We could’ve been good, you and I. But, no. Just when I thought we had a shot, you had to go poking around where you had no business.”

  “What are you going to do?” I plant my feet, even though my knees tremble like a kite in the wind. Don’t quiver, dammit. Look him straight in the eyes. Be strong. “Kill me like you killed my mother?”

  “I warned you, didn’t I? I told you to get back in your shell. But you didn’t listen. You just had to dig up your mom’s past. You just had to get to the bottom of her supposed affair with Tommy.” He walks to a set of drawers and pulls out a pair of scissors. Shiny, metal, blunt. “I have to admit, I’ll enjoy reenacting her suicide scene. So much better than reliving the memory with only a wig. I’ll cut your hair, overdose you on pills, and drag you to the crisis hotline. What do you think?”

  “You’re insane,” I whisper.

  “Maybe. But your hotshot reporter boyfriend will love it. Can you imagine? It will be the story of the year! Daughter follows suicidal mother’s footsteps.”

  “Like you tried to mimic your dad?” I ask. The scissors are open now at pointed at me. I’ve got to keep him talking. Got to find a way to distract him. “He was quite the loser, you know. Taking advantage of his student like that.”

  “He was in love.” Liam snaps the scissors closed. “It was your mother who broke his heart. Your mother who betrayed him and turned him into a hard, bitter man. It was a moment’s flirtation for her. Just another instance of her acting like the slut she was. But for me? It meant a lifetime of punishment and cruelty, of being shot down again and again for not being good enough. She made him that way. And so, she had to pay.”

  My eyes widen. “That’s why you killed her? She flirted with one boy, Liam. Twenty-five years ago. Your dad was already messed up. It had nothing to do with her.”

  “It had everything to do with her!” He’s panting hard now, and the scissors tremble in his hand. He takes several long, deep breaths, as if struggling for control.

  “I didn’t set out to kill her,” he says more softly. “After my dad died, I went through his papers and found what I thought was an unfinished manuscript he was writing. Only it wasn’t fiction. It didn’t take me long to figure out that the names of the places and people were real. That was when I learned how Tabitha Brooks destroyed my father’s life. So, I moved to Lakewood and volunteered at the hotline to get to know her better. And then, something unexpected happened.”

  He straightens his shoulders and inclines his head. Right in front of me, he seems to grow two inches. “I discovered power. When I was on the phone with these callers, they listened to me. They deferred to me. They hung on to my every word, and they wouldn’t have dared take a step without my permission. I realized not only could I finally live up to my father’s expectations, I could surpass him. He had one high school girl; I would have a dozen. He took explicit photos for his own enjoyment; I would post my photos for the world to see.”

  He flashes his teeth. This must be the smile he gives when nobody’s looking. When he doesn’t have to be anybody but himself. “If my dad could see me now, he would approve, don’t you think?”

  “But you didn’t expect my mom to find out,” I say. “You didn’t count on one of your victims calling the hotline and tipping her off. You didn’t know she’d be able to connect you with your father.”

  “It worked out.” He opens and closes the scissors, and the blades click as they rub against one another. “She died before she could do any real damage.”

  I lick my lips, staring at the scissors. Keep him talking. Just keep him talking. “There are a few things I don’t get. How did the six missed calls get on Sam’s home phone? And how did the Jean Grey comic book get in Mr. Willoughby’s office?”

  Liam walks closer. He’s an arm’s length away now. “Easy.” He grins, and I’m not sure which is more menacing. The scissors, or his gleaming, white teeth. “Briony. She’d jump off a cliff for me. It was a simple matter to ask her to call you and to eavesdrop on your conversation with Tommy. She told me you were hot on Phoenix’s trail, not that she understood what it meant. That’s when I put that comic book in his office.”

  That’s right. I remember the glimpse of dark curls disappearing around the corner. Tommy and I checked for eavesdroppers before we started the conversation, but we never looked again. Briony could’ve come back. She could’ve heard us talking, and Liam’s savvy enough to make up a believable story to explain why he was asking her to do these “favors.”

  “What about the Photoshopped pictures, the ones that Mackenzie put up?” I ask. “When you texted me, you made it sound like you were responsible. Were you in league with her?”

  “Nah. I was just lucky that rich bimbo Mackenzie was out to get you. It fit perfectly into my plans. Any other questions?”

  He loves this, I can tell. He loves sharing his brilliance, and it doesn’t matter what I know, anyway, because he thinks I’ll end up dead.

  “Mr. Swift!” I say. “Was it also just a coincidence that those photos were discovered in his darkroom this morning?”

  “I may capitalize off coincidence, but I don’t rely on it.” His grin is quick and arrogant. “I knew you had ruled out Mr. Willoughby. You all but confessed that to me when you told me you almost made a false accusation. I needed another scapegoat, so I planted the photos in Mr. Swift’s darkroom and left an anonymous tip for Principal Winters.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see the door move. A fraction of an inch. Is it my imagination? Or maybe the wind? “So he’s innocent?”

