The Truth of the Matter

by Andrew Klavan

  The meat became tasteless in my mouth. My throat felt so thick, I didn’t think I’d be able to swallow. Why had I agreed to this? What had I done?

  No one will know any more than they have to, Waterman had told me. Only a very small group of individuals will be in possession of all the facts. We’ll get you arrested and convicted as quickly as we can and arrange the breakout from prison as soon as possible. But we have to be careful not to let it look too easy, or the Homelanders will get suspicious. Also, we need to give Sherman enough time to feel he’s converted you to his point of view. So in the meantime, you’ll have to be patient and look after yourself. Basically, from now on, you’ll be on your own.

  As I chewed the meat that now tasted like cardboard, Waterman’s voice replayed in my head. But at the same time, there was another voice nattering away almost without a break. It was my sister, Amy. She was sitting across the table from me, talking full speed.

  Coming out of my own thoughts, I lifted my eyes to her. Amy was a year older than me. For as long as I could remember, she had been—not the worst person in the world or anything like that—just what you might call a source of unrelenting annoyance. Having Amy for a sister was like having this irritating high-pitched noise sounding constantly in your ear . . . while someone hit you over the head with a hammer at the same time. It wasn’t the constant talking that bothered me, it was the constant emotion. She was always really, really something-or-other—really, really happy; really, really sad; really, really nervous or frightened or excited. Whatever emotion it was, it was always as if she were experiencing it for the first time ever on planet Earth and experiencing it more powerfully than anyone on the planet would ever experience it again.

  “So Mandy is all, like, I have to go to college in California, I just have to, and her mom is all, like, absolutely not, I am not sending my baby so far away, and Mandy is, like, I’ll die because she and Sam are, like, Lovers Till Death and she’s, like, ‘Mom, you don’t understand, Sam is, like, going CRA,’ and she’s like all, ‘CRA? What’s CRA?’ because Mandy’s mom is so basically clueless and Mandy is like screaming at this point, ‘It’s College Rules Apply! College Rules Apply!’ because basically Sam figures he can be with anyone he wants now as long as Mandy’s not in the same state and Mandy is so I’m-going-to-throw-myself-out-the-window . . .”

  With her being my sister and all, it was hard for me to judge, but I think Amy must have been pretty. She had long, straight brown hair and a sort of round face with blue eyes, all of which looked okay enough to me. But I think she must’ve been more attractive to the rest of the general male population than I could see, because guys seemed to fall all over themselves to get close to her. Her conversation was always so full of Johns and Judds and Joes and Daves and so on, I couldn’t keep up with which one of them she was ready to die over at any given moment. It must have been because of her looks. It’s the only explanation I can think of. I mean, it wasn’t her personality, I feel sure about that.

  Anyway, this was her last year in high school, and right now she was involved in what to her was the unbearable drama and suspense of applying to colleges, and I guess that’s what she was rattling on about. She herself had to get in to some art school in Virginia or she was going to die, just die, and I guess her friend Mandy had to go to California or she would likely die as well. Teenage girls die a lot, if my sister is any indication. Fortunately, it doesn’t seem to hurt them much.

  Chewing that piece of cardboard meat, I looked at her from across the table. Her voice seemed to fade away and become muffled and distant. The remembered voice of Waterman returned, much louder, clearer, more real to me than Amy’s.

  You’re going to be on your own a lot from now on, Charlie. On your own, in danger, afraid. I’d tell you to brace yourself, to get used to it, but I know from personal experience that you never get used to it.

  “The suspense is killing me,” Amy said. “I swear if I get wait-listed, I’m just going to keel over on the spot . . .”

  I chewed the tasteless meat, unable to swallow, knowing it wouldn’t go down past the lump in my throat. I looked across the table at Amy. More than anything, I wanted to get up, go over to her and put my arms around her. Strange as it was, annoying as she was, I suddenly realized I was going to miss her.

