The Perfect Liar

by Debra Lynch

  I push my glass aside and grip his hand. “It was just a letter opener I stole. But it turned out to be worth over nine-hundred-fifty bucks. That’s felony theft in California. He got pissed, kind of jealous, and smashed our cars. Like I said, I’ve got the whole thing under control.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Levi jerks to standing and paces the length of the kitchen bar running hands through his hair, his face bruised with anger. “What the hell, Rachel? He’s after you?” He stops, and his green eyes pin me to the spot. “You better tell me exactly what the hell happened.”

  I have to admit, I’m a bit surprised that he’s so upset when all I’m trying to do is explain. Now I want to take back my confession. Or at least water it down somehow. He’s going to hate me. Oh, to hell with it. If something horrible happens, he’ll be livid I didn’t alert him to the creepy hipster I brought into our lives. I did this.

  He resumes his pacing, and I grip his arm. “Stop. Sit down so I can tell you what happened.” I turn on the charm, which is easy because I genuinely love Levi. “You’re my bestie. It’s all okay.”

  “Fine.” Levi sits down at the kitchen bar, and I tell him the entire lurid tale. All of it. Well, maybe I leave out the part about the tampon and the graffiti that says, You sick motherfucker. And the part about all the stolen goods that went up in a bonfire. I also leave out the part about Madeline. If Levi knew Dennis had befriended her, he’d blow a fuse because in the short time she’s lived in the area, Levi’s grown quite fond of her. He thinks Madeline can’t handle herself because she uses a wheelchair, but she’s one of the most emotionally resilient people I know. Nobody messes with Madeline.

  Confiding in Levi is good. Just in case I wind up lying at the bottom of the ocean with bottom feeders nipping at my rotting flesh, at least he’ll know who’s responsible.

  Levi’s eyes grow wide as I tell my story, his Adam’s apple bobbing occasionally. When I’m done, he says, “That man sounds dangerous.”

  Damn straight, he’s dangerous. The odd excitement mixed with fear that I felt the night of the bonfire returns. I’ll take Dennis to the mat and enjoy every last second of squeezing the life out of him if I have to. I reach out a hand to Levi and grip his arm, looking him in the eye. “He’s not.”

  Levi gawks at me with a combination of terror and awe. “You actually broke into his house?”

  “I told you. I handled it. Can I help it if I learned a few tricks over the years?”

  “Tricks? You broke the—”

  “I took care of it!” I reach for Levi’s hand again, and he doesn’t pull away. “I promise. He’s just a sad little man who got off on blackmailing me.”

  Levi looks like he’s breathing fire. “Blackmail? What exactly is that supposed to mean? Did you give him money?”

  “What? No! Like I said, he’s just lonely.”

  “Well, what does he want then?”

  A girlfriend. A wife. A slave. “He just wanted to hang out with me. I figure once he found out who I was, he got off on being around, you know—” I raise my hands, my smile forced— “Rachel Goodman, the famous YouTube star.”

  He picks up his cell. “I’m calling the cops right now. Who the hell does he think he is?”

  I slam my hand over his phone. “No! I can deal with him.”

  Levi shakes his head. “Not if he’s stalking you and trashing our cars, you can’t. What else is he doing?” Levi’s gaze darts out the windows, his hand locked in a death grip on his phone. “Who’s to say he’s not coming around right this second?” His fingers poise over his keypad. “This is a fucking nightmare.”

  “He’s gone.” I cross my fingers behind my back. “He’s left me alone since I busted him with the video in my class.” If Dennis comes for me, I’ll kill him.

  Levi wields his phone. “We need to report this.”

  “He’s harmless!”

  He stares at me a few beats. “Dammit Rachel, you need to take this seriously. I say you hire a bodyguard.”

  “I … It’s fine. Don’t be silly.”

  “You’re famous. Do you know what can happen when a stalker gets a wild hair?”

  I told Levi the story. Can’t take it back now, and a partial weight lifts. “We’ll figure it out. I promise. Tomorrow.” I push away from the barstool, stand up straight and square my shoulders. “I can handle myself, you know.”

