“I’d like that,” she said, smiling through her tears.
I sat in their midst, surrounded by my family again. And I could feel their love for me, even across the divide between the living and the dead.
33
HOME
“There’s been yet another twist in the sensational case of the Tucson Twin Murderer,” Tricia Melendez’s voice reported from Sutton’s laptop. “On Wednesday night, eighteen-year-old Ethan Landry was
arrested for kidnapping, assault, and attempted murder. The victim? Emma Paxton, Sutton Mercer’s twin sister, and, until Wednesday, the chief suspect in Sutton’s murder.”
Emma lay curled on Sutton’s bed Saturday morning, staring dully at the screen. She’d propped the computer on Sutton’s nightstand, where she could see it from the nest of pillows. She’d been watching since
she’d woken up, clicking through different blogs and news agencies to hear twenty different versions of the same event—the fact that Emma Paxton had been cleared of all charges, and that Ethan Landry had
allegedly killed Nisha Banerjee and Sutton Mercer.
In just a few minutes she’d have to move. She’d have to get up, even though her body felt like it was made of lead, and go downstairs to join the Mercers. That afternoon, Sutton would finally be buried—and
finally be at peace.
Would I? I’d been imagining my funeral for months, but now that it was here, I wasn’t so sure. Would this last good-bye from my friends and family finally lay me to rest? Or would I linger in Emma’s shadow
for the rest of her life, voiceless and powerless and utterly alone?
“Police are now saying that Landry lured Paxton to Tucson under the pretense that she’d meet her long-lost twin.” Tricia Melendez couldn’t keep a note of glee out of her voice. She stood in front of the
police station, wearing a tweed Armani jacket that was a step up from her usual polyester—it looked like she’d gotten a pay raise. “When she arrived, he sent her notes and threatening messages to force her
to impersonate her sister so he could cover up his crime. The investigation is still ongoing, but one source told Channel Five that a storage unit on the outskirts of Tucson was raided on Wednesday night, and
while it’d been registered under a false name, the attendant was able to ID Landry as the person who opened the account. No word yet on what the unit contained, but at this time it seems safe to assume
police found some damning evidence inside.”
Emma smiled slightly, wondering what Tricia Melendez would say if she had opened the unit to find a threadbare stuffed animal waiting patiently inside. Socktopus was still being held as “evidence,” but she
wished she had him here. She knew it was childish, but she wanted to tie him around her neck for protection, the way Becky had so long ago. A part of her still felt like she needed all the protection she
could get. Maybe a part of her always would.
Ethan. A dark, fathomless chasm opened in her chest every time she thought of him—his earnest, lake-blue eyes; his laughter; his lips on hers. Every time a fragment of their conversation came floating
through her mind, their flirtations and their promises, a cold, empty space opened inside her where something had been torn away—something pure and trusting and fragile. She didn’t know if she would ever
trust anyone again.
“Yesterday, I spoke with Beverly Landry, the mother of the accused, as she left the courthouse,” Tricia Melendez continued. Emma bolted up on the bed, staring at the screen. Mrs. Landry stood uncertainly on
the steps of the courthouse, her mousy hair tied in a lopsided bun. In the bright light of day, she seemed more scared than hostile, her eyes wide and vulnerable in a thin, sunken face. “I saw him cross the
yard to the Banerjee girl’s house at around three in the afternoon the day she died,” Mrs. Landry said, leaning nervously toward the microphone. “And a few weeks ago I found a green duffel bag shoved in a
back corner in the attic. It had a journal and some girls’ clothes in it. I tried to tell myself he’d just stolen it. But . . . but it scared me. I was afraid to ask what else he’d done.”
Emma felt an unwilling lurch of sympathy for the woman. No wonder Mrs. Landry had been so uncomfortable with Emma. She’d known all along who Emma was, what her son was capable of—and she either didn’t want
to believe it or was too scared to intervene.
The camera cut back to the reporter. “The Tucson District Attorney’s office plans to charge Landry with two counts of murder and one count of attempted murder, along with fraud, conspiracy, blackmail,
kidnapping, and assault,” she said. “The request for bail has been denied. This is Tricia Melendez, signing off.”