Lies Beneath (3 page)

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“We’ll tell him about his father’s boat accident,” said

Maris. “We’ll tell him how our mother saved him.” “For a price,” chimed in Tallulah.
“We’ll tell him that his father was weak. That he promised

his infant son in exchange for his own miserable life. We’ll tell him that our mother agreed. We’ll tell him,” Maris said, spitting through her teeth, “that Tom Hancock may have broken his promise, but he,
Jason Hancock,
still belongs to us.”

“And then we’ll take him down.” Tallulah leaned her head against my shoulder.
“Slowly,” Maris added. “We’ll let him come up for air, and then we’ll drag him down again.”
I shook my head.
“And then do it again,” said Pavati. Her light giggle raised goose bumps on my smooth arms.
“He’ll be screaming,” I said. “It will call unnecessary attention.”
“Trust me, little brother,” said Maris. “By the time anyone comes, we’ll be long, long gone.”

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4

LILY HANCOCK

M aris pulled down a quiet street in South Minneapolis, made a U- turn, and parked on the side of the road, a few houses down from a Tudor two- story with a For Sale sign in the yard and a moving van parked out front. My eyes focused on the name stenciled on the mailbox.

HANCOCK
“Go on,” said Maris. “See what you think.”
I hesitated. Breaking and entering wasn’t really my style.
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“Listen, little brother. If you don’t find out for yourself, I’ll have to listen to you bitch all the way up north. Get in there. Check them out. If you aren’t convinced it’s the right man, well . . . we’ll cross that bridge later.”

I gave her a jerky nod and got out of the car. Budding sugar maples lined the street. Other than the bustle of activity surrounding the moving van, it was quiet.

I crept along the neighbor’s privacy fence and climbed over the top, dropping silently into the Hancocks’ backyard. The yellow grass crunched under my feet as I edged my way to the rear door. Barely opening it, I slipped inside. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been in an actual house, but the kitchen— even stripped bare of its appliances— was strangely familiar, what with the yellow walls and silver sink. But as I struggled to pull a memory out of the darkness, the smell of bleach overtook me, and I crinkled my nose against the fumes.

I slunk through the empty rooms, looking for any clues that Maris had found the right Hancocks, but there wasn’t much left inside. A few cardboard boxes marked
Mom’s Paints and Supplies
stood stacked by the front door. Another box, labeled
Photo Albums,
gave me pause. I opened it carefully and paged through the album at the top of the stack. Three sheets in, I found a family photo. The father stared up at me from the happy composition. Could this be Tom Hancock’s son?

I closed the box and watched through the front windows as one of the moving crew carried a wheelchair up the ramp into the van. Another man pointed and gave instructions about its placement. Before I could give any consideration to

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the second man, floorboards creaked above my head. I knew I was pushing my luck, but my curiosity was piqued.

Stealing along the wall, I crept up the stairs, controlling each footstep, avoiding squeaky treads, until I got to the first bedroom, where a hand- painted sign still hung on the door.
Lily,
it said. Someone was moving around inside, making clinking sounds and dropping things onto a hard surface.

I slipped through the door and into the bedroom closet, positioning myself so as not to jostle the wire hangers, and adjusted the slats in the door with my finger. My eyes darted around the room as I peered through a gap. Deep indentations marked the spot where a bed had been. Rectangles of darker paint and bits of tape marred the walls.

The
en suite
bathroom door stood ajar, and a teenage girl bent over the white counter, leaning into the mirror.
This must be Lily,
I thought as I assessed her: average height, with dark auburn curls that tumbled down her back.

She readied the sharp point of a charcoal pencil by the corner of her eye and drew a thick line along her lashes. She smirked at some private thought and drew the line thicker, shifting her weight. My eyes settled on her backside, round and nubile in a black miniskirt, and my stomach twisted like a snake in a jar.

The girl returned to her bedroom and was now just several feet from where I hid. She dropped a green velvet bag on the floor and bent to lace her tattered combat boots, worn over plum- colored tights. In her richly textured colors and auburn hair, she reminded me of a classical oil painting. I memorized her every detail, wondering if she should be my target, wanting her to be my mark.

