Page 49 of The Truth You Told

At least I’m obvious about it.

Beau does it in that sneaky way that Shay never picks up on. Maybe it’s because she wasn’t abused, not like us. Not like me and Beau. Dr. Greene would say that’s unfair, but it’s my fricking diary I’m allowed to be unfair. Shay wears her bad childhood like a badge of honor but Shay forgets that out of the three of us, it was she who got to live with Hillary full-time. Maybe Hillary was a bitch to her, but she still chose her, still took her in and protected her. Beau and I had to live with the consequences of Hillary’s bad choices for half of every month and then every other holiday. Even when Billy was using Beau as an ashtray. And when father dearest was using meas a whore.

Anyway.

Because it doesn’t matter that Beau’s a manipulative asshole, I really would do anything for him, I plotted every way I could kill Billy today. Tripping over a cord that somehow disconnects his vent? Oops, clumsy me. My favorite idea was to set him on fire considering that’s how he hurt Beau so much. These assholes can always dish it out and never take it. I’d want him to be awake. I’d want to be able to watch as he screamed in agony. Burning to death seems like it would be really painful.

Can you imagine the note that would go in my file then?

They all already think I’m a monster anyway. Maybe they would actually arrest me this time.

But Billy isn’t worth becoming a killer for.

Maybe someday someone will come along who will be.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Shay

October 2010

Three and a half years before the kidnapping

Hillary had never given Shay any guaranteed personal space. When she’d been a girl, she’d more often than not slept on some chair or couch in a tiny apartment’s living room. Or in the second hotel bed in those weeks in between when they hadn’t had a stable place to stay.

Shay had made a point to draw boundaries for Max when they’d brought her into the house. A direct contrast to all their childhoods.

That was all great in theory, but the real world existed, and so did Shay’s cell phone battery, which was currently at 1 percent. Shay’s charger had also decided to stop working for some goddamn reason, and the other day she’d seen Max shove their extra charger in a bag she kept in her room.

“Shit,” Shay murmured. Hard boundaries existed for a reason, and she’d had hers obliterated too many times to make the decision lightly. But there was a serial killer on the loose, and she shouldn’t drive home at two in the morning with a dead phone. She couldn’t guarantee anyone in the bar would have her type of charger, either. The answer sucked, but it was also a no-brainer.

She took a deep breath, as if she were going into a room that was on fire.

Max was at school, so she wouldn’t exactly walk in on Shay going through her shit. Moreover, Shay had no desire to go through her shit. She just needed that bag that she was 99 percent certain was in Max’s closet.

“Okay,” she said, exhaling and pushing the door open.

The shades were drawn, the lights out. Despite the fact that it was midafternoon, Shay had to give her eyes a moment to adjust to the dark.

As expected, the room was a mess. Max might be a mature preteen in some respects, but that didn’t extend to making her bed. The laundry, at least, was mostly in the hamper, but Shay suspected that was because Max didn’t want the threat of Shay coming in to collect it herself.

Shay tried not to look too closely at anything as she made her way to the closet. She’d caught glimpses inside the inner sanctum before, of course. An open door, a sick kid who needed saltine crackers or Gatorade. But she’d never gotten a really good feel for the room.

Shay wouldn’t—she wouldn’t—but she wanted to linger, wanted to get a peek into Max’s world in this brand-new way.

She knew there were posters of rappers taped all over the walls, but which ones were Max’s favorites? Which ones had earned spots closest to her bed? Shay knew there were sticky glow-in-the-dark stars scattered all over the ceiling, but were the constellations accurate? And if so, why had Max chosen the ones she had?

Teenagers had a right to privacy, but Shay wished they understood that a lot of the time, the adults in their lives just wanted toknowthem. To enjoy their budding personalities as they grew into who they were meant to become.

A picture on Max’s dresser caught her eye—it was of Beau and Shay making ridiculous pouty faces at the camera. A hand squeezed around her heart at the fact that Max kept it in a place of honor.

She wondered how Max had gotten a printout version of it, and wished she could ask for her own copy. But then she’d have to admitshe’d seen it at all, and Shay was still debating if she’d tell Max she’d gone into her room in the first place.

Shay was cowardly hoping she wouldn’t have to.

The closet door stood ajar, and Shay nudged it all the way open with her foot. She spotted the corner of the bag at the back and knelt down to grab it.

It was pure bad luck that her arm hit a cardboard box on the way back out.

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