The Lying Game Complete Collection - Sara Shepard Page 0,77

through her mind.

“There’s something I think I know,” Ethan’s voice dropped a half octave. “Something I don’t think you want anyone else to know.”

“What are you talking about?”

Ethan’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “You’re not who you say you are.”

Emma blinked hard. “I-I’m sorry?”

“You’re not Sutton. You can’t be.”

The words sliced through Emma’s brain. She opened her mouth, but no sounds came out. How could he know that? Slowly, she felt the door handle with her free hand. It still didn’t open. “Of course I’m Sutton,” she said, her voice shaking. Her heart pounded.

“You’re acting nothing like her.”

Emma swallowed awkwardly. She was beginning to feel woozy. “H-How would you know?”

Ethan leaned forward a little. “For a while I thought Sutton had changed—ever since that night you showed up in my driveway. But tonight you’re totally different. You’re someone else,” Ethan said in a lonely, sad voice. “It’s freaking me out. So you’d better tell me what’s going on.”

Emma stared at him, her body stricken with fear. But as Ethan talked, things started to whirl in my head. Ethan’s lost, haunting smile. The smell of the desert plants, the dust. The feel of someone pulling something soft over my head and squeezing something thin and sharp around my neck. A giggle.

All of a sudden, a chain reaction went off in my head. Lights sparking other lights. Images rolling into new images. And just like that, a new, lucid memory unfurled before me, like a red carpet unrolled for a queen. All I could do was watch helplessly. . . .

Chapter 31

NOT FUNNY, BITCHES

The blurry, shadowed figure grabs my shoulders and pulls me out of the trunk. I bang my knee on the side of the car and twist my ankle on the hard ground. Hands press against my shoulder blades and shove me forward. I pitch my head down, trying to get a look at the ground beneath me, but it’s too dark. I can smell a desert fire somewhere in the distance, but I have no idea where I am. I could be in Tucson. I could be on the moon.

The same hands push me to sitting. The bones in my butt dig into what feels like a wooden folding chair. I make a couple of muffled cries, the gag in my mouth sopping wet from my saliva. “Shut up,” someone hisses.

I try to kick whoever is near me, but my feet grope in thin air. There’s more crunching through gravel, and then a tiny electronic ping. Through the blindfold, I see a small LED beam staring at me. I bite down hard on the gag.

“Go,” a voice whispers. A girl. More crunching footsteps. And then someone’s hands grab my neck. The chain of the locket I always wear pulls against my throat. My head jerks back. I wriggle my hands in their binds, but I can’t free them. My bare feet thrash, hitting the cold, rough ground.

“Harder,” I hear a voice whisper. “A little higher,” says another. The chain digs into my throat. I try to breathe, but my airway can’t expand. My lungs scream for air. My whole body starts to burn. I thrash my head forward and see the little red light still watching me. Two shapes hover behind the light, too. I can see whites of teeth, glitters of jewelry. I’m dying, I think. They’re killing me.

My vision starts to turn gray. Spots appear in front of my eyes. My head throbs, my brain desperate for oxygen. I want to fight, but all at once I’m too weak to kick or wriggle. My lungs shudder, wanting to give up. Maybe it would be easier to give up. One by one, each muscle surrenders. It’s like a delicious reprieve, like falling into bed after a long tennis match. All sounds around me dribble away. My vision narrows until it’s a tunnel of light. Even the chain collapsing my windpipe doesn’t hurt so much anymore. I feel my head flop forward, my neck no longer rigid. Darkness envelops me. I see no visions. I’m still afraid, but the fear feels muffled now. It’s too much effort to fight.

From far within my head, I hear sharp whispers. Someone calls my name. Then there’s a muffled scream, and then more footsteps. Something heavy hits the ground with a muted thud. Seconds later, my skin vaguely registers the sensation of someone pulling the blindfold from my head and the gag from my mouth.

“Sutton?” a soft voice calls. A guy’s voice.