NEVER LIE BOOK A4 PORTRAIT INTERACTIVE

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EVERY LIE HAS A TRUTH BEHIND IT FREDIA Mc FADDEN

FREDIA MCFADDEN Never Lie Never Lie © 2022 by Freida McFadden. All rights reserved. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without ex- press written permission from the author This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, incidents and places are the products of the authors’ imagination, and are not to be construed as real. None of the characters in the book is based on an actual person. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

54 PROLOGUE ADRIENNE Everybody lies. Years ago, a psychological experiment tested whether people would report a broken vending machine. The machine gave them free candy and returned their money. Not one person called to report it. Everybody took the candy and walked away. There are signs when people lie—fidgeting, avoiding eye contact, changing their voice, or giving too much information. I know these signs better than anyone. When my patients sit across from me, I watch their faces, their gestures, and their voices.And I know when they are lying. I always know. Never lie to me. Table of Content Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Epilogue

76 CHAPTER 1 TRICIA Present Day Tricia had been married to Ethan for six months, and in those six months, she had learned that he could be incredibly romantic, thoughtful, and caring. But he was also stubborn—especially when he believed he was right. That evening, they were driving through Westchester to look at a house they had been considering buying. The weather had turned unexpectedly bad. Snow fell heavily, covering the road and making it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead. Their GPS had stopped working almost an hour ago.“We should turn back,” Tricia said, staring through the windshield. “We’re lost.” “We’re not lost,” Ethan replied. Tricia sighed. “Ethan, we were supposed to turn onto Cedar Lane ten minutes ago.” “No, we didn’t miss it. Judy’s directions said it would be farther ahead.” Judy was the real-estate agent who had given them printed directions that morning. Without the GPS, those directions were their only guide. The snow became heavier.Ethan slowed the BMW, gripping the steering wheel tightly. He wasn’t an experienced snow driver, and Tricia could feel the car slip- ping slightly beneath them. “Maybe we should just go home,” she said. “We’re close.” “You don’t know that.” “Yes, I do.” A few minutes later, a small road appeared ahead. A weathered sign stood beside it. CEDAR LANE. Tricia stared at it. Ethan smiled. “See? I told you.”She said nothing. They turned onto Cedar Lane, but the road quickly became narrower and more difficult to drive on. Snow covered almost everything, and the BMW struggled to move forward. Then, suddenly, the tires spun. The car stopped. Ethan tried again, but the wheels only dug deeper into the snow. “We’re stuck,” Tricia whispered. Ethan looked through the windshield.“There.”Far ahead, barely visible through the falling snow, stood a large house.“We can walk from here,” he said. Tricia looked at him in disbelief. “Walk? Through this?”“It’s not that far.”Ethan pointed toward the house. “Look. There’s a light on upstairs. Judy must already be there.”Tricia followed his gaze.The house was enormous. It looked less like an ordinary home and more like an old mansion from another time. Its steep roof disappeared into the darkness, and the tall, point- ed windows reminded Tricia of a cathedral. Snow covered the roof and the surrounding trees, making the entire property seem strangely isolated from the rest of the world.Ethan stared at it with excitement.“This is it,” he said. “I can already picture us living here.”Tricia didn’t answer.Something about the house disturbed her.She couldn’t explain it. There was no obvious reason to be afraid. The house was simply standing there in the snow.Yet the moment she looked at it, her stomach tightened.A sudden wave of nausea passed through her.She swallowed. “What’s wrong?” Ethan asked.“I don’t know.”She looked at the house againOnly one upstairs window was lit.The rest of the house was complete- ly dark.“Where’s the light downstairs?” she asked.Ethan shrugged. “Maybe Judy is upstairs.”Tricia nodded slowly, but something inside her told her that wasn’t the reason.She couldn’t shake the feeling that the house was waiting for them.And then, without knowing why, she thought:Something terrible happened in this house.She looked at Ethan.There were things she hadn’t told him. Things he knew nothing about. Secrets she had carried with her long before their marriage.She pushed the thoughts away. “Come on,” Ethan said. “Let’s go.”He opened the car door and stepped into the snow.After a moment, Tricia followed.Together, they began walking toward the house.Neither of them noticed how quickly the snow was erasing their footprints behind them.

