The noises of the courtroom faded slowly. My mother’s sobbing was the last sound to disappear. Then it was silent here at the center of the dark maze. I stood in that silence with the eerie figure in the shadows.
After another moment, the figure spoke to me: “Hello, Charlie.”
I don’t know why, but his voice sent a chill through me. I peered at him, trying to make out his face, but I couldn’t. Everything felt strange and uncanny to me. I knew I was in a dream, but I knew it was partly real too, partly a memory of something that had really happened to me.
“You understand what’s going to happen now, right?” the dark figure said.
I nodded. I shivered. I knew. “I’m going to prison.”
“That’s right. Not for long, though. The Homelanders have already arranged for your escape. And we’ve already arranged for you to get away with it.”
I nodded. My heart was beating hard.
“Frightened?” the man asked me.
I shrugged. I guess I was frightened a little. And sad too-sad about my mom and all the pain I was putting her through. But there was something else as well. I was excited. I was ready for the mission to begin, ready for the fight to begin, ready to do what I had been called to do.
“I’ll be all right,” I told the shadowy man.
The man’s voice grew grim. “You’re going into a dangerous world, Charlie. A world full of twisted people with twisted philosophies. They will try to use you to commit any atrocity they can. And if, for even a second, they suspect you’re not completely on their side, they will kill you without a second thought.”
I put my hands in my pockets, lifting my shoulders around my ears. “I know all that. I’m ready.”
I could feel the man smile in the darkness. “I’m sure you are. You’re a special guy, Charlie. That’s why we came to you in the first place.” He stepped toward me. Again, I strained against the shadows, trying to see him. I could just make out the outline of his features. “And now, before they take you away, there’s one last thing I have to tell you. A technician is going to come to you in your cell. He’s going to install a device inside your mouth. The device can be activated by a sound code, which he’ll teach you. When the device is activated, it will release a chemical for you to swallow…”
I stared at him. “What do you mean? Like a suicide pill? In case I get captured and tortured or something?”
“It is in case you get captured and tortured. And it is a pill of sorts. But it won’t kill you. We knew you wouldn’t use something like that.”
“That’s right. I don’t do suicide.”
“Fair enough. But what this pill will do is wipe out your memory. That way, no matter what happens, you won’t be able to reveal anything about us, the people who sent you, the organization we represent.”
I shook my head, trying to understand. “If I activate this device and swallow this stuff, I’ll lose my memory? I won’t know who I am?”
“No, no, it shouldn’t affect your long-term memory. You’ll still know who you are. You’ll remember most of your life. We’re not sure, in fact, just how much of your memory will be erased. The drug is still experimental. But we figure about a year or two of your past will disappear. The point is: you won’t remember being sent on this mission or who sent you.”
I just stood there in the shadows, thinking about it. A year or two of my life, gone. All the stuff that had happened to me. Beth… “Will the memories be erased forever?” I asked.
He gave a small, sad laugh. “To be honest, Charlie, if you find yourself in a situation where you need to use this thing, it’s not likely you’ll live much longer, so I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Yeah, I see what you mean.”
“But, just as a point of information? If you do get caught and you do get tortured and you do swallow this chemical and then, somehow, against all odds, you manage to survive and find your way back to us… Well, in that very unlikely series of events, we have an experimental antidote to this drug as well. I would say there’s a good chance, under those unlikely circumstances, that you’ll be able to restore most of the memory that was lost.”
I thought about it some more. Then I nodded.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s roll.”
Then there was one of those sudden shifts in scenery that you get in dreams. I was no longer in the thorny maze. I was back in the courtroom. The bailiffs had my hands pinned behind my back. They were just closing the cuffs around my wrists. I was calling out to my crying mother.
“It’s gonna be all right, Mom. Don’t be afraid. Everything is going to be all right, I swear. Never be afraid.”
The judge’s gavel was pound-pound-pounding on the bench.
