The Perfect Liar

by Debra Lynch

  “Honey, that girl’s got her nose so high in the air she could drown in a rainstorm. And the last person she listens to is me.” Madeline’s black cat jumped on her lap, and she went to town, petting the flea-infested thing. “You don’t get how tough life’s been for Rachel.” She leaned her head back with a sigh. “She has a hard time getting close to folks. Lost her dad when she was little.”

  “She told me.”

  “Her mom left when Rachel was just a little bitty thing. Liked her drugs better. Poor baby ended up in the system. Rachel didn’t adjust too good to foster care. Got the short end of the stick every which way she turned. Mean foster parents, selfish kids.” She pointed to herself. “I rescued her from all that.” Her eyes filled with tears and she wiped one away. “She’s been a peach, that one. Takes care of everything for me. Rent, medicine, therapy, food. I love that little girl like she was my own. More than a bushel and a peck!”

  Yeah, yeah, enough with the sappy trip down memory lane. “You think I should ask her out?”

  “Sugar, that girl’s as lost as last year’s Easter egg. You sure you want to take that on?”

  I clasped my hands around my glass and looked her in the eye. “Who hasn’t had a tough time in life?”

  “You got that one right. My granny always did say there’s not a pot too crooked that a lid won’t fit.” She gave me a shaky smile. “It means there’s someone for everyone. You’ll have to go easy on her, though. She’s a sensitive one.” She laughed. “When she’s not acting out bad enough to make a preacher cuss, that is. My Rachel’s a spitfire.”

  “So you’ll tell her I’ve got your stamp of approval?”

  “Honey, you don’t need me to do that. I know you, and I say you’re good as gold.” She narrowed her eyes. “What are your plans? You asking her on a date?”

  “I want to.” Rachel was already mine. I’d swear it on my mother’s grave. I needed to feel Madeline out, just see what the old bag had to say, find out if Rachel had blabbed to her aunt about me. But apparently, she hadn’t. No matter. Plenty of time to talk about china patterns after we announced our engagement.

  “Take her somewhere you can talk. She likes to talk about deep stuff. My Rachel wants to know who a person is on the inside.” She tapped her heart. “You know, what’s in your soul. Your secrets.”

  Rachel would know what I wanted her to know. All that she needed to know right now was that she was mine. She didn’t need to know anything about the Rohypnol. I chuckled. “I will remember that.”

  After Brandi, I’d gotten better at the dosages of date rape drug. What was I supposed to do when Brandi threw up all over my new shirt, and her heart rate dropped so low I could barely feel a pulse?

  Take her out on my friend’s unregistered airboat, that’s what.

  The Everglades is not the place for a young woman who’s slipping into unconsciousness. When I pushed her out of the boat, I gotta admit how surprised I was by the way the turkey vultures took to her. She fought back, weakly, but that didn’t last long. The vultures can projectile vomit up to ten feet away. Once they had their way with her, the alligators took over.

  Madeline smiled. “More tea?”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” I refilled my glass, and the old biddy must’ve been starved for attention because she wouldn’t shut up with the personal questions.

  “How’d you end up out here in California, sugar?”

  “Ever heard the phrase ‘Go West, young man’?”

  She slapped her thigh. “Good looking and smart, too. Yeah, I’ve heard that high falutin’ phrase somewheres. What was so bad about Florida?”

  “Too hot.”

  She laughed. “Like this is not?”

  Florida was hot. But when I say the heat was on, what I mean was the cops got nosy after Brandi disappeared.

  When the authorities came sniffing around, that’s when Mom got suspicious. What did you do to that girl? By that point, I’d had enough of her anyway. That night when Mom got to chug-a-lugging her cheap vodka, I crushed up fifteen Vicodin from her prescription bottle and ten Xanax and mixed her one of Dennis’s famous cocktails.

  I watched her down the drink, eyes go to half-mast. I washed out the glass, refilled it with vodka, left the pill bottles on the coffee table next to the vodka, and went out to hang with my homies. I figured the drink would do the trick, and I was right. By the time I got home and made my frantic call to 911, she was gone. No one questioned it.

