We Told Six Lies

by Victoria Scott

“Fuck,” I said under my breath.

  “Chad will think you stole it, but he won’t be able to prove it. You’ll be canned, and I’ll be a grand richer. Win, win.”

  “Duane,” I tried.

  He lifted the gun a second time. “There’s another way this can go.”

  I raised my hands and turned to go as Duane watched. I glanced back once and saw him scrambling for his phone that had fallen beneath a car, then caught the sound of a zipper being pulled.

  I walked faster.

  I was almost back to my dad’s car, wondering how the hell I screwed this up, when I heard Duane say, “Say hi to Molly for me. I’m sure she’d be real proud of her dirtbag boyfriend now.”

  I almost turned back.

  I almost forgot about the gun and charged him. Almost took the cash and what was left of his pride. But instead, I climbed in my car and sped away. As I hit the highway, I slammed my fist into the steering wheel.

  “Fuck,” I yelled. “Fuuuuuck!”

  I was going to lose my job.

  I was going to lose you, Molly.

  I was going to lose everything I’d grown to care about.

  My phone vibrated, and I glanced down. It was you. You were going to be late coming over. You were grabbing ice cream with Rhana and Nixon.

  Fucking Nixon, I thought.

  Fucking Rhana.

  If you and I broke up, you’d have them.

  And I’d be left alone.

  Again.

  NOW

  It’s dark outside as I lie in bed, remembering the life I nearly stole for Molly and me.

  It was supposed to be the two of us together with that money. I was going to steal the cash, and she was going to meet me at a gas station. We’d take her mom’s car as far as we could, and then dump it and take the bus. Molly’s favorite thing was imagining the place we’d have together. What color she would paint the walls. What kind of couch we’d buy together. She liked to take walks and stare through people’s windows. Watch them making dinner, make note of something they had inside their home that we’d need.

  I imagined I’d get a new job at another gym. Eventually, I’d start buying art online. I’d learn something about art. Or maybe I’d realize I liked the idea of being an art dealer more than actually being one. That was something I’d figure out in our life together.

  Either way, that dream died when I lost my job. When I lost our chance at getting away easily. I didn’t tell her I failed at robbing Duane, so why did she run without me? She should have been waiting. I promised her I’d get it.

  Why didn’t she believe me?

  Frustration grows inside my gut, parasitic. As I’m slipping into a fitful sleep, my mind’s needle snags on the vinyl, the lyrics repeating until I’m a moment from snapping—

  Trees, green trees.

  The smell of water.

  A white dog.

  Barking.

  Breathlessness.

  My hands on Molly, shaking.

  My hands on Molly, shaking.

  My hands on Molly’s…neck?

  I bolt upright in bed, sweat drenching my body. What the fuck?

  It takes me half an hour to calm down enough to chance closing my eyes again. And then, finally, release. I succumb to sleep.

  But when I wake, the images are still there.

  And they scare the hell out of me.

  PART IV

  where did you

  sleep last night

  MOLLY

  Blue treated her differently after the night they danced.

  He brought her gifts—smooth stones from the lake, or pinecones that filled her room with an earthy aroma. He let her out of her room more often but stayed nearby.

  It was on one of these days that he brought her to the water. He wrapped her in a coat and slipped boots that were two sizes too big onto her feet, made comfortable with a pair of thick black socks.

  Blue motioned for her to sit on a fallen log, and she obliged. He sat next to her and stared toward the water. She watched his face, her eyes tracing the lines of his mask. When she realized he hadn’t brought along the contraption to manipulate his voice, her pulse picked up. She’d have to get him to speak. If she could hear his voice, she’d know.

  But didn’t she already know?

  “It’s beautiful out here, don’t you think?” she asked.

  But he only nodded.

  Molly thought of her father. Dug deep into the recesses of her brain to produce a nugget of twisted teachings.

  People are desperate to speak of themselves, Molly. And there’s no way to get someone to open up faster than to present an opinion on something they feel passionately about. Then—and here’s the real lesson, baby girl—then you must pretend to come to their side. When they feel they’ve won you over, two things happen: they like you better than they did before, and they feel guilty for convincing you. That’s when you can ask for what it is you really want.

  What was it she really wanted?

  Freedom.

  But could she simply ask for it? Would that even satisfy her at this point in the game? Because that’s what this was…a game.

  Molly pulled her hair over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes at the water. “Some people wouldn’t appreciate all this beauty.” She gave him a small smile. “Or how to just sit quietly and appreciate what it is they have.”

  She folded her hands in her lap. “I knew a girl at school who never appreciated anything. She would complain about everything. One time she said it irritated her when she got too much ice cream on a cone. That she’d have to dump some out so it wouldn’t melt everywhere before she could eat it. Can you believe that? Complaining because someone gave you too much ice cream? That can’t be a thing.”

  Blue scratched his wrist and continued staring forward.