  He stares at me for long seconds, and finally, Levi stands up. Our eyes meet. “Come here.” He hugs me to him, and I breathe in his masculine scent, feel the warmth of his body. “I know you can.” He lets out a shuddering breath. “I knew something was wrong. Thank you for telling me.” He holds me at arm’s length and pierces me with his gaze. “If you hear one word from this nutcase, you let me know. Promise?”

  “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  “And tomorrow, you and I are sitting down and coming up with a plan.” I lower my chin, and Levi lifts it making me look him in the eye. “You got that?”

  “Fine.”

  Levi looks at me for a few seconds with a pained expression and then lets out a long exhale. “Okay, then. Let’s go drink some kombucha.” He holds out his arm, and I grasp it. “Our public awaits.”

  We set the alarm, lock the door.

  The night air hits my skin, and I savor the bracing sea breeze as we head out to our well-deserved celebration.

  Twenty-Five

  Dennis

  I hide under the shadows of a large tree, waiting for Rachel and Levi to exit. I’d told the idiotic Uber driver to put the pedal to the metal, but it still took forever. I thought they’d be at the kombucha bar by now, but wouldn’t you know it, the happy couple are still in the house doing god knows what.

  They finally emerge, arm in arm. My grip tightens around a branch on the tree so hard it snaps it in two. Well, don’t they look cozy? But Rachel still wears my dress. No matter what that Levi dude thinks, Rachel is mine.

  They roar off in his SUV, and I trot over to the house. Rachel still hasn’t done anything about the wasp spray I’d used to ruin the outside security cameras, which just proves how lost she is without me. I sure don’t see her oh-so-precious Levi getting up on a ladder and lifting a finger to help.

  I unscrew the lightbulb on the front porch (some people are so clueless about security) and go to work on the lock. I place my wrench into the top of the lock, insert my pick, careful not to twist too hard. I take a deep breath as I lift each of the pins. After a minute or so, the lock turns freely, and I hear the satisfying click. I slither into the entry area and punch in the code for her alarm. I stand with my back against the wall, breathing slowly, getting my bearings, sliding my flashlight beam around the empty living room. I reset the security system, so when my princess arrives, she’ll be none the wiser.

  Next up is to cut the wires for Rachel’s in-house surveillance system. Oh yes, I’d already performed my due diligence when she’d invited me here for a drink and scoped out her jenky excuse for a CCTV system. What did Rachel have in here that was worth filming? In all the time I’d spied on her, the most she ever did was yoga poses, work on her video blog, sit at her open laptop, cook in the kitchen. And oh yeah. Drink her hard stuff while watching junk TV. Seriously, Rachel? When we’re together, she’ll spend her evenings in the throes of passion, my head between her legs. Not sucking down vodka while watching reality TV.

  Using wire cutters, and simple as pie, I’m done. The cameras are just as useful now as her sidekick, Levi, who doesn’t know how to get his hands dirty.

  I make my way into Rachel’s bedroom so I can get a taste of the bed I’ll be sleeping in from now on. I pat my pocket, the vial of Rohypnol is secure and ready.

  I mentally let out a low whistle when I check out the luxurious bed Rachel sleeps in every night. Shimmery comforter that looks like it’s woven by a thousand illegal workers in China. Fluffed up pillows that ended the lives of at least a hundred ducks what with all the duck feathers. She even has a sheepskin throw casually thrown ove
r an overstuffed chair.

  I toss my backpack on the floor and run my fingers along the bedspread, making a mental note to chastise Rachel for allowing the world to suffer just so she can have fancy bedding. But for now, I’ll enjoy every illegal worker who slaved over the bedspread, every duck harmed, and to hell with the lamb whose skin… Hell, I don’t even want to think about what went on there but am sure a sharp knife had been involved.

  I lie down on the bed and spread my arms and legs out, so I look like a starfish. Letting out a long, happy sigh, I sink into the luxury of the bed. I close my eyes, imagining what life will be like with Rachel’s naked body on top of mine.

  I jerk to a sitting position. Time to get to work.

