The Long Way Home

by Andrew Klavan

  “It’ll be okay,” I told her.

  We pushed out into the fresh air of the autumn night. The sirens sounded louder outside. They were close, though I still couldn’t see the lights.

  I turned to face Beth, holding her hand. She lifted her face to me. Her eyes were clear now, clear and soft and kind. She was the Beth I knew.

  “I have to go,” I told her.

  “Don’t,” she said. “You can’t. You’re hurt. You need a doctor.”

  She gripped my hand tighter and took my other hand too. I raised her hands to my lips and kissed them.

  “I have to. The police. You hear them?” The sirens grew louder in the night. I looked into her eyes. “Tell them, Beth. Tell them it was Sherman. Tell them he’s the one who killed Alex, who sent these men. Tell them to go to the Ghost Mansion. I left him there. Tell them what happened tonight.”

  “Stay, Charlie. You can tell them yourself. They’ll believe you now. They have to.”

  “I can’t. It’ll be his word against mine—and I’m a convicted killer. I can’t take the chance they’ll arrest me again. There’s something I have to do. Someone I have to find.”

  “No. No. You’re hurt . . .”

  “Beth . . .”

  “Please,” she said. Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m so scared for you. Every day. I’m so scared. Don’t go.”

  I wrapped my arms around her. I held her close to me. I pressed the side of my face against hers and felt her tears on my cheek. I heard the sirens grow louder and louder. Would they ever stop? Would they ever stop chasing me?

  I whispered quickly into Beth’s ear, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But I have to do this. I have to go. I think I know who I am now. I think I was sent to do something, something important. I have to find the man who sent me. I have to do what he sent me to do.”

  “Why?” she burst out angrily. She was crying hard now. “Why does it have to be you, Charlie? Why do you have to leave me again? Why do you have to fight? Why do you have to be hunted and hated and shot at and hurt? Why can’t it be someone else?”

  For another moment, I held her as close as I could. I tried to keep the feel of her in my mind and the smell of her and the sound of her voice so I could remember it all in the days to come when I was alone.

  “Why does it have to be you?” she said again.

  “Because,” I told her, “I’m the good guys.”

  But now, the red glow of the police cars’ lights shone on the canopy of trees down the street. The headlights of the cruisers appeared, racing toward us.

  Using all my willpower, I pushed Beth away, letting only my hands linger on her shoulders. I looked down into her eyes.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Tell Josh and Rick and Miler— tell them I said thank you.”

  She nodded. I could see it was hard for her, but she did. “I will,” she whispered. And then she forced herself to say, “You’d better hurry.”

  “I don’t want to let you go.”

  “I know. I don’t want you to. But they’re coming. You have to leave.”

  I took my hands off her. I never wanted to do it, never. It broke my heart.

  We looked at each other as the red lights of the cruisers played over us.

  “I will come back, Beth,” I said. “God is my witness.”

  She tried her best to smile. She whispered, “Run, Charlie. Run.”

  And I did.