  I will tell you this, Waterman had gone on as the limousine traveled through the hills. We chose you for a reason. Partly, sure, it’s just because you’re in the right place at the right time. But it was more than that. We chose you because we know you’re a warrior. We know when the going gets tough—and it’s going to get very tough, Charlie—we know you won’t surrender. In the end, that may be all we have going for us.

  “You’re not eating, Charlie. Are you all right? Are you sick? Do you have a fever?” That was my mom: Saint Mom of Perpetual Anxiety.

  I forced myself to smile at her reassuringly. It was hard to think about what it was going to be like for her when they led me away in handcuffs.

  “I’m fine, Mom,” I said. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

  I glanced at my dad. He gave me a knowing look as if to say, That’s your mom for you.

  So it went on. It was nothing. It was dinner. It was my family. The usual thing. A week ago, I’d been more than ready to leave; I’d been aching to get out of the house, get out of town, move away, go to college and start my life.

  But it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Charged with murder. Taken to prison. Dropped into the midst of terrorists.

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this at all.

  Now I was lying in my bed in the dark. For a moment, I wasn’t sure how I had come to be here so suddenly. I had a strange double sense of myself, as if I were at once here in bed and somewhere else at the same time, somewhere cold and far away where I was lying on the ground, twisting in pain . . .

  Then that double sense was gone and I was just here, now. My last night in my own bed, in my own room. I was staring up into the shadows. A car was passing on the street outside. Its headlights traveled up the dark wall, across the ceiling, down the far wall to the window. Then it was gone. I always found that comforting somehow. It was a sign of life outside, a sign that there were people in my town who would be awake while I was sleeping.

  I was still thinking about Waterman. I was thinking about how the limousine had brought me back to the reservoir, back to the spot where I’d parked my mom’s car. As it slowed to a stop, Waterman had said, There’s more to tell you, but you don’t need to hear it now. Someone will be in touch when the time comes.

  Then he’d offered me his hand. I shook it.

  Good luck, Charlie, he’d said. God knows you’re going to need it.

  Now it was daylight. The last day of my old life. The beginning of my mission.

  My bedroom was gone. I was outdoors. I was on the paved walkway by the Spring River. It was a beautiful place with grass leading down to the riverbanks and stands of birch trees all along the way. It was also our special place—mine and Beth’s. Ever since Alex’s death, we had come here to be together, to walk and talk and think things through.

  There she was now, up ahead, waiting for me under the birch trees.

  It was late autumn. The trees were almost bare. The grass was covered with their yellow leaves. Some of the leaves floated on the river, moving along its slow current. Some drifted down past Beth on the cool currents of air.

  The feeling inside me as I approached Beth on the walkway was almost impossible to bear. She looked so good standing there. So pretty, so sweet, so happy to see me. At the sight of her, I thought: I can’t do this. I can’t do this.

  But at the same time, I knew I could. I would. I had to.

  As I got closer, Beth’s expression changed. She must’ve seen the strain in my face.

  “Charlie?” she said, concerned. “Are you okay? What’s the matter?”

  She reached out to me with both her hands. But I thought if I took hold of her, I would never be able to let her g
o. Instead, I tried to put a hard look on my face. I was just trying to seem sort of cold and reserved, but it took so much effort I think I ended up looking more angry and nasty than I meant to.

  I stood apart from her. I hooked my thumbs in my pockets, trying to look tough. Trying to be tough. I’d been rehearsing what I would say through most of a sleepless night. I’d gone over it as I shaved and brushed my teeth. I’d been repeating it in my head as I’d walked over here. I had a whole speech memorized.

  But now, now that I was looking into Beth’s eyes, I forgot the speech and just blurted out:

  “Look, I don’t want to hurt your feelings or anything, but we have to stop.”

  It sounded rough and hurtful even to me. Beth blinked, confused. Her hands sank back to her sides. “Stop what?” she said.

  “Stop seeing each other,” I stumbled on. “We can’t see each other anymore.”

  This wasn’t the way I’d meant it to be at all. I was trying to make this easy on her, but my smooth speech was already in shambles and these confused little utterances would only make things worse, only hurt her more.