  “As innocent as your mother. The photos weren’t his, but I’m sure he’s had a lewd thought or twenty. Who doesn’t?” Liam shoots his hand out, wrapping my hair around his fist. “But that’s enough talking. Time to get down to business.” He closes the scissors, and a hunk of my hair floats to the floor.

  He opens the scissors, about to take another chunk, when the door flies open. Briony bursts into the room, a frying pan in her hands. She smashes the pan over his head, her muscles bulging, and he pitches forward.

  “Run, CeCe, run!”

  We tear up the stairs and down the hall, Briony a few steps ahead of me. My head roars, my lungs burn, but I’m only focused on one thing.

  Get out, get out, get out.

  There! The front door. She fumbles with the knob once, twice, and then manages to get it open. We dash down the sidewalk, but as we step off the flagstone, she twists her ankle and goes down on the gravel.

  I yank her torso, trying to haul her up. She almost comes to a standing position. I almost get my arm underneath her. But then she puts pressure on her foot, yelps, and collapses onto the ground once again.

  “I’m so sorry, CeCe,” she sobs. “I never meant to hurt you or anybody else. He convinced me that I was just looking out for my brother. That I had to spy on you to make sure you were the right girl for Sam . . .”

  I try to pull her up once more. “It’s okay, Bri. Don’t worry about that right now. We’re so close. We just have to get
to Sam, and he’ll help us. We’re almost there. Almost there . . .”

  “Not soon enough.”

  My heart sinks to the gravel beside Briony. Liam strides out of the cabin, blood trickling down his forehead and a weapon in his hands. Only this time, it’s not a pair of scissors—but a gun.

  “Get back in the house. Both of you. Or you’re both dead.”

  “But she’s hurt,” I say. “She can’t stand—”

  “Then maybe I should shoot her like the bitch she is.” He strides over to Briony and hauls her up, pressing the gun to her temple. “She’s no use to me lame. And she knows too much. Yes, I think I’ll kill her right now and turn this sordid affair into a murder-suicide. You think good old Sam will still get his rocks off on this story?”

  Briony whimpers in pain. It’s more than a sprain. A glistening white bone pokes out of her ankle. Even if I can pry her from his grip, there’s no way she’ll be able to run away.

  “Count with me.” He jabs the gun deeper into her skin. “One . . .”

  I look frantically around the front lawn, looking for a weapon, a way out, any kind of exit strategy. But there’s nothing. Just the log cabin and forest-green grass and the densely planted trees Sam and I were hiding behind. Where the hell is Sam? Why isn’t he out here helping me save his sister?

  “Two . . .”

  My mind spins. Forget Sam. Forget any other help. I’m on my own here, and I can’t let him kill her. I need to distract him. But how? How? How?

  “Thr—”

  “Wait!” I shout. “You don’t have to do this. Because you can have something to hold over me. To hold over both of us.” My eyes, my hands, my entire body go still. Never, in a million years, would I have believed it would come to this. But now that the moment’s here, a strange calmness overtakes me. This is the way it’s supposed to be. Maybe the way it was always supposed to be. “I’ll pose for you. Right here, right now. I’ll take off my clothes, and you can take as many pictures as you want.”

  He takes the gun from her temple and lowers it an inch. He’s thinking about it. Good.

  “Once you have the photos, you know I’ll never betray you,” I say. “I would never risk being judged like that. You know me. You know it’s true. Please, Liam. Don’t kill us, when there’s another way.”

  “That’s a very interesting proposition.” He lowers the gun all the way, so that it’s pointing at the ground. “Why don’t you take off your shirt, and then we’ll see—”

  BANG!

  My heart stops.

  Not literally. A moment later, it beats again. And continues beating. I’m still here. Still thinking. I don’t feel any pain.

  I glance at Briony, expecting to see blood on her body, but she’s okay, too.

  It’s Liam who’s crumbled on the ground, red blossoming around his kneecap. What on earth?

  And then chaos.

  A dozen police officers storm the lawn, and my dad is running toward us, Sam at his shoulder.

  My dad reaches me first and sweeps me in his arms. “Oh god, CeCe. My little girl. I thought I’d lost you.” He sobs. “I love you, sweetheart. I’ve always loved you. I just didn’t know how to show it.”

  My brain starts working again. The police must have shot Liam. They must have been waiting for an opening, and when Liam lowered his gun, they took their opportunity. I have no idea how they got here. No idea who called them. No idea what’s going to happen next.

  All I know is I’m safe now. And exactly where I’m supposed to be.

  In my father’s embrace. Hearing the words I never thought I’d hear again.

  I love you, too, Dad. I love you so much.

  Epilogue

  I stand in the middle of the locker corridor. My palms are sweaty, but I refuse to wring them. My stomach turns, but I refuse to run.

  The hallway begins to fill. Alisara leans against her locker, shooting me supportive smiles. Mackenzie lounges at the end of the corridor, hip cocked in her trademark I-couldn’t-care-less pose. But if she didn’t care, she wouldn’t still be hanging around. Especially after I made her get up an hour early to help me this morning.