“The court will come to order!” he said loudly.
I cast a last look back at the people in the gallery-at my mom, at my dad with his arms around her, his face grief-stricken; at Beth, trying so hard to keep from crying as she showed me an encouraging smile; at my friends, Josh and Rick and Miler, tapping their chests with their fists to let me know they were still with me in their hearts-everything seemed to fall away beneath that steady pound, pound, pound of the judge’s gavel…
Which now became another pounding, a different sort of pounding, somewhere nearby.
My eyes snapped open. I was awake. My gaze roamed over the white ceiling above me. Something was different. I was more clearheaded. I was covered in cold sweat.
My fever had broken.
I licked my dry lips. I turned my head on the pillow to look around. I was in a small bedroom. I was lying on a single bed against one wall. A woman-the same woman who had caught me after I’d broken into her house-was seated on a wooden chair by my bedside. She was wearing a sweatshirt and jeans now. She looked tired. She smiled at me. I tried to smile back.
The pounding…
Even though I was awake, the pounding from my dream continued. I realized now: It was not the judge’s gavel. It was someone knocking on the door in a nearby room.
The woman gave a sigh and pushed out of her chair to her feet. Instinctively, I reached for her.
“Ma’am…,” I said weakly.
“It’s all right,” she said softly. “I’m just going to go see who’s at the door.”
I let my hand fall back onto the thin blanket on top of me. I lay where I was and watched her move out of the room.
The pounding continued. I heard the woman call out, “All right, all right, I’m coming.”
I heard Sport add his opinion with a short, sharp bark.
In the next several seconds as she crossed to her front door, my eyes traveled around the little room. It was bare, stark. Just the bed, the chair, a dresser with some framed photographs on it. No window. No pictures on the wall, just peeling old-fashioned wallpaper with purple flowers. There was a bowl of water on a small table by the woman’s chair. There was a washcloth in the bowl-the cloth she’d been using to keep me cool. There was a bottle of aspirin and a couple of empty juice cartons on the floor too. I guess she’d been giving me aspirin and juice to keep me going.
About a million questions were flashing through my mind. How long had I been here? Hours? Days? How long had I been feverish and hallucinating, lying helpless while this woman I’d never met sat beside me and cared for me? Had I said anything to her? Had I spoken in my sleep? Had I given myself away…?
The pounding stopped. I heard the door open. I heard the woman’s voice again, “Down, Sport,” she said. Then she said, “Yes?”
“Hello, ma’am,” a man answered her. With a jolt of fear, I recognized the voice just a second before he said, “My name is Detective Rose. I’m with the police.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Rose The words went through me like an electric shock. Rose! Here! Had the woman asked him to come? Had I revealed something in my fevered sleep that had caused her to call the police? Or maybe she just called them because I’d broken into her house. Or maybe she’d just seen my picture on the news an
d recognized me. All these possibilities crowded into my mind when I heard his voice.
But wait. Now I heard her answer him: “Yes, Detective? How can I help you?” So maybe she hadn’t called him at all. I shook my head, trying to clear it, trying to figure things out.
“I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am. A fugitive escaped from the police near here yesterday. We’ve been searching the woods for him, but our dogs seem to feel he took to the road and possibly came this way.”
“A fugitive?” the woman said. “Oh, my.”
“Yes, ma’am. I don’t mean to frighten you, but he’s a convicted murderer. Considered very dangerous.”
“Well, I’m glad you don’t mean to frighten me, but you’re doing a very good job of it anyway.”
I started to sit up in bed, but weakness overcame me and I fell back. I wasn’t sure what I was planning anyway. I mean, I wanted to escape, but where could I go? I was wearing nothing but my boxer shorts and T-shirt. Even if I could endure the mountain cold in my underwear, there was no window to climb out of. If I tried to leave the room through the door, Rose would spot me in a second. Still, I couldn’t just lie there and wait for the inevitable…
The conversation at the door went on. I gathered my strength and struggled to sit up again.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” said Rose. “Would you mind taking a look at this picture?”
