In the show Sutton was afraid of being choked by Rebecca with her half hearted necklace Rebecca got for her. Season Two Emma and Sutton continues to switch places. She is found at the end not to be the killer. Nisha is found dead at the very end of the book, and the hunt continues. Previous seasons of the ABC Family dramas will be available for streaming on the subscription service.
A representative for the youth-skewing cable network confirms to The Hollywood Reporter that the teen drama starring Alexandra Chando will not return for a third season. The actress broke the news personally on Twitter early Monday.
A passionate cult fan base and a rabid twitter following were not enough to save the doomed series. The writing was on the wall for the murder-filled drama. Vikram is portrayed by T. He was revealed to be the main antagonist for season 1, but as of now his reasoning has not been explained — as he was killed after falling off a cliff after being hit by his son in an incident while Danny was protecting Jo. She was killed at her own house party after claiming to know why Danny killed Tara.
She was formerly friends with Phoebe, and had an undisclosed past with Vikram. The Disney-owned cable network has canceled the mystery drama after one season, The Hollywood Reporter has learned.
Twisted focused on year-old Danny Desai Avan Jogia , who was charged with killing his aunt when he was younger and shunned when he returned to his hometown years later.
In the last episode, when Tess thinks that she has finally found her daughter, it turns out to be a misled solution. Danny had to leave the soccer team because the coach said it would make the other players uncomfortable and could lead to serious rumors and allegations against Danny as well as the school. It is later revealed in the mid season finale that Archie and Scott poisoned him to get Danny kicked off the team. The Necklace is an object that originally belonged to Tara Desai until her murder.
Regina found out and was blackmailing him for a large sum of money. Vikram had Marylin murder Regina so that she could never reveal that he was still alive. Begin typing your search term above and press enter to search. Press ESC to cancel. Skip to content Home Ethnicity What happened to Sutton in the lying game? Ben Davis January 26, What happened to Sutton in the lying game? Who died in the lying game?
What happens in the lying game books? When did Sutton Mercer die? Emma gives Rebecca's locket to Kristin, upsetting her marriage competely. Ethan and Sutton return to look for more clues about Rebecca's motives and find the photo of Alec and the murder weapon on Rebecca's computer.
Rebecca quickly marries Alec. During the wedding the Dan and Thayer schedule a police search of Alec's house and find the photo and murder weapon in Alec's golf bag. In The Revengers , Rebecca is seen at the courthouse acting like she cared for Alec's trail, she secretly paid the judge to keep Alec in custody. She gives Sutton advice as they bond, she tells Sutton that she wishes she could have been there throughout her childhood to see her daughter grow up, that she could call her mom again.
Later at Chelsea Creek, she watches as Ted and Kristin fight and smiles, knowing it means her plan is working. Later at Rebecca's house, Sutton tells her the advice she gave was working for her and Ethan. The doorbell rings, assuming it might be Ted, Rebecca had Sutton hide while much to Rebecca's suprise, her son Jordan arrives at the house.
In Cheat, Play, Love , Rebecca tries to woo Ted again and tells Sutton to not get caught up with trying to win Ethan back and to focus on their plan. It's revealed Rebecca payed someone to call Jessica Whitman to frame Alec, but didn't know the man she payed made the call in Flagstaff instead of the tennis courts at Chelsea Creek where Alec and Thayer were.
In A Kiss Before Lying , Rebecca and Alec play a game of cat and mouse at The Cabin during there honeymoon, and she isnt pleased with Sutton not doing what she asked and tells Sutton one of Kristin's secrets. That Kristin wanted to give Sutton away. In Much Ado About Everything , Rebecca, reveals that she is sure that Alec is Derek's killer, and threatens Jordan that she'll reveal what Jordan did if he didn't do what she asks.
Sutton questions Rebecca and later, Rebecca confesses to Sutton she did more to frame Alec, but all she tells Sutton is that the picture of Alec and Derek was left for her to use with a note telling her to use it if she pleases. Ted and Rebecca kiss, and may have slept together. Dan was informed by Alec that it could be Rebecca that murdered Derek and took Theresa.
