Tell me to Lie

by Charlotte Byrd

  “I haven’t heard that name in many years,” he says slowly.

  “But you are Pink Eye?” Sydney asks.

  He gives her a slight nod.

  “I was…once.”

  When his wife comes in and brings us glasses of water and a bowl of cookies, I see his whole body tense up.

  “My wife and I are very close, but she doesn’t know anything about my old life,” he explains. “And I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “Yes, of course,” I agree.

  “So, you were friends with my brother?” I ask.

  “Yes. We were very close. But his arrest, the one he got all of that time for, that was a big wakeup call for me. That’s when I stopped associating with all of our old friends and moved to Pennsylvania to my grandmother’s house. That’s when I really started focusing on school and ended up getting a PhD in psychology.”

  “And that’s what you do now? Teach?” Sydney asks.

  “Teach and do research. I also maintain a practice part-time, focusing on people dealing with post-traumatic stress.”

  I take a sip of my water and Sydney breaks off a little bit of the cookie.

  “I have a small bar in here if you want to take the edge off,” Robert says, walking over to a globe.

  When he lifts the top, I see crystal bottles of various dark liquors. At first, I plan on saying no but it has been a long and stressful day with a lot of anticipation.

  When he offers to pour me a bit of whiskey, I can’t resist.

  “So, you and Owen were close back then?”

  “Yeah, I met him in the neighborhood and we were best friends for a few years. We did a lot of bad things together.”

  I swirl the golden brown liquid in my tumbler and then take a sip, enjoying the initial burn that levels out and spreads warmth throughout my body.

  “Can you tell me about Owen’s girlfriend, Nina?” I ask.

  A smile appears on Robert’s face.

  “Nina was effervescent and so full of life. She was always laughing and making jokes. She seemed to walk on air.”

  I try to imagine the person that she knew as my brother. Was he kind and loving? Did prison turn him into the man I discovered him to be or was he always like that?

  “Owen was obsessed with her. They were really in love at first, the way that teenagers are. They made plans. They wanted to get married. But then after a while, she got tired of him.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “When they were dating and I wanted to hang out with Owen, we always had to hang out together. I liked Nina but I didn’t like being a third wheel. But I was there when things started changing between them. At first, they were inseparable. They wouldn’t go a day without seeing each other. But after a while, she would make these excuses as to why she couldn’t hang out. He believed her at first, but then they started to grate on him…”

  His voice trails off and he looks out of the window, lost in his memories.

  “Was she cheating on him?” Sydney asks.

  “No, I don’t think she ever cheated on him even though I’m sure that Owen did. She just started to pull away and the further away she got, the more he wanted her closer.”

  “Was he possessive?” I ask.

  He doesn’t want to come out and say it but I can tell by his expression that that’s exactly what he means.

  “She ended up breaking up with him. But he still refused to take no for an answer. He called her incessantly and started following her. At first, she answered his calls and tried to explain but then she just started to ignore him. That made things…worse.”

  19

  Olive

  When I try to figure out what to do…

  I inhale deeply.

  I start to have flashbacks to everything that Owen has put me through.

  I take another breath, this time exhaling very slowly in an effort to steady my mind.

  The behavior that Robert just described is, unfortunately, all too familiar to me.

  “So what happened then?” I ask. He looks away and takes a few slow sips to finish his drink. When he is done, he looks at me.

  “I have a feeling you know.”

  “Please tell me.”

  “She started seeing this guy Nicky we knew. And then they found her dead.”

  “Did Nicky kill her?” I ask, clenching my fists.

  He doesn’t know yet that he’s talking about Nicholas and that’s a good thing.

  I want to know the truth.

  I don’t want him to sugarcoat anything on my behalf.

  Robert shakes his head furiously. “Nicky? No, he didn’t kill her.”

  “How do you know?” I ask.

  “Soon after that, Owen got arrested for that convenience store shooting and I got really freaked out about everything that had been going on,” Robert says, ignoring my question. “That’s when I decided to just take off and move in with my grandma. Get as far away from that whole life as possible.”

  I nod. “That was probably a good idea.”

  “But I still think about Nina all the time. Especially now that I have a daughter who is getting a little bit older. What would I think if something like that happened to her when she was a teenager? I’d want answers, that’s what.”

  “My boyfriend is a suspect in her death,” I say slowly.

  I don’t mention that he has officially been arrested for the murder of someone else as well and they are just building a case against him to include Nina’s case.

  He furrows his brow and sits up in his seat. “Who is your boyfriend?”

  “Nicholas Crawford. You knew him as Nicky C.”

  Robert shakes his head, muttering no, no, no under his breath.

  “He didn’t do it?” I ask.

  Our eyes meet and he looks me square on without blinking. “Absolutely not.”

  “Who did?” I ask.

  I feel my body starting to tremble because I suspect that I know the answer before he even says the words out loud.

  “Owen,” Robert says quietly.

