“Jesus!” Thayer screeches. He rips his hand away, trying to catch his balance. I take off, my legs hot with adrenaline. Dirt crunches beneath me and leaves crack as I pound the earth. I fly across the trail, my hair wild and my arms pumping. A branch slices across my cheek, thin as paper and just as sharp. I can feel wetness on my skin.
I’m not sure if it’s tears … or blood.
Things have been tense between Thayer and me before, but I’ve never seen him like this.
A rush of cold air slaps my body as I push forward. I hear Thayer’s footsteps, and I can tell he’s gaining ground. I’ve traveled this path so many times, though, and the darkness gives me an advantage. I press on through the brambly mesquite trees and brush. Behind me, there’s a crash of Thayer’s body colliding with a tree or a rock. I hear him swear under his breath, cursing me.
I cut a sharp right around the boulder where my father and I used to stop for water breaks. “Sutton!” It’s a man’s voice, but the rocks must distort it, because it doesn’t quite sound like Thayer’s. I continue forward, my lungs burning, the tears running down my face, my heart thudding with fear.
I dart around a massive tree branch that blocks the path and scramble down the steep incline, heading for the trickle of water that passes for a creek—the only body of water in the canyon. I press my heels into the dirt to steady myself as I slip farther into the ditch. My hands reach for something—anything—to grab hold of, and land on a gnarled root along the creek bed. I reach the bottom and spring to my feet, taking off in the direction of the parking lot. I’m close. I just need to make it to my car.
I sprint down the trail toward the lot. I nearly wipe out when my feet slam the gravel. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see my beloved car. Skidding across the lot, I fumble inside my purse for the keys. My fingers close around the heavy, round Volvo keychain, but I’m shaking so badly that it flies out of my hands, landing with a jingle near the front tire. “Shit,” I whisper.
“Sutton!” a voice booms.
I turn to see Thayer emerge from the clearing. He’s barreling toward me, his hands clenched into fists, his shoulders rigid. I shriek. Time stands still. My limbs won’t move. I scramble for my keys on the ground, but there isn’t time. I turn to bolt just as his arms wrap around me.
His fingers dig into my flesh.
“No, no!” I scream. His skin burns against mine.
“Thayer, please!”
“Believe me,” Thayer whispers in my ear. “This is hurting me more than it’s hurting you.” I feel him dragging me toward the thick woods next to the parking lot. But before I can see what happens next—
my last moment, surely—the memory explodes like a bomb, leaving me with nothingness.
20
BLOOD DOESN’T LIE
Thirty minutes later, Emma got out of a cab in front of Ethan’s house. It had begun to pour, a bizarre phenomenon for Tucson. It made the air smell like ozone and wet asphalt.
The gravel in his front yard glinted under the moon.
Emma dashed across the grass, avoiding raindrops, and rapped on the white door. She leaned her ear close to the wood until she heard footsteps pad down the hallway inside. The door swung open to reveal the foyer. Ethan’s pale blue eyes widened at the sight of her. His dark hair was disheveled, like he’d been sleeping.
“Emma?” he asked, carefully stepping forward and touching her shoulders. “What happened?”
“I needed to see you.” Emma glanced over her shoulder. “Can I come in?”
Ethan stepped aside. “Of course.”
Emma shut the door behind her and collapsed into Ethan’s arms. The weight of everything that happened with Thayer pressed down on her until her head fell into her hands. She sobbed for a good five minutes, her nose stuffing up, tears burning her eyes. Ethan rubbed her back the whole time.
I was happy my sister had someone to comfort her. If only I had someone like that. I was the one who’d just seen that horrible memory, after all — I was the one who’d been brutally murdered by someone I loved. It felt like my insides had been hollowed out. The Thayer I’d picked up at the bus station seemed nothing like the madman he’d become by the end. How could I have been so stupid as to have gotten mixed up with him?
After Emma’s sobs turned to whimpers, Ethan led her through the kitchen and curved around the breakfast bar. A cluster of take-out menus covered the sand-colored granite.
Two cans of Coke sat on the long wooden table next to an empty pizza box. The stilted dialogue of a true-crime show sounded from the living room. He kicked open his bedroom door and flipped on the light. “Here, sit,” he said to Emma, gesturing to the bed. “Tell me what’s going on.” Emma’s legs felt numb as she sank onto the dark blue comforter. She grabbed a quilted pillow and hugged it to her chest. “I saw Thayer,” she started, glancing at Ethan nervously.
Predictably, Ethan’s face clouded. “In jail? I told you not to!”
“I know, but I—”
“Why didn’t you listen?”
Tears flooded Emma’s eyes again. She didn’t need a lecture right now. “I didn’t know what else to do,” she said defensively. “I needed answers. And he gave them to me.
He told me he was the only one who knew who I really was.”
“He said that?” Ethan’s eyes widened.
“Uh-huh.” Emma nodded. “He talked about the letters he sent me, too. He must have meant the note that was on Laurel’s car, the message on the chalkboard at the pep rally. He did it, Ethan. I know it.”