“It’s great,” I say, and wonder why I feel the need to reassure her. A few hours in this place and they have me convinced I am guilty, a criminal—a murderer. “I look totally different.” Which is true. The black mop on my head washes out my skin, making me sickly pale. The crooked bangs fall into my eyes, covering them if I tilt my head down.
She shuffles into the hallway, leaving the mess in the restroom for some underpaid, hardworking janitor to deal with later.
“Turn this way,” she says. When I do, a flash goes off in my face. She hustles me back into the conference room.
One of the duffel bags sits on the table. Football Player has packed for me. Inside are tennis shoes; a pair of jeans; worn, utilitarian underwear; an old, long-sleeved shirt from Goodwill; Finn’s sweatshirt; and the teddy bear. That’s it. My entire life reduced to one carry-on.
I throw the jumpsuit off and get dressed. The jeans were in the back of my closet for a reason. I have to lie on the floor to zip them up all the way, and the shirt doesn’t do much to hide my muffin top.
I wait again for what feels like hours. My only contact with the outside is when Football Player drops a cup of coffee and a doughnut in front of me. The coffee’s black. The doughnut smells like sugar and grease. I push them away.
When Weathers comes back, he’s rested and refreshed, like he’s ready to take on the world.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” he chirps. “Don’t you look lovely.” The glint in his eye and the curl of his lip tells me I’m in trouble. He’s had time to think, ponder what to do with me. I shrink back in my chair and regret my earlier bravado.
“Where’s my mom?” I ask in a small, little-girl voice.
“She’ll be joining us in a second. But first, you and I have got to go over the rules.” He smirks. Any power I had before evaporates. He clunks a black cell phone down on the table in front of me. It’s big, a heavy chunk of metal and plastic. The light on the top flashes.
He points to it and chuckles. I blink hard to trap my fear in the back of my mind.
“From time to time, I’m gonna call this baby and leave you a message. Some words of encouragement to make sure you stay on track. As soon as that message light blinks, your timer starts.”
Weathers taps the phone. “Twenty-four hours,” he announces. “You will have twenty-four hours and not a second more to call me back and tell me you got the message. If not…” He drags a finger across his throat. “You’ll pay with your life.”
“What?”
“The Koi would love to know that you’re alive. I know a guy who knows a guy. One word from me, and in less than a day, the Koi’s henchmen will pay you and your mother a visit. You don’t want that, do you?”
“You can’t. If I’m dead, you’ll have no one to testify.”
Weathers shrugs. “Then I’ll just have to put him away for ordering the murder of a teenage girl. It makes no difference to me as long as he’s in prison. I’ll find another young pretty thing to get me Jordan.”
I shrink down farther into my chair. I don’t think he’s bluffing. He’ll really do it.
“Do we have an understanding?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
He claps his hands. “Great. We’re all set, then. You be a good girl, and life will be fine—peachy, even. If you’re a naughty girl…” He raises his eyebrows at me to elicit a response.
“I’m dead.”
“I’ll have my eye on you. Every second of every day.”
“My mom can’t know about this,” I blurt out. “She’s, uh, fragile. She needs to think we really are in witness protection and starting over.”
He waves a dismissive hand at me. “We’re clear on my rules. I don’t care what you tell your mother.”
I put the black phone in my bag.
Football Player brings Mom in. Her hair has been dyed a natural red color, blow-dried, and styled. Confusion is all over her face, but pride leaks out in her gait. She likes the way she looks.
She gives me another hug. Then she picks up a piece of my lank, dark hair. She lets it drop. “Thank goodness you’re okay.” She wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “I can’t lose you again.”
I pat her hand to reassure her like always, but this time she doesn’t search my face for forgiveness. “I knew something had happened. I could feel it.” She stands up straight. “I went outside to look for you. The police were in the woods setting up crime tape. I was so afraid it was you.” She wipes away another tear. “Then the FBI came to the apartment. I didn’t know what to do. But I wasn’t going to let anyone take you from me again. I told them I would do anything, anything, as long as you were okay.”