  “How do you know for sure?”

  “He came to me and told me.”

  Now, it’s my turn to sit back and absorb everything that he just said. “But why didn’t you come forward? Why didn’t you tell the cops?”

  “I couldn’t.”

  Because of some street code? I want to yell. What about her parents? What about now? Don’t you feel guilty?

  “Why?” I whisper, as these thoughts flow through me like a river. Anger rises within me. I’m angry that there’s a dark cloud hanging over Nicholas for something someone knows for sure he didn’t do. But mostly, I’m angry at Owen for making me suspect Nicholas in that terrible crime.

  “I couldn’t come forward because I had robbed a bank that night and Owen knew it. He had proof. He was my alibi. So, when he came to my place covered in blood, I became his alibi.”

  We don’t stay at Robert’s house much longer. Our goodbye is brief, leaving a lot of things still unsaid.

  I want to blame him for what happened back then.

  I want to blame him for not coming forward, but who would?

  Would I?

  I can see that the guilt of what has happened still wears on him. Nina’s parents don’t know what happened to their daughter but he does and he could give them some solace except to do that would mean upending his own life and his own family.

  Sydney and I talk about this on our way to our rental cabin.

  “You know, you have to admit that this is still good news,” she says as I turn down a narrow road in between sweeping snow-covered pine trees.

  “Is this the right way?”

  She checks her phone and nods.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Well, we now know for sure that Nicholas had nothing to do with that and we have an eyewitness to who did.”

  “Not exactly an eyewitness.”

  “Okay, whatever they would call it. Owen came to him covered in blood,
that has to count for something.”

  “It does, of course. But only if he testifies in court and only if the FBI even believes him in the first place.”

  She takes a deep breath. “You know, you don’t have to be so negative about this. You got a real breakthrough here. Why don’t you accept it for what it is?”

  I glance over at her.

  I want to be as overjoyed as she is but somehow, she doesn’t seem to see all the obstacles that are still in our way.

  Like his wife, for one.

  “Robert never even told his wife about this,” I point out. “I’m not sure he will be willing to talk to the prosecutor.”

  “So, why did he tell you?”

  “Because I already kind of knew. He wanted to get it off his chest. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to confess anything on record.”

  Sydney crosses her arms in a huff. “Does that mean he’s going to just watch an innocent man go to prison for a crime he didn’t commit?”

  I shake my head.

  I don’t think he will go that far, but the thing is that Nicholas isn’t even officially arrested for that crime.

  He’s just a suspect, but there are no formal charges.

  I park in front of the cabin and we drag our suitcases through the poorly plowed snow.

  When I get to the door, I worry that the code might not even work given the low quality of hospitality at the curb.

  But I’m pleasantly surprised.

  The cabin looks even nicer than it did on the picture and the owner even started the electric fireplace and the heater to warm the place up for us.

  Solly looks concerned at first but then relaxes when I put him on the couch and let him curl up next to the fire.

  “This is going to be a cozy place to spend the night,” I say, putting my suitcase on the twin bed by the window.

  Sydney is likewise impressed. After we take off our boots and change into our comfy clothes, Sydney makes hot chocolate.

  “Thanks for coming,” I say. “I don’t think I could’ve done this on my own.”

  “You could have and you would have, but thank you.” She gives me a wink.

  “What do I do now?” I ask, staring absentmindedly at the flames dancing in front of me. “How do I convince the FBI that Nicholas didn’t commit either of those crimes?”

  “You probably have to make an appointment with the district attorney and go talk to him or her.”

  “I can do that?” I ask.

  “Anyone can. Since you’re his girlfriend, I’m sure that he’ll meet with you and hear you out.”

  “Will he believe me?” I ask, playing with the tiny marshmallow in my cup.

  “I have no idea,” she says, placing her hand on my foot to show her support. “He’s not still in Montana, is he?”

  I shake my head.

  “No, I don’t think so. The murder happened in Massachusetts so they’ll hold the trial there.”

  “Well, good, that way you won’t have to travel far to go see the DA.”

  I nod. Yeah, what great news, I think to myself sarcastically.

  “Okay, just put that out of your mind for now. Let’s relax a little bit, enjoy this hot cocoa, and try to laugh.”

  I glance over at her.

  Her face is stoic.

  She’s being completely serious.

  I give her a slight nod and say, “Okay, you tell me a joke first.”

  20

  Nicholas

  When I’m alone…

  I’ve never had much interest in music growing up. I’ve listened to my share of rap and rock ’n roll, just like any other teenager but I never really developed a taste for music.

  It was always the words that I had focused on.

  And now, sitting here and staring at these cinder block walls twenty-four hours a day, I try my best to remember even the most basic melodies to keep my mind occupied.

  For some reason, the Christmas song, The Little Drummer Boy, comes to me and I run over the drum beat in my head. I know that it goes somewhere and doesn’t just end after a few notes, but where I have no idea.

