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Liar, liar,
all the time.
Worry dances in your mind,
round and round,
a broken record.
A song stuck on repeat,
singing through veins
as you lie restlessly in bed.
Liar, liar,
all the time.
Always worrying they’ll return,
and death will burn your skin again.
A few minutes later, when we’re satisfied the man isn’t going to return, we pile into Lyric’s dad’s 1969 Chevelle since the Challenger her dad bought her a little over a month ago is nowhere near ready to drive yet. Then we buckle up, turn on the radio, and Lyric slams the gas pedal down. The tires squeal as she backs down the driveway and onto the road.
“If you’re not careful, one of these days, someone is going to call the cops on you about your driving,” I tease as I relax back in the seat. Just being with her gives me a little bit of inner peace sometimes.
“If it happens, it happens.” She cranks the wheel and fishtails the car onto the main road with an up-shift. “I mean, what are my parents going to do, get mad at me? My mother’s gotten more tickets than I can count.”
“True.” I pick up the iPod from the dock and start browsing through the songs. “But they could—”
My phone vibrates from inside my pocket. I fish it out and swipe my finger over the screen to read the text message.
Lila: We need to talk about something important when you get home.
Me: Okay. What’s it about?
I grow anxious that perhaps she found out I met with a hacker tonight. I haven’t been punished very much by the Gregorys—I’ve tried to stay out of trouble as much as possible ever since they adopted me. I’m guessing with something as severe as illegal hacking, their relaxed approach at parenting would disappear.
Lila: I really just want to talk to you about it when you get home, not on the phone.
Me: Okay. I’ll be home in a few hours. Can you at least tell me if I need to be worried?
Lila: No, no need to be worried.
I start to put my phone away when another text comes through.
Lila: I don’t want you to worry all night, and knowing you, you will. It’s about the police. They want to talk to you again about your brother. Please don’t panic. I’m sure it’s nothing.
I probably should respond to her message, at least to tell her I’m okay, but I can’t think of what to say.
“Everything okay?” Lyric asks.
I concentrate on the song list again. “Yeah, of course.”
She watches me instead of the road. “Who was that text from?”
“Lila. She just wanted to let me know she needs to talk to me about some stuff when I get home.”
“Are you sure that’s all she wanted?”
I nod, unable to look her in the eyes, knowing she’ll see right through my lie.
Liar, liar, alone in the dark,
Hide the truth from your heart.
Lock your soul in a box.
Melt the key.
Set the box on fire.
And burn in into oblivion.
Let the ashes scatter the ground.
And never utter a sound.
Liar, liar, alone in the dark.
Lyric’s chest rises and falls, as if she’s struggling to breathe. “If you don’t want to tell me, then that’s fine. But just say so. Don’t lie to me, please.”
God, I’m the biggest asshole ever. I really am.
“The police want to talk to me.” The words are difficult to say.
Her gaze glides to mine and her grip tightens on the wheel. “When do they want to talk to you? Tonight?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so, but Lila didn’t say.”
“Are you… Are you going to be okay? I mean, with talking to them.”
“I don’t know,” I admit honestly. “I guess it depends on what they want to talk about. She said something about my brother, but I’m not sure if it’s details about his death or my”—I swallow hard—“memories.”
I think I already know for sure, though. Lila warned me the morning after we learned the news of my brother’s death that the police may want my help in solving his murder by remembering what happened those weeks we spent with our captors. They believe if I can remember than maybe I can help identify them.
If that’s what they want me to do… Well, I’m not sure I can handle it. I locked up the memories for a reason.
Dying flesh.
Ruptured heart.
Scars searing.
Flaming soul.
The touch of death
burns through my skin
and strikes at my bones.
Resuscitated and revived,
but not without sacrifice.
Close up my mind.
Forget what I saw.
What I heard.
What was done to me.
Remember and give up my soul.
Remember and submit to the pain.
Remember and wither away
into nothing.
Chapter 3
Lyric
It’s been two days since I saw the strange man hanging out in front of Ayden’s house, and I’ve been working on a drawing of the guy just in case it’s needed. I don’t know why, but I have the strangest feeling that the man was more than a just a neighbor passing by.
I’ve been having trouble sleeping the last couple of nights because of the man. Every time I close my eyes, I see him in the tracksuit with his dog. The twisted part is that his outfit sometimes transforms into a cloak and the dog shifts into a scythe, and I’m suddenly staring at the Grim Reaper.
No more horror movies for me for a while.
I debate whether or not to tell Ayden about my dream. In the past, he’d have found it amusing, but with everything going on, I doubt he would anymore. He still hasn’t spoken to the police, nor does he know when he’s going to, only that it’ll be someday this week.
My family and all the Gregorys get together every year to decorate the tree. After we’re done, we’ll all go over to my house and do the same thing. It’s a strange little tradition that started during my first Christmas ever. Back then, though, Uncle Ethan and Aunt Lila hadn’t adopted any children yet.
The massive tree Ayden and I picked out sits in the center of the Gregory’s living room, trimmed and decorated with shiny silver and red balls that glimmer against the glow of the flames burning in the fireplace. Our parents are drinking eggnog in the kitchen and have already exceeded the tipsy point. Kale is eating popcorn and watching a Christmas movie while Fiona and Everson fight over who gets to put the star on the tree. Ayden and I sit in front
of the computer doing a little research on his brother, ignoring the commotion going on.
He’d been so reluctant to even speak his brother’s name that I was honestly surprised when he brought out the computer and said he wanted to look up stuff on him. But I wasn’t about to ask him, too concerned I’d hit a nerve.
