His
father mumbled something that he didn’t hear. He wasn’t watching, but he heard
a quick smack and the sound of his mother gasping. He shut his eyes tight,
trying to block it out.
“We’ll
be home soon,” his mother whispered. He didn’t need to see her to know she had
tears in her eyes. He wanted to cry too.
He
wished they could speak some secret language. If they could, he would tell her
not to worry. He would tell her it was going to be okay. His mom started to
sing, low and soft. Even his dad loved his mother’s singing. She had the voice
of an angel, he’d heard his dad say once.
She
did sound like an angel. He loved her voice. He closed his eyes and listened to
her, letting all the bad thoughts out.
His
father growled something.
His
mother kept singing.
He
looked up and watched her. He wanted to tell her not to fight with him. But he
knew she was trying to be strong, trying to stand up to him.
Just
then, his father’s hand shot out. He grabbed his mother by the neck and banged
her head against the window.
“No,”
he screamed, jumping forward. He pounded on his dad’s shoulders, fists flying.
His
dad slapped back at him, and he fell against the door. His head smacked hard
against the handle of the door, but he didn’t make a sound. He tasted blood on
his lip.
“I’ll
deal with you when we get home,” his dad said. “Don’t you make me have to pull
this car over.”
His
mother was crying softly in the front seat, holding her head.
“Shut
your yapping,” his father said.
His
mother stopped.
He
looked over at his brother. You okay? his brother asked him without speaking.
He nodded and tucked his sore head back into his shirt, blowing hot air to keep
himself warm.
The
car grew silent. He could hear the clink of his dad’s beer can as he tapped a
rhythm against the steering wheel.
He
curled up in a ball, resting his head against the baby’s seat and trying to
sleep. No one else moved. Even the baby knew enough to pretend nothing was
happening.
He
wished it was just the kids and his mom. He wished his dad would die. He wished
his dad would get drunk and drive himself into a tree like old Mr. Potter did
last winter. Or maybe fall in a pool and drown. Or go hunting with Sam and
Lowell and get shot. How come his dad drank so much and always ended up okay?
He’d
heard his father and Sam and Lowell talking about hunting accidents when they
were sitting on the porch drinking. His room was right there, and he could hear
everything. Some guy had aimed at a buck and took the head off another hunter.
How come nobody did that to his dad?
He
had to think of something. He had to get them away. The car swerved and his
father snorted. His mother gasped but kept her silence. Just then, he got an
idea.
He
caught his brother’s eye. He tugged on his seatbelt and pointed to his brother.
He nodded and pulled the belt away from his chest to show it was on. He pointed
to his mom. His brother peered between her seat and the door and then looked
back, nodding. He checked the baby’s seatbelt. Everyone was belted in but his
dad. He had learned about seatbelts in school. They’d watched a video with two
dummies. One had worn a seatbelt and one had not. The one without the seatbelt
was all messed up, springs coming loose and his head almost falling off. But
the one who wore the seatbelt was fine. The seatbelt would keep everyone safe.
And then they could live happily, without his dad. He smiled at his idea.
His
brother looked at him and frowned, but he shook his head. He couldn’t explain
or his dad would wonderwhat was going on. Pretending to sleep, he rested his
head against the baby’s seat and closed his eyes.
He
counted to twenty-five and then opened one eye. His father’s head bobbed once
and then twice and then popped back up. He reached his foot forward, resting it
on the emergency brake just out of his dad’s sight. He waited, the muscle in
his leg tense, until he saw his father’s head bob again. Then he kicked as hard
as he could, pushing his father’s hand into the gearshift.
His
father cursed and the car careened to the left. His father jerked it back, and
he felt his head slam against the window.
Through
the windshield he looked for the road, but it was out of focus. Grabbing hold
of the baby’s seat, he heard his mother scream as the car hit the guardrail and
broke through.
Rob
woke in a sweat and wiped his face with his jacket. He stood up and tried to
shake the images out of his mind. He couldn’t make them go away. He rubbed his
head. He hated the dreams the most. Waking, he always felt like he was right
there. He wanted to cry.