  After I recovered somewhat in the infirmary, they transferred me to Massachusetts and put me into solitary confinement.

  It’s apparently for my own good since I’m somewhat of a celebrity and they are worried that I might not make it to trial.

  But solitary isn’t what it’s cracked up to be, and it’s not really cracked up to be much.

  I’m entitled to one hour of outside time but I can only be out there when no one else is.

  There are a few of us in solitary and the guards don’t always take us outside. Someone’s supposed to oversee the schedule, but it’s not like we’re in any position to complain.

  When I first got here, I counted down the days by marking them on a piece of paper but then I got sick.

  It was just a cold, but with my weakened immune system, it took me almost a week to recover and after that I didn’t care about keeping track of days anymore.

  Who gives a fuck anyway, right? I’m just another loser that the state has locked away.

  All I can do in here is wait.

  Wait and go through various stages of grief.

  Last week all I felt was anger but now all I feel is apathy. It’s like it doesn’t matter what they’re going to accuse me of next or what they’ll do to me because I’ve already lost the one thing that I ever cared about; Olive.

  But as soon as my thoughts come back to her, a spark that I didn’t even know existed ignites somewhere in the back of my mind.

  I have to fight to get out of here, if for no other reason than Olive.

  I didn’t do this.

  I did a lot of bad things but I didn’t kill David or Nina and I can’t go down for murders I didn’t commit.

  But mostly, I can’t let them put me away and have her believe them.

  “Do you?” I ask. “Do you believe them, Olive?”

  I wait for her to answer, but she doesn’t.

  “Please don’t. Please remember who I was. Please believe me.”

  Tears start to well up in the back of my eyes but they emerge as anger as my fists collide with the pillow.

  I take my anger out on it, flattening it beyond anything that’s useful.

  When I calm myself down, I sit down in the chair and write her another letter. I don’t know where to send these and I doubt she’ll ever read them but I have to write them anyway. I have to tell her the truth.

  The guards go through my letters.

  Nothing in prison is private.

  And any smart inmate would never put any of their past crimes on paper, substantiating them into existence, but I’m not smart.

  And I don’t really care.

  All I want is for Olive to get these letters somehow.

  All I want is for her to know the truth about me.

  I want her to know what I did and what I didn’t do.

  I want her to know that I didn’t kill David and that I didn’t kill Nina.

  I don’t know who did and I know that I look like the most likely suspect but I want her to believe me anyway.

  After I finish the letter, I put it on top of the stack of the other ones next to my bed and lie down again.

  I don’t know what time it is except that it must be day since the lights are still all on. That doesn’t stop me from lying down, covering myself with a sheet and closing my eyes. Times of day don’t matter much here. I am able to sleep anytime I want. The only problem is that I rarely can.

  Sometime later, I open my eyes and nothing is different. The lights are still fluorescent and harsh and the time of day is still a mystery. It’s sometime between lunch and dinner, but when? I have no idea.

  Whenever it is, I’m not going outside again today.

  They either forgot or don’t care to take me there. I was looking forward to it even though it’s just walking around a larger cement cage in circles all by myself as a guard watches me from the tower.

&n
bsp; I want to spend all of my days in bed, but it’s hard and uncomfortable and it makes my back and neck ache.

  Besides, I feel my muscles atrophying with each passing day and I can’t let that happen. I get up and force myself to do push-ups.

  I count to one-hundred and, by the time I get to the nineties, my form deteriorates.

  Then I move on to jumping jacks.

  Another hundred.

  Sit-ups.

  Another hundred.

  I don’t feel the tightness in my stomach like I usually do, so I keep going to two hundred.

  Who cares, right? Anything to pass the time.

  Despite the physical pain, my thoughts come back to Olive.

  I lose myself in that cottage by the sea.

  I lose myself in her beautiful hair and her soft body.

  I imagine our child and our dog and those chickens she is afraid of but secretly wants.

  How’s Solly? I wonder.

  Is he taking good care of her?

  Will he get along well with our dog and baby?

  Of course, he will.

  He will even love playing with our chickens.

  Why? Because it’s my fucking imagination.

  I run in place for a while, at first counting to one hundred and then giving up and just letting my mind drift.

  I spend a lot time with Olive here but there’s one thought that I always push away.

  Today, it catches me by surprise and somehow penetrates my ideal world and throws acid all over it.

  What if it was Olive?

  What if I’m here all because of her?

  21

  Olive

  When I get back home…

  It takes me a few days to schedule the appointment with the district attorney in charge of Nicholas’ case. Perhaps, I should first go to his lawyer, but I don’t want the DA to think that I’m biased, or any more biased than I probably am.

  I watch interviews with him online in order to prepare myself but they don’t make me feel any better. He is combative and not particularly kind. He’s the shark that I guess the state wants him to be. Still, I don’t have many options and I force myself to suck it up and do what’s right.