Everyone Here Is Lying(54)



Avery had been outraged when she heard on the news last night that someone claimed to have seen her get into Ryan Blanchard’s car. How can that be? Avery had said. I never got in his car. Somebody is lying!

Those detectives believed her, Marion thinks. No one will think Marion Cooke, a respected nurse, is lying about what she saw.

Marion arranges two plates of pasta on a tray, with cutlery and two glasses of milk, and carries it down to the basement. Avery has already turned on the television on the wall in front of them. It’s almost seven o’clock. They wait through the commercials. Are they going to say anything about the witness? Marion wonders. Are the police going to release her name? They said they wouldn’t. But they will probably arrest Ryan Blanchard now, and that will make Avery angry. She doesn’t want Avery to know it was her. Not yet. She doesn’t want Avery to know that the pact between them was never real at all.

Marion is tired of having Avery in her house; she wants this to be over. She wishes she hadn’t opened the door today to the officer who recognized her voice.

The newscast begins, and as expected, the lead story is about the girl sitting beside her. “There have been new developments in the Avery Wooler disappearance,” the anchorwoman says, her voice serious. “Police today have taken into custody eighteen-year-old Ryan Blanchard. Police have confirmed that a witness, who claims to have seen Avery getting into Ryan Blanchard’s car on Tuesday afternoon, has now come forward. Blanchard lives on the same street as the missing girl. The nine-year-old girl hasn’t been seen since she disappeared Tuesday afternoon, despite a massive search involving hundreds of volunteers and police officers.”

The screen now shows footage of Ryan Blanchard being taken out of his house in handcuffs and bundled into an unmarked car.

“No,” Avery says. Marion glances over at her; the girl’s face is flushed with anger.

“No, it isn’t true!” She turns to look at Marion. Marion shakes her head, trying to appear sympathetic while still listening to the news for anything about the witness.

“People in the neighborhood expressed both shock and relief . . .” the anchor continues, but she adds nothing that hasn’t been said before.

Marion glances at Avery. She’s obviously furious. When she’s angry, she’s a bit scary. “Maybe it’s time you went home,” Marion suggests casually. She doesn’t mean it. Avery can’t go home. She’ll never go home now. Marion has her own agenda, one that Avery doesn’t know about.

“No.”

Marion has learned how stubborn the girl is, how petulant.

“I wanted him to be sorry,” Avery complains. “I wanted him to be blamed!”

“I know,” Marion says.

“And now you want me to leave,” Avery says sulkily. “I like it here.”

Marion feels a surge of annoyance. Of course she likes it here, living like a spoiled princess, having food brought to her, watching all the attention her disappearance is getting on television, reading about herself in the papers—it all feeds her enormous narcissism.

But it’s not up to her, Marion thinks. None of this is going to end the way Avery Wooler thinks it is.





Thirty-four


Avery glares at the woman beside her. Marion wants her to leave. Nobody ever wants her. It infuriates Avery to be rejected, and now Marion, her helper, her secret friend, seems to be rejecting her too.

She’s scared, Avery thinks, having her here when there’s a massive search going on. She’s probably worried about being arrested if she’s found out. Well, maybe she should worry, Avery thinks. Because Marion shouldn’t be mistaken about who has the power here. It’s not Marion. Marion agreed to help her, but she’ll throw Marion under the bus if it suits her.

Avery is the one in charge. Because she knows that if she tells the police that she was in Marion Cooke’s basement the whole time she was missing, then Avery won’t be the one in trouble—Marion will. Marion will be held responsible; Avery is only nine years old. Marion should know better. Grown-ups shouldn’t let missing girls stay in their basement while the whole world is looking for them.

She has known this from the beginning, but it just seems to be occurring to Marion now, Avery thinks. Maybe she’s not that bright. In fact, she was a bit surprised that Marion agreed to help her at all. Maybe she is kind of stupid.

Avery used to play in the woods behind their street, and she was behind Marion’s backyard one day when Marion called out a hello. Avery was lonely, playing by herself.

“You’re Dr. Wooler’s daughter, aren’t you?” she asked. She seemed friendly.

“Yes,” she admitted. She came closer.

“I’m Marion,” she said, smiling. “I’m a nurse. I work with your father at the hospital.”

“Oh,” Avery said, losing interest.

“Would you like some cookies? I just baked some.”

Avery considered.

“Chocolate chip,” Marion added.

Avery had been told not to speak to strangers. But she loved chocolate chip cookies, and this woman wasn’t really a stranger. She was a neighbor, and she worked with her dad.

“Sure.” Avery followed her into the house through the door into the kitchen. The house was more modest than her own home down the street. Marion seemed to want to know all about her, asking her questions about school, about her family. Avery thought it was a bit strange, all the interest, but adults were like that. Lots of questions. Different from kids. She didn’t mind. Hardly anyone showed an interest in her. So she told her about her mom and dad, how they fought about her.

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