He
paced the little room like a caged animal. Sweat poured down his back and
pooled at the elastic waistband of his shorts. He’d long since shed his
sweatshirt. Everything had gone crazy since Nick had awakened him that morning.
Without any explanation—at least none that made sense to him—they brought him
here and people started pointing at him like a killer. They’d taken his photo
and his fingerprints, made him fill out forms.
Then
they’d been in a courtroom and two people had I.D.’d him. Him. They’d said he
was the killer. He put his hands in his hair and pulled. Tears caught in his
throat, and he couldn’t hold them back. Please, God. What was going on? How
could these people have seen him do something he didn’t do?
He
was being punished. God was punishing him for what he’d done all those years
ago. Jesus. He tugged at his hair, the spiky pain making tears run down his
cheeks. He hadn’t meant it. He felt his knees shake at the memory of that day.
Poor Becky. He’d never meant to hurt her. She was just a baby.
He
leaned up against one wall and sank to the floor, crying. “I’m so sorry, Becky.
I’m so so sorry.” He dropped his head onto his folded arms and let the quake of
tears loose. The salty river was cathartic, draining his fear from him.
When
the tears subsided, he was left with exhaustion, pure and simple. He swept his
dirty shirtsleeve across his face and waited—waited for whatever was next. He
had hoped the release would ease his anxiety, but every minute that passed
built it back up until it threatened to overflow again. He stood and began
pacing, trying not to think about anything. Just move, he told himself. But
every time he paused, the word “killer” flashed through his head and brought
with it the sharp, cold stab of terror.
By
the time the door opened and Nick came in, Rob nearly sprang on him. “Oh, thank
God, man! Thank God you’re here! What the hell’s going on? What were those
people saying? I didn’t do this, Nick. I didn’t do anything. I swear. It’s some
mistake.”
Nick
nodded and put his hand on Rob’s shoulder. “Calm down, buddy. Calm down.”
He
pulled a chair out and motioned for Rob to sit.
“I
can’t. You don’t know what it’s like in here. I feel like I’m in prison.” His
mouth fell open. “That’s what it’s going to be like, isn’t it? Oh, God.
Prison.”
Nick
took him by the shoulders and pushed him into the chair. Then he pulled another
chair up and sat in it. “I’m as shocked about this as you are, believe me.
You’re not going to prison. I’m sorry you had to wait in here, but I had to
talk to some people. I’ll get you out as soon as I can. But you’ve got to help
me answer some questions. Can you help me do that?”
“Yeah.
I’ll do anything. Where’s Aunt Sam?”
“She
had to go to the courthouse and talk to the judge to make sure you can go home
tonight, and then she had to find your brother. She told me to tell you she
loves you and everything’s going to be fine. She’ll be here soon.”
Unable
to control himself, Rob started to cry again. Sob was more like it. His
shoulders shook, tears tracked down his face, and he could taste their sweaty
flavor when they hit his lips. He’d thought they were all gone, but a new batch
had stored up that quickly.
Nick
put his hands on Rob’s shoulders. “I swear, Rob. It’s going to work just like
that.” He leaned forward. “Everything is going to be okay.”
Rob
swiped clumsily at his tears and nodded. “Sorry,” he sniffled, trying to gather
his composure.
“No
problem. In the meantime, you and I need to work to answer some questions,
okay?”
Rob
nodded. “I didn’t do it. I swear, I didn’t kill those ladies,” he said.
Nick
narrowed his eyes and watched him, nodding slowly. “I know.”
“What
do we do now?”
“It’s
like I said, Rob,” Nick said, meeting his eyes squarely. “We just need to
answer some questions.”
“What
kind of questions?”
“You’ve
heard of a polygraph test?”
Rob
shrugged. Every time he tried to clear his brain, a rush of panic blew clouds
over it again. He couldn’t think of what anything meant.
“It’s
a lie detector test,” Nick explained. “They want you to take one of those for
them.”
He
bolted from his chair. “A lie detector test? No way. I’ve seen them fake those
things on TV. Hook me up to some wires and then make it look like I did
something I didn’t do.”