98 CHAPTER 2 “Oh my God, it’s so cold.” The moment I step out of the BMW, I regret agreeing to walk to the house. My wool coat does little against the freezing wind, and my stylish leather boots are useless in the deep snow. “Are you okay, Tricia?” Ethan asks. “I’m fine. My boots just aren’t snowproof.” He looks at me for a moment before crouching down. “Hop on my back.” Forget everything I said. I love my husband. He carries me through the snow, past the FOR SALE sign, and all the way to the front door. “You’re my hero,” I tell him, smiling. Ethan rings the doorbell, but nobody answers. The entire first floor is dark, even though we had seen a light upstairs. We assumed Judy was already here, but there is no sign of her car or any move- ment inside. I check my phone. “No messages from Judy, but I don’t have any signal.” Ethan checks his phone too. Nothing. After searching around, we find a spare key hidden beneath a plant near the door. Since the snow is getting worse and our car is becoming buried, we decide to go inside for shelter. The door is difficult to open, but Ethan finally forces it with his weight. Inside, the house is completely dark. The lights flicker before finally coming on, revealing an enormous living room with high ceilings that make it feel more like a cathedral than a home. “This place is incredible,” Ethan says, al- ready imagining us living here. But I feel something completely different. A wave of sickness passes through me, and one thought enters my mind: Some- thing terrible has happened in this house. The house is beautifully furnished, yet it looks abandoned. Dust covers the furniture, cobwebs hang from the cor- ners, and the floor looks as though nobody has walked across it in years. Judy would never leave a house in this condition. Then Ethan stops in front of a huge portrait above the fireplace. It shows a beautiful woman with pale skin, red hair, and striking green eyes. I notice a book on the nearby shelf titled The Anatomy of Fear. The author’s photograph on the back is the same woman in the portrait. “Adrienne Hale,” I say. Ethan recognizes the name. She was the famous psychologist who disappeared three years ago, shortly after her book became a best- seller. Her body was never found, and her boyfriend had once been sus- pected of killing her. We realize this may have been her house. Ethan seems strangely unconcerned, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. Then, as he goes to check the garage, I notice something on the dusty floor—a large footprint near the bookshelf. It is far bigger than mine. When Ethan returns, I show it to him. “Who made it?” I ask. Neither of us has an answer. Outside, the snow has become a white wall, and our car is probably buried. “Do you think we could be stuck here for the night?” I ask. Ethan tries to reassure me, saying the house probably has food and we still have emergency supplies. He heads toward the kitchen, and I follow. But I can’t stop thinking about the footprint, the dusty rooms, and the mysterious woman in the portrait. As we walk away, I look back one last time at those vivid green eyes. For a moment, I swear they are watching me.

1110 CHAPTER 3 ADRIENNE Before Paige, my literary agent of five years, stumbles up the walkway to my front door while staring at her phone. She is always on that phone. Even now, she barely looks up when I open the door. “Adrienne! How are you?” she asks. “I’m fine, Paige.” She apologizes for being late because her GPS stopped working, then steps inside and looks around my enormous house. “It’s just you in this big place?” she asks. “Yes. Just me.” She tells me I should get a se- curity system because someone could break in, and then suggests she could set me up with one of her husband’s colleagues. I politely refuse. Paige has never understood that I like living alone. My house is also my office, where I write and see patients, and I feel perfectly safe here. She finally hands me a manila envelope containing the proof of my new book, the result of two years of research. Paige admits some of the material is gruesome and says it may be difficult for people to read. “It’s all true,” I tell her. She wants me to open it immediately, but I refuse. Instead, she asks for a glass of water. I warn her that the water is slightly brown be- cause of the old pipes. She quickly changes her mind. Before leaving, she again tells me I need better security and jokes that she doesn’t want to find me murdered in my living room. Then she adds, “You invite the crazies right in, don’t you?” That comment changes everything. Paige has always criticized my home, my lifestyle, and my work, but now she has insulted my patients. Nobody talks about my patients that way. I calmly point to the corner of her eye and tell her that her mascara is smudged. Embarrassed, Paige reaches for her compact, and her phone slips from her hand and crashes onto the wooden floor. The screen cracks, and the broken glass cuts her finger. “Maybe it’s a sign,” I tell her. “Perhaps you should spend less time on your phone.” She laughs nervously, thinking I’m joking. I watch from the window as she drives away. She checks her reflection in the rearview mirror, searching for the mascara I told her was there. She has no idea that her day is about to get much worse. She will soon receive an email from me terminating her as my agent. I turn back to the envelope and finally open it. Inside is the proof copy of my new book. I hold it carefully in my hands and smile. My name is printed boldly on the cover: Adrienne Hale, MD, PhD. The title is ex- actly what I wanted, and so is the image of the blood-covered knife that the publisher once objected to. I run my fingers over the title and read it aloud: The Anatomy of Fear.