“Sure. Is that him? Is that the fugitive?”
“Yes, it is. His name is Charlie West.”
I waited for the woman to let out a shout of fear and recognition. I waited for her to say, “I know him! He’s right in the next room, Detective!”
But all she said was, “Looks like a nice enough boy.” Her voice was steady and calm.
“Yes, he does, ma’am,” Rose answered. “Believe me, I know. He fooled me once too.”
“You say he murdered someone?”
“His best friend. Stabbed him in the chest.”
“Pretty cold.”
“Yes, ma’am, it was.”
As they talked, I managed to push my upper body off the mattress in slow, painful stages. I slid my feet over the edge to the floor. Now I was sitting up, trying to gather enough strength and willpower to get to my feet. I had no plan, but I figured: At least when Rose came for me, I could do my best to get away from him. I could put up some kind of fight, run as far as I could. I didn’t think I would get very far, weak as I was, but it was better to try than to do nothing.
“So… ma’am?” Rose said, waiting for the woman’s response to the photograph.
“Hmm?”
“The boy. West. Have you seen him? Have you seen anyone who looked like him passing by the area?”
I froze where I was, sitting there, listening.
After a small pause, the woman answered, “No. No, sorry. I haven’t seen anyone who looks like that. Don’t recognize him at all.”
“You’re sure?”
The woman gave a little laugh. “We’re pretty isolated here. If I saw a stranger, I’m sure I’d have noticed and remembered. You’re welcome to come inside and look around if you think he might be hiding under the bed or something.”
Desperate to get up, I held on to the bed frame and tried to stand.
But Rose answered her, “No, no, that won’t be necessary. Here, let me give you my card. If you see anything, call that number, would you?”
“Sure. Be happy to.”
“Meanwhile, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to take a look in your shed out there. Just to make sure he’s not hiding on the property without your knowing it.”
“Well, you go right ahead, Detective. Look anywhere you like.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I’m sorry to bother you.”
“No problem, Detective. You have a nice day now.”
I heard the door shut. I continued to push off the bed frame until I reached my feet. But the minute I did, my legs gave out beneath me. I wilted to the floor.
A moment later, the woman was back with me. When she saw me lying on the floor, she let out a little noise of surprise and concern. She rushed to my side. Knelt down beside me. She caught me under the arms.
“Why…?” I said.
“Ssh,” she whispered urgently. “He’s right outside. Keep your voice down or he’ll hear you.” She tried to get me back onto the bed. “Come on. I can’t lift you by myself. You have to help.”
I reached out blindly until I found the edge of the bed and grabbed hold of it. With me using all my effort and the woman pushing at me, I finally managed to climb back up onto the mattress. Exhausted, I tumbled onto the bed and lay there, shivering, weak and cold. The woman pulled the cover over me. She sat on the edge of the bed beside me. She laid a hand on my shoulder to keep me still.
“Why did you…?” I muttered again.
She lifted her finger to her lips. I fell silent.
We waited there together. We listened to the noises outside.
I could hear Rose moving out there, moving around the side of the house. I could hear his footsteps. I could hear him pulling open the shed door nearby. For a moment, I could even hear him banging around in the shed, searching for me.
A moment later, I heard the shed’s big door close again.
Then I heard Rose say: “What do you think?”
Another man answered him, “Well, the dogs think he went in this direction for sure. But the trail’s old and the road-you know, there’s been a lot of truck traffic, chemical stuff. It makes it confusing for them. They got pretty tentative about a half mile back. I don’t know…”
“The lady of the house says she hasn’t seen him.”
“You believe her?”
There was a pause as if Rose was considering the question. Then he said, “Why would she lie? Why would she hide him?”
“Maybe he’s in there, you know… with a gun or something. Maybe she was speaking under duress.”
“Yeah, I thought of