Chapter 39
Thirty-Nine
Easton pulls into the ice cream shop lot and parks in the same spot we parked in earlier. He cuts the engine and turns to
me.
“What you did—pretending to be Nate—was selfish and manipulative.”
I don’t say anything. I feel a little numb. I can’t stop thinking of JT’s body lying there. Or how his family is going to
think he was clumsy and fell. I’ve known for weeks that I was being selfish and manipulative, but now I feel worse because
Marcus and Valencia didn’t kill Nate. And they have no idea their son is a psychopath.
He continues. “But I don’t think you’re a bad person.”
“No, not like you.”
He snorts. “I mean, there’s no such thing as good people and bad people. Good and bad are words made up by idiots looking for meaning in their life. Society was built by religions telling us that we have to
be good to get into heaven. But that’s all bullshit. There’s no God, no afterlife. We’re all animals walking around on two
legs. When I killed Nate, he died, and that’s it. But what I’m saying is I don’t want you to grow a conscience after all this.”
He stares at me, that same chilling, unblinking glare he’s been giving me since he let me see the real Easton.
“What do you mean?” I ask when the silence between us grows uncomfortable. The rain starts to patter loudly on the car.
“You might still want to be a ‘good person.’ But I’m telling you there’s no such thing. I’m doing you a favor. Know that.”
I scoff. “How so?”
“Because usually I don’t leave people alive when they see the real me and not the mask I wear every day to fool them. But
I’m letting you live because I admire the game you’re playing.” He grins. “And, honestly, it’s the most fun I’ve had in years.”
Christ, he really is a psychopath. I’ve been panicked and terrified for weeks—all of it rising to a crescendo tonight. But
for him, the past few weeks have been fun. My stomach turns at the thought, probably curdling the ice cream.
“So you can keep your little game going until you leave. But I’m telling you, do not grow a conscience. Because if you do . . .”
He switches over to a fake nervous voice. “We were having ice cream and he started yelling at me because I told him Miles
was using him for his podcast. After that he ran off. I don’t know where he went, but now that you mention it, maybe he did run back up to the cliff to smoke with JT. Oh no. You mean he’s not my brother? Detective, do you think he could have been
smoking with JT and accidentally said something he wasn’t supposed to?” He goes back to his normal voice. “I don’t need to
be that obvious, but you get the point.”
The chill spreading across my body almost makes me shudder, but I try to hide it. I don’t want him to see how he’s getting
to me. He’ll frame me for JT’s murder. And if I’m the liar here—without proof that Easton really did kill Nate and JT—then
that also gives me a motive.
Tears blur my vision, and I look away from him, trying to hide it. “Why did you kill him?”
“Because I had to prove a point to you. You wouldn’t have believed me if I just told you I killed Nate.”
He did tell me and I didn’t believe him. Not until he killed JT. Until he let me see his real self. The anger and hatred in his
eyes.
“He was your friend,” I say, my throat tightening around the words.
“He was a tool. And I mean that in both ways. Yes, he was a loser and a stoner. But he helped me blend in. If you go too long
without friends, people think you’re antisocial. JT was too stupid to ever realize who I truly am. Even when I slipped up
around him, he made it a joke. And with him, I didn’t need to try to impress people at school. He’d do it all on his own,
because he had to be the center of attention. And that took the focus off me. People weren’t thinking, Who is that weird guy hanging out with JT? They were thinking, Easton is so lucky to be friends with someone like JT. But high school’s over. He’s outlived his usefulness.”
“So you killed him?”
“To prove a point. Yes.”
“You’re insane.”
He shrugs. “Or I’m like everyone else. Except I’m not afraid to live the life I want.”
“And that’s why you killed Nate? Because you wanted to be the only child?”
Easton grabs the steering wheel and his knuckles crack. “Stop. Looking. For a reason. I told you there is no meaning in life. There’s no God, there’s no greater power. If there were, I wouldn’t have gotten away with it.”
Maybe you still won’t. I would never say that out loud to Easton, though.
“I killed Nate because I wanted to.” He unbuckles his seat belt and turns to me. I don’t want to look at him, but I can’t
help it. “If you really want the truth, yes, I hated him. He was a whiny, spoiled little brat who got everything he wanted.