  “Daddy always said everyone begins the race at the starting line. And when the gun fires, some people run, and some find excuses for why they can’t keep up even though they’ve got two good legs.”

  Blue cracked his neck, and Molly weighed her next words carefully.

  “Out here, you’re really reminded to just be appreciative. And to stop making excuses.”

  Blue held up a hand, silently telling her that was enough.

  But she was far from done.

  “What? I thought you liked me to talk.”

  Blue shrugged.

  “You don’t agree with what I’m saying?”

  When he didn’t respond, she added, “I would’ve thought you’d agree. You seem like a take-charge kind of person. I mean, you took me because you knew I could help you. You choose to be alone because you want to be. Other people have friends and family and a normal life because that’s what they want.” Molly looked at the water and fought to hide her grin. “That’s just not what you want.”

  Blue looked away from her, and she could feel the anger rolling off him. Of course he wanted friends. Of course he wanted family. He burned with loneliness so deeply he could thaw this pond if he merely brushed his knuckles against the surface.

  Molly hesitated. One beat. Two. Ten.

  Then she shook her head and said, “Actually, you know what? My dad is full of crap. That’s exactly what people say when they’re at an advantage. Some people fight for what they want their whole lives and don’t win a single, solitary thing for their efforts.”

  Blue looked at her.

  “You disagree?”

  He shook his head.

  Of course he agreed with that. She’d said it for his sake.

  She nodded. “My dad’s an asshole.”

  Truth.

  “You’re never really free of your parents, are you?” she added.

  Blue hung his head, and Molly wet her lips. This was the moment. Her throat grew tight, and she struggled to get the w
ords out. What was it that she wanted? What would he give her? She thought of the bird. She hated it. She loved it. She’d die if she had to return to a time before she had company. But last night, as it tucked its head beneath its wing, she thought of those bars. And how she was the one keeping it trapped. It no longer needed to be contained. Its wing was long-healed, she was sure.

  But it was hers.

  It was hers, hers, hers.

  “We should release the bird,” she whispered.

  Blue looked at her.

  “I want to release the bird.”

  Blue looked back at the house as if he could see the small sparrow from their place on the ground. He stared into the distance for a long time, and then rose to his feet. He seemed to contemplate something for more than a moment, and then offered her his gloved hand.

  She looked at it, remembered the feel of it around her waist as they danced, and then took it. He led her back to the house, and she watched his back with an imperious smile. She had succeeded in this small feat. It gave her hope that she would ultimately convince him to let her go.

  Blue led her down to her room, and she walked toward the birdcage. Her heart ached as the creature gave a pleasant chirp in greeting. Or maybe in fear. She wasn’t sure.

  Her hands were almost on the cage when she felt Blue grab her wrist and wind something around it.

  She glanced down to see the plastic ties.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He reached to attach the other end to the ceiling, and then reached for her opposite wrist. She held it behind her back.

  “You said that…you said—”

  He ripped her arm in front of her and bound it as she remembered he’d never said a word. He was more perceptive than she gave him credit for.

  “I asked for one little thing!” she roared.

  But didn’t her daddy say to never ask? To only vocalize a need and let someone fill that need on his or her own?

  Blue walked toward the door, and Molly tried to push down her rage. She tried and failed.

  “You fuck!” she screamed. “You selfish fuck! I am not yours to keep here like some dog.”

  He looked back at her, and her eyes widened. She reduced the volume of her voice. “I can’t help you unless you give me some wiggle room.”

  He closed the door.

  “I’m sorry,” Molly yelled. “Please, Blue. Please don’t leave me down here.”

  When she heard the door at the top of the stairs slam shut, she went wild. Thrashed against the restraints like freedom lay only a few feet away. Because it did, just beyond that window. She pulled until her wrists opened and bled. Until pain racked her insides and threatened to upend her stomach. She yanked and pulled and stretched like a rabid animal. And when she finally collapsed onto the ground, she cried.

  She cried because she needed her Cobain back. The boy who cared about her. The boy who saw her as she was and wouldn’t let her go. She missed him so much her heart dripped like melting wax. Like a candle left burning too long without quiet lips to extinguish the flame.

  Where was he now? What was he doing? Was he closer than she realized? So close she could dance with him as the record player turned?

  Those questions drove her mad.

  She listened for Blue’s footsteps above her, tried to recognize the rhythm of his gait.

  Cobain.

  Blue.

  Cobain.

  Blue.

  Slowly, she lifted her head to look at the bird. It stared back at her with an eye that held far too much comprehension. She rushed toward the cage, and the bird flew against the bars.

  “Shh,” Molly said. “I’m going to help you.”

  I’m going to help you, I’m going to help you, I’m going to help you.

  The reality of where she was—and the loss of control—was hitting her. Dizziness swept through her head, making the room tilt. She told herself she could manipulate Blue into submission. But was it true? Was it ever true for a single second?