  After I went through my obligatory month of boohooing and acting like the bereaved son, I set my sights on California, where life was pretty damn good. For a while. Until I made the mistake of getting into a fight and killing somebody. What was I supposed to do about the witnesses? A shit load of years for manslaughter is what.

  Madeline intruded on my thoughts. “Did you make friends when you moved here? Anybody special?”

  My past was my own damn business. But I’d have to keep manipulating the old bag to keep her on my side. “Nah. Not really.” I gave her my best smile. “Thanks for the talk.”

  “Anytime.”

  “Well. I need to get to work.” I stood up and drained my drink. “And thanks for the tea. You make the best.”

  “And don’t you forget it. See you soon?”

  “You will.”

  She turned her wheelchair around. “Get the door for me, will you, precious?”

  We said our goodbyes, and when I swung my leg over my bike, I glanced at her front window. Madeline sat there staring out, looking just like that corpse mother in the movie Psycho. A chill ran up my spine. Gonna have to quit watching so much late-night TV.

  Nineteen

  When I got home from work that night, Rachel’s car was still parked out front. A slow smile spread across my face as I fondled the steering wheel.

  Walking into the living room, the first thing I noticed was the sharp smell of bleach. The second thing I noticed was that the walls were painted and everything was gone except for my new sofa and Seymour’s terrarium.

  I turned in a slow circle and nearly jumped when Rachel’s husky voice said, “Drink?” I whipped around, and there was my angel looking more gorgeous than I’d ever seen her. Her skin held a rosy glow, her full lips parted in a smile. She wore a sexy dress that was tight but not too tight, wouldn’t want my Rachel to look like a whore, and her feet were bare. The only thing missing was an apron, a martini, and my slippers. She smiled the most heartbreakingly beautiful smile and cocked her head as she handed me a can of ice-cold soda. “Nothing like a drink after work, right?”

  I accepted the can. “Where is everything?”

  She spread her arms and twirled around once. “Isn’t it divine?” She stopped and looked me in the eye. “The minimal look.”

  “But I need—”

  She threw her hand out in a motion that said she was kidding around. “Got you, didn’t I?” Her face took on a sheepish look, and I wanted to kiss her. “I wanted to make amends. I ordered all new furniture.”

  I wandered through the small house, and sure enough, everything was gone, including my bed, my nightstand, my dresser. Everything.

  Rachel followed me around, her breath at my back as she went on. “The guys who delivered your sofa? I got them to take everything away. You’re getting all new stuff. It’ll be delivered tomorrow.” She made a framing motion with her hands. “New bed, designer comforter, cushions, they’re installing a laminate floor, you’re getting a bookcase, new rug, sixty-five-inch TV. All on me.”

  My mouth hung open. “I … I don’t know what to say.”

  She grinned. “You don’t have to thank me. Honestly? I feel terrible about the way I’ve treated you. You’ve done so much for me.”

  “I have, haven’t I?”

  “Why, if it weren’t for you who knows where I’d be?”

  I took a sip of my drink. “Sitting in a jail cell somewhere.”

  She smiled. “Yep. But no, siree. No orange jumpsuit for this woman.”

  I
laughed at her enthusiasm. “You’d look terrible in orange.”

  “You got that one right.” She threw her hands up in the air. “This place is going to look fantastic. Just wait until you see the transformation. I’ll come over and cook you dinner when it’s all done.”

  “I want filet mignon and some of those tiny little potatoes I saw on the cooking channel.” I held up a finger. “Oh. And how about one of those fancy custard things with the burnt sugar on top for dessert?”

  You mean creme brûlée? I would love to break out my creme brûlée torch for you.”

  Rachel was a new woman. All it took was a bit of persuasion from a real man, and she was putty in my hands. Rachel would learn how things were done in my home. I was the king, and she was my servant. When we were married, I’d have her on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floor while I used her back as a footstool. She’d quit that ridiculous yoga show, and we’d make sure Levi was never around to bother us again.

