We Told Six Lies

by Victoria Scott

  “You went away,” I say. “And I’m the reason you’re not here anymore.”

  The train flies by, and as the wind slaps against my face, I stand and watch the cars race past.

  I try and count them, but I’m too dizzy. The world is going much too fast.

  When it finally stops, I look down at where my brother’s body lies.

  But it’s gone.

  Of course it is gone, because it was never there to begin with. Not for a long, long time. I forgot his birthday. I remembered most things about him, but not his birthday. If I didn’t know it, then he couldn’t have known it either.

  So many lies have been told since I met Molly, but the first of them, the last of them, was the one I told myself.

  I know what I am capable of now.

  I know I will not be the hero in this story.

  I will not wear a cape and rush in to save Molly in the end.

  No, I am the one who has taken her.

  I am capable of anything, really.

  If I killed my own brother, what would I do to a girl who planned to betray me?

  My head snaps up.

  I know where Molly is.

  I know where I took her.

  THEN

  I remember a day with you, Molly.

  Do you remember it, too? It’s one of many, not a particularly exciting day. We went to the train tracks, and I was surprised you wanted to go to my spot, because you always wanted to go to the park instead.

  We sat on the tracks, and you seemed to be waiting for something.

  “Do you ever think about things too much?” you asked as rain drizzled over your shoulders.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  You nodded and looked down the tracks again.

  “I get sad sometimes,” you admitted quietly, and I could tell it was probably the hardest thing you’d ever said aloud.

  “I know.”

  You looked at me, surprised. “You do?”

  “Yeah, I see it.”

  You smiled then. “No, you don’t, because I never get sad. I was just playing.”

  I studied your face until your smile faded away.

  “Sometimes I just hate myself,” you confessed.

  I took your hand, but you wouldn’t look at me. You kept looking into the distance, waiting for something, and a wave of uneasiness crept over me.

  “Hey, let’s get out of here,” I said to you.

  But you shook your head, and tears filled your eyes.

  “Molly, get up,” I ordered.

  When you didn’t move, I grabbed you and hauled you into my arms. You wrapped your legs around me and kissed me and kissed me and took my mind and my heart straight into your mouth.

  You bit my bottom lip hard enough that I pulled back, and I saw that you were smiling again. You just needed reminding that I was here, I guess. That you weren’t alone. You were always saying that—don’t ever let me go.

  I used to think you meant to never break up with you, no matter how crazy you acted.

  But now I think you might have meant something else.

  You were looking for a way out, weren’t you, Molly?

  On the other side of the world.

  Or on the other side of this life.

  MOLLY

  Molly took the first step into the water, and Blue followed her out.

  Blue gasped. Molly cinched her eyes shut against the sound, and then took another step. He matched her progression, but with each step, he gripped her hand tighter.

  “I’m scared,” Molly said, because it was true. Oh God, how it was true.

  She had to do this.

  This was her only chance at surviving him.

  And so she hauled her dress higher with her left hand and held firm to him with her right and took another step and then another. When the black water licked at her chest and his waist, she said it again. “It’s time to take it off.” After a moment, she added, “I won’t back out as long as you don’t.”

  He lifted a hand to his mask and paused.

  “Together,” Molly said as her teeth chattered.

  Her body was numb in the frigid water, her shuddering breath filled with heart-pounding fear. Already, they’d been in the water too long. Much, much too long.

  Blue released her hand and raised both to his mask.

  Then, as the moon slipped closer, Blue removed his disguise.

  “I knew it was you,” Molly whispered, but still, she could hardly believe it.

  She dropped her head and released a muffled cry. Then, remembering what had to be done, she raised her eyes and reached for his hand in the water.

  He raised a surprised eyebrow at her touch, like he was shocked she’d still touch him after seeing his face.

  But she’d known all along, in a way.

  She just wasn’t sure until this very moment.

  “I don’t know which name to call you now,” she said.

  Instead of responding, he kissed her.

  And she let him. In fact, she may have kissed him back. She may have.

  It was the least she could do, she thought, since she was about to kill him.

  NOW

  When I was a kid, we used to go to a lake house. I remember it because that’s where I killed my brother. It’s a perfect place to hide a kidnapped girl. Or a body. I can’t remember the address, though. How is that possible if I’d already taken her there?

  I have to call my mother. I have to know why I hurt my own brother. And I can’t get to Molly without a vehicle or knowing where the house is.

  And so I crouch behind our neighbor’s fence across the street, dial our home phone, and cringe when my mom answers.

  I can hear it in her voice right away.

  She knows what I did at the station.

  Hell, cops are probably in the house with her.

  “Mom,” I say, “I know what happened.”

  “Cobain? Cobain, where are you? Why did you take that man’s gun? Don’t do anything with it, okay? Tell me where you are.”

  “I know what I did to Holt,” I say.

  My mom doesn’t respond. I listen for someone to tell her to keep talking, but I don’t hear anything. What’s more, I don’t see anyone, either.

  “Cobain, what are you talking about?”

