Page 1 of Liars

1

KAYLOR

We all wear masks—whether to hide emotions and insecurities, cope with trauma, protect ourselves from judgment, or conceal countless other truths. But eventually, those masks come off, and with them, pieces of our souls are lost. We can only pretend to be something we’re not for so long. When the truth is revealed, the lies are exposed.

I had a very clear picture of two masks I’d never forget—ordinary black ski masks with only their eyes exposed. The men who appeared at the end of the alley wore dark clothing, matching the ominous shade of their disguise.

I didn’t see them at first, hidden in the shadows. The only movement in the alley came from Dad, Mom, and me as we meandered around puddles, our shoes sloshing against the wet cobblestones. The rain had stopped an hour ago, leaving the city slick and glistening. I snuggled deeper into my sweater, wishing I’d brought my coat as a gust of icy wind rushed down the narrow alley. It was a shortcut we’d taken dozens of times before, the uneven stones shimmering under a flickering streetlamp at the alley’s far end.

“Should we stop at The Shack for pizza?” Dad offered, the December air tugging at strands of his auburn hair as he glanced at Mom.

Today was her birthday, and Dad had surprised her with tickets to a play. He might not be a fan of musicals, but he loved her, so he gladly suffered through hours in a theater for his wife.

Our adoration for the theater was one of many things I shared with my mom.

“God, yes. I’m starving,” she replied, moving closer to Dad’s side, shielding herself against the chill as another gust scurried through the alley.

“We can get?—”

I sensed the sudden change in the air, like a charged battery sending out pulses of electricity. The hairs on my arms stood up as my parents, walking beside me hand in hand, slowed. I glanced sidelong at them as the smile on Mom’s lips faded. Their lively chatter died. She reached for Dad’s arm, tension stiffening his large frame. He put an arm out, pushing me behind him, but not before I glimpsed what had triggered his protective instincts.

Two figures emerged from the shadows, faces obscured by black masks. One of them raised an arm, a gleaming pistol catching the light.

“Kaylor, stay behind me,” Dad ordered me, his voice steady but terse.

“Take whatever you want,” Mom quickly said, holding up her purse. “Just let us go.”

But there was no reply, only the sharp, deafening crack of gunfire.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

I lost track of how many shots rang out. Too many. The booming blasts echoed in my ears, thunderous against the frantic pounding of my heart.

I screamed as Dad stumbled backward, blood blooming across his chest. Mom cried out—desperate and raw—before a second shot silenced her. My knees buckled, my vision spinning, and I hit the ground, collapsing onto the wet cobblestones.

At first, I thought I had dropped to the sidewalk, seeking cover from the gunshots, but then a sudden flare of white-hot pain seared through my shoulder, and I realized I hadn’t just fallen.

I’d been shot.

The sound of boots on pavement receded as quickly as they had come, replaced by the soft, indifferent patter of rain.

A deadly silence followed.

The quiet whisper of death.

Groaning, I tried to sit up, pushing myself upright with my uninjured arm. The other one… I couldn’t think about it. Or the warm fluid soaking my sweater.

Neither of my parents moved. I couldn’t see my dad’s face, but Mom… She lay with her head turned toward me, her eyes vacant and unblinking, her hand outstretched as if she had been reaching for me.

The corner of theWickedplaybill lying over my mother’s fingertips was stained red with her blood, the gentle drizzle of rain muting the stain like a watercolor painting.

What had started as the best day of my life had morphed into not just the worst nightmare I could imagine but also an unforgettable moment that would haunt me for the rest of my days.

Choking on a sob, I reached my arm toward her, my throat unable to form her name or make a sound.

Blackness devoured me.

I woke to a siren blaring, the sound whirling through the air with a sharp urgency. The stretcher beneath me shook slightly. A haziness clouded my vision, and I blinked again and again, trying to clear the fog, but my eyes were so heavy. A cold trembled through my veins, making me shiver despite the weight of a blanket draped over me.

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