  This is the way a woman treats her man. Like the superior sex we were born to be. I blurred my eyes as I gazed at my Rachel. She’d look great in one of those flouncy dresses that swung around her knees. Maybe a yellow one made out of a plaid fabric, a button-down top, and a sash at the waist to tie the whole thing together. It wouldn’t do to have my wife parading around in those sleazy yoga outfits she wore for all the world to see. In the privacy of our bedroom, fine. But once I had her thoroughly under my control, I would pick out Rachel’s wardrobe. We’d go to the mall, all on Rachel’s dime, of course, and I’d help her with her new look—respectable dresses like women from the 60s wore, not the clothing they wore today that made them look like they were just asking for it.

  “Drink up,” she said. “We’ve got the night video blogging class to go to.” She tilted her head. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, you’re doing great in class. Really catching on.”

  I drained my soda and handed her the can. She obediently took it and disposed of it in my spotless kitchen. “I’ll drive,” I said.

  “You’re sweet. But no. Best if you follow me. Maybe you can even come over for a drink at my place after?” Her eyes held promise.

  I puffed up my chest and nearly pounded on it like a caveman. “Sounds great.” I would show Rachel I could be smart and worthy of her when we were in class that night. Rachel needed a man who kept up with her in the brains department. But in the bedroom? There I made the rules.

  Before we left, I pocketed my Rohypnol.

  “How about the importance of staying on a regular schedule for your video blog?” One of Rachel’s students, a young girl with too much pink dye in her hair, asked this stupid question. “It’s just that I’m so busy with school and my job at the marketing company that I can’t say for sure I’d be able to keep up with my vlog every single week.”

  I knew the answer. I didn’t even bother raising my hand, just started talking. “The way I see it is that if you have a great personality, if you’re illuminating enough, you don’t have to post weekly. People will watch your show if you’re smart and they like your stuff.” I folded my arms. “Me, I plan on making my video all about how to gain sponsors.” I found Rachel’s eyes and winked at her. “I can be very persuasive and I think that’s enough.”

  It felt fucking-A fantastic being the star student in Rachel’s class. I could tell my beloved was impressed by the way I was first to raise my hand, the first to talk over the other students who thought they knew their stuff. They didn’t know shit. I was the person closest to Rachel.

  My eyes tracked her every movement as she floated around the room like an angel. She stopped and stared me straight in the eye. “A regular schedule is vital to the success of your video blog. It’s one thing to be charismatic, have an important message and something your viewers look forward to. But if you don’t stay on a regular schedule you’ll sink. Predictability is key to subscriber loyalty.”

  She smacked her ruler on the desk, and what she said next were not the words of a lover. Her hostile remark felt like acid. She narrowed her eyes into laser beams, and her stare seared through to my bones. “You should know that by now. Maybe you should pay more attention in class if you want to be a successful YouTuber. Oh, and by the way, I think the word you were looking for was maybe charismatic? Illuminate means to clarify or explain.” The room grew quiet, and I stopped breathing. “But you’d know that if you studied some of the course material as I asked, Dennis. It is Dennis, right?”

  The pencil I’d been tapping against the desk suddenly went still. Something was wrong. I tried to answer, but she cut me off with a chop of her hand.

  Rachel’s posture straightened as she dimmed the lights. “Okay, class. Tonight I have a special treat, and I’m asking for your help because you’re all such fantastic students.” Rachel’s gaze locked with mine. “Well, most of you are. Some could use a little help in the noodle department.” She tapped her head, and I felt physically ill. I wished time would speed up so I could get her out of the room and reprimand her. How dare she embarrass me?

  Rachel stood at the head of the class, like a queen surveying her kingdom. The remote for the overhead video screen sat poised in her hand. “Here’s the deal. I’m working on getting an account with one of the big organic energy drink companies. As you know, sponsorship is an important part of our job as video bloggers. The more people watch our show, the more money we get from sponsors.”

  Everyone sat forward as she clicked the remote, and a giant video screen scrolled down from the ceiling. I licked dry lips and held my pencil over my notebook.