In this same episode Jordan finds out that she looked a box in a locked cabinet. After agreeing to do so in the cabin, Jordan goes to see what is in the box when Rebecca was supposedly out for dinner. It is there we discover someone possibly the killer knows about the box and that it was locked in the cabinet.
Rebecca started a relationship with Alec after her return, she claimed she came back for Alec, but is clearly in love with Ted. They soon married in order for Rebecca to not testify in court for Derek's murder. But Rebecca planned on Alec getting arrested with the murder weapon being found. Being part of her plan, she frames Alec, hoping to make things different between them and getting herself closer to Ted so it would be a step closer to becoming the "family they were meant to be".
Ted, Rebecca, Sutton, and Emma. Rebecca and Phyllis were close sisters, but after Rebecca's many "poor decisions" Phyllis disowned her as her sister, even when Rebecca came back, Phyllis was still not happy with her. Although Rebecca was planning on having her sister and niece leave their house as long as Rebecca needs. Rebecca and Ted went to high school together, where Ted and Alec messed with her emotions and played with her. Once they were out of high school Ted and Rebecca had an affair once in L.
Kristin and Rebecca started to be friends, but Kristin was suspicious about her since she heard about Ted and an "Annie" in Santa Barbra, however she wasn't sure if it was Annie Hobbs or Annie Sewell.
Then Kristin finds out about the affair between Rebecca and her husband Ted and Rebecca soon becomes an enemy. What day of the week was it? Where was I? A frat house at the U of A? I could barely remember that my name was Sutton Mercer, or that I lived in the foothills of Tucson, Arizona.
Actually, what kind of car did I drive? Had someone slipped me something? A tall, thin girl opened the bathroom door, her tangled dark hair hanging in her face. When I looked down, it seemed like I was flickering on and off, like I was under a strobe light.
Someone definitely slipped me something. She stumbled forward, her face covered in shadows. She pumped a bottle of lavender-scented lotion and rubbed it on her arms. The door flung open again, and a snub-nosed, unshaven teenage guy burst in. She turned back to the mirror. I stood right behind her. Finally, she looked up. My eyes darted to the mirror to meet her gaze.
But when I looked into the glass, I screamed. Because Emma looked exactly like me. Emma turned and walked out of the bathroom, and I followed as if something was yanking me along behind her. Who was this girl? Why did we look the same? Why was I invisible? The wrong memories snapped into aching, nostalgic focus—the glittering sunset over the Catalinas, the smell of the lemon trees in my backyard in the morning, the feel of cashmere slippers on my toes. What was my favorite song? And even worse, every second that passed, things got fuzzier and fuzzier.
Like they were disappearing. Like I was disappearing. But then I concentrated really hard and I heard a muffled scream. And suddenly it was like I was somewhere else. I felt pain shooting through my body, before a final, sleepy sensation of my muscles surrendering. As my eyes slowly closed, I saw a blurry, shadowy figure standing over me. I was dead. Cars swished and grumbled on the nearby expressway, and the air smelled heavily of exhaust and the local water treatment plant.
The only decorations in the backyard were dusty free weights, a rusted bug zapper, and kitschy terra-cotta statues. It was a far cry from my backyard in Tucson, which was desert-landscaped to perfection and had a wooden swing set I used to pretend was a castle.
Like I said, it was weird and random which details I still remembered and which ones had evaporated away. Not like I had a choice. Everywhere she went, I went. I knew the details of her life better than I did my own. Emma dropped the tote on the faux wrought-iron patio table, plopped down in a plastic lawn chair, and craned her neck upward.
The only nice thing about this patio was that it faced away from the casinos, offering a large swath of clear, uninterrupted sky. The moon dangled halfway up the horizon, a bloated alabaster wafer.
At nine years old, Emma had wistfully named the star on the right 3 4. Emma had been in foster care for most of her life. Becky used to send Emma on scavenger hunts around their apartment complex, the prize always being a tube of used lipstick or a mini Snickers. She bought Emma frilly tutus and lacy dresses from Goodwill for dress-up.