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A circle of skin showed through a hole in the knee of her tights. It mesmerized me. Just the size of a quarter, like a bright pink petal floating on dark water . . . The flow of electricity bounced from my fingers to the wire hangers, making a tiny snapping sound. Then there was a flash, and I spun toward the movement. Still jumpy as hell. God, what was I doing in here?

A smaller girl— her sister?— was standing in the doorway. She was younger than I expected. Small with blond ringlets. Her pink backpack, partially unzipped, bulged with books and dolls. She twisted up her mouth and eyed her older sister.

“What are you wearing? You look weird.”
The older girl flinched but didn’t respond.
The smaller one leaned against the bedroom door frame.

“Did you hear me? I said, ‘You look weird.’ Why do you have to dress like that?”
I thought I saw the older sister stifle a smile.
“Y’know what? ‘Weird’ was kinda the look I was going for. Thanks, Sophie.”
“If you ruin my chance to make new friends, I
will
kill you.”
The older girl finished tying her right boot, and this time she did smile. I did, too. There was something about a little girl handing out death threats that appealed to my twisted, darker side.
“Then I’ll try not to make you the social outcast of the North Woods,” she said.
The younger girl made an exasperated sound while the older one leaned forward to grab a book off the floor. Her blouse pulled up, exposing her lower back.

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“Oh my gosh, Lily! Is that a tattoo? I’m telling Mom and Dad.”
The girl called Lily pulled her shirt down and stood up. Turning toward her sister, she said, “No, you’re not.”
“Why not?”
She put her hands on her sister’s shoulders. “Because you wouldn’t do that to me, and I would never do something like that to you.”
Sophie Hancock lowered her chin and looked at the floor. I waited for her to laugh and run to tell her parents. But she didn’t move. I couldn’t understand. Any one of my sisters would have jumped at the chance to make me miserable. Even Tallulah on a bad day.
“Fine. I won’t tell. But they
are
going to find out.”
Lily Hancock nodded. “By then I’ll have figured out a way to soften the blow.”
Sophie turned away, and I watched her leave, analyzing her from a strategic standpoint. She was smaller, probably easy to manipulate. It wouldn’t be a seduction with her. Too young. I’d have to think of a new tactic.
The room was now empty save for Lily Hancock, and me in her closet. She reached again for the book on the ground. It was old, oversized, its binding loose and its cover cracked. It flopped open, exposing a page that was blank except for a smudged inscription written in a large, looping hand:

An insignificant sacrifice for one so loved as you.
I doubted the inscription was for her. Probably written before she was born. She couldn’t be more than seventeen.
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The girl let her fingers caress the inscription before gently closing the cover and cradling the spine. I caught the title before she slipped it into her bag:
An Anthology of Victorian Poets.
Geez, the book was ancient. What did she like about the old thing? My curiosity was interrupted by a woman calling up the stairwell, and I jumped again, almost giving myself away.

“Lily honey?” she asked. “Are you still up there? It’s time.

We’re all waiting.”
“Coming, Mom.” Lily Hancock stood up, divided her
ponytail and pulled it tight. She buttoned a black brocade
vest that accentuated her hourglass figure, then slung the
velvet bag across her chest and shoulder. Taking one last
look around her room, she headed for the door. Her boots
clomped down the stairs. A car horn beeped just as her feet
crossed the threshold.
“I said I’m coming, you guys. Geez.”
When Lily’s feet hit the stairs, I made my move from the
closet. But I had to dodge back into my hiding spot when she
unexpectedly returned to grab the
Lily
sign off the nail on
her door. She stared at the closet handle for too many seconds before racing back down the stairs. After that, I don’t
know what was louder: the front door slamming or my heart
pounding through my chest.
I went to the window and leaned my forehead against the
glass. Below me, the Hancocks threw their last small items
into the family SUV. The father assisted the mother into the
passenger seat, making sure she was comfortable, and he
handed her a wooden cane.
They weren’t exactly happy about the move. I could tell

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that much. Their auras were all wrong. Anxious, maybe? That was my best guess, judging by the muddy green light that hovered around the car. I wondered if they knew what their family was going toward. Did they know their Hancock family history? If Maris was right, did these girls know their dad was in danger?

