Emma continued to watch the city fade in the rearview mirror. The street rose and dipped. Ethan took another turn, but this road was even more desolate than the last. Dusty gravel crunched under the tires. Tall cacti passed within an inch of the car. Emma’s heart suddenly started to thump. “Ethan, this is the wrong way,” she insisted.
Ethan didn’t answer her. He maneuvered the car up a small slope. Lights twinkled in the distance, as far away as the stars. Emma felt the scratches on her neck from the near-strangulation last weekend. Her mouth immediately felt dry. She peeked at Ethan’s profile. His eyes were narrowed. His jaw jutted out. His hands gripped the steering wheel hard.
“Emma . . .” I cried weakly. Something about this suddenly seemed really wrong.
Emma’s stomach turned over. Slowly, carefully, she reached for the door handle and started to pull.
Click. The tiny knob that locked the door depressed all on its own. Emma hit the button to unlock the door, but it wouldn’t budge. “Stop the car!” she shrieked, suddenly reeling with fear. “Stop the car now!”
Ethan hit the brake so hard that Emma shot forward, ramming her arm against the glove box. The car lurched back again. The engine idled loudly. She squinted in the flinty darkness. As far as she could tell, they were in the middle of a barren, empty desert. This wasn’t even a road.
“What?” Ethan asked. “What’s the matter?”
She turned to Ethan, trembling. The tears flowed freely and easily down her cheeks. “I want out. Please unlock the door. Please.”
“Settle down,” Ethan said gently. He unbuckled his seat belt and turned so that he was facing her. Then he grabbed Emma’s wrist. Not tightly exactly, but not very loosely either. “I just wanted to get us far away from where anyone could see or hear us.”
“Why?” Emma wailed. All kinds of awful possibilities flashed through her mind.
“There’s something I think I know,” Ethan’s voice dropped a half octave. “Something I don’t think you want anyone else to know.”
“What are you talking about?”
Ethan’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “You’re not who you say you are.”
Emma blinked hard. “I-I’m sorry?”
“You’re not Sutton. You can’t be.”
The words sliced through Emma’s brain. She opened her mouth, but no sounds came out. How could he know that? Slowly, she felt the door handle with her free hand. It still didn’t open. “Of course I’m Sutton,” she said, her voice shaking. Her heart pounded.
“You’re acting nothing like her.”
Emma swallowed awkwardly. She was beginning to feel woozy. “H-How would you know?”
Ethan leaned forward a little. “For a while I thought Sutton had changed—ever since that night you showed up in my driveway. But tonight you’re totally different. You’re someone else,” Ethan said in a lonely, sad voice. “It’s freaking me out. So you’d better tell me what’s going on.”
Emma stared at him, her body stricken with fear. But as Ethan talked, things started to whirl in my head. Ethan’s lost, haunting smile. The smell of the desert plants, the dust. The feel of someone pulling something soft over my head and squeezing something thin and sharp around my neck. A giggle.
All of a sudden, a chain reaction went off in my head. Lights sparking other lights. Images rolling into new images. And just like that, a new, lucid memory unfurled before me, like a red carpet unrolled for a queen. All I could do was watch helplessly. . . .
Chapter 31
NOT FUNNY, BITCHES
The blurry, shadowed figure grabs my shoulders and pulls me out of the trunk. I bang my knee on the side of the car and twist my ankle on the hard ground. Hands press against my shoulder blades and shove me forward. I pitch my head down, trying to get a look at the ground beneath me, but it’s too dark. I can smell a desert fire somewhere in the distance, but I have no idea where I am. I could be in Tucson. I could be on the moon.
The same hands push me to sitting. The bones in my butt dig into what feels like a wooden folding chair. I make a couple of muffled cries, the gag in my mouth sopping wet from my saliva. “Shut up,” someone hisses.
I try to kick whoever is near me, but my feet grope in thin air. There’s more crunching through gravel, and then a tiny electronic ping. Through the blindfold, I see a small LED beam staring at me. I bite down hard on the gag.
“Go,” a voice whispers. A girl. More crunching footsteps. And then someone’s hands grab my neck. The chain of the locket I always wear pulls against my throat. My head jerks back. I wriggle my hands in their binds, but I can’t free them. My bare feet thrash, hitting the cold, rough ground.
“Harder,” I hear a voice whisper. “A little higher,” says another. The chain digs into my throat. I try to breathe, but my airway can’t expand. My lungs scream for air. My whole body starts to burn. I thrash my head forward and see the little red light still watching me. Two shapes hover behind the light, too. I can see whites of teeth, glitters of jewelry. I’m dying, I think. They’re killing me.
My vision starts to turn gray. Spots appear in front of my eyes. My head throbs, my brain desperate for oxygen. I want to fight, but all at once I’m too weak to kick or wriggle. My lungs shudder, wanting to give up. Maybe it would be easier to give up. One by one, each muscle surrenders. It’s like a delicious reprieve, like falling into bed after a long tennis match. All sounds around me dribble away. My vision narrows until it’s a tunnel of light. Even the chain collapsing my windpipe doesn’t hurt so much anymore. I feel my head flop forward, my neck no longer rigid. Darkness envelops me. I see no visions. I’m still afraid, but the fear feels muffled now. It’s too much effort to fight.