She read Emma Harry Potter before bed, making up different voices for every character. But Becky was like a scratch-off lottery ticket—Emma never quite knew what she was going to get with her. Sometimes Becky spent the whole day crying on the couch, her face contorted and her cheeks streaked with tears. Other times she would drag Emma to the nearest department store and buy her two of everything. The clerk on duty gave Emma an orange Popsicle and let her sit on the ice freezer at the 4 5.
When Becky finally returned, she scooped up Emma and gave her a huge hug. One summer night not long after that, Emma slept over with Sasha Morgan, a friend from kindergarten. She woke up in the morning to Mrs.
Morgan standing in the doorway, a sick look on her face. Prospective adopters had no interest in a five-year-old—they all wanted babies they could mold into mini versions of themselves—so Emma lived in group homes, then foster homes. She did miss the idea of a mom though: someone stable and constant who knew her past, looked forward to her future, and loved her unconditionally.
The sliding glass door opened, and Emma wheeled around. He practically made a sport of trying to see her naked. Today, Travis wore a blue ball cap pulled low over his eyes, a ratty, oversized plaid shirt, and baggy 5 6. His bloodshot brown eyes narrowed lasciviously.
With a grunt, Travis reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a joint, and lit up. As he blew a plume of smoke in her direction, the bug zapper glowed to life. With a crisp snap and a fizzle of blue light, it annihilated yet another mosquito. If only it could do that to Travis, too.
Back off, pot breath, Emma wanted to say. The Comebacks list, CISS for short, was filled with pithy, snarky remarks Emma had longed to say to foster moms, creepy neighbors, bitchy girls at school, and a whole host of others. For the most part, Emma held her tongue—it was easier to keep quiet, not make trouble, and become whatever type of girl a situation needed her to be.
Along the way, Emma had picked up some pretty impressive coping skills: At age ten, she honed her reflexes when Mr. Smythe, a tempestuous foster parent, got into one of his object- throwing moods. When Emma lived in Henderson with Ursula and Steve, the two hippies who grew their own food but were clueless about how to cook it, Emma had begrudgingly taken over kitchen duties, whipping up zucchini bread, veggie gratins, and some awesome stir- fries.
It had been just two months since Emma had moved in with Clarice, a single mom who worked as a bartender for 6 7. And, oh yeah, avoiding Travis as much as she could. At first, Emma had tried to make nice with her new foster brother, hoping they could be friends. But the nicety had ended for Emma a week later, when Travis tried to feel her up while she was standing in front of the open fridge.
All Emma wanted to do was get through her senior year here. It was the end of August, and school started on Wednesday. Nine more months, Emma chanted to herself like a mantra. Travis took another hit off the joint. Travis finally exhaled. It seemed to be hovering closer than usual to the Emma Star tonight—maybe it was a sign. Clarice still had on her work uniform: a tuxedo jacket, silky white shirt, and black bow tie.
She held a white envelope in her hands. The empty envelope crinkled. He signed one of the bills. I was going to put it in my scrapbook. Occasionally, Clarice and Emma ran into each other in the kitchen around noon, which was the crack of dawn for Clarice after a bar shift. The only thing Clarice ever 8 9.
Emma was always intrigued. Not that she ever told Clarice that. Not that Clarice had ever asked anything personal about her. Is there something you want to tell me? As he scrolled through his photos, Emma noticed a blurry shot of her at the bathroom mirror. Cheeks burning, Emma turned to Clarice. He might know. He stood and pulled up his shorts around his waist. I did see Emma go into your room today though.
As soon as he turned his back on his mom, his expression morphed from a fake smile to a wrinkled-nose, narrowed-eyes glower. Emma gaped. It was amazing how calmly he lied. Clarice leaned against the table, twisting her mouth to the right. Clarice gazed at Travis, who was giving her a sickening, pouty smile. As she creased the empty envelope back and forth in her hands, a suspicious look crossed her face. Travis gave her a sanctimonious look, hiding the BlackBerry screen from view.