1312 CHAPTER 4 TRICIA PRESENT DAY I don’t have much hope for the kitchen. If this house has been empty for three years, how could there be fresh food? But when Ethan opens the refrigerator, we find bread, cold cuts, and mayonnaise. The strange thing is that the bo- logna doesn’t expire for another week. Ethan happily makes us sandwiches while I watch him, grateful for the way he always takes care of me. But then, as I go to get us some water, I stop. There is a glass sitting beside the sink, half full and covered in fresh condensation. Someone has been drinking from it recently. “Ethan,” I whisper, “I think there’s somebody else in this house.” He suggests it could be Judy, but I remind him that the glass has no trace of her red lipstick. Then I mention the large footprint we found earlier and the up- stairs light we saw when we arrived. Ethan finally admits that something may be wrong. We decide to check upstairs. Our phones still have no signal, and if we are going to spend the night here, I don’t want to know that someone could be hiding in the house. Ethan grabs a long knife from the kitchen, and we walk toward the staircase. As we pass the portrait of Adrienne Hale, I feel those green eyes following us. The staircase is dark, steep, and creaky, and I cling tightly to Ethan’s arm as we climb. When we reach the second floor, however, every light is off. “We saw a light up here,” I whisper. Ethan can’t explain it. We turn on the hallway light, but only one weak bulb works. According to Judy’s listing, there are six bedrooms upstairs, so we begin checking them one by one. The first five are empty. Every room is dark, si- lent, and untouched. “I don’t think there’s anyone here,” Ethan says. But I’m not convinced. One bedroom remains—the master bedroom, where Adri- enne Hale once slept before she disappeared. My heart pounds as we ap- proach the final door. I grab Ethan’s arm so tightly that my nails dig into his skin. “Sorry,” I whisper, but I don’t let go. Ethan raises the knife and slowly reaches for the doorknob. Then, in the silence of the house, he turns it. Ethan slowly turns the doorknob, and the door creaks open. The room is completely dark, except for a faint glow of moonlight coming through the windows. He reaches for the light switch, but nothing happens. We step inside carefully, and I notice something on the dusty floor—fresh footprints leading toward the bed. My heart begins to race. “Someone has been in here,” I whisper. Before Ethan can answer, we hear a soft sound from some- where inside the room. He raises the knife and moves forward. I grip his arm tightly, afraid to breathe. Then suddenly, a loud creak comes from be- hind us. We turn around, but the doorway is empty. The door slowly swings

1514 Epilogue Acknowlegment Three years later, people still remembered the name Adrienne Hale. Her books remained on shelves. Her disappearance was still discussed from time to time, usually by people who were fascinated by unsolved mysteries. There were theories about what had happened to her, theories about who might have wanted her dead, and theories about the house where she had once lived.But nobody knew the truth.The house was even- tually sold. Most people who visited it noticed nothing unusual. They saw only an old, beautiful home with high ceilings, dusty rooms, and too many memories left behind by a woman who had vanished without a trace. But there were things the house remembered.A glass of water left beside the kitchen sink.A footprint in the dust.A book pulled from a shelf. A bedroom door that should never have been opened.And somewhere in- side those walls, the truth was still waiting.Because fear doesn’t disappear when the person who caused it is gone. Sometimes, it stays.Sometimes, it watches.And sometimes, the per- son you think you know best is the person you should have feared all along. The house was silent again.But it was not empty. It never had been. Writing this book has been a journey of imagination, late nights, and countless revisions. I’m deeply grateful to my family and everyone who encouraged me to keep going, believed in this story, and supported me along the way. To my readers—thank you for entering the world of Adrienne, Tricia, Ethan, and the secrets within that house. I hope the story kept you turn- ing the pages and questioning who you can truly trust. And finally, thank you to the part of me that refused to give up. Every story begins with an idea. This one began with a question: How well can we ever truly know another person? Thank you for reading.