I slunk down the stairs and slipped out the back door. A neighbor’s dog followed me, a growl rumbling deep in his chest. I met his eyes and thought,
Beat it.
The dog yelped and ran away, leaving me to find a place to spy.

“And we’re off,” said the man behind the wheel, but he didn’t put the car in gear. “I can’t believe it. I’m finally going.” I flinched at the sound of his voice, muffled because the car windows were closed but still clear enough for me to hear.

From behind a tree, I listened to their conversation. How many times had I imagined Jason Hancock— his image changing with each passing year as he turned from baby to boy to man? His face, his hair . . . his voice. Never had I imagined the sound to be gentle.

“This is going to be good for all of us,” he said. I wasn’t sure whom he was trying to convince. “Nothing but blue sky, fresh air, clean water . . .” He paused then, and the family waited silently for something more. When he didn’t say anything, Lily Hancock leaned forward and put her chin on his seat back.

“We have water here, too, Dad. Minneapolis, City of

Lakes, ever heard of it?”
“Don’t get smart,” said her mother.
“But it’s not the same,” Jason Hancock said, shaking his

head. “Lake Superior is more like an ocean. You’ll see.”
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“I know,” Lily said, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry.” She put her hand on her father’s seat. “It’s going to be great, you guys.”
Mrs. Hancock tapped the girl’s hand reassuringly.
Lily turned toward her window, and her gray eyes aligned with mine. For a second, I thought she saw me.
I retreated behind the tree and counted to five before leaning around the trunk again. When I did, she wasn’t looking in my direction; she was flipping through the songs on an MP3 player and pushing earbuds into her ears, a look of patient surrender on her face.
Jason Hancock backed the SUV into the street. When he looked forward, I scrutinized his features, narrowing my eyes to focus. There was definitely something about him that looked familiar. I had never met the older Hancock, but I’d seen his face in my mother’s dying thoughts:
To m Hancock running away with his family, depriving her of the young life he’d promised; she, racing along the shore, following his car as the road traced the lake.
All the pieces fit. This man, unlike the others my sisters had brought me to see, was in fact Tom Hancock’s son. I was sure of it. My fingers flexed, then curled into fists.
The SUV pulled past the mailbox and headed up the street. Hancock flipped on his blinker at the stop sign, then turned right.
Maris honked twice. I gave her a two- fingered salute and jogged back to the car. Tallulah threw open the door for me, and I slid in beside her.
“Well?” asked Pavati. She twisted a lock of dark hair around her index finger, her lavender eyes keen and nervous in the visor mirror.

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“Well?” repeated Tallulah.

I watched Maris’s lips press into a long straight line. Her eyes were silver, soulless things. As eager as I was to end this Hancock obsession for myself, she was the most fanatical of all of us. I considered dragging out her anxiety, toying with her nerves, but had an unexpected flicker of mercy. “Okay, I’m convinced.”

The girls erupted into squeals of laughter that made me wince. I was on board when it came to the end result we all desired, but I still couldn’t embrace their methods. Sure, I fantasized about killing Hancock, but it wasn’t in me to prolong the torture. Particularly if he knew nothing of his father’s promise. Of course, even if he was ignorant, we’d still have to kill him. But he didn’t have to suffer. And the more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that Hancock knew nothing. Why else would he drag his whole family back to the lake?

“He’s oblivious,” Maris sneered. I nodded. His ignorance would make things easier. In fact, it all seemed a little too easy. Maybe that was what had me nervous. If we got too relaxed, if we assumed too much, we’d make stupid mistakes.

Maris shifted the car into drive and revved the engine, leaving long black marks on the otherwise quiet street.
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5

ROAD TRIP

L ight and shadow flashed like fire through my eyelids as I dozed in the backseat of the Impala. I wasn’t curious where Maris was driving us. We were creatures of habit. We’d be at the Mississippi River Gorge below the old Pillsbury Mill in a matter of minutes. We’d ditch the car and follow the Mississippi south to the St. Croix River hookup, then north up the St. Croix as far as we could go. We’d make the last twenty miles to Lake Superior on foot.