  “I know he wasn’t there,” I yell, and then remember that I’m too close to the house to chance being so loud. I duck behind some bushes and see my mother standing in the window. My heart clenches at the sight of her. I want her to hug me so badly. To tell me everything will be okay. I wonder how it felt to watch her only son fight someone who wasn’t there. To listen to conversations held with ghosts. How painful must it have been?

  My mom covers her mouth with her hand.

  “I know I kept him in my head because I couldn’t handle the truth.”

  My mom’s head drops. “It was so hard. Pretending. Trying to play along. Your doctor told us we should, but it was so hard, baby. We didn’t know if you’d ever remember the truth of what happened. And then Holt finally started going away, and we thought…we could just move past it. Then you met Molly, and he came back.” My mom pauses. “Cobain, where are you? You need to come home. You’ve got to talk to these people and—”

  Green trees.

  Blue water.

  White dog.

  Black crow.

  In the distance, a cabin.

  Pressure.

  And then—

  A gunshot.

  “I killed him, didn’t I?” I say. “I killed him at that house in the woods. I remember the house. I remember the water.”

  “Killed him? You?”

  The surprise in my mom’s voice raises goose bumps along my arms.

  “Oh, Cobain, you didn’t kill your brother. Y
ou didn’t even try to hurt him. You were just playing around like you always did, and he got upset. He jumped on top of you and…he started to…” My mom’s voice breaks. “His hands were around your throat, and we couldn’t get him off you, and so your daddy…he had his gun with him and…”

  My mom cries again, and I put the pieces together.

  My father’s unrelenting hope in me. His unwavering belief that he had to kill one son to protect the other. And that I was worth the sacrifice.

  “It was Dad,” I say.

  “What?” my mom gasps. “No. No one killed Holt, Cobain. He’s still alive.”

  Her words slam into me. Nearly take me to the ground.

  Holt is alive.

  Holt is out there.

  “We had to put him in a facility to help him,” my mom continues. “We didn’t have a choice. He was never… It was hurting all of us.”

  “Mom,” I say, so quietly I almost can’t hear my own voice. “When is the last time you saw him?”

  Mom vanishes from the window, and it takes a moment for her to answer, her words swimming in tears. “It’s hard to visit him. It’s just so hard. I have to keep myself busy so I don’t—”

  She breaks off in a sob, and I nearly drop the phone.

  “Mom, where is the lake house we used to go to?

  “Aunt Nancy’s house?” she asks. “Cobain, where are you? You need to come—”

  “Where is the house, Mom?”

  “I…I can’t…” She thinks to herself. “Woodling Road? No, Woodbine. In Reading. Is that where—”

  I hang up and race toward the house, keeping low.

  I know what lies inside that garage.

  I roll open the door as quietly as possible, moving faster than I ever have, and see a black truck inside.

  Holt’s truck.

  No, my truck.

  I jump inside, find the keys in the ignition, and barrel from the garage and onto the road. Only five minutes pass before I see and hear the red lights behind me. It doesn’t matter. They’ll never find the place before I do. A drive that should take twenty minutes or more takes only ten. Houses whip by through my windows, giving way to trees arching over an ever-thinning road.

  Two lanes narrow to one.

  Pavement morphs into dirt.

  A cloud kicks up from my tires as I jam my foot down to the floor, and the officer behind me gives chase. That cop will soon turn into two. Or three. Or a dozen. I have to lose him before that happens.

  I wait until it’s almost too late to make the turn and then hit the brake and slide to the left until my tires catch. Then I’m off.

  The officer has to stop and back up, but he’s on me again. His lights flash, his siren wails, and I realize with a sinking feeling that I might not outrun him. That I haven’t been here in years and may miss the turns myself.

  But, no, as I get closer, I’m recognizing things.

  A field with a broken windmill.

  The house with the wraparound porch.

  The long barbed wire fence that used to hold two gray horses.

  I make another sudden left turn, and this time the officer takes longer to back up and hit the gas. I consider taking wrong turns, any turns, just to widen that gap. But I’ll risk losing myself and losing Molly.

  So I press down on the accelerator and keep gunning it. My hands are slick. My heart is explosive. And I just don’t know what I’ll do if he runs me off this road. They’ll never believe me. At the very least, it would take them too long to take action and find her—the way I will, right now, no matter what.

  I’m coming, Molly.

  The last turn is a narrow split between fences. I take the turn, and after slamming into one of the fences, the cop takes it, too. I pull in a shaky breath, steady my hands, and ready myself to play the only card I have.

  We crash into the heart of the forest, the trees and brush so thick my only prayer is to stay on the dirt road. I remember this. I remember. But do I remember well enough?

  I have a few crucial seconds. Just enough time to throw him off my trail. I arrive at the split I knew was coming and tear down the dirt path, then I throw the truck in reverse until I reach the split again—a split you’d only notice if you’d been here before. This time I drive in the other direction, cutting through the foliage.

