Marcus does, and his eyes open almost instantly. Then he coughs.
“Yeah!” Easton laughs. “See? Good shit.” He caps the inhaler and tosses it over his shoulder. It clatters to the ground somewhere in the boathouse.
“Easton?” Marcus says. He pulls at his restraints, and the chair he’s in creaks. “What’s going on?”
“Well.” Easton puts his hands on his hips and turns to me. “Nate. Do you want to start or should I?”
Forty-Eight
All eyes in the room are on me. Except for Miles, whose eyes are still closed. Easton leans back against the counter, his arms crossed. He gives me a few seconds, then says, “Well? Tell them, Nate. Tell them the truth.”
“Easton,” Valencia says. “Untie us now. Whatever this game is, it’s not funny.”
“Thisgame? Christ, Mom. You’re really that deluded?” She opens her mouth to answer but Easton holds out a hand to stop her. He keeps his eyes on me. “Tell them how you’ve been lying to them.”
“Easton.”
“Mom! Shut. Up. Nate, tell them.”
I swallow hard. My head continues to pound, but I start pulling up from the arm of the chair, trying to create some space between the wood and my skin.
“I’m not Nate,” I say.
“What was that?” Easton steps forward, cupping a hand around his ear. “Speak up for everyone—they’re still a little woozy, so you need to use your big boy voice.”
“Easton, sweetie—”
“STOP TALKING, MOM!” Easton reaches back and grabs theroll of duct tape on the workbench. “Or I swear to God I’ll tape your mouth shut and those will be the last words you ever say.”
Tears run down her face, and she opens her mouth one more time but doesn’t speak. Easton turns his attention back to me.
“Tell them.”
I look over at them. Valencia’s eyes are closed, her cheeks wet. But Marcus is looking at me, resolute. He knows what I’m going to say. He might have heard it the first time, but he also probably knew before I said it.
“I’m not Nate,” I say, a little louder this time. “I lied. When I got arrested, I saw his face on the missing poster and we looked alike, so I told the police I was him so I wouldn’t get in trouble.”
Valencia shakes her head but doesn’t open her eyes. “I think everyone is a little confused—”
“No, Mom, you’re the only one who is confused,” Easton says. “Look at him.” She doesn’t open her eyes, so Easton marches over and turns her head roughly. “Open your eyes and look at him.”
His voice is so calm it’s terrifying.
Valencia slowly opens her eyes and two more tears stream down her cheeks.
“Tell her again,” Easton says.
“I’m not Nate. Nate’s dead.”
Valencia’s eyes snap closed again, but this time she starts to sob. Easton finally lets her go and her chin drops to her chest, her hair hiding her face. Marcus looks up at the ceiling, his own eyes glassy.
“That’s right,” Easton says. “Nate is dead. This isn’t your son; he’s an imposter. And sorry, dude, but a pretty shitty one, too. Theretired FBI agent saw right through your lies within seconds. It’s my delusional mother’s fault we’reallin this mess.”
He turns back to Valencia, who’s still crying.
“Mom, seriously. What the fuck? The empty nest hit you hard, huh? You let this complete stranger move into our house, sleep in your son’s room. And when weird shit starts happening around the house—a gas leak, car vandalism, those ugly flower bushes, glass in that disgusting mess Grams calls food—did you evenoncethink it could be him?” He sticks a thumb over his shoulder at Marcus. “Dad did. So what was your issue?”
“Honey, what’s going on?” Valencia looks up at him. “Why are you doing this?”