  She grabbed the cage and opened the door. Watched with delight as the bird flew around the room, knocking against the walls, searching for a place to perch. It came to rest on the table near her bed.

  “That’s good,” Molly said, hysterical. “Stay there.”

  Her eyes fell on the cage, and before she could entertain a rational thought, she grabbed the thin, brittle bars and pulled on them. When they didn’t budge, she sat on the floor, put the cage between her boots, and pulled backward with both hands.

  The wire bent to her will.

  She laughed and pulled harder. Pulled until she was sure the metal would slice right through her skin like a fork piercing melon. When the wire broke away from the cage, the momentum threw her backward. Her head clunked against the concrete floor, and she had to bite down against the pain.

  She checked her head for blood. Checked her hands to ensure they still worked.

  Then she bounded to her feet and raced toward the window. She got as close as she could, her hip brushing the sink, and then she got to work on the wire.

  She spread it out, long and hopeful, and stretched it toward the window. It tapped against the hook that opened the window, but the wire gave way when she pressed.

  The bird produced a small sound behind her, and she said, “Don’t worry. I’m going to get it.”

  Molly pulled the wire toward her and bent the end until it made a hook and then reached back out with it. It took an infinite number of tries until, at last, it hooked around the handle and stayed put while she guided the wire to the right.

  The window unlocked and popped open. Just a fraction of an inch, but Molly hung her head with triumph and rejoiced.

  Then she stuck the wire back out and slammed it against the glass. Over and over again so that it opened a little farther each time.

  The door at the top of the stairs opened, and panic lit up her insides so that she glowed like those lightning bugs beyond her rectangular porthole to the world.

  Molly raced toward the bird. She wanted to release it with her hands. To feel the flutter of its wings as she launched it toward safety. But the bird needed no prodding and flew on its own. It bashed against the walls twice more as footsteps thundered down the stairs. Then it reached the bathroom.

  As the downstairs door flew open, the bird perched on the toilet.

  “Go!” Molly screamed and ran at it as Blue reached for her.

  The bird flew.

  The bird flew straight out that open window and sailed toward the winter sun.

  Blue’s arms came around her, and she laughed like a lunatic. Laughed until her body slumped to the ground. He released her and raced toward the window. When the lock slid back into place, the last of Molly’s laughter fell away.

  He turned his eyes on her in time to see her rise to her feet. For her to hold that wire in front of her like a child’s toy sword.

  Her face twisted with desperation, and she said, carefully, so very carefully, “You were afraid of what freeing the bird meant.” She motioned toward the window. “But I’ll be here to—”

  Blue rushed toward her, and she raised the wire, though she knew it would do nothing to stop him. He shoved it aside, and as it clattered to the floor, he grasped her face in his hands, breathing hard as he stared down at her. He was a foot taller than she was. Maybe more than a foot. Maybe his shoulders brushed the stars at night.

  “Don’t,” she said, but she didn’t know what she was trying to stop.

  He released her roughly and marched toward the door. Slammed it closed.

  Later, much later, as Molly listened for the sound of her bird, she heard a different noise. She jolted up in bed and turned to see Blue outside her window. He lowered his face and peered at her from the other side of the glass.

  Then he leaned back, and a thick board took
the place of his silhouette.

  She heard the sound of nails.

  And she knew that, though she’d tried to spin that bird flying away as a symbol of his own impending, contrived suicide, he’d interpreted it much differently.

  Molly was becoming quite important to Blue, she realized.

  And as slender gray nails were driven into the siding, she learned just how afraid he was of losing her.

  NOW

  I wake to flashing lights.

  They’re painting my room red, red, red.

  My dad shoves my bedroom door open. “Cobain! Cobain, get dressed!”

  I pull on a T-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes and try to think clearly. But I can’t because I just woke up and my dad is yelling and our front door is exploding and I know, I know, that this is it.

  My mom appears in the hallway, grabbing at my shoulders, asking what I did.

  I don’t know what I did. I don’t know, I don’t know.

  I hear a sound at the back door and realize they’re about to break the door down. That’s how serious they are.

  I run to the front, shouldering my dad out of the way, telling my mom I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Even though I can’t be sure what I’m sorry for.

  An officer I don’t recognize reaches in and grabs me as soon as the door is open.

  “Cobain Kelly?” she says. “You’re under arrest for the kidnapping of Molly Bates. You have the right to remain silent.”

  Cold cuffs snapping around my wrists.

  “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

  A hard shove toward the waiting patrol car.

  “You have the right to an attorney.”

  Words of warning shouted at my mother, who is racing toward me.

  “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”

  Door opening, a hand guiding my head down, leather seats stinking of piss and sour vomit.

  “Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?”

  She looks like a nice woman. Good laugh lines around her mouth.

  “Fuck you,” I say.

  She smiles, and I feel like the criminal they believe I am.