  Her voice was bubbly and loud when she spoke. “Here’s how we do it, gang. Watch and learn from this video I put together.”

  She hit play.

  And there in all its black and white glory was the surveillance video of Rachel vandalizing my house. My heart sped up, and I tried to slow my breathing as my gaze bounced around at the other students who all sat transfixed like they were watching the movie of the year.

  Cold fingers gripped my pencil. In the video, Rachel knocked over my bookcase, yanked pictures off the walls, smashed picture frames over my old sofa until shards of glass rained everywhere. Her acting fame reached an Academy Award-worthy high, her meltdown apeshit berserk-o. She dug around in her backpack, pulled out a can of spray paint, and defaced my living room wall.

  My insides vibrated as the video screamed Rachel’s evil deeds into the room. Just as calm as you please, she nodded and pointed at the screen. “Who is this woman? What is she doing after she gains energy from their drink? What kind of excitement and enthusiasm does she feel after she downs their product?”

  I clapped my hands over my ears. The video quickly cut to Rachel in my bedroom, going for broke. She’d created a fuzzy effect over the vile words she had scrawled on my bedroom wall and had done the same for the living room graffiti.

  My pulse quickened when one of the students asked, “Is that you, Rachel?”

  She smiled like she was accepting an award, and I wanted to slap that grin right off her face and grab her by the throat. “Yes it is. Creative arts.” She pointed to the student. “And I want you to start thinking creatively like this, too. I need all of your—my wonderful students—help in coming up with a catchy headline to pitch their new energy drink.”

  My teeth clenched, and a roar filled my ears. Rachel looked so goddamn happy when she glanced in my direction and smiled a playful grin. She jabbed an index finger my way and mouthed gotcha!

  She perched nonchalantly on the edge of the desk. A vein throbbed dangerously in my temple, and I thought for sure I was having an aneurism.

  “I know some of you are musicians. If not, I’ve taught you all how to find royalty-free music for your videos. Feel free to set this, admittedly avant-garde, video to music if you want extra points. I’ve emailed you all a copy, and I want your answers by Thursday.”

  Rachel’s gaze flicked my way. The way she looked at me was like I was a nobody, like we hadn’t shared the most amazing
month of my life together. The video stuttered in the background, Rachel smashing, defacing, and disfiguring my house beyond repair. My eyes grew wide as I gripped the sides of the desk, my chest heaving loud breaths.

  She pinned me to my seat with her penetrating gaze. “Let your imaginations go wild. It’s only make-believe, after all.” The class murmured their excitement, some scribbling notes.

  My hand shot up, and I hated the tremble in my voice and especially despised the way it came out shrill. “Is this legal?”

  She folded her arms and smiled. “What a silly question. It’s all fantasy.” She laughed. “Of course it’s legal.”

  Rachel’s expensive high heels clicked on the tile floor as she exited the building.

  “Rachel! Wait!” She whirled around and stood under the big oak tree, a few dead leaves swirling around her feet. I was practically out of breath when I caught up to her. I opened my mouth to speak, but I must have looked like a goddamn goldfish the way I gasped for air.

  My heart nearly broke when Rachel jabbed a finger in my chest. “I made the video. I shot it.”

  “But you didn’t. I shot it.”

  “What is this? A pissing match?” Her voice went high pitched and annoying. “I made it. No, I made it. It’s mine. No, it’s mine.” I held back a scream as she shoved me in the chest, and I stumbled backward. “I’m known for these kinds of teaching techniques. No one will question it.”

  My wobbly legs righted themselves, and I stood up to her. “But that’s my living room.”

  She brushed her hands together with finality. “Doesn’t look anything like it. Not anymore.”

  I stuttered, and a few pieces of spit flew out of my mouth when I spoke. “I’ll tell Levi. He’ll believe me.”

  She threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, that is rich.” She placed her hand on her hip and cocked her head. “Yeah? I’ll tell Levi you’re a nutcase who’s been stalking me. Who’s he gonna believe?”