Page 60 of House of Lies

I suppose I’m going to have to scrounge up whatever courage I have left and just tell Ethan who I am and get him to admit that he met with my mother. He could choose to keep lying, of course, but what else can I do? Who would keep evidence like that lying around?

Serial killers keep trophies.

The thought sends a horrified shudder through my body. I’ve made a few leaps in my reasoning the past few days, but this is the biggest one yet.

Ethan went from being a liar to the reincarnation of Ted motherfucking Bundy.

I’m so done with my imagination. Sure, I have hella erotic dreams, but I don’t need serial killers in my life. I’m going to close this door, go back upstairs, and finish cleaning this McMansion.

Who knows, Ethan might even reward me for a job well done.

Hmm…if what happened last night was punishment, what could a reward be?

I’m smiling as I turn to leave, but then something catches my eye.

I slowly turn back, straining to make out the pile of boxes at the back of the basement.

Is that…?

I close the door behind me, cringing all the way to my fucking toes as it lets out another hair-raising creak. My chest grows tight as I trot down the stairs, and my nose wrinkles with the urge to sneeze as I kick up dust with every step.

Someone was down here recently, if the faint trail scuffed through the dust on the floor is any sign, but they definitely didn’t do any cleaning.

The pile of boxes comes into view, and I slow down. Most of them are unmarked, but the most striking thing about them is the lack of dust. They must have been put down here recently.

Less than six months ago?

My heart beats faster, my mouth going dry with anticipation as I walk around to the box that caught my eye from the top of the stairs.

RE—

Large, angular writing in black Sharpie. I couldn’t see the rest of the letters from the top of the stairs—the fluorescents cast too dark a shadow on them—but I already know what I’m going to see.

Rebecca.

My heart wants to pound through my chest as I step closer. Besides my mother’s dead body, I can’t think of anything more damning for Ethan than a box with her name on it.

Filled with what?

The stuff she took from our house the night she vanished?

Stuff he then had to get rid of after he’d gotten rid of her?

I have to force myself to keep walking, because now that I’m so close to the truth, I almost don’t want to know anymore. At least if she ran away, that means still alive. That there’s still a chance she might come back, that we could be a family?—

RECEIPTS

My feet shuffle to a stop.

Receipts?

I blink at the word scrawled on the box.

Receipts?

Are you fucking kidding me?

I shove the box so hard it goes flying off the stack and hits the floor with a thump. I stare at the box beside it, this one unmarked, and shove it too. It rolls over a few times before stopping.

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