Behind Every Lie(61)

It was such a trivial memory, but it opened a floodgate. White pain sliced into my heart, tears blurring my vision, turning the bathroom to a pastel watercolor. I cried and cried and cried.

When I was finished, I stared in the mirror at my puffy face, my eyes glossy with moisture, my lips twisted and bloodless. Who was that woman in the mirror? Was that Laura? Because this other woman, Eva, didn’t recognize her at all.

I splashed cool water on my throbbing eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm myself. Back in the kitchen, Liam was checking his phone, his forehead furrowed. When I came in, he set it on the island, sweetly not commenting on my bloated face and puffy eyes.

I staggered to my chair at the island and sat heavily. My glass was nearly empty, so I refilled it and took another glug of wine.

“What’s that sound?” Liam asked, tilting his head as he listened. I didn’t hear anything.

Liam left the kitchen, but returned a second later. “Did you leave the bathroom faucet on?”

I tried to say I didn’t think so, but couldn’t get the words out right. “Don thshso.”

Liam threw me a strange look. “It’s fine, I’ve turned it off now. Do you want to go to bed? You look pretty wiped out.”

What I really wanted was to gather everything I felt and bury it somewhere I never had to think about again.

Liam’s phone buzzed, and he checked it again. I wanted to ask if everything was okay, but the adrenaline that had carried me through the past few days had seeped away, leaving me empty and drained. The walls seemed to slip and slide around me, an odd shuffling of images stacking and shifting.

I couldn’t face another moment awake. I lowered my head to the cool island surface, a shadowy blackness stealing across my vision.

“Eva?” I heard Liam’s voice from very far away. “Babe, are you okay?”

My head was thudding, a thickening, soupy mess. My mouth tasted like the smell of freshly poured asphalt. My fingers felt detached from my body, floating light as a feather. And then Liam’s strong arms were lifting me, carrying me like a child up the stairs, to our bedroom.

I closed my eyes, falling toward sleep the way a stone sinks into water, hard and fast. My last thought before darkness folded around me was the realization that my brother had the key to Mom’s house.

Andrew would’ve easily had access to her tea canister.





thirty-one

eva




MY DREAMS WERE DARK and terrifying. I was running toward a frozen lake edged by a black winter forest. Someone’s breath was on my shoulder. I stepped onto the ice, skidding across the surface. Footsteps slapped behind me.

Suddenly a crack cut the air, sharp as a whip. The ground beneath me disappeared and I slid into the lake, icy water filling my nose and mouth.

“Help!” I screamed, thrashing to stay afloat.

Somebody was there, the faceless man from my nightmares. He grabbed one of my arms and pulled. Hard.

POP!

My arm snapped out of its socket, and he reached for the other one.

“No!” I gurgled, water filling my mouth.

He grabbed the other arm and tugged until it popped off too.

I was sinking, fear and outrage filling me. Fingers tangled in my hair, and for a second I thought he’d save me. But then I realized he was trying to yank my head off.

I woke with a start, my heart pounding like a winged beast.

I sat up too fast, the dream tumbling from my shoulders. A tsunami of pain stormed into my head.

“Ohhh …” I pressed my hand to my temples, my stomach roiling.

I peeled my eyelids open. The blankets on Liam’s side of the bed were already pulled up, tucked in. The pillow was straightened in his efficient, organized way.

What the actual fuck had happened to me? I felt like I’d been poisoned. A blurry memory of finishing off a bottle of wine, then the floating sensation of being carried upstairs crashed into me.

I’m never drinking again.

Like I hadn’t said that before.

The bedroom curtains had been pulled open, shadows tangling along the dove-gray walls. I had that prickly, itchy feeling that someone was there, watching me, standing just outside my window perched in a tree, maybe, or on the drainpipe. I knew it was stupid, totally insane, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

There’s no one there, I told myself.

Fear eventually beat nausea, and I pulled myself out of bed and over to the window, peering out, just to make sure. The balcony was empty. The tree just beyond the bedroom empty. So was the drainpipe, the yard, the lake beyond. A handful of dead leaves shivered in the breeze. The sun was already high in the sky, white clouds skittering by.

How long had I been asleep? I had to call the lawyer, and then Detective Jackson. I guzzled a glass of water and some painkillers and made my way down the stairs.

I stopped abruptly when I reached the landing.

The living room had been demolished. Couch cushions were on the floor, torn and vomiting cotton fluff. The crystal vase where Liam kept his black roses was smashed, slivers of glass glinting in the sunlight. Crushed purple-black petals were scattered across the floor. A wall clock had been ripped from its mounting above the stone fireplace and shattered against the hardwood. The books in the built-in shelves had been torn from their positions by the fireplace and scattered.

Liam came out of the kitchen, a mug of tea in his hands. He was dressed in a navy suit, his tie draped around his neck, but he hadn’t shaved, his jaw dark with growth. Liam rarely went a day without shaving. He was very particular about his appearance. He visited a fancy barber in Seattle every second and fourth Friday of the month. He wore designer clothing and ordered expensive cologne direct from France.