“What did they tell you?” I glance at Weathers skulking in the corner. I haven’t had time to think through a lie.
“Not much. Just that something happened, but you were okay. After I saw you, they said I had to get my hair done before I could see you again. I didn’t understand. But I will do anything not to lose you, Kayla, I mean it.” For the first time, I believe her.
“Mom, something bad did happen. I saw something I shouldn’t have. We’re in danger.”
She gasps. I have to play this cool. She may have had an epiphany, but she can still be sent over the edge.
“We’re going into witness protection. We’re moving to a new town. We’ll be new people. Everything here is going away.”
She slumps down in the chair across the table. I expect her to barrage me with questions. Her usually tense, moving body goes perfectly still. “Really?” she asks. “We get to start over somewhere else?” I nod. Her face relaxes in a way I’ve never seen before. Relief.
Cowboy comes in with two sodas and a thick folder. “Are you ready to get started?”
“Mom, he’s a US Marshal. He’s going to take care of us and make sure we stay safe.” Lying gets easier and easier.
Cowboy sets a soda in front of Mom. “Thought you might be thirsty.” A smile lights up his whole face. Mom blushes.
He thunks the other soda down. No smile for me.
“Okay, ladies. We need to go over some things. No phone calls, no emails, and no letters to Clairmont. No Facebook, no Twitter, no whatever else there is out there at all. No contact with anyone from here. Ever. From this moment forward, you cease to exist.”
“But I have to say goodbye, tell everyone I’m okay,” I protest.
“Nope,” Cowboy says.
“But Marie…” Weathers, still lurking in the corner, lifts his head. I realize my mistake.
“Who’s Marie?”
“No one. My friend on the dance team.” I glance at Mom in warning. She doesn’t hear me. She’s too busy looking doe-eyed at Cowboy.
Weathers’s weaselly face smiles. “Don’t worry. It’s all taken care of.”
“Back to the rules,” Cowboy says. He opens the folder and tosses a stack of paper-clipped documents to each of us. “These are your new lives. Where you were born, where you went to school. Work history. Memorize them.”
I take my packet. On top is a driver’s license.
“We’re going south?” Mom asks, as if Cowboy wasn’t a dead giveaway. The picture on my license is horrible. Wet hair and a surprised look. They made me sixteen again. Maybe to rub it in, or maybe out of some kindness to let me have a second chance at living the year over. Then I see the name.
I twist around to Weathers. “No. You can’t call me that. It’s an old lady’s name.”
Cowboy taps the folder on my head. “Hey. That was my mother’s name.”
“You might as well call me Tangerine or something,” I mutter.
“Kayla,” Mom snaps at me under her breath. Nope. Not Kayla anymore.
Football Player drives us to the airport like a hired chauffeur. Mom, holding two plane tickets, looks startled, unsettled. She turns to me, and her face changes. Determination. She places an arm over my shoulder.
“I can do this,” she says. “I’ll get a job. I’ll make pancakes for breakfast. I’
ll pack your lunch for school and help you with your homework. I’ll be the mom you deserve. That you’ve always deserved.”
I nod. I believe she’ll try. I don’t know if she’ll succeed.
“It’ll be different this time. I promise.”
The monster of a cell phone is in my bag. I already feel it flashing, laughing at me. Everything is already different, but not in a good way. Mom thinks we’re going to hop off the plane and the whole past will be washed away.
No such luck, Mom.
—
“Let’s go,” Mom says.
The airport doors whoosh closed behind us as we step into the chilled, new-carpet-smelling air. It’s late. Most of the travelers have long ago reached their destinations. We walk right up to the counter.
I’ve never been on a plane before. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. I hesitate behind Mom. She chats, makes a joke. The woman at the counter smiles politely and hands her back our IDs and boarding passes, like we’re two normal people going on a normal trip to a normal place.
Security scrutinizes our driver’s licenses more carefully. With one gloved hand he holds up the rectangles of plastic. He could call us out. Yell for backup. Haul us away. Send me to prison.
