Listen for the Lie(92)

“What did you say to him?” I ask. The buzzing in my brain is back. It’s hard to think. “To Matt.”

“I told him the truth. That I saw you kill Savvy.”

“Why did I…” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Why did I run?”

“I think you were scared to face what you’d done.”

“And Matt didn’t call the police either?”

“We wanted to take care of it ourselves. We were going to find you, but the road washed out and we couldn’t get back to find you. And then that guy found you before we could, and it just … it seemed better to say nothing. You didn’t remember anyway.”

I look up and meet his eyes. “That must have been a real relief for you.”

His eyebrows draw together. “For me? I was relieved for you. I never want you to remember that trauma. I was disappointed that you didn’t remember our moment at the wedding, because we were finally—”

“About to fuck next to a dumpster?” I finish for him.

“We were finally acknowledging our feelings for each other.”

“I guess we were. Like when I said I didn’t care about your childhood crush, and I just wanted you to fucking leave me alone.”

He freezes. “You never said that.”

“Why did Matt believe you when you said that you saw me do it? I hit you. You didn’t have any evidence of it on your face?”

“You never hit me,” he says.

“I think Savvy hit you too, but she wasn’t very good at it. She was so short, and small. She was better with knives.”

Emmett looks startled by this.

“I should have punched you harder. I’ve had practice.” A knife to the gut would have been better. Savvy was right.

“Lucy.” He speaks like he’s talking to a child. “Let’s take a step back. You’re getting hysterical.”

I punch him in the face.





CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE


LUCY




Emmett stumbles into the road, sputtering. He gives me a thoroughly baffled look.

Which quickly turns to rage.

I should run. I wait for Savvy’s voice to pop into my head, telling me to run.

Instead, I see her next to Emmett in her pink dress, blood dripping down her face.

“I have an idea,” she says with a grin. “Let’s kill Emmett!”

I smile. That’s a great idea.

I stride into the road, hands balled into fists. My right hand already hurts from hitting him once.

I don’t care.

He grabs me by the collar, drawing back to hit me. I duck and slam my fist into his gut.

He gasps and doubles over. “Lucy, stop,” he wheezes.

I aim my fist at his face, but he twists away from me. I catch a flash of the rage in his eyes before he punches me in the face.

The world goes white for a moment. I’m on the ground, gravel digging into my palms. Something wet drips down my face and into my mouth. I taste blood.

He grabs me underneath my arms and begins pulling me off the road. I’m dizzy, and he has me halfway to the art store before I begin kicking and squirming.

“God dammit, Lucy!” he yells. I break free and spring to my feet. I lunge at him.

We topple to the ground together, rolling twice before I manage to pin him down. I put my hands around his throat and squeeze as hard as I can.

He kicks his feet. His face turns red.

Let’s kill let’s kill let’s kill

He bucks, throwing me off him. He scrambles to his feet and runs into the store.

I follow as he crashes through the store, knocking over a display and sending paintbrushes onto the floor. I leap over them.

He grabs a hammer from the shelf—the same sort that he used to kill Savvy, and I realize suddenly that he must have had it in his truck that night. He went back to his truck to grab something to kill me with.

This asshole.

I grab him by the back of his shirt, but it rips as he frees himself. He darts out the back door.

I sprint through after him, back into the thick, humid air.

He’s waiting for me on the other side, hammer poised. He swings it at my head, and I lean back just in time. The edge of it barely grazes my forehead.

I stumble back. He swings again, misses again, and I reach up to grab his hand, trying to yank the hammer free.

He shoves me and swings again. The hammer catches me on the chin this time, and the pain sends me scrambling back.

A moment of clarity flashes through my rage. I should run. I glance behind me, to where my car is just visible around the corner of the store.

He took my keys, I suddenly remember. My keys and my phone. I can run, but it would be with nothing.

A viciously satisfied expression crosses Emmett’s face as I stand there, blinking from the hit. It’s a familiar feeling—the panic of being trapped, the frustration of his having all the power.

I scream. It’s guttural, a sound I’ve never heard myself make before.

I charge at him, and the shocked expression on his face as I do it might be the most satisfying thing I’ve ever seen. We crash hard into the ground, a mess of limbs and grunts.

I claw at his arms, trying to grab the hammer. My knee connects with his chest, and his grip on the handle loosens as he gasps. I snatch it from him and spring to my feet.