  “Charlie,” she said, with a little uncertain smile. “What’re you talking about? Why?”

  I cleared my throat. I tried to sound firm and tough. “Well, because . . . We just should. That’s the way I want it, all right? It’s—I don’t know—it’s just getting too serious for me. After a while, we’ll go to college or whatever and . . . What’s the point, you know? Look, I just think it’s the right thing to do. I don’t feel the same way about you anymore and I—I just want to end it, that’s all.”

  It didn’t sound firm and tough at all. Not to me anyway. It sounded like I was pleading with her, like I was begging her to just turn away, just run away so I didn’t have to go through this. I was begging her to spare me the pain of hurting her.

  But she wouldn’t. She gazed at me. She had a strange look on her face. I had this weird, uncomfortable feeling that she was gazing right into me, right into my heart, reading the feelings there. Maybe she was doing exactly that, because now she said:

  “You’re lying to me, Charlie. I never saw you lie before, but I know it when I see it. Why are you lying to me?”

  I felt the blood rush to my head. How did she see through me so easily? How had I handled this so badly after all my rehearsing? Obviously, Waterman and his people should never have picked me for this job. I mean, if I couldn’t fool my own girlfriend, how was I going to fool a bunch of terrorists?

  “I’m not . . . ,” I started to say.

  But Beth stepped forward, cutting me off in mid-sentence. “Yes, you are. I know it when I see it. You’re not doing this because your feelings have changed. You feel just the same . . .”

  “No, I don’t.” Again, I was trying to sound tough, but instead I sounded like a petulant child. Beth had called me out, and I knew it and she knew it. All I could do was deny it, all the while knowing she didn’t believe me. I felt ridiculous. I wanted to turn my back and just run.

  Beth pressed home her advantage. “Yes, you do, Charlie. Don’t lie.” I couldn’t even meet her eyes. I looked away. “Tell me what’s the matter,” she insisted.

  I forced myself to face her. I forced myself to keep my expression cold and hard. But I wanted so badly to tell her the truth. I wanted her encouragement and her advice and her help. I knew all this was visible in my eyes. I knew Beth must’ve seen it there. Still, I kept up the pretense. I had to.

  “Look,” I told her, “it just . . . It isn’t right, that’s all. You and me. It’s a mistake.”

  “Don’t say that.” Where my voice was strained and false, her tone was simple and straightforward. “You know that’s not true.”

  “You’re just going to get hurt, Beth.” Now I really was pleading with her. All my playacting at being tough and cold was falling apart. “That’s all I’m trying to tell you, all right? I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Beth wouldn’t let me off the hook. “You have to tell me what’s wrong,” she insisted.

  “Look . . .” I tried again. “Look, I can’t. I can’t tell you.

  Okay? We have to end it, that’s all. Can’t we just leave it at that?”

  “No,” Beth said. “We can’t. I mean, haven’t you been paying attention? We don’t have the right to just end this. We didn’t make it and we can’t end it.”

  “I don’t even know what that means,” I said sourly.

  But I did. I knew exactly what she meant. In stories, in movies, people fall in love all the time. They get all passionate and the music rises and they overcome all obstacles to be together and live happily ever after. But I don’t believe that happens to everyone. I don’t even believe it happens to most people. I think, in fact, it’s a rare thing to find your soul mate, to find the real, lasting love of your life—and, young as we were, I knew, down deep, as surely as I knew anything, that Beth and I had found ours.

  Beth stepped up to me. She put her hand on my arm. This time I didn’t have the willpower to pull away. “Charlie, look at me,” she said. Once again, I forced myself to meet her eyes. “Charlie, this thing happening with us—it doesn’t happen to everyone. They say it does in the movies, but it doesn’t. It’s special. You know that, right?”

  What could I say? She seemed to be taking the thoughts right out of my brain. “Yeah,” I confessed helplessly. “I know it.”

  “Then you know we can’t just throw it away because there’s some kind of trouble,” Beth said.