Toys, stuffed animals, disgusting fucking rodents that he could keep in a cage, everything. He knew all he had to do was cry
and whine and beat our parents down until they got tired, and he’d get what he wanted. Do you know what I wanted?”
My jaw hangs open. “You killed him because you wanted something and your parents wouldn’t buy it for you?”
Easton laughs. “What I wanted they couldn’t buy me. All I wanted that day was to see what would happen if I strangled him.
I wanted to see how long it would take for him to die, and I was curious what I would do after. What everyone would do. I
was obsessed with it. I fantasized about it for months leading up to it, wondering if I could snap his neck or if he would
be able to fight back. So that’s why I killed him. Because it was time I got something that I wanted.”
I feel like I’m going to throw up. This can’t be real. How could a ten-year-old think things like that?
“You look like you need a second to gather your thoughts,” Easton says. “I’ll go grab our phones. Then you need to figure
out how you’re going to pull your shit together before we go home.”
He gets out and I take several panicked breaths. I could run. Right now I could run and hide from him. He wouldn’t be able to catch up and drug me if he’s halfway across the parking lot before he even realizes I’m running. I don’t know where I’d go, but anywhere is better than here.
With a psychopath. A murderer.
A murderer who started killing when he was ten.
I stop panicking as something else becomes clear. Easton was ten years old. Yes, it’s physically possible for a ten-year-old to kill a six-year-old. But how would a ten-year-old hide the
body?
Unless someone helped him.
Outside the car, Easton reaches under the dumpster for our phones.
Maybe Marcus isn’t totally innocent after all. If he already lost one kid, he would absolutely protect his only living son.
Easton was talking to Marcus about me the night I arrived. He was telling him to do a DNA test on me to prove I wasn’t Nate. And Marcus
wasn’t fighting him on it.
Easton opens the door, and I wipe the tears from my face. He hands me my damp phone and I see a text from Valencia.
“She wants to know where we are. Tell her we were getting ice cream, but we’re coming home because it started to rain.”
I do as he says, and he pulls out of the parking lot. A couple minutes later I get a smiley face emoji back from Valencia.
When Easton pulls into the garage, he shuts off the car and turns to me again. “Okay. I need you to get your shit together
now. Put your mask back on and be Nate. If they suspect something and you fuck it up, I’m going to kill you. Got it?”
Every hair on my body stands upright and I shiver. He says it so quickly and casually, which is how I know he’s telling the
truth.
“And if you tell them what you know,” he continues, “I will kill you. I don’t show people the real me, but I showed you. Because I know you’re like me, too.”
Rage tightens the muscles in my throat while guilt pulls at my stomach. “I’m nothing like you.”
“No, you just lied to a grieving family and told them you were their long-lost dead son. There’s nothing psychotic about that
at all.”
“I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Not physically. Though it is your fault JT is dead. I wouldn’t have killed him if it wasn’t for you showing up here and fucking
everything up.”
That’s not true. I feel like it was always Easton’s plan to kill JT eventually. Things worked out this way because he wanted
an excuse. And, yes, maybe giving him the excuse makes it somewhat my fault, but that’s not guilt I’m taking on. Easton is
a murderer. Not me.
“And you need to tell Miles to knock it off with his podcast. In fact, I think it’s best if you end your relationship with
him now. Whatever it is. Because if you don’t, I’ll kill him, too.”
I’m sitting, but it still feels like the ground has dropped out from under me. My chest gets tight and it feels like I can’t
breathe.
“It would be easy. I could offer to go on his podcast and meet him where I killed JT. Then frame you for it. Or . . .” He
pauses for dramatic effect. “I can use my original plan from back when he kept pestering me to be on his podcast. Burn his
house down with him and his family trapped inside.”
Like the gas leak. Would he find a way to frame me for that, too?
“So we understand each other?” Easton asks. “You keep playing your little game. I’ll keep playing mine. Then, when the time is right, you leave.”
Or he kills me.
“Got it.”
“Put on your good person face.” He smiles like it’s so simple.
I take a deep breath and try to do the same.
Easton’s mask cracks again. “Do better.”
It’s acting. I have to go back to before I knew the truth, and be that version of Nate. I can do that. I’ve been acting like
him for weeks.
I settle my face. It’s not a smile, but my eyes are a little more open and I have—what I imagine is—a look of calm. Easton
eyes me, and he seems impressed.
“Good enough.”
He gets out, and I follow him into the house.