Nick
stood in front of him, their eyes almost exactly level. “Sit down,” he said,
pulling on Rob’s arm. “It’s not going to be like that. No one’s tricking you
into anything. A lie detector test is going to prove you didn’t do it.” Nick’s
eyes met Rob’s as he made his point, and then he looked away.
“You
think I did it,” Rob charged. “My God! You think I could have killed someone.”
“Of
course not. But imagine how they’re seeing it for a second. These people—not
just one but two of them—came forward and identified you. The deaf kid from
that street, the man who said he saw you by Eva Larson’s house. How could that
be?”
Rob’s
breath came in fast, wheezy waves. “I don’t know. I have no idea.” But he did.
He
thought about the other person in this world who looked just like him. Derek
wouldn’t do this to him. He wouldn’t let Rob hang. He wouldn’t kill. Why would
he have killed those women?
But
an image kept coming back to him. Rob remembered the way Derek had responded to
their father, the fear in his face whenever their father got close. Rob bit his
tongue. It couldn’t be Derek. He shut the door on those thoughts and studied
the hope in Nick’s eyes. “I’ll take the test, if that’s what they want.”
Nick
nodded and stepped away from him, sitting on the edge of the table. He was
silent for a minute. “Rob, what about Derek?” he asked, finally.
Rob
stared at the floor. “What about him?”
“Could
he ride your motorcycle?”
“No
way,” Rob said, suddenly angry. “Leave Derek out of this. He can hardly walk.
He’s been through enough.” Rob knew what Nick was thinking. The man who said he
had seen Rob run down the street. Run. Rob could run. He was a good runner. But
Derek wasn’t. Derek could hardly walk without a limp. How could he possibly
have run down the street or ridden his motorcycle? Rob didn’t want to think
about it. Derek couldn’t walk. He rubbed his face. He would know if his brother
could walk.
“Rob,
what are you thinking?”
Rob
looked up at him. “Nothing. I don’t know.”
“You’re
sure about Derek?”
Rob’s
heartbeat started to pound in his ears.
“Rob?”
“I’m—”
But was he sure? Not really. He forced himself to nod. “I’m sure. Now when can
I take the test?” he asked.
Rob
watched the man set up the lie test. Polaski was his name. He was ugly with
badly pockmarked skin, a huge scar, and a mean glare. Nick sat in a chair
beside Rob and talked to him while the man worked.
“All
you’ve got to do is tell the truth,” Nick explained. “The machine reads your
heart rate, then prints it out on paper.” He pulled a test from someone else
out of the trash and showed Rob. It was a continuous piece of long paper like
the kind in the printer at the school library. On each page was a line that
squiggled up and down like Rob had seen from the machines on TV that measured
people’s brain waves or something.
“When
people lie,” Nick continued, “their heart rate increases and the paper shows
these peaks.” He pointed to one.
“Unless
they’re sociopaths,” Polaski cut in. “Sociopaths can lie without the least
reaction at all.” His eyes rested on Rob. “And I’ve seen ’em younger than you,”
he added.
Rob’s
mouth dropped open, fear preventing him from saying anything. He thought if the
machine was hooked up to him now the red line would be off the top of the
paper.
“I’ve
heard assholes test similarly,” Nick said. “How about you, Polaski? You a
sociopath or just an asshole?”
Polaski
frowned. “No need to be nasty, Thomas.”
“One
more comment like that, and your ass is out of here,” Nick told him. “This is a
minor, not one of your usual suspects.”
Flushed,
Polaski turned back to the machine and began working intently on something.
Nick
turned to Rob and smiled. “Forget about that,” he said, as though the ugly cop
had left the room. “Like I said, all you have to do is tell the truth. This
isn’t a trial and it’s not going to be used for anything except helping the
police figure out who did this. So you’ve got nothing to lose. Understand?”
Rob
nodded, thankful Nick was there.
“Fucking
prep the witness,” Polaski muttered, barely low enough to be considered under
his breath.
Nick
patted Rob’s shoulder and spoke without turning around. “Polaski, I’ll be
asking the questions. Once you’ve got it set up, you can leave us alone.”
Polaski
looked up from the machine, his gaze a hot laser in the back of Nick’s head.