Chapter 48
Forty-Eight
All eyes in the room are on me. Except for Miles, whose eyes are still closed. Easton leans back against the counter, his
arms crossed. He gives me a few seconds, then says, “Well? Tell them, Nate. Tell them the truth.”
“Easton,” Valencia says. “Untie us now. Whatever this game is, it’s not funny.”
“This game? Christ, Mom. You’re really that deluded?” She opens her mouth to answer but Easton holds out a hand to stop her. He keeps
his eyes on me. “Tell them how you’ve been lying to them.”
“Easton.”
“Mom! Shut. Up. Nate, tell them.”
I swallow hard. My head continues to pound, but I start pulling up from the arm of the chair, trying to create some space
between the wood and my skin.
“I’m not Nate,” I say.
“What was that?” Easton steps forward, cupping a hand around his ear. “Speak up for everyone—they’re still a little woozy,
so you need to use your big boy voice.”
“Easton, sweetie—”
“STOP TALKING, MOM!” Easton reaches back and grabs the roll of duct tape on the workbench. “Or I swear to God I’ll tape your mouth shut and those will be the last words you ever say.”
Tears run down her face, and she opens her mouth one more time but doesn’t speak. Easton turns his attention back to me.
“Tell them.”
I look over at them. Valencia’s eyes are closed, her cheeks wet. But Marcus is looking at me, resolute. He knows what I’m
going to say. He might have heard it the first time, but he also probably knew before I said it.
“I’m not Nate,” I say, a little louder this time. “I lied. When I got arrested, I saw his face on the missing poster and we
looked alike, so I told the police I was him so I wouldn’t get in trouble.”
Valencia shakes her head but doesn’t open her eyes. “I think everyone is a little confused—”
“No, Mom, you’re the only one who is confused,” Easton says. “Look at him.” She doesn’t open her eyes, so Easton marches over
and turns her head roughly. “Open your eyes and look at him.”
His voice is so calm it’s terrifying.
Valencia slowly opens her eyes and two more tears stream down her cheeks.
“Tell her again,” Easton says.
“I’m not Nate. Nate’s dead.”
Valencia’s eyes snap closed again, but this time she starts to sob. Easton finally lets her go and her chin drops to her chest,
her hair hiding her face. Marcus looks up at the ceiling, his own eyes glassy.
“That’s right,” Easton says. “Nate is dead. This isn’t your son; he’s an imposter. And sorry, dude, but a pretty shitty one, too. The retired FBI agent saw right through your lies within seconds. It’s my delusional mother’s fault we’re all in this mess.”
He turns back to Valencia, who’s still crying.
“Mom, seriously. What the fuck? The empty nest hit you hard, huh? You let this complete stranger move into our house, sleep
in your son’s room. And when weird shit starts happening around the house—a gas leak, car vandalism, those ugly flower bushes,
glass in that disgusting mess Grams calls food—did you even once think it could be him?” He sticks a thumb over his shoulder at Marcus. “Dad did. So what was your issue?”
“Honey, what’s going on?” Valencia looks up at him. “Why are you doing this?”
Easton lets out an exasperated sigh as he realizes she’s not going to answer his question. Then he points the roll of duct
tape at me and Miles. “Because of these two.”
He walks over to the workbench and puts the duct tape back down. Again I try to twist my hands and wrists. Out of the corner
of my eye, I can see Marcus trying the same.
“This imposter showed up pretending to be Nate.” Easton reaches for a metal stand that looks familiar, though I can’t place where I’ve seen
it before. Or the tools it holds. He takes something long, slender, and metallic out of the holder. “I was going to let this
stupid game of his go on for as long as he wanted. To be quite frank, I was looking forward to the moment it all blew up in
his face.”
He comes back to us. I try to see what he grabbed from the workbench, but he’s holding it in a way that it’s hidden from my
view.
“I figured,” he continues, “the longer it goes on, the more it’s going to hurt.
After you pay for his college, his wedding—and what if he had fucking kids?
Kids who call you Nanny and Pop-Pop. Then one Thanksgiving, the FBI raids the family dinner.
” He smiles with morbid delight. “The possibilities were incredible.”
He comes to a stop in front of me. Then he crouches down so he can look up into my eyes.
“But you had to poke around to try and expose me, didn’t you.”
“Yeah,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. Easton is toying with us, and I don’t want him to know how terrified I really
am. But I’m toying with him back, because the longer he talks, the better the chances of Marcus or me getting out of our restraints
and stopping him.
Easton stands and looks at his parents. I try again to pull at the tape, but my arms won’t budge. I twist my wrists and hands
desperately, trying to create some kind of weak spot in the bonds. Sweat slides down the side of my face to my neck.
“I knew, obviously,” Easton says. “Remember when you called me, Mom? You said I had to leave school early because they finally
found Nate? And what did I say?”
Valencia doesn’t answer. Easton flicks his wrist and metal flashes in the light from the boathouse rafters. And I finally
recognize what he’s holding, and where he grabbed it from. It’s from the bar cart in the living room. He puts the thin, steel
ice pick to her neck.
“What did I tell you, Mom? When you called and said they found Nate, what did I tell you?”
Valencia swallows, then takes a deep breath. “You said Nate was dead.”
“I did. Now how do you think I knew that?”
Again, she doesn’t answer. Even with an ice pick pressed against the pulsing artery of her throat, she won’t say the truth
aloud.
“Nothing?” Easton asks. “No guesses?” He turns to Marcus. “What about you, Pops? Any guesses how I’d know my baby brother
was long dead?”
Sweat beads at Marcus’s forehead, and he doesn’t answer. I twist harder in the chair, but there are too many layers of duct
tape wrapped around my wrists. It’s impossible to get any leverage.
Easton turns back to me and I freeze. “Fine. I did make you go first, so while we’re on the subject of telling the truth.”
He sighs and does his best to look sincere. “Mommy. I killed Nate.”
Valencia’s head falls forward again and she shakes with more silent sobs.
“I killed him out there.” He points the ice pick in the direction of the island in the bay. “He’s been there the whole time.
So close.”
Valencia still doesn’t look up at her son.
Sweat slides down the underside of my arm and my wrist starts to move. My heart leaps in my chest, and while Easton’s distracted,
I try to twist more. The sweat is making the tape tacky against my skin. If he keeps doing this emotional torture thing, I
might be able to get out. But I need more of a plan than that.
I look around me. Trying to find a weapon. Something to use against him.
The gun on the workbench. Marcus’s gun.
No. It’s not Marcus’s because his has that trigger lock that neither Easton nor I know the combination to. So it must be Agent Grant’s. But I need to get my arms and both my legs untied to reach it. There’s no way I’ll be able to do that without Easton noticing.
But I have to try.
“Did you hear me, Mom? You finally have your answer! After all this time, he’s been right out there.”
She still doesn’t look up.
Easton turns to Marcus. “Right, Dad?”
I stop moving and look up at Marcus. His eyes are red and wide.
“Tell her.” Easton nods toward Valencia.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“Come on, Dad. It was your idea to take him out to the fort. I was ten years old, I couldn’t move a body all by myself.” Easton
spins around to grin at me. “Who do you think helped me?”