Finally, Travis lowered the BlackBerry so everyone could see. The blue-black evening sky seemed to darken a few shades. Travis breathed heavily next to her, reeking of pot smoke, and pulled up a generic video uploading site. A video slowly loaded. A handheld camera panned over a clearing. No sound escaped from the speakers, as if the microphone had been muted. The camera whipped around to show a figure sitting in a chair with a black blindfold covering half her face. A round silver locket on a thick chain clung to a bony, feminine collarbone.
The girl thrashed her head frantically back and forth, the locket bouncing wildly. She flailed her arms and kicked her legs. The strangler pulled the chain harder and harder. After about thirty seconds, the girl in the video stopped struggling and went limp. Emma backed away from the screen. Had they just watched someone die? What the hell? And what did this have to do with her? The camera remained fixed on the blindfolded girl.
Then the picture went momentarily dark again. When an image snapped back on the screen, 11 Emma could still see a sideways shot of the figure in the chair.
Someone walked up to the girl and pulled the blindfold off her head. After a long pause, the girl coughed. Tears dotted her eyes. The corners of her mouth pulled down. She blinked slowly. For a split second before the screen went dark, she stared half consciously into the lens. Clarice gasped loudly. She looked exactly like her. That was because the girl in the video was me. Emma had the same thick, wavy, chestnut-brown hair as the girl in the movie. The same round chin.
She shuddered. I watched the video again in horror, too. The locket glinting in the light caused a tiny shard of a memory to 12 The video itself brought back nothing though. I wished I could slap my post-death memory across the face. But the video had to be how I died, right?
And how did the video get posted online? Had my family seen it? My friends? Was this some kind of twisted ransom note? Emma finally glanced up from the screen. Clarice raked her fingers through her hair. One of them almost died. The girl in this video is someone else. Travis rolled his eyes. A long-lost sister? An evil twin? The breeze smelled like wet pavement, a telltale sign that a storm was close. A long-lost sister.
It was possible. A thought burned in my mind, too: I was adopted. That much I remembered. It was common knowledge in my family; my parents had never tried to hide it. Could it be possible? It explained why I was literally stuck to this girl who looked just like me, following her around as if our souls had been tethered together.
Clarice tapped her long nails on the table. I swear. All she had to do was call Eddie, her manager at the roller coaster. But Travis got to her bag first, knocking it over so all of its contents spilled out onto the pavement. Emma watched helplessly as her tattered copy of The Sun Also Rises landed on a dusty anthill.
Her BlackBerry and a tube of cherry-flavored 14 ChapStick skittered to a stop next to a terra-cotta turtle. Last but not least, there was a suspicious-looking wad of bills held together with a thick purple rubber band. Emma was too stunned to speak.
Clarice snatched the money and licked her pointer finger to count it. She held up a twenty with blue scribble in the upper left-hand corner. Even in the fading light, Emma could see a big looped B, presumably for Bruce Willis. He crossed his arms over his chest, and his top lip was curled in a sneer.
All at once, she understood what was going on. Her lips started to twitch, just like they always did when she was about to lose it. Something inside Emma broke loose. Screw keeping the peace. Screw adapting to whatever the foster family needed her to be. She shot for him, grabbing Travis by his meaty neck.
Emma staggered backward, bumping against one of the patio chairs. Clarice spun Emma around so that they were face-to-face. She glowered at Travis again. He had flattened himself against the wall, his arms in front of him protectively, but there was a thrilled glow in his eyes. Clarice turned away from Emma, sank down in the chair, and rubbed her eyes. Mascara smudged on her fingertips.
She raised her head and gazed soberly at Emma. Her face softened. As soon as she was out of view, Travis peeled himself off the wall and straightened up to full height. He sauntered casually around Emma, scooped up the tiny nub of the joint that was still under the chair, blew off the bits of dried grass that had stuck to the tip, and dropped it into his enormous pants pocket.
