Liar (4 page)

“Deal,” Ed said.

I LOOK LIKE DEATH.

Gaia stared at her horrific reflection in the bathroom mirror. Well, maybe death was a slight exaggeration. She looked like she'd been hit by a car. Funny: That was a figure of speech, wasn't it?
“Jesus—what happened to you? You look like you were hit by a car!”
Ha ha ha.

Maybe it wasn't so funny.

Her hair was matted with dried, caked blood. Bloody scratches ran up and down the right side of her body: her palm, elbow, shin, shoulder…. There was a cut on her right cheek.

But that wasn't the worst of it. She could deal with her physical injuries. They were relatively minor. Nothing was broken. Her flesh burned; her body ached—but the agony was tolerable. Any amount of
physical agony was tolerable. Shutting out pain was a lesson she'd learned from her father long ago. For some perverse reason, the absence of the fear gene seemed to make pain all the more excruciating, but that was the price of being a freak.

No … the worst of it was that she'd freaked out and abandoned Sam.

She drew in a deep, quivering breath. Her thoughts swirled like water in a toilet bowl. She'd had a very good reason for abandoning Sam, hadn't she? Yes … but it wasn't one that she could share with Sam—or even fully articulate to herself. Because in the brief instant that she'd hurled herself in front of that car to save Sam's life, she'd imagined that she saw somebody familiar behind the wheel.

Very
familiar.

A fizz of energy shot through her veins—the energy that came in place of fear. It couldn't be true. She'd dreamed the whole thing up. Obviously the trauma of the accident had triggered some kind of strange psychological reaction. An instantaneous reaction.

I saw my dad.

Of course it wasn't. It could have more easily been her mysterious uncle. But her instincts screamed that it wasn't her uncle; it was her dad.

Her throat clenched. She stared hard at her face in the mirror. Her pupils were two black holes. Empty.
There were no answers there. Either she had seen him or … she hadn't. But if—

“Gaia?” Ella's voice shattered her thoughts.

Oh, please.
“What?” she yelled.

“Is everything okay?” came the muffled question.

Gaia frowned. As if Ella even cared. What was
with
her today? Why couldn't she just drop the concerned-mom act? It was even more nauseating than the doting wife she played with George.

“Gaia?”

“Everything's
fine,”
she snapped.

There was a pause. “Well, okay … I'm just stepping out for a minute to get some wine for dinner. All right?”

“Knock yourself out,” Gaia muttered.

She shook her head and turned away from her reflection. This whole day was beginning to freak her out:

She was hallucinating—seeing her father while being mown down by a car.

Ella was pretending to care.

Sam was hanging out by her house.

Gaia swallowed. What was that about, anyway? Maybe Sam had come to tell her that he'd broken up with Heather. Maybe he'd come to explain all the weird stuff that happened between them, to forgive her for acting like such a bitch the last time he'd seen her, and to tell her he wanted to hang out, just go to a movie or something—

“Oh, no!” she cried out loud.

Movie.
She thought of Ed, sitting alone in the Blockbuster, fuming as he waited for Gaia to show up. Her bruised shoulders sagged. Well. This was just great. Not only did she look like shit—she felt like it, too.

“SO WHAT DO YOU THINK?” HEATHER asked. “Should we go with pizza or popcorn?”

Ed shrugged. “Um … actually, I'm not really all that hungry,” he mumbled.

Heather opened her mouth, then closed it. Maybe inviting Ed over here wasn't the greatest idea. He looked so odd, sitting
next
to the couch in his wheelchair—not
on
it with her. The last time he'd been here, a few days ago, they'd avoided the living room altogether. They'd stuck to the kitchen. In retrospect, Heather realized it was probably because of the memories associated with this particular room.
Especially
this particular couch. They had always used to snuggle into the big, soft brown cushions, arms and legs intertwined … as close as they
could be. It was kind of ironic, in a way: They used to spend evenings here under the guise of “watching movies.” At least that's what they'd told Heather's parents. Needless to say, they rarely took the movies out of their boxes.

