Cross My Heart, Hope to Die (20 page)

“He’s right, Sutton,” Mr. Mercer said. “I should never have encouraged you to come see her. She was here because she attacked someone—she’s obviously unstable.”

Emma appreciated their comforting words, but she knew they weren’t the truth. They didn’t know the whole story. They hadn’t seen the expression on Becky’s face when she mentioned the canyon.

More of Becky’s words haunted me:
I’ve been watching you
. And now she was watching Emma. Watching her be
me
.

Mr. Mercer took Emma’s arm and helped her stand. “Thank you, Sanjay. I think I need to get my daughter home now. She’s had a rough day.”

“Of course.” Dr. Banerjee looked from Emma to her grandfather. “I don’t wish to scare you, but I feel I should warn you. Becky is in a very precarious position right now. If we don’t locate her soon, she may find her way to you, and I can’t promise what condition she’ll be in.”

“You
have
to find her,” Emma said. The thought of Becky loose, wandering the streets alone, coming for her, made her tremble.

“Don’t worry, we will,” Dr. Banerjee assured her. “But Sutton, please don’t blame yourself. Often, for those with such severe isolation and mental disturbance, the ones they lash out at are the ones they love the most.”

Emma didn’t know what to say. Love? Love couldn’t be a part of this. Becky hadn’t looked at her lovingly. She’d looked as though she’d seen a ghost.

And maybe she had
, I thought.

21

Mr. Mercer walked Emma to her car in silence. Dusk had fallen while she was in the hospital, the last of the day’s sunlight playing across the distant mountains. The parking lot was half empty under the yellow light of the streetlamps, but police cars surrounded the perimeter. A news van rolled up and reporters jumped out. Emma could just imagine the headline:
Crazy Woman Escapes from Hospital, Threatens Pedestrians with Syringe
. What sort of hospital allowed a madwoman to just walk out?

“Should I drive you home?” Mr. Mercer asked as Sutton’s Volvo came into view. “You could leave the car here overnight.”

Emma shook her head. “It’s okay. I’ll follow you.”

Mr. Mercer nodded, pressing the keyfob to his SUV. Two short
bleeps
rang out through the darkness. “I never thought she’d try to hurt you,” he said in a low voice.

“I know.” She didn’t blame Mr. Mercer for what Becky had done. He had just wanted what was best for Becky, and for Sutton, too. He’d probably had fantasies of his own about his daughter and granddaughter reuniting; of Becky finally coming home, healthy and happy and ready to be part of the family again. He’d been blinded to just how dangerous Becky really was. But he wasn’t the only one who’d been misled.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen now,” Mr. Mercer said, frowning. “Becky’s unpredictable. She might skip town again. But Sutton, if you see her, if you even
think
you see her, tell me right away. All right?”

“Of course.” She clutched her car keys so tightly they dug into her palm.

Emma drove slowly on the way home, following his taillights. Her head pounded and her muscles still twitched anxiously as the adrenaline of the past hour dissipated. She passed under a pedestrian bridge designed to look like a giant rattlesnake arched high over traffic, its fangs bared. Usually the installation amused her, but today it felt ominous, as if any minute it would lean over and swallow her whole.

Becky could be anywhere by now. And even though the cops were on the lookout for her, she had always been good at not getting caught. Emma had seen it dozens of times as a little girl—the way Becky could disappear in a crowd, the way she slipped past prying eyes. She could become a ghost as easily as snapping her fingers.

Somehow I didn’t think she’d skip town. I had a feeling she would stay close.
Too
close.

Porch lights throughout the subdivision cut through the darkness that filled the streets. Emma had never noticed how many shadows there were, how many places for someone to hide. As they pulled up to the Mercers’ two-story adobe house, she made out a tall, broad-shouldered form moving in the yard.

Thayer, wearing hiking boots and cargo shorts, was raking smooth river stones into one of the new beds Mr. Mercer had built before his accident. A deep white scar spread across his knee from his surgery. As the cars pulled into the driveway, he straightened up and waved.

Mr. Mercer waved weakly back at him before heading inside. Thayer leaned on the rake, watching Emma as she slowly got out of her car.

“You’re really dedicated,” Emma said, trying to hide the strain from her voice. “Almost done, huh?”

Thayer frowned in concern and put his hands on her shoulders. “What happened?” he asked.

Emma looked away. “Nothing.”

“Come on, Sutton. I
know
you. Something’s going on. What?”

