Page 169 of This is Why We Lied

Clouds were rolling in over the moonlight. Shadows danced across the ravine. She listened for anything—whimpers, cries, the sound of labored breathing. She knew what it felt like when you had reached your end, when the pain was too much, when your body was too tired, when all you wanted was the welcome embrace of darkness.

She heard laughter.

Mercy pulled back from the railing. Two women were on Old Bachelor Trail. She recognized Delilah’s long white hair. Mercy hadn’t even noticed that the old bitch wasn’t inside the house. She craned her neck to see who Delilah was holding hands with.

It was Sydney, the investor who wouldn’t shut up about horses.

“Jesus Christ,” Mercy whispered. Every fucking ghost was coming up on her tonight.

Mercy ran back into the building. Through the empty dining hall, into the kitchen. She looked back to the bathroom, clear to her office. Fish had cut a safe into the wall when they’d started bootlegging. There was a calendar hanging over the door. Mercy jogged to the back, rummaged through the desk drawers for the key. She found one of Fish’s old backpacks gathering dust in the corner. Every item she pulled from the safe brought her and Jon closer to freedom.

Five thousand dollars, all in twenties. The bootlegging ledger. Payroll stubs. Two sets of books from the lodge. The diary Mercy had kept when she was twelve years old. She dropped them all into Fish’s brown backpack. She tugged the zipper closed. She tried to think through a plan—where could she hide Jon, how could she help him, how long before the money ran out, where could she find a job, what did a child psychiatrist cost, who could she turn to, was it the cops or a social worker, would she be able to find someone Jon trusted enough to talk with, how in God’s name could she even find the words for what she had seen …

The questions were too much for her brain to handle. Mercy had to think about one hour at a time. The hike was dangerous at night. She zipped a book of matches inside the front pocket of the backpack. Grabbed the red-handled knife out of the desk drawer. She used it to open envelopes, but the blade was still sharp. She would need it in case they ran into any animals on the trail. Mercy shoved the knife into her back pocket. The blade sliced through the seam, creating a kind of sheath. She knew how to pack for a hike. Safety, water, and food. She returned to the kitchen. Tossed the backpack beside her own against the closed door. She filled up two water bottles. There was trail mix in the fridge. She would need extra for Jon.

Mercy looked up.

What was she doing?

The kitchen was still empty. She walked back into the dining hall. Still empty. Her heart sank as she yet again returned to the kitchen. The panic had died down. Now the reality hit her like a freight train.

Jon wasn’t coming.

Bitty had talked him out of leaving. Mercy should’ve never left him alone, but she had been shocked and disgusted and scared, and as usual, she had let her emotions take over instead of looking at the cold hard facts. She had failed her son just like she had failed him a thousand times before. Mercy would have to go back to the house and drag Jon away from Bitty’s clutches. There was no way she could do this next part alone.

Mercy had to place her phone on the counter because her hands were too sweaty to hold it. She called Dave one last time. Her desperation amped up with every ring. He wasn’t answering again. She had to leave him a message, to get out this sickness that was rotting her soul. Mercy thought about what she would say, how she would tell him what she had seen, but when the fourth ring passed and his greeting played, the words flowed out of her mouth in a panic—

“Dave!” she screamed. “Dave! Oh my God, where are you? Please, please call me back. I can’t believe—oh, God, I can’t— Please call me. Please. I need you. I know you’ve never been there for me before, but I really need you now. I need your help, baby. Please c-call—”

She looked up. Her mother was standing in the kitchen. Bitty was holding Jon’s hand. Mercy felt like a fist was punching up her throat. Jon’s eyes were on the floor. He couldn’t look at his own mother. Bitty had broken him just like she’d broken everyone else.

Mercy struggled to find her voice. “What are you doing here?”

Bitty reached toward the phone.

“Don’t!” Mercy warned. “Dave will be here soon on. I told him what happened. He’s on his way.”

Bitty had already tapped the screen to end the call before she’d finished. “No, he’s not.”

“He told me that—”

“He didn’t tell you anything,” Bitty said. “Dave has been sleeping at the bunkhouses. His phone doesn’t work over there.”

Mercy put her hand to her mouth. She looked at Jon, but he wouldn’t look back at her. Her fingers started to tremble. She couldn’t catch her breath. She was scared. Why was she so scared?

“J-Jon …” She stuttered out his name. “Baby, look at me. It’s okay. I’m going to get you out of here.”

Bitty stood in front of Jon, but Mercy could still see his downturned face. Tears were pooling into the collar of his T-shirt.

“Baby,” Mercy tried. “Come over here, okay? Just come over here to me.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to you,” Bitty said. “I don’t know what you think you saw, but you’re acting hysterical.”

“I know what I fucking saw!”

“Watch your language,” Bitty snapped. “We need to talk about this like adults. Come back to the house.”

“I’ll never step foot inside that fucking house again,” Mercy hissed. “You fucking monster. You’re the Devil standing right in front of me.”

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