  I tried one more time to sound tough, to bluff this out. “I’m not trying to throw it away, I’m just . . . Aw, Beth.” I was finished. I couldn’t keep it up anymore. I couldn’t resist her, or my love for her, or the truth of what she was saying. I bowed my head and dug the heels of my palms into my eyes, as if I could hold in my misery. “I don’t even know what to do.”

  “Just tell me what’s happening,” Beth said quietly.

  The struggle inside me was epic at that point. I wanted so badly to tell her everything, but I knew that if I did I would become useless to Waterman and his people, useless in the fight against the Homelanders.

  I was answering her before I even figured out what I wanted to say. “It’s the worst thing,” I told her. “The worst thing ever.” Now all pretense was gone. I reached out for her. I took her by the shoulders. I was desperate to hold her. “They’re coming for me, Beth,” I said.

  She looked up at me, mystified. “Who? Who is?”

  “The police. They’re going to arrest me.” I nearly choked on the words.

  “Arrest you? For what?” Then I saw her figure it out: “For Alex? How do you know?”

  I wanted to tell her the whole truth, but if I didn’t lie to her now, everything was over. I said: “I know. That detective . . . Detective Rose. He called my dad. They . . . they found a knife. A combat knife. It’s the murder weapon and . . . Well, they say it has my fingerprints on it and my DN A. And they say there are traces of Alex’s blood on my clothes.”

  In fact, the call had come after I’d left the house that morning, but I’d known it was coming, Waterman had warned me. And I already knew what the call was going to say.

  Beth stared up at me. “There has to be some kind of mistake. I mean, how could that happen?”

  “I don’t know. I . . .” The urge to tell her the whole truth was almost overwhelming. I closed my eyes, fighting it back. And now, it was as if a dam broke inside me and my feelings flooded through. I couldn’t tell Beth the whole truth, but there was a piece of the truth I had to tell her. I wouldn’t be able to go through with this if I didn’t.

  “Listen to me, Beth,” I said tensely. “All right? Listen because . . . well, because I need you to get this. I didn’t kill him. Okay? No matter what happens, no matter what you hear, no matter what it looks like, I didn’t kill Alex. “I won’t.” You looked at me before and you knew I was lying. Now I need you to look at me and believe I’m telling the truth.”

  Beth didn’t he
sitate, not even for a second. “I am,” she said softly. “I do.”

  “Never stop,” I told her. My voice broke as the emotion surged through me. “Okay? Never stop believing it. No matter what happens.”

  Then I couldn’t stand it anymore. I couldn’t stand the sight of her face lifted to me, the trust in her eyes. I took her into my arms and held her against me as hard as I could. “You were right,” I whispered into her ear. “You were right and I was wrong. The stuff I feel for you—I didn’t make it and it isn’t mine to throw away. And I won’t. I can’t.”

  “I can’t either. And I won’t, Charlie. I promise.”

  “No matter what happens.”

  “No matter what.”

  I wanted to hold on to her forever—but without warning, she was gone. Suddenly, I was standing in front of my school, my arms empty, my heart heavy as lead. There were police cars everywhere, their lights turning, the red and blue flashing in the morning air.

  I looked around, trying to get my bearings. There was Detective Rose, coming toward me down the school’s front path. There were other uniformed officers—a lot of them, dozens of them, it seemed like—closing in on me from every side.

  The time had come. I was going to be arrested.

  I kept turning, scanning the scene. I saw Mr. Woodman, the principal, looking down at me from the school steps, his face tight with worry and concern. I saw the faces of the other kids at school—my friends, acquaintances— pressed to the school windows, looking out at me, watching.

  And I saw my mother. That was the worst part. I saw my mother crying. My father was there, his arms around her as she pressed her face against him and sobbed. I wished she could know that I had chosen this, that it was my way of fighting for what I knew was right. I knew she would be proud of me if she knew the truth. Now, she was just heartbroken.

  My dad called out to me: “It’s all right, Charlie! It’s going to be all right! Just stay cool. Don’t say anything till we get a lawyer for you! It’s going to be all right!”