Emma’s lip started to tremble. Before she could stop herself, she leaned into his arms. The tears that she’d been holding back broke free and rolled down her cheeks. “It’s my birth mother,” she began.

And then the whole story came pouring out—Becky’s attack at the hospital, her escape, her tendency toward violence. Thayer turned her arm to look at the marks from Becky’s ragged nails and winced, then met her eyes.

“And they think she might come here?” he asked, looking stricken. “That she might attack you again?”

Emma took a shuddering breath, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “They don’t know what she’ll do.”

“Why is she attacking you at
all
? You’re her daughter.” Thayer still hadn’t let go of her wrist. His fingers were warm and reassuring.

“She’s … sick,” Emma fumbled, not sure how much to admit. “It’s hard to explain. I know it doesn’t make any sense.”

Thayer narrowed his eyes at the street. “She’d
better
not come here.”

Gratitude coursed through Emma’s veins. “You’re such a good friend,” she murmured, squeezing him around the neck in a hug. Thayer held her close, his hands traveling up and down her spine. When Emma stepped back, they laughed awkwardly and then fell into a silence. The tinny laugh track of a sitcom came through a neighbor’s open window. Somewhere a few blocks away a dog barked.

Thayer shifted his weight. “Anyway. You should go get some rest.” He glanced back at the yard. “I’m gonna finish up here and head home. And, Sutton?” he added, suddenly serious. “You know you can always call me if you need anything, right? I mean, no matter how awkward things are between us, I’ll be here in a heartbeat if you need me. Okay?”

Emma looked into his deep-set hazel eyes, which had lit up with a soft intensity. “Okay,” she whispered. Then she slung her bag over her shoulder and went into the house.

I tried to linger behind as long as I could, watching the boy I loved turn back to his work. Soon, though, the cord between me and my twin pulled taut, and I was dragged along after her.

22

The next night, Emma and Ethan pulled into the parking lot of the Clayton Resort. The sprawling hotel was situated against the mountains on the outskirts of Tucson, far away from highways and city traffic and surrounded by the natural beauty of red boulders and flowering cacti. A thick forest of ironwood and mesquite enclosed the resort, protecting its patios and pools from any prying eyes—and providing the perfect cover for anyone who wanted to sneak into the hot springs.

I had broken into the hot springs dozens of times with the Lying Game clique. It was where some of our best pranks had been planned. It was also where my wonderful friends had grabbed me from behind, thrown me in the trunk of Laurel’s car, and driven me to the desert to choke me with my own locket chain.

Ethan had been asking to go for weeks, and after the scene at the hospital the day before, Emma’s need for relaxation had finally outweighed her reluctance to break the rules. Her body ached all over. The stress of the last few weeks had settled around her shoulders like a weight, leaving her back full of knots and her neck sore. The only thing she wasn’t so eager about was traipsing off into the desolate, scary desert, but Ethan was with her.

“You ready for this?” Ethan asked as they walked across the parking lot.

Emma hugged Sutton’s straw beach bag to her chest. She glanced around, trying to ignore the feeling that she was being watched. Every time she left the house she became hyperaware of all the hiding places around her, all the places Becky could be. “Uh-huh,” she said uneasily.

Ethan, who was in a pair of red swim trunks and a T-shirt printed with an old Japanese Godzilla movie poster, grabbed her hand comfortingly. Emma looked around to get her bearings, then led Ethan down a narrow, unlit deer trail. The resort’s lights twinkled occasionally through gaps in the trees, but otherwise it was dark. Scraps of clouds hung in the sky, concealing patches of stars. Emma’s skin felt prickly.

“I hate not knowing where Becky is,” she whispered.

Emma had filled him in on everything shortly after arriving home last night. Ethan had wanted to come over, but Emma put him off, claiming exhaustion. It was only partially true. She also didn’t want Ethan coming over when Thayer was still in the front yard. She hadn’t mentioned that Sutton’s ex was helping Mr. Mercer out, and she didn’t need Ethan getting all weird and jealous about it.

Ethan nodded. “Me, too. But I won’t let her hurt you,” he said firmly, taking her hand.

Emma bit down on her thumbnail, remembering the night at the movie studio when the note had appeared on her car. Whoever had left it had been listening to them talk—she was sure of it. That meant the murderer—Becky—knew that Ethan was in on her secret. Would Becky even hesitate to get rid of Ethan if she needed to?