Chapter 49 #2
When Easton looks at me again, he seems like he still can’t believe it. “If half the serial killers out there are dealing with idiot cops like this, I bet there are so many people who get away with it! I wanted Nate’s body to be found.”
He spins and looks at Valencia.
“And, yes, Mother, I did do it myself. And, honestly, I’m fucking proud of me.”
Even knowing who Easton is, I’m still shocked that he thought all this at ten years old. And he probably had contingency plans
all along.
“I never wanted a missing brother; I wanted a murdered brother. And Dad was supposed to be the one to do it.”
“Why a murdered brother? And why frame Marcus?” I ask.
He scowls at me. “I already told you why I killed him. He was annoying and I wanted to see if I could. And someone had to
get caught in order for me to enjoy my freedom. Our family would be under the most scrutiny, so I knew it had to be Marcus.”
“Not Valencia?” I suggest, as if I’m part of the planning. Easton turns back to his mother like I needed him to, and I work
on the duct tape straps again.
“I guess I could have blamed you, Mother,” he says. “Women can do anything men can do, so why wouldn’t a mom kill her son?
That was my own internalized misogyny, and I’ll work on that.” His tone makes it clear he absolutely will not.
“But why Marcus specifically?” I try again. Easton spins toward me, and I stop wriggling my arms. “Daddy didn’t show you enough
love?”
He scoffs. “What are you trying to do?”
“I want to understand where you’re coming from,” I say. My voice almost trembles because I’m walking a fine line between pushing
him to keep talking and straight-up pissing him off. “You say you killed Nate because you wanted to, but there has to be a
reason you tried to frame your dad. Did Santa not bring you a special toy for Christmas?”
Easton stares at me. Once the silence gets too uncomfortable, I try again.
“Maybe he didn’t take you to enough baseball games? Or you saw that he loved Nate more than you and you couldn’t take it.
So you killed Nate and tried to frame Marcus for the murder.”
Easton takes two slow steps, then crouches in front of me. “What else do you think? Keep going, maybe you’re almost there.”
But something in the way he says it makes me think I’m not even close. I swallow hard and try to think of my own dad. “Maybe
you were proud of something and tried to show it to him and he ignored you? Was that it? Not shown enough attention.”
“No,” he says. “But now we know your issues, Mr. Projection.”
My face burns with embarrassment. Even when I’m trying to play games with Easton, he outsmarts me. Finally, he stands and
walks over to Marcus’s body.
“I knew when the cops found Nate’s body they’d want a suspect. I was trying to keep it simple, and Dad was the obvious choice.”
He lifts his leg and plants his foot against his father’s chest.
“So a random stranger wouldn’t work?” I say, still trying to distract him.
To keep him talking while I slowly twist my arm to loosen the tape.
I know Easton thinks he’s better than everyone else.
He’s telling us all this so we see how smart and capable he is.
He’s bragging the way serial killers taunt police, and I have to keep him going. Because that’s
his only weakness. His pride.
And pride is a sin, after all.
Easton shrugs. “If they went with a random stranger I wouldn’t have cared. But they didn’t. They said Nate was missing and
went with the kidnapping route because some bored gas station attendant in Pennsylvania said he might have seen a kid who
looked like Nate. It’s okay, though. Because now I get to rewrite the story the way it should have been told from the beginning.”
He pushes Marcus’s body with his foot so the front legs of the chair lift from the floor. “You’re some shitty homeless kid
Dad saw on his lunch break one day. He knows that I suspect him of killing my little brother, so he pays you to pretend to
be him. Then he brings us all here to try and kill us in a tragic fire—one you tried to start in our home a couple weeks ago
by leaving the gas on.”
Oh my God. He has been planning this all along. All that nonsense about wanting to see how long he could let my lies go on was the lie.
“I escape, the sole survivor, and they find Nate’s real body along with Mom, Dad, and the imposter he hired. Case closed,
end of story. Finally.” He pushes hard and Marcus’s body topples backward with a thud. Valencia whimpers next to me. Why didn’t
he mention Miles? “Then it’s just me and Gramma left. Until I get bored and, I don’t know, push her down a flight of stairs
or some shit. I haven’t figured it out yet, but I’ll know when I do.”
“You’re proud of yourself,” I say.
Easton shakes his head. “No. I’m just ready to fucking be done with this.”
Next to him, Miles groans.
“Oh!” Easton turns his attention to him. “Our special guest is finally waking up.” Easton bends down and taps his face lightly.
Miles’s eyes flutter and then go wide. He tries to speak, but his head is strapped to his chair and his mouth is taped. He
barely even moves a centimeter.
“You woke up just in time. We were talking about your boyfriend here.” He nods in my direction and Miles’s eyes go to me.
He says something beneath the tape that sounds like my name. Nate’s name.
I pull hard on my wrist. The wet duct tape rips out every hair on the back of my hand; it’s excruciating, but I keep pulling.
It’s down to my knuckles now. Almost there. Almost free.
But Easton turns back to me.
He shakes his head. “Listen, I don’t want to sound maudlin here. But you felt like more of a brother to me than Nate ever
did. I never felt like I had anything in common with Nate, but you—watching you lie, how easy it was—I thought you were someone
I’d be able to show the real me to.”
That’s not true. I don’t hurt people. Although, that isn’t exactly accurate. I look over at Valencia, then I focus on Marcus’s
body. And Miles. They’re all here because of me.
I shake my head. They’re not here because of me. They’re here because of Easton. Because Easton wants to hurt them. And that’s the difference between the two of us.
“No,” I say. “I lie because I have to. Because the other option isn’t safe for me.” And yes, this has moved beyond my experience
with the Beaumonts. Because that’s why I’m so good at lying, like he said. I lied to my real parents because look what happened when they found out the truth. I
needed to lie to survive.
I stare him directly in the eye.
“You lie because you like it. Because you want people to hurt. I lie because . . . sometimes it’s the only option I have.
I don’t want to hurt anyone.” I look back at Valencia. “You have to believe me, I never thought it would get this far. I thought
I could run away again before the police figured out I was lying, before they even told you they found me.” I focus on Easton
again. “I got good at lying because I knew it was the only way my real parents would love me. And when they found out, they
tried to change me. But that’s the difference between you and me. I care about the people I’m lying to. Because I love them,
and all I wanted was for them to love me.”
Easton looks bored, because he has no idea how to relate to what I’m saying.
“You don’t care about love,” I say. “You can’t feel it for other people and you can’t feel it when other people love you.
You have no one to love. Because you don’t want it.”
His face changes slowly, the corner of his mouth drawing up into a smirk.
“You know, that’s a great point.” He backs away. “I figured that out pretty early, actually. Watching cartoons and hearing
stories about love, I didn’t understand it. I don’t care about people. I don’t even like people. But you do.”
He turns his attention to Miles. “You have people who you love.”
No.
“So while we’re on the subject . . .” He kneels in front of Miles, whose eyes go wide with terror. “Let’s see how our guest
feels about your love.”