She nods. “I would.”
My right hand is moving more. I glance down to see that the sweat dripping down my arm has caused the duct tape to slip. It’s almost halfway down my hand.
“And then you showed up.”
I turn and Easton is looking at me. He points the ice pick in my direction and walks over. “You came in, and I genuinely thought, Wow. Here’s someone who’s just as bad as me.”
“I’m nothing like you.” Maybe if I say it enough, I might actually believe it.
“No?” He snorts. “You told this poor woman you were her dead son. You lied, and I watched you do it. It was so fucking easy for you. Like it was for me. Nate was a stupid little brat who could barely handle the slightest inconvenience, but you... you were interesting.”
Easton gives me a genuine smile. But as quickly as it appears, it drops away again and his eyes cloud. He takes a step toward me, pointing at my chest with the ice pick.
“Then you had to go snooping around,” he says. He turns back to Valencia. “If it wasn’t for him trying so hard to find Nate’s body with this nosy bitch”—he points to Miles, who still shows no sign of consciousness—“I would have killed him after making him write a note admitting that he was a fraud, and everyone could have gone back to normal.” He’s lying again. Just minutes ago he said he wanted my lies to continue for years to see how long they would play out for maximum devastation. Or was that the lie? Maybe Valencia catching him out about Marcus has shaken the control he thought he had over this situation.
So I try to do my part as well.
“You didn’t get away with anything yet,” I say. “What’s your plan after you kill us? You stabbed Marcus. You think no one is going to think you killed us all?”
“Yes.” He says it so confidently, it gives me chills. “Because I already planned it out.”
He shakes his head as he walks back to Marcus’s body. “It was always supposed to be him. I set it up sohewas the suspect. Mom was asleep upstairs; Dad was at the store. I told the police I was at JT’s. And I told them I was scared of Dad, so I stayed there. I don’t know what he said to them, but they didn’t even go out and check the island for a body. Sure, they had divers search the bay, but I sat and watched them—they boated around it; divers went into the water. No one thought to get off the boat and check the island.”
When Easton looks at me again, he seems like he still can’t believe it. “If half the serial killers out there are dealing with idiot cops like this, I bet there are so many people who get away with it! IwantedNate’s body to be found.”
He spins and looks at Valencia.
“And, yes, Mother, I did do it myself. And, honestly, I’m fucking proud of me.”
Even knowing who Easton is, I’m still shocked that he thought all this at ten years old. And he probably had contingency plans all along.
“I never wanteda missing brother; I wanted amurderedbrother. And Dad was supposed to be the one to do it.”
“Why a murdered brother? And why frame Marcus?” I ask.
He scowls at me. “I already told you why I killed him. He was annoying and I wanted to see if I could. And someone had to get caught in order for me to enjoy my freedom. Our family would be under the most scrutiny, so I knew it had to be Marcus.”
“Not Valencia?” I suggest, as if I’m part of the planning. Easton turns back to his mother like I needed him to, and I work on the duct tape straps again.
“I guess I could have blamed you, Mother,” he says. “Women can do anything men can do, so why wouldn’t a mom kill her son? That was my own internalized misogyny, and I’ll work on that.” His tone makes it clear he absolutely will not.
“But why Marcus specifically?” I try again. Easton spins toward me, and I stop wriggling my arms. “Daddy didn’t show you enough love?”
He scoffs. “What are you trying to do?”
“I want to understand where you’re coming from,” I say. My voice almost trembles because I’m walking a fine line between pushing him to keep talking and straight-up pissing him off. “You say you killed Nate because you wanted to, but there has to be a reason you tried to frame your dad. Did Santa not bring you a special toy for Christmas?”
Easton stares at me. Once the silence gets too uncomfortable, I try again.
“Maybe he didn’t take you to enough baseball games? Or you saw that he loved Nate more than you and you couldn’t take it. So you killed Nate and tried to frame Marcus for the murder.”
Easton takes two slow steps, then crouches in front of me. “What else do you think? Keep going, maybe you’re almost there.”
But something in the way he says it makes me think I’m not even close. I swallow hard and try to think of my own dad. “Maybe you were proud of something and tried to show it to him and he ignored you? Was that it? Not shown enough attention.”
“No,” he says. “But now we knowyourissues, Mr. Projection.”
My face burns with embarrassment. Even when I’m trying to play games with Easton, he outsmarts me. Finally, he stands and walks over to Marcus’s body.