  A lot has happened in the last two weeks. Liam Kessler is in jail, awaiting his trial. The prosecutor has sworn to bring him up on charges of everything from murder to child pornography to statutory rape. Once they know what they’re looking for, the Lakewood police, it seems, aren’t half bad at their jobs. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Liam is a psychopath and a pack rat, to boot. A simple raid of his cabin uncovered my mom’s hair, as well as albums of his victims’ pornographic photos.

  Mr. Swift hasn’t been back at school, and rumor has it that he’s looking for jobs in another town. I don’t blame him. He may be innocent, but it’s hard to live down even a whiff of scandal in Lakewood.

  I’m more grateful than ever that I didn’t actually accuse Mr. Willoughby. Especially after he brought me the contents of my mother’s wallpapered box. It seems Liam neglected to bring me all of her possessions. In addition to the snow globe, my mother also left a letter in a sealed envelope. Not THE final letter, but my birthday letter, the one that she writes me every year. I guess she wrote it a month early last year, and her words are as special as ever. Even more special because I know, once and for all, that this is the last letter I’ll ever receive from her.

  My dad and I have been going to my mom’s grave site together on the weekends. I’ve convinced him to cut down his visits to once a week. Sometimes we talk, and sometimes we work companionably in silence, cleaning the bird poop off the slab of marble. I still cook dinner every night, but he does his own laundry now. And last Sunday, he whipped up a batch of biscuits the way he used to when my mother was still alive.

  New York is no longer off the table, even though I haven’t settled on a subject for the Parsons Challenge. My mom, perhaps. The way I’ve forgotten myself, maybe. Or something else entirely, something much less abstract. The application deadline is still months away, so I have plenty of time to decide.

  As for the Davidsons, Briony has a big cast on her ankle. I ran into her in the restroom once, and she was sobbing her mascara down the drain. She wrapped her arms around me for five whole minutes and then left without saying a word. But later, I saw her in the lunchroom, surrounded by her friends, laughing or at least pretending to. So I hope—I pray—one day she’ll be okay.

  And Sam . . . well, he got his big story, after all. Reporters camped out on my front lawn, like they did six months ago. And like last time, I refused to talk to any of them. Except one. It was the least I could do, since he was the one who called both my dad and the cops after I didn’t come out of Liam’s cabin. I don’t know if the exclusive will be enough to win him the scholarship, but at least now he’s got a shot.

  Which is more than I can say for us. Other than the interview, we’ve barely spoken. And I get it. We worked together to bring down a sexual predator and murderer, but I still haven’t given him what he really wants.

  Until now.

  Every person who walks into the corridor stops and stares. At me, standing in front of Sam’s locker. But mostly at the hundreds of papers taped to the walls. Under their glances, my knees tremble. My ankles shake. My toes shiver. But this is necessary. This is part of the plan. The more onlookers I have, the better.

  When Sam arrives, a few minutes before the bell, practically the entire senior class is waiting.

  He walks through the front door, in his elbow and kneepads, carrying his helmet. Did he ride the scooter to school today? Or has he discovered a new mode of transportation altogether? I hope I have the chance to find out.

  The crowd parts, creating a path for him to walk straight to his locker. Straight to me.

  “CeCe?” he says as he approaches. “What’s going on?”

  Instead of answering, I gesture to the papers Mackenzie and I taped up this morning. The drawings I did of him the first day we met. Of his glasses, his bare ankles, his broad chest. And a dozen more sk
etches I drew in the following weeks. Of Sam flailing on his rollerblades. Sam with a black robber-cap pulled over his ears. Sam smiling a moment after kissing me. Almost every memory I’ve had with him, I’ve drawn.

  And now I’ve posted them all for the world to see.

  “What’s this?” he asks softly.

  “This is how I feel about you.” I don’t bother trying to keep my voice quiet. The way my classmates are straining, they’ll pick up every word, anyway. “These drawings are the very heart of me. You are the heart of me. And I don’t care who knows it.”

  His deep, black eyes pierce into me. Like they did that first day. As I hope they’ll do for many days and weeks and months to come.

  “Do you mean it?” he murmurs.

  In response, I crash my lips into his. He lifts me high off the ground, and I’m smiling and laughing and kissing at the same time.

  The people whoop and clap and cheer. I know they’re staring at me. I know, once again, I’m the center of attention.

  But you know what? With Sam’s lips warm on mine, all I can think is:

  Let them stare.

  A READING GROUP GUIDE

  THE DARKEST LIE Pintip Dunn

  About This Guide

  The suggested questions are included to enhance your group’s reading of Pintip Dunn’s

  The Darkest Lie.

  Discussion Questions

  1. At the beginning of the book, CeCe refuses to let Mr. Willoughby flip through the drawings in her self-examination journal, even if it means receiving a zero for the assignment. And yet, by the end of the story, she posts drawings of Sam in the senior locker corridor for the entire school to see. What changed? What lessons did CeCe learn—and how?

  2. CeCe and Liam discuss how their feelings toward their parents can be a mixture of love and hate. Do you believe these two emotions can be experienced simultaneously, or does one always take precedence over the other? Have you ever felt this way?

  3. Discuss the various ways that characters grieve in this story. Is there one correct way of grieving?