“Thank you,” he says curtly, and hands Mom all the documents. “Next.”
My feet shuffle forward. Overwhelming exhaustion falls over me like a heavy down comforter. Twenty-four hours ago I was happy, in love. Now I’m a different person, standing in a strict line on black-marked tile while a stern woman demands I take off my shoes.
I can’t do it. Bending over is too hard. I might collapse and never come up again. I feel Mom’s hands on my feet, untying and lifting off my shoes. She makes an excuse for me. I’m impressed. She’s good at lying.
With my shoes still untied and flopping against the floor, we walk down an endless corridor. Mom takes my duffel bag and sits me in a chair.
I close my eyes, but I can’t sleep. Jordan, Drake, and Grace loop over and over again in my head. I feel blood on my hands. I wipe them back and forth across my too-tight jeans.
Mom’s startled gasp snaps my eyes open. She’s staring at a TV above our heads. A reporter with shellacked hair and unnaturally tan skin stands in front of Clairmont High.
“…was found early this morning in the woods near her home. She was a student here, and as you can see”—the camera pans to where a makeshift memorial of candles, cards, and flowers has formed—“friends have been coming by all day.”
The scene jumps to earlier in the evening. I grip the wooden armrest and cry out. Marie is on the TV, her mascara running. She hugs Paige while Carol Alexander hovers. And someone else is there, laying a carnation on the pile. Even through my horror, a piece of my heart warms. Elton. He turns toward the camera. His eyes go wide before he quickly disappears from the shot.
It cuts back to the reporter. “Police haven’t released many details about the cause of death, but we know the victim’s name is Kayla Asher. Yesterday was her seventeenth birthday.”
I can’t watch anymore. I can’t look at Mom or the other people gathered around the gate. I can’t breathe.
I’m Girl Number Four.
I shove Adrian away and knock into the couple dancing behind us. I race off the dance floor. I have to get Rosie. Keep her safe. When I’m about twenty feet from her, I yell, “Hey, Rosie,” in a chipper voice. I squat down and throw my arms open. “Can I have a hug?”
Rosie charges into my open arms. Over her shoulder, the man does a double take. Then I see it on his face. He’s found me.
If I take Rosie to Angie or Mrs. Morales, she’ll wander off as soon as their backs are turned. There are too many people here. It could be hours before anyone realizes she’s missing. All he needs is seconds to make that happen. We can’t stay here.
Rosie lets go and showers me with rose petals. I take her by the hand. “Do you want to play a game?” She nods enthusiastically. “Okay,” I say. “Let’s go.”
I pull her through the dance floor and out the other side. Rosie laughs and stumbles to keep up. We run around the gym and into the parking lot.
I crouch down behind the front tires of a truck and take Toxic Pink out of my purse. “Do you remember that day in the park when you hid in a place that was so good I couldn’t find you?” Rosie’s lips roll under, like she’s about to get scolded.
“No,” I say to reassure her, “that was a great trick. Do you think you can do it again? Can you hide in a place where no one will find you, no matter how hard they look?”
She nods. I hold Toxic Pink up and select the first number in the contacts. “This is part of the game. When you get to your hiding spot, I want you to hit this button right here and say the magic code word. Okay? The word is tangerine.”
She takes the phone. “What’s the magic word?” I ask.
“Tangerine!” she shrieks.
“Shhh…This is a quiet version of hide-and-seek. You have to tiptoe and not make any noise. Ready? Go.”
She giggles and runs over exaggeratedly on her toes. When she glances back at me, I give her a thumbs-up.
I watch her disappear into the darkness. She’ll be safe. Someone will come and get her. They’ll protect her. This time my conscience will be clear.
That was it. The last thing I had to do. I stand up.
“Is it really you?” a voice says behind me. A voice that flows like honey. A voice that’s soft and wispy like clouds. A voice that still makes my heart flutter.
I turn around and face Jordan. Under the yellow lights of the parking lot, his dyed hair looks black. His eyes are shadows. New lines have carved their way into the skin around his mouth, but the smile is unmistakably his.
