Sara Shepard - The Lying Game

He stared at her. A look Emma couldn’t quite discern flashed over his eyes. He nodded. “My car’s a couple houses down.” Hand in hand, they slipped into the darkness.

I only hoped he could get her away before they caught her.

Ethan led Emma to an old red Honda Civic hatchback with a gray door and a crack in the windshield. The inside smelled like McDonald’s and old shoes, and the passenger seat was littered with textbooks and papers. Emma swept them aside and belted herself in. Ethan swung behind the wheel. Swiveling around, Emma saw Laurel standing at the edge of the driveway, looking right and left.

The stereo blared as soon as Ethan turned the ignition. It was a fast, raging song, and Ethan dove quickly for the dial and snapped it off. The wheel squeaked as he maneuvered into the street and drove away. Emma’s nails pressed hard into her thighs. She watched the Mercer house grow smaller and smaller in the side mirror until it was no longer visible.

“What’s this all about?” Ethan’s low voice pierced the silence.

“It’s hard to explain,” Emma answered.

They passed the park where she and Ethan had played tennis. Big floodlights illuminated one of the courts, but no one was there. Next they drove past the complex that contained the nail salon where she and Laurel had gotten manicures. Then La Encantada, where she and Madeline had shopped. The road for Hollier curved to the left; a big one-armed cactus pointed the way.

“Where are we going?” Ethan asked.

Emma slumped down in the seat. Where could she go? What about the police? Would they believe her now? Could she get them to search Laurel’s room and find the video?

Then she took a deep breath. “The bus station down-town.”

Ethan’s eyebrows did a quick lift-and-drop. “The one near Hotel Congress?”

“Yep.”

“You taking a trip?”

Emma hugged her chest. “Something like that.”

He nodded toward her feet. “Without shoes?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

Ethan gave her a strange look, then took a left turn at the next intersection and merged onto the highway. It was sparse at this time of night, the concrete lanes empty far into the distance. Neon signs for highway businesses peppered the drive. GREAT DANE TRUCKING. MOTEL SIX. A tall cowboy hat for Arby’s. Lights glittered on the mountain. A helicopter zoomed overhead.

“Can I ask why you’re fleeing your own party?” Ethan asked as he veered off the highway at an exit.

Emma leaned her head against the seat. “I just need to . . . go. It’s too crazy to explain.”

The light turned green, and he made a left at an intersection. They drove in silence for a while on a dark, hilly road. For a few minutes, there wasn’t a single light anywhere. No cars passed them going the other direction. No houses loomed at the curbs. Emma frowned and glanced at the receding highway behind her. The city lights were all in the other direction. “I think you took a wrong turn.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Emma continued to watch the city fade in the rearview mirror. The street rose and dipped. Ethan took another turn, but this road was even more desolate than the last. Dusty gravel crunched under the tires. Tall cacti passed within an inch of the car. Emma’s heart suddenly started to thump. “Ethan, this is the wrong way,” she insisted.

Ethan didn’t answer her. He maneuvered the car up a small slope. Lights twinkled in the distance, as far away as the stars. Emma felt the scratches on her neck from the near-strangulation last weekend. Her mouth immediately felt dry. She peeked at Ethan’s profile. His eyes were narrowed. His jaw jutted out. His hands gripped the steering wheel hard.

“Emma . . .” I cried weakly. Something about this suddenly seemed really wrong.

Emma’s stomach turned over. Slowly, carefully, she reached for the door handle and started to pull.

Click. The tiny knob that locked the door depressed all on its own. Emma hit the button to unlock the door, but it wouldn’t budge. “Stop the car!” she shrieked, suddenly reeling with fear. “Stop the car now!”

Ethan hit the brake so hard that Emma shot forward, ramming her arm against the glove box. The car lurched back again. The engine idled loudly. She squinted in the flinty darkness. As far as she could tell, they were in the middle of a barren, empty desert. This wasn’t even a road.

“What?” Ethan asked. “What’s the matter?”

She turned to Ethan, trembling. The tears flowed freely and easily down her cheeks. “I want out. Please unlock the door. Please. ”

“Settle down,” Ethan said gently. He unbuckled his seat belt and turned so that he was facing her. Then he grabbed Emma’s wrist. Not tightly exactly, but not very loosely either. “I just wanted to get us far away from where anyone could see or hear us.”

“Why?” Emma wailed. All kinds of awful possibilities flashed through her mind.

“There’s something I think I know,” Ethan’s voice dropped a half octave. “Something I don’t think you want anyone else to know.”

“What are you talking about?”

Ethan’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “You’re not who you say you are.”

Emma blinked hard. “I-I’m sorry?”

“You’re not Sutton. You can’t be.”

The words sliced through Emma’s brain. She opened her mouth, but no sounds came out. How could he know that? Slowly, she felt the door handle with her free hand. It still didn’t open. “Of course I’m Sutton,” she said, her voice shaking. Her heart pounded.

“You’re acting nothing like her.”

Emma swallowed awkwardly. She was beginning to feel woozy. “H-How would you know?”

Ethan leaned forward a little. “For a while I thought Sutton had changed—ever since that night you showed up in my driveway. But tonight you’re totally different. You’re someone else,” Ethan said in a lonely, sad voice. “It’s freaking me out. So you’d better tell me what’s going on.”

Emma stared at him, her body stricken with fear. But as Ethan talked, things started to whirl in my head. Ethan’s lost, haunting smile. The smell of the desert plants, the dust. The feel of someone pulling something soft over my head and squeezing something thin and sharp around my neck. A giggle.

All of a sudden, a chain reaction went off in my head. Lights sparking other lights. Images rolling into new images. And just like that, a new, lucid memory unfurled before me, like a red carpet unrolled for a queen. All I could do was watch helplessly. . . .

The blurry, shadowed figure grabs my shoulders and pulls me out of the trunk. I bang my knee on the side of the car and twist my ankle on the hard ground. Hands press against my shoulder blades and shove me forward. I pitch my head down, trying to get a look at the ground beneath me, but it’s too dark. I can smell a desert fire somewhere in the distance, but I have no idea where I am. I could be in Tucson. I could be on the moon.

The same hands push me to sitting. The bones in my butt dig into what feels like a wooden folding chair. I make a couple of muffled cries, the gag in my mouth sopping wet from my saliva. “Shut up,” someone hisses.

I try to kick whoever is near me, but my feet grope in thin air. There’s more crunching through gravel, and then a tiny electronic ping. Through the blindfold, I see a small LED beam staring at me. I bite down hard on the gag.

“Go,” a voice whispers. A girl. More crunching footsteps. And then someone’s hands grab my neck. The chain of the locket I always wear pulls against my throat. My head jerks back. I wriggle my hands in their binds, but I can’t free them. My bare feet thrash, hitting the cold, rough ground.