But this time they
would
watch the movie.

Heather gulped painfully.

Ed was staring at the blank screen, fidgeting.

“Ed, what's wrong?” Heather murmured. “Is being here bumming you out?”

He shook his head and cast a quick smile at her, then lowered his eyes. “No, no, it's not that at all. I've always loved your mom's tacky neopostmodern artwork.”

Heather smirked. Good old Ed. At least he could be counted on to use humor as a defense mechanism.
That
hadn't changed.

“So what is it?” she asked.

He turned to her again, then drew in his breath. His expression was hard to read—tentative, almost. “Well, for one thing, I'm going to have to see my sister on Sunday,” he said. “Which I'm definitely
not
psyched about.”

Heather's eyes narrowed. “Victoria? Why do you have to see her? What's going on?”

Ed shrugged. “She's getting married.”

“Really?”
Heather exclaimed. “On
Sunday?”

“No, the engagement party's on Sunday. I don't know when the wedding is.” He flashed her a sardonic
grin. “Hopefully I'll be out of the country or in jail when it happens.”

Heather laughed, but she felt a pang of discomfort. She knew all about the bitterness Ed harbored toward his sister. She didn't blame him, either. After all, Victoria had pretty much abandoned Ed after the accident. She'd stayed away from her own brother because she didn't know how to deal with him.

Just like Heather herself.

The discomfort grew. She and Victoria had a lot in common, now that Heather thought about it. They were both very social. No, that was too kind. They were both
snobs.
And they both had run from Ed Fargo when he was no longer cool to be seen with.

She thrust these thoughts from her mind. There was no point. What was done was done. Besides, Victoria wasn't
really
the issue here. His sister's engagement party might be bumming him out—but something else was bothering him, too. Something more immediate. He couldn't stay still. His fingers drummed on the armrests of his wheelchair.

“So what's the other problem?” she asked.

He looked at her, then looked away. “Promise you won't get mad?”

“Oh, Jesus.” Heather groaned, slouching back into the cushions. “We're not in the seventh grade anymore. Of course I won't get mad. You can tell me anything.”

She meant it, too. In spite of everything that had
happened between them since the accident, she still felt an ease with Ed that she'd never experienced with anyone before or since. Certainly not with her
current
boyfriend—as painful as that was to admit to herself. With Sam she never felt like she could truly let her guard down, as if she could say or do whatever she pleased. But with Ed, she could. There was nothing forced between them, no pretension.

“I was supposed to meet Gaia,” he said.

Heather's face shriveled in disgust. It wasn't even a conscious reaction; it was more of a reflex—like jerking your leg after you got hit on the knee with a mallet.
Gaia Moore.
Of course. The bitch supreme. The one who seemed to dominate everyone's thoughts: Ed's, Sam's … What the hell did they
see
in her, anyway? Couldn't they tell she was bad news? Her best friend—that girl, Mary—had just been
murdered,
for God's sake. If there was a clearer sign to stay away from somebody, Heather couldn't think of one. Gaia had almost gotten Heather herself killed by those idiot Nazi skinheads back in September. But Ed had somehow conveniently forgotten about that. It was something he and Sam had in common.

Ed sighed. “I knew you'd get mad.”

All at once Heather regretted making such an obvious display of her emotions. She wasn't going to let
Gaia Moore ruin her and Ed's time. No way. That had happened more than enough times already. She shook her head and sat up straight, collecting herself. “I'm not mad,” she lied. “It's just … I don't know. Do you want to leave? Do you want to go meet her?”

“No,” Ed replied. He shook his head adamantly. “She was supposed to meet me at Blockbuster, but she never showed. It's
her
fault.” He flashed her a wry grin. “Anyway, I'm having fun here. You know, forcing awkward conversation and everything.”

Heather's face softened a little. She peered at him closely, trying to determine whether or not he was telling the whole truth. “So what's the problem?” she asked.

