Never Lie (62)

So nobody could blame me for doing what I did. Honestly, anyone in a similar situation probably wishes they had done what I did.

Alexis was probably snickering to herself when I told her about the cabin Cody and I rented, which had an extra two bedrooms. Why don’t you and Megan come along? I suggested.

I had to invite Megan, even though she hadn’t technically done anything wrong. It would’ve been suspicious if I only invited Alexis. And to be fair, I never liked Megan much. She was one of those people who always put everyone down every chance she got. The world is better off without her. Trust me.

I brought a bottle of tequila, some limes, and a salt shaker. I also brought a dime bag of weed. I made sure everyone in the room got good and wasted. I wouldn’t have a chance to take them all down otherwise. After all, it was one against three.

I picked a night when I knew it would rain. I was worried that if they didn’t see a fifth set of footprints, nobody would believe my story. But if it was raining, the soil all around the cabin turned to mud.

I had to do it one by one. I took care of Megan first, on the porch, because I didn’t want to draw that one out. I told her I needed to talk to her about something outside, and then the second we were in the woods, I took the knife out of my jacket and slashed her throat.

Cody was next. I did it right in the bed where we were sleeping. There was a moment after I stabbed him three times, just before he lost consciousness, when I whispered in his ear, That’s what you get for messing around behind my back. I wanted him to know why I did it—I wanted that to be his last thought before he died.

Then came Alexis. I was the angriest with her. She had been my best friend since we were five years old. How could she do it to me? I let her die slowly, bleeding all over the floor while she begged for help.

I was last. Nobody would believe my story if I were completely uninjured, so I read about where to place the knife to avoid serious injury. When I showed up at the police station, soaking wet and sobbing about the intruder in the cabin, most of the blood I was caked in wasn’t mine.

I played the part so well. Honestly, I deserve an Academy Award for that performance. My parents and sister never doubted for a moment that we had been a victim of a vicious attack by a psychopath in the woods. Only that awful detective suspected I might be lying, but he couldn’t prove it. As far as everyone was concerned, I was the victim.

No, I was a hero. Because I survived.

My mother was the one who insisted on the sessions with Dr. Hale. Dr. Hale is the best. And she always said nothing is more important than mental health.

So I agreed to go. And it was fun. Even though I wasn’t the victim of a psychopath in the woods, I was still traumatized by the entire experience. I mean, having to kill your boyfriend and your best friend does a number on your head, although it’s not like they left me with much of a choice. Dr. Hale knew just what to say though. And I sort of enjoyed the game by that point. The deception.

I had no clue she saw through my entire charade.

So you can imagine how I felt when she told me she was on to me. She mentioned recording our sessions at the beginning of therapy, and I think I even signed some sort of consent form. It didn’t seem like a big deal to me. But once she revealed what she knew, I thought back to all my sessions, mentally reviewing all my slip-ups.

I had to do what she asked of me. I had no choice.





Chapter 47


ADRIENNE



Before




It’s well past midnight when the Audi pulls up in front of my house.

It’s the same car my former agent Paige drove, but the car belongs to Patricia. I’m sure her parents bought it for her—they have spoiled her horribly since she returned from that cabin, dripping wet and covered in blood. I watch from my window as Patricia climbs out of her car, dressed in a skimpy, skin-tight red dress that just barely covers her underwear. She slams the door closed with more force than she needed to use. I permanently dismantled the camera looking down on the front door so there would be no record of who’s entering and leaving the house tonight.

I realized Patricia was lying to me during her very first appointment. Not to say that she wasn’t a skilled liar because she is. She puts on quite the show. But I’m even more skilled at picking out the cues that somebody is untruthful. Like EJ, Patricia has a tell. When she’s going to lie, she crosses her right leg over her left.

I suspect the detective involved in the case knew she was lying as well. But it’s one thing to know it in your gut, and it’s another thing to prove it. Detective Gardner couldn’t prove that Patricia killed her fiancé and two of her closest friends. So she got away with it. Not only that, but she was praised as being the victim that got away.

But Patricia Lawton isn’t a victim. When she found out her best friend was cheating on her with her fiancé, she didn’t let either of them get away with it. Over the last three years, I have informally diagnosed her with antisocial personality disorder, based on her impaired empathy for other people, her aggressive and criminal behavior, as well as her history of lying and deception. Like many other people with antisocial personality disorder, Patricia is charming and attractive, with above-average intelligence. If she didn’t have that going for her, she might not have gotten away with it.

There have been several clues over the years to her diagnosis. When her grandmother died from a heart attack last year, she cried very convincing tears during our session, but she didn’t mention that she had been the one responsible for helping Grammy with her heart medications—I only found out when I called Mrs. Lawton to express my condolences. She also failed to mention the considerable estate she inherited. When I asked Patricia about it during her next session, she crossed her right leg over her left and told me how terrible she felt that she might have gotten her grandmother’s medications mixed up.