Emma said nothing as he swaggered back into the house. She wanted to leap up and claw his eyes out, but her legs felt like they had been filled witssh heavy wet clay. Her eyes blurred with tears. This again. Emma had 16 She needed her mom to read the big words. She needed her mom to do the voices. Even now, it still hurt. The patio was silent. The wind blew the hanging spider plants and palm trees sideways.
Emma stared blankly at the terra-cotta sculpture of a shapely woman that Travis and his friends liked to dry-hump. So that was that. No more staying here until the end of high school. No more applying to a photojournalism program at USC … or even community college.
She had nowhere to go. No one to turn to. Unless … Suddenly, the image from the video fluttered through her mind once more. Her heart lifted. She had to find her. If only I could have told her it was too late. Why wait to 17 She also held her phone to her ear, talking to Alexandra Stokes, her best friend from back in Henderson.
She might be cool with it. She and Alex had been on the cross- country team together last year. Emma had had a great time, but Ms. Stokes was a single mom with enough to manage already. Soft smacking sounds filled the receiver; she was probably chomping on a piece of chocolate Twizzlers, her favorite candy. Emma picked at a loose military patch on the old duffel. I promise. After Emma hung up, she sat on the carpet and looked around.
She stared into the open bureau drawer, which contained her favorite things, the stuff she carried to every foster home. There was the hand-knitted monster toy Mrs. And there was Socktopus, the threadbare stuffed octopus Becky had bought for Emma during a road trip to Four Corners. Emma had mastered the thrift store circuit. Finally, Emma lifted the battered Polaroid camera and a large stack of Polaroid photos from the corner of the drawer.
Perhaps a Long-Lost Sister? Taking a deep breath, she set it on the bed and opened the lid. The screen glowed to life, and Emma quickly called up the video site where Travis had found the fake strangling film. The familiar video was the very first item on the list. It had been posted earlier that evening. Emma pressed PLAY, and the grainy image appeared. The blindfolded girl bucked and scratched. The dark figure pulled the necklace taut around her neck. Then the camera fell, and someone emerged and whipped off the blindfold.
She looked around frantically, her eyes rolling around in her head like loose marbles. Then she looked at the camera. Her blue- green eyes were glassy and her pink lips glowed. Everything about it was the same. I wished I could answer her. I wished I could do something useful instead of just dangling over her silently like a creepy ghost-stalker.
The clip ended, and the site asked Emma if she wanted to replay it. The bed springs squeaked as she shifted her weight, thinking. After a moment, she typed SuttonInAz into a Google search. A few sites 20 Screeching tires out the window sounded like a cackle. The Facebook page loaded, and Emma gasped. There was Sutton Mercer, standing in a foyer of a house with a bunch of girls by her side. She wore a black halter-style dress, a sparkly headband, and silver high heels. Emma blinked at her face, feeling queasy.
The more Emma thought about it, the more she could believe she had a long-lost twin. For one thing, there were certain times in life where she felt accompanied, as if someone was watching her. Perhaps Emma was right, I thought. Emma moved the mouse over the girls standing next to Sutton in the photo. Madeline had sleek black hair, huge brown eyes, a willowy build, and a gap between her front teeth, just like Madonna.
Her head tilted suggestively to one side. There 21 The girl next to Madeline was a redhead named Charlotte Chamberlain. She had pink, pale skin and pretty green eyes, and wore a black silk dress that tugged over her broad shoulders. Two blondes with similar wide eyes and upturned noses stood on either end of the group. I recognized the girls in the photos. I understood we used to be close. Emma scrolled down the page. Most of the Facebook profile was public.
Sutton Mercer was going to be a senior this year, just like Emma. She attended a school called Hollier High. Emma frowned at the line. Yeah, I had no idea what it meant, either. Next, Emma clicked on the photo page and peered at a picture of a bunch of girls in tennis polos, skirts, and sneakers.
She stood third from the left, her hair pulled back tautly into a smooth ponytail. Emma moved the mouse to the dark-haired Indian girl to the right. There was a saccharine, kiss-ass smile on her face. I stared hard at her, a spotty, snapping sensation coursing through my weightless body.
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