  When the officer whips around the bend, I kill the engine and clutch the steering wheel until I’m afraid my knuckles will split open. With any luck, he’ll see the dust I kicked up and assume that’s the direction I went. It’s the only clear road with enough turns and hills to have hidden my truck from immediate view. The path I’m on is hardly a path at all, just two tracks where tires have flattened the weeds and brush.

  Holt has been coming and going, I realize.

  When I don’t hear the officer’s approach, I breathe a sigh of relief and start my truck. Then I roll farther until I see the outline of a house squatting in the distance. My throat tightens, but it isn’t the sight of the cabin that destroys me, or the memories that come flooding back.

  It’s the white van parked out front.

  I get out of my truck, kicking myself for leaving the gun at the train tracks. I take one step onto the soil, and I’m slammed with a memory so heavy, my knees nearly buckle.

  I’m playing with my brother near the cabin. My aunt is there. She’s very thin. Too thin, Dad keeps saying, and he seems sad.

  Dad asks if I want to play baseball.

  “There’s no bat,” Holt says. “No ball.”

  Dad shrugs. Messes my hair. “Cobain could probably knock one to the pond with a tree branch and a stone. Wanna give it a try, kiddo?”

  Dad slings his arm around me.

  Dad hugs me to him.

  When Dad isn’t looking, I glance at my brother. The look on his face is there. The one that scares me. The one he reserves for me late at night. Mom told me to stay away from him when he gets like that. Said sometimes he gets frustrated that things don’t come as easy to him as they do me, and that makes him sad. And because he doesn’t know how to process his sadness, he gets angry. So that’s how I always thought of my brother.

  Holt, happy.

  Or Holt, blue.

  More often than not, he was Holt Blue.

  MOLLY

  Molly took his hand, and together they waded farther into the water.

  When she felt her feet sweep from the dirt floor, she panicked. But then his arm was there, wrapping around her, and he said, “Together.”

  Her eyes enlarged at the sound of his voice. It was so much like Cobain’s, but not quite. He looked so much like him, but not quite. Moved and ate and danced like Cobain, but not quite. He still had the same eyes she saw in that photo of him with Cobain, though—the brown of a grizzly bear hide.

  She remembered how the photos had suddenly stopped when Cobain and his brother were young. How Cobain said he got “messed up in the head,” around that time. It took her a long time to recall these things. To fill the holes. She still didn’t know everything, but she knew enough.

  What happened between the brothers to make one hate the other this much?

  Would she live long enough to find out?

  Molly closed her eyes and imagined it was Cobain’s arm that held her. It wasn’t him who stole her away from the life she had. And that meant he was still back there, wondering why she left him.

  She nodded once because she couldn’t keep her head above water anymore.

  Holt pulled his legs up, and the two floated toward the bottom. Molly opened her eyes and saw him watching her face. His eyes were unbearably large with fear. Was it even possible to keep themselves down there? Would human nature cause them to burst to the top for a lungful of air whether or not they were intent on ever breathing again?

  Holt took her to the bottom, and Molly readied herself
to pretend she was a corpse. She wouldn’t let him drown her. She wouldn’t die this way. Not with his arms around her. Not with him looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered. She wouldn’t breathe her last breath beside the brother of the only boy she’d ever loved.

  But as the cold seeped deep into her muscles and her lungs began to burn for oxygen, she wondered what death awaited her if she resurfaced? Cancer, fifty years from now? A car crash two years out of college? A heart attack, though she’d never had the signs? One way or another she’d return to the earth the same way she came. Wouldn’t it be easier for this to be it?

  Her mind grew fuzzy.

  Molly had never in her life felt so much pain, and then, in a rush of adrenaline, it left her. She was left with only peace. Her heart beat in her ears, and her eyelids began to flutter. She was frozen, suspended in time.

  Holt jerked, and his eyes fluttered, too. His legs kicked as if he wanted to resurface but his body wouldn’t cooperate. His entire body jerked again, and his arms released her.

  The world lost all dimensionality. Became a path forking in the woods. One path led to the unknown—filled with some happiness, but also heartache and pain. On the other was only peace.

  Was this the cold whispering in her ear? Wishing only to keep her body for itself? To suck on her marrow and lick the salt from her skin?

  Or was this something darker still? Was it her past that told her to succumb to the icy waters, or was it her version of the future? Had she really sunk below the tide to kill him, or to do to herself what she’d always thought of in her quietest moments?

  She closed her eyes to see how it felt, and her body floated toward the bottom until her back touched the silt. The pain from the cold had long vanished. Now it was only her heart thumping far too slowly, her lungs squeezing, searching for air. Finding none and slowly relaxing. Her gaze flicked to Holt, and she watched as his eyes slipped closed. Twice he clawed at the water as if trying to find a way up. But he’d waited too long. Maybe she had, too.

  That final thought was her undoing. That she no longer had a choice. Nothing scared Molly more than exhausted options.

  With a determined start, she told her body to kick upward. But her legs didn’t comply. And when she screamed internally for her arms to swim, they only brushed loosely against her sides.