“I was just thinking….” Ed chewed his lip and ran a hand through his dark hair (which was still strangely sexy—in that rebellious, juvenile-delinquent kind of way). “Maybe I should call her. You know, just to see if she's all right.” He glanced up at her. “Would that be cool?”

“Sure,” Heather answered automatically. She shrugged. But part of her wanted to scream. Another part wanted to slap Ed in the face. If there was one thing Heather was certain of, it was that Gaia Moore was fine. Oh, yes. Gaia Moore was
always
fine, even though those around her died or wallowed in misery.

Ed's eyes remained fixed on hers. “You know,
Heather, I'm really psyched you invited me over,” he said softly. “I mean it.”

Heather blinked. She felt a strange heat in her chest. Her eyes began to sting.
Oh, Christ, I better not start crying.
First she was pissed at Ed. Then the very next moment she wanted to burst into tears and hug him. Not even Sam had that effect on her.

But Sam didn't have Ed's vulnerability. Strangely enough, he didn't have Ed's toughness, either. Or the same honesty. It was the combination that made Ed so compelling. So unique. Only Ed would admit to worrying about Gaia in the presence of Heather. It was infuriating and admirable all at once.

“I'm really psyched you came,” she finally forced herself to reply. Her voice was strained. “It's been so long—”

The phone rang.

Heather sighed. Her gaze locked with Ed's. The two of them laughed.

“Maybe that's Gaia now,” she muttered sarcastically, pushing herself out of the couch.

“If it is, tell her to bring a pizza,” Ed called after her as she headed to the kitchen.

Now, that would be funny,
Heather thought. She grabbed the phone off the wall.

“Hello?”

“It's Mom.”

Heather frowned. Her mother's voice was tight,
breathless. Most times she at least said hi. An anxious little knot gathered at the bottom of Heather's stomach.

“Hey,” she said cautiously. “What's up?”

“I'm at the hospital.”

“What?”
Heather hissed.

“It's … it's your sister,” her mother answered, choking on her words.

The knot exploded into full-fledged panic. Heather tried to swallow, gripping the phone tightly. The kitchen seemed to turn black. “What about her?”

“I … I don't want to get into it on the phone. Just come as soon as you can, okay? We're at St. Vincent's. In the emergency room.” There was a click, and the line went dead.

The emergency room.
The words barely registered. Heather shook her head. This was impossible. This wasn't happening.

Phoebe was in the hospital.

“Heather?” Ed's voice floated from the living room. “Is everything all right?”

Heather slammed down the phone and rushed through the living room to the front hall. “Ed, I'm—uh, I'm really sorry,” she stammered, without turning around to look at him. She felt like she was fighting her way through a thick haze, as if she was caught in some hallucinatory nightmare. Everything in the apartment suddenly looked too bright, off-kilter,
wrong.
She snatched her coat from the closet and opened the door. “I've gotta go. But you can watch the movie if you—”

“What is it, Heather?” Ed interrupted. “What's wrong?” His voice rose. “Tell me.
Tell
me, Heather!”

“I can't,” she whispered.

She closed the door behind her before he could respond. Then she started running. She ran fast as she could, bolting for the fire stairs so that Ed couldn't follow, fighting back tears the whole way.

ELLA WAS LATE.

This was nothing new, of course. She'd been late for a lot of appointments lately. And if there was one deficiency that Loki couldn't tolerate, it was chronic lateness. He had good reasons. In his world business transactions depended on precise timing. Even a few seconds' error could spell the difference between life and death, between the gain and loss of millions of dollars … between control and chaos.

But more important, chronic lateness was merely a
symptom: the manifestation of deeper problems, ones that were far more insidious. In Ella's case her lateness was a symptom of irresponsibility. Of mood swings. Of increasingly erratic behavior. None of which was tolerable.

Still … Ella hadn't outlived her usefulness yet. She was still the one in closest proximity to his precious Gaia. And one day, under Loki's careful tutelage, Gaia would overcome
her
imperfections,
her
mood swings and irresponsible tendencies … and stand at his side as the exquisitely trained fighting machine she was always meant to be.