“Kayla?” His composure breaks.
“Yes,” I say in that old voice. Because, truth is, I’m tired of lying.
Jordan steps forward. He wipes his hand over his face. “I’ve spent the last year looking for you.”
I move around the truck, keeping the bed in between us. “How did you find me?”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small rectangular card. “When I heard about the fire, I thought you might come back. Your mom sent flowers to the funeral of that guy Finn who died. It was nice of her. They were the only ones.”
He responds to my horror and stops moving forward. He raises his hands. “She didn’t put her name on them. She sent them anonymously. But the clerk at the florist in Clairmont was a sad, lonely woman. It didn’t take much of this”—he points to his teeth-baring smile—“to get her to tell me they came from some spot on the map in Texas.”
This version of Jordan is different. He’s not calm and in control. He’s not able to stand still. A crazed look floats around his wide-open eyes.
“What do you want, Jordan? If you’re here to finish me off”—I open my arms and expose my chest—“just do it.”
“No.” He slams his hand down on the truck. “You don’t understand, Kayla. You don’t understand at all. I want to talk. I want to explain.”
“Fine, let’s talk.” It will give Rosie more time to get away.
“I was six. Six. Living on the streets of Miami, hustling for money while my mom was in a motel with some man, fucked-up out of her mind. At night, I had no choice but to go back to her. I would hide in a closet or a bathroom, hoping the man didn’t know I was there. Praying he wouldn’t beat me or touch me or…” He swallows hard and shakes his head to get rid of the memory.
“I was good at getting money out of people. Before they knew what happened, I had a five or a ten in my hand. And you know the funny part?” He chuckles. “No one ever called the cops or social services. I was six, wandering around by myself, and no one did a thing. One day, I tried to scam the Koi’s lieutenant. He gave me some money. I saw him again the next day, and the day after that. He watched me for a week. Then he told me he wanted to give me a job. A job and a house to sleep in and all the food I could eat.
“I went with him. I di
dn’t go find my mother and tell her. I just left. And you know what? For years I looked at those pictures of missing kids, and never once, not one single time, did my face ever show up.”
My stomach flips. Hearing his voice, seeing the pain in his eyes. I feel a pang of sympathy. It makes me sick. He’s still a monster.
“The Koi did everything they said he would. I had my own room, three meals a day. They taught me to read and write. They were my family. All I had to do was point out kids like me. Kids with nothing and nowhere to go.”
“So the Koi is some kind of saint? Do you know what happened to those other kids?” I demand.
His agitation grows. He shakes his head forcefully. “You still don’t understand, Kayla. Nothing happened to those kids that wasn’t going to happen to them anyway. You don’t think they would have been hooked on drugs or raped on the street? At least we were offering them a chance to have a bed, food, maybe someone who would be nice to them.”
That sick pride flashes in his eyes. It almost brings me down to my knees. This perverse argument makes sense in his brainwashed head.
“But that’s the past, Kayla.” He pulls his arm out of the sling. His hand is wrapped in a bloody bandage.
“I’m out. I took a butcher knife, and I did it. I gave the Koi my pinkie.” He flaps his bloody hand around. “I did it for you.”
Another wave of nausea washes over me. The car next to the truck is parked at a thoughtless angle. I back up until I’m trapped in the V that’s formed by them. I won’t be able to push through it.
“We can go now,” Jordan says. “We can be together.”
His eyes latch on to my face. They pull me in. For a second, I remember. I remember what it was like being with him. Sitting in the Jeep so close together. Feeling warm and whole, like I could be something to someone.
If I go with him, maybe it will keep me alive. I will find a way to get word to Mom that I’m okay. She can keep her life here. No one has to die.
“Okay,” I say to Jordan, and step out from behind the truck. “Let’s go.”
The clack of dress shoes comes from the sidewalk behind me. “No,” I whisper. I spin around. “No!” I yell. But he’s too close.
The Truth Beneath the Lies Page 23