Page 60 of Everyone Here Is Lying
They think he killed a child. He’s afraid his lawyer thinks so, too, and he doesn’t know what his mom and dad think. He’s too frightened to cry anymore.
•••
It’s late.The night is clear and cold, and the crescent moon is crisp in the inky black sky. Al doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting in his freezing car behind the dumpster, thinking about killing his wife. He knows how he’ll do it. With his bare hands. He knows what he’ll do with her body. He knows she’s at home, alone. She won’t be able to fight him off. When it’s done, he’ll take her body through the kitchen and put her in the trunk of the car. The car will be in the garage with the garage door closed. Funny how so many of these houses have a garage attached to the house, he thinks—it makes it so easy to remove a body without anyone seeing. And then he’ll bring her here. Someone might see him taking her out of the trunk and lifting her into the dumpster—that’s a risk. He’s not even going to wrap her in a blanket. He’s not sure how he’ll get away with it; he’s not thinking that far ahead. And he doesn’t really care. Everything’s gone completely to hell anyway. He thinks about what his wife said, how she thinks he’s a child killer. He could never harm an innocent child. But he could strangle his wife.
Maybe she saw something in him that he hadn’t even realized was there.
He turns the key in the ignition with a shaking hand and starts the car. He pulls the car out from behind the dumpster and drives around to the front of the motel. He means to take the exit onto the highway, back to Stanhope and his adulterous wife, but instead he finds himself slamming on the brakes, suddenly unable to breathe. He pulls into an empty parking spot. His entire body is shaking.
He sits in the car, trembling like a leaf.What was he thinking?He can’t kill his wife.He’s losing his mind. He got carried away with a fantasy.
He pushes open the car door, walks across the pavement to the flashing neon sign indicating the office of the motel, and requests a room. As he pays and gets the key—his hands still shaking—he realizes that the bored woman behind the counter has no idea what’s been running through his disordered mind. He almost wants to warn her about people. People like him.
•••
Avery moves restlesslyaround the small basement bedroom, impatient and frustrated. It’s been harder than she expected to stay hidden for all this time. Marion went out ages ago—how long does it take to tell the police you lied?
She nurses her feelings of rage and betrayal. Marion had gone behind her back and called about Ryan anonymously, never expecting Avery to find out.
Avery paces around the bedroom. She’s so angry at Marion. Maybe shewillchange her story. Maybe she should say that she was held captive in this basement against her will, and that she escaped from Marion. After all, there’s a reason Marion lied to the police—she had it out for Nora Blanchard all along. She could say Marion kidnapped her and kept her in the basement so that she could accuse Nora’s son. She could tell them that she came over for cookies and sympathy that afternoon, like she’d done in the past, and that Marion lured her into the basement, knocked her out with something, and then kept her prisoner in the basement bedroom. It’s so obvious that Marion is jealous of the beautiful Nora Blanchard. Marion is in love with her father. It all fits. She can make it work.And no one is aware that she and Marion even know each other. Avery could even say that Marion was planning this all along, inviting her in for cookies throughout the summer and asking her questions about her father, just waiting for the right moment.
It’s a much better story than the one she was going to use.
She paces the small bedroom, around the three sides of the bed, over and over.
But what if Marion tells the truth and says the “kidnapping” was all Avery’s idea? She gives that careful thought. She doesn’t think anyone would believe it. What nine-year-old child would do such a thing? And they’ll know that Marion lied about Ryan because she never got into his stupid car. They’ll believe Avery, not Marion—especially when Avery tells them that Marion is crazy about her dad and jealous of Nora. She’ll say she was frightened for her life. She doesn’t care what happens to Marion. Marion betrayed her.
She could leave right now, while Marion is out. Maybe she should.
She slips out of the bedroom into the main part of the basement. It’s very dark, and she feels her way up the stairs. She knows Marion hasn’t come home; she would have heard her. At the top of the landing, she tries to turn the knob of the door to the kitchen, but it won’t turn. It’s locked. She wasn’t expecting that. She’s furious, disbelieving. Marion has locked her in! How dare she! While she was hiding quietly in the basement, following the rules, and had no idea. She tries the knob again, rattling it. She kicks the door repeatedly in her fury. Why did Marion lock the door? She didn’t have to do that. Maybe she doesn’t trust her anymore since she threatened to tell the truth.
She turns around and stomps back down the stairs again.
As the night wears on, she starts to wonder what’s keeping Marion. What if she lost her nerve? What if she never comes back? What if she took her car and her purse and her passport and never went to the police station at all? What if she’s on a plane somewhere, Avery thinks frantically, and has left her to die here of thirst and starvation, all alone? She can’t get out. She starts screaming for help, pounding at the barred windows, crying, until she is exhausted—but no one comes.
At last she hears a car turning into the driveway. A car door opens, then slams shut. Avery waits in the bedroom, her panicked breathing slowly returning to normal. She goes into the small bathroom and washes her face so that Marion won’t see that she’s been crying.
Of course Marion came back, Avery tells herself. Marion doesn’t mean to harm her. She’s a grown-up. She’s been taking care of her. She’s a nurse, her job is to help people. She just made a stupid, selfish mistake, that’s all. She won’t do it again.
Forty-four
Marion lets herself into the house. She’d treated herself to a rich dessert at her favorite all-night restaurant and stayed there for a long time, reading a book. It was nice to get away from the oppressive atmosphere of the house for a while.
She locks the front door behind her and makes her way to the kitchen. She drops her purse on the counter. It’s very late, almost two in the morning. She’d like to go to her own room and go to bed, but Avery will be expecting her to report what happened. She stares at the door to the basement with loathing. Finally, she quietly unlocks it, peers down the stairs, and lets her eyes adjust to the darkness.
She walks slowly down the stairs, gripping the handrail, hoping that Avery is already asleep.
“Marion?” The child’s voice reaches out from the darkness.
Shit.“Yes, I’m here.” She feels her way into the bedroom—thedoor is open, waiting—as Avery flicks on the remaining lamp on the bedside table nearest the door. She’s sitting up against the headboard. The small pool of light illuminates Avery from below, making her look creepy, like an evil child in a horror movie. She looks spoiled, angry, and menacing.
“So, did you tell them?” Avery demands.
Marion slumps onto the foot of the bed. “Yes.”
Avery makes her recount every detail about her time at the police station. And Marion makes up every detail. She does a good job. She’s always been an accomplished liar. At last, Avery seems satisfied.
“Good,” Avery says. She looks at her with her cold blue eyes. “Don’tevertry something like that again.”
