We Were Liars | ONC 2020 ✔

Blood On Bathroom Sinks

TEN DAYS AFTER

I'd woken up to a new message from 'Death' at five thirty-six in the morning and instantly chucked the burner phone at the wall with uncharacteristic anger. Apparently, 'Death'---it felt wrong to start calling him Nat, even though I knew 'Death' and Nat Evans were one and the same---had raided my locker and chucked my textbooks into the boy's toilets, again.

At this point, I wasn't sure if 'Death' was playing around with me---or trying to tell me something.

From what 'Death' had told me over the last few days, the police had made a quick sweep of the scene, but found no evidence. Even the black goop covering Brittany's face had disappeared without a trace. Some people had been hauled in for questioning, especially those close to her and Avery. The fuzz don't buy the statement that she killed Avery, even though most of the school does. The police are smart, of course, because she didn't kill Avery. I did. And I killed Brittany too, but no one's ever going to find out, 'Death' had mockingly declared in one of their many messages. Well, except for you, of course, but you'll keep your pretty little mouth shut, won't you?

I was surprised I hadn't been called in yet. There was no doubt that I would be soon, though. I was a person of interest, after all---the only one to survive the 'Lake Murder', as they had unoriginally dubbed it.

Despite the murders---although the police were on the brink of ruling Brittany's death a suicide since there seemed to be no other explanation, according to 'Death'---Principal Bell had insisted that school reopen today, therefore giving 'Death' the opportunity to perform the dastardly act of hiding my textbooks in the toilets a second time. It was also the reason why my first stop was the boy's toilets at six on a Monday morning. I wondered if I would have to ask my mother to buy a special lock for my locker, but quickly decided against it. 'Death' would no doubt find a way to break that one too.

The first thing I noticed was the smell---except it didn't smell like the usual toilet stench of urine and human excrement. This was different, the coppery tang of blood and something rotting hanging thick in the air. The second thing I noticed was the scarlet liquid pooling everywhere.

The third thing I noticed was the corpse.

The body of a boy my age lay half-slumped over the bathroom sink, his head twisted in the general direction of the door. His wrists, ugly slits slicing them open, lay limp in the basin. His crimson-streaked blonde locks hung over his face. His eyes were still open, scleras pitch black---the same black that Brittany's wide eyes had been. Blood dripped from his pagan lips. His cheeks and forehead were stained unnaturally ebony.

I stumbled away, one hand over my mouth and nose to keep from throwing up. As I made my way out of the toilet, the burner phone in my pocket vibrated. I fished it out. As I had expected, a new text from 'Death' lit up the screen.

Haha! Joke's on you, Canterbury! Your books were in your locker the whole time!

On the bright side...I see you've found my little surprise! Did you enjoy it? I hope you did! Don't puke now, though! You're looking a little green there.

They'll think he killed himself. And he did. I didn't kill him, don't worry. He committed suicide, as many depressed and not-depressed high-schoolers do. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a hand in it...and I may be Death, but I'm not a Liar :)

Much love, Death.

☆☆☆

TWO WEEKS AFTER

The police questioned me, as I'd expected. The questioning and visits to the police station carried on for nearly a week, dragging me out of class at the most inconvenient times and often forcing me to miss the delights of algebraic equations. Only idiots hated math, honestly. I loved it, which was why I wasn't too happy whenever they yanked me down to the office to fire questions at me for at least an hour at a time during Advanced Calculus.

After they'd come to look for me at home---and even searched my things, which I felt was unnecessary, but perhaps Officer Hickory was simply paying me back for the obviously-already-dead grandmother story---my mother refused to let me out of her sight. "Please don't go to school for a while, Canterbury," she'd pleaded with me. "Those poor children were killed."

"I'll be fine," I'd insisted. "If you don't want to fetch me to school anymore, I'll get Ezra to drive me there. I can't afford to be behind on my homework. Exams still exist." She hadn't had a choice then, probably already regretting her support of my newfound friendship.

The school hadn't been closed, mainly because there was nothing proving the boy's---whose name I had found out was Gavin, a fairly prominent Liar in the school social system---death had been anything but suicide, except for the charcoal gunk smeared over his face, which had disappeared just before the cops showed up. Of course, most of Rockwell was under tight scrutiny, but they couldn't do much about it.

Often, I stared at Nat Evans and wondered what kind of monster would destroy so many people---especially since they were his fellow Liars. Avery, Brittany, and now Gavin were dead. Elysse kept her head down in the hallways, disappearing to the toilets every so often and returning with red-timmed eyes. Her reputation was forever ruined, soiled by a video she, apparently, hadn't even known existed.

Between the police interrogations, dead bodies, lingering trauma from Ette's death, and "Death's" increasing barrage of texts praising his skills and talking about how good he was, my grades were dropping. Assignments that used to have giant hundreds above them now displayed several disgraceful ninety-eights in dripping red ink. Of course, I was still at the top of every class, but I wasn't satisfied.

And then there was Ezra.

Ever since he'd kissed me---if that could have been even considered a kiss---he occupied a significant portion of my mind. Whenever he talked to me in the hallways, he would oh-so-gently brush his fingertips against mine---a motion that made my supposedly-dead heart thump in erratic beats. I constantly had to control my words around him, keeping my voice steady to avoid letting out the hinting stutters that threatened to betray me. Feelings were for morons, but Ezra somehow drove me idiotic with a feeling I couldn't describe.

No matter what, I couldn't shake the worry that there was something wrong, though.

It was thoughts like this that led to the occasional zoning off in class. Today was one of those days, where the logical ninety-nine-point-nine percent of my brain battled with the emotional zero-point-one percent. And the logical side was losing. I couldn't get the events of the past week out of my head, even as Mr Lee swapped around our lab partners in Chemistry without a care in the world for the protests of those who had been seated next to their best friends or significant others. I couldn't care less, honestly. The boy next to me was a lazy ignoramus who couldn't be bothered to perform joint experiments properly.

Somehow, I ended up with a girl seated beside me. A very pretty, familiar girl with milk-white skin, long cyan nails, and chestnut-brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She took one look at me and immediately glanced away. I spotted the miniscule curl of her lip as she turned away from me. She was obviously none too pleased with her new lab partner.

Lark, Nat had called her. I was beginning to think that her staring at me in English had been simple coincidence, since she didn't even seem to want to look at me right now. Her sequinned turquoise bag sat on the table in front of her, the fluorescent lights glinting off it. Then I realised something: she'd seemed close to Nat, comfortable enough with him to address him by his full name.

Perhaps he'd told her something.

Perhaps he'd revealed something else that only 'Death' would know.

Perhaps this girl was the key to proving that Nat was 'Death'.

I bit back my pride, deciding I'd have to start the conversation if I wanted answers---if I wanted to put a murderer behind bars. "Hey," I said. That got her attention. She swivelled around to face me. Her eyes were the same, intense, emerald-green they'd been the day she'd stared at me. Her lips were shiny and slick with pale, peachy gloss, perked up in a tiny, heart-shaped pout.

"What is it?" she asked. Her tone wasn't cold, but it wasn't completely civil either.

I forced a friendly smile upon my face and held out an unwilling hand. "Lark, wasn't it?"