  Reaching into my backpack, I pull out the candles I brought for the occasion. I arrange them around her bed, flick my Bic, and light the candles until everything looks romantic-like for our first hotter-than-hell-sex session. Next, I decorate the room with framed pictures of the two of us, the happy couple. I set a gilt-framed photo of me on the nightstand, so it’ll be the first thing Rachel sees in the morning and the last thing she sees at night. The last thing I do is sprinkle rose petals over the bed.

  Now it’s time to check out Rachel’s closet.

  When I open the double door leading into her walk-in closet, I can hardly believe my eyes. Rachel has more shoes than a fancy department store. She has high heels in every color. Some are those high-end ones with the shiny red sole, some have bows, some have ankle straps, some have zippers. Boots (leather for winter, rubber for rain). Slippers both high heeled and flat. Running shoes, hiking shoes. Sandals. Some are flip flops, some are athletic types like the ones Mark Zuckerburg wears, some are those Birkenstock thingies that women think are fashionable. I’ll definitely be talking to Rachel about getting rid of those ugly things.

  The scent of Rachel’s perfume hangs in the air as I trail my fingers along the clothes that hang from padded hangers. Cocktail dresses, summer shifts, sweaters, jeans, some of them with the tags still on. Then there’s her vast collection of yoga clothing. The woman could start her own yoga store with as many tights and tank tops as she owns.

  In the middle of the room stands a humongous island with drawers. I yank the drawers open and bingo! Here are all of Rachel’s bras and panties. The familiar anger seethes through my blood when I think about the very real fact that Levi has seen my Rachel in some of these underthings. Rachel’s a damn liar and thinks I’m a fool if she believes I fell for her “just a colleague” bull.

  I pull the sharp scissors out of my pack. My heart gallops and adrenaline charges through my system as I slice up first a pair of sheer pink panties, then a low-cut black bra, and work my way to the next pair of underwear. I hold up a particularly skimpy pair edged in lace and laugh. Seriously? What did the whore plan on doing with these? As I work my sharp scissors through the panties deep fury bubbles through my veins. No man besides me will ever see her in anything like this. Does she think she’s a model for Hustler magazine? My Rachel will follow the rules, and the rules do not include looking like an everyday streetwalker.

  As a matter of fact, what the hell is up with these skimpy yoga clothes? Does she really think I’ll put up with her wearing these tops where her boobs spill out for all the world to see? I move to the yoga clothing and yank the lot off the racks, swearing as I go. I pick up a few select pieces and slash them to shreds.

  By the time I’m done, I’m grunting and panting like a racehorse who’s just won the Kentucky Derby. I look around the closet at the mayhem. I want to spend more time here, but there’s work to be done.

  Rachel thought I was stupid.

  I’d scoped out her place the last time I’d been here. That’s how I knew that she kept her safe inside the closet of her video recording room.

  Time to check out Rachel’s safe.

  I stab the scissors with violence into the fancy comforter and stalk out of the room.

  Twenty-Six

  Rachel

  “Wonderful show, Rachel! Congrats on five years together,” one of the local viewers says as she stands third in line at the crowded bar.

  I muster a smile and raise my drink. “Thank you.”

  I sit on a barstool nursing my passionberry kombucha martini resting my chin in the palm of my hand as I watch Levi work the crowd. Levi moves with the grace of an athlete, his powerful spine erect, his retro-rock T-shirt clinging to his broad chest and shoulders. He shakes hands, laughs at jokes, looks everyone in the eye, making them feel like they’re the only person in the world. Everyone loves Levi. Everyone, including me.

  Levi saunters up to me and places one elbow on the bar. “Penny for your thoughts?”

  “All I want to do is go home and sleep for about a month.”

  He sits in the barstool next to mine and faces me, so our knees are touching. “You sure you don’t want to call the police and report this guy?”

  It was right to tell Levi about Dennis, but now that he knows I need to play it extra cool, lest Levi show up at my house tomorrow with an artillery.

  I toy with the stem of my glass. “No. Dennis is ancient history.” No way will I tell Levi what I really think, my fantasies.

  Levi places his hand on my arm, and his green eyes fill with anxiety. “Jesus. I can’t believe that guy. You promise you’ll tell me if you hear from him again? I am your bestie, right?”

  I hold up my hand. “Pinkie swear.” We chuckle and hook fingers. Dennis can’t turn me in anymore, and for that, I breathe a sigh of relief. The only card he has to play is his unimaginative texts. I love you. Let me show you just how much. “Hey, you mind if I head out?” I say. “I wasn’t kidding about sleeping for a month. All I can think about is my comfy bed.”

  Levi picks up his phone and checks the time. “Almost ten-thirty.” He winks. “I’d say you logged your time. Need me to call you an Uber?”

  “Nah. It’s a pretty night. I’ll walk.”

  His eyes narrow. “You sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  He gazes at me for long seconds. “Okay Ms. Independent. Make sure to lock all your doors. And set the alarm.” His voice grows low and husky. “You promise me you’ll call if you need anything?” He lifts his phone. “I’ll keep it glued to my side. I’m worried about you.”

  I get up and grab my bag. “Well quit worrying. I’m fine.”

  Levi stands up and pulls me into a warm hug. “Okay then. I’ll call you in the morning. You and I are sitting down and coming up with a plan. A bodyguard, pepper spray, heck maybe I’ll even get my blackbelt.”

  I give Levi a megawatt smile. “He’s gone. I’m sure of it.” I down the last of my drink and bid Levi goodnight.

  I stride through the bar, shaking hands, hugging and waving to the hangers-on who are determined to stay at the party until the last drink is served. Or until the management puts them to work sweeping floors. I stroll out into the warm night.

  I stand amidst the swirl of tourists, the salt air tickling my nose.

  If Dennis continues his game, I can’t be responsible for my actions.

  Twenty-Seven

  Dennis

  I enter Rachel’s video blogging room and stalk past her expensive equipment, including those fancy microphones, and think about smashing the one that Levi uses.

  But I have other concerns right now. I open the closet in the video room, eye the safe, and smile. Doesn’t hurt to make a little cash while I’m here. Crouching down to get to work on cracking the safe, I cast the beam of my flashlight around the closet and see another door. Will you lookie here. Rachel’s got herself a locked room.

  I laugh when I see the kind of lock she used to secure the joint. It’s one of those biometric locks that only needs a paper clip to pop open. The lock looks impressive, and Rachel probably doesn’t know enough, bless her heart. She’d bought into the scam, thinking it’s more secure than a high-quality regular deadbolt. That’s why Rachel needs me in her life. I shake my head. Why, any
one could take advantage of my future wife if it was as easy to break in as she’d made it for me.

  But first, the safe. It’s always the same. People put the expensive stuff into safes. That’s where the cash, jewelry, and gold coins go. I crouch down and reach into my pack until my hand closes around the neodymium magnet I’d scored from Amazon for twenty bucks. This I place into a sock because that magnet is fucking strong. Sliding the magnet around until it connects with the locking mechanism only takes a few seconds.

  The door swings open. My fingers itch with anticipation of filling my pack with whatever goods Rachel had so lovingly left for me to pilfer. Five finger discount, right Rachel? But my throat dries up when I see only one thing in the safe: a large clasped manila envelope. Fucking hell. Probably nothing better than passports and legal papers.

  I stand up to get to work on the fancy looking lock Rachel had installed on the door. People who use these types of locks do so for one reason only.

  They have something to hide.

  Twenty-Eight

  Rachel

  I lied to Levi.

  I didn’t tell him the truth about my plans for Dennis because I know he’ll throw a net over me. And my plot is going forward.

  This is the part in my story where I have to admit just how much I lie. It started back when I was Daddy’s sidekick, and it hasn’t stopped. One day, I promise I’ll tell everyone the truth. Levi, our viewers, my therapists, the police, even the bartender at the kombucha bar will learn who I really am. Madeline knows. But she’s the only one.

  I’ve been dishonest, and I know if I want to live any kind of life of meaning, it has to stop. And it will.