The Whole Truth

Prologue: Scarlett, 2013

The sign said 532 miles to Mexico. Scarlett had been driving since shortly after midnight, but her eyelids had yet to droop. That might have had something to do with the two energy drinks she gulped down, or it might be the result of the mess she was leaving behind.

Most likely the latter.

A cop car drove toward her, and she swore her heart almost jumped right out of her sweat-soaked t-shirt. She'd done her best to clean up--she'd washed off the blood, thrown away the bridesmaid dress, changed her clothes, but that couldn't keep her body from giving off the biological signs of panic, of fear. She had to hide it. After the car passed, her eyes were glued to his tail lights, but they vanished as the cop car descended a dip in the hilly, twisty terrain. Only then did her heartbeat slow down.

In her hysteria, she felt the urge to laugh but kept it inside to avoid feeling crazier than she already did. It was deja vu, her on the run once more. She had hours before anyone would connect all the pieces, before she'd have to switch cars again.

And, just like that, her eyes watered up, and she gasped at her deeds, what she was now doing. She'd never seen herself as a villain before, but the night before proved that's just what she was. A cold-blooded killer.

The gas light blinked accusingly as she neared a looming exit. She pulled into the parking lot of a gas station and climbed out of the car into the pouring rain. As quickly as she could, she hit the "pay inside" button, started the gas flowing into the dirty white pickup truck that they'd snatched from the parking lot, and hopped back in to sort the contents of the glove compartment: a wad of tissues she'd been quietly crying into as she drove, $2000 cash she'd found inexplicably stuffed inside a package of cigarettes, and the driver's license with her false name. She pulled out the ID, dropped it into a half-empty coffee cup, replaced the top, and tossed it into the trash before finishing up at the gas pump.

She stood for a moment, staring at the trash, the bin containing her fake identity.

Goodbye, Scarlett Murray.

Scarlett had served her well for the last year.

The brief life she'd built was based upon Scarlett's name and social security number. The drab townhouse that lacked technology beyond an old television set, leaving her no way to contact the world outside, or so they'd thought. The piles of thrillers on her nightstand checked out under Scarlett's name, something to break up the monotony of her days. The little diner where she went for her meals when she just had to escape the house. Sure, her life had been boring as hell, but at least she was safe. That was the point of it. Now she was no longer safe. From herself, even.

Now it was time for her to become someone else.

This time she knew how to disappear.

Unless the police tracked her down. She wasn't used to being on this side of the hunt. Before, she was the righteous one, but now she was the bad guy. At least that's how they would see her. How everyone would see her, once the story got out to the media.

She shivered.

She really had felt safe as Scarlett.

Unseen, anonymous.

Sigh. Now Scarlett was dead.

Just like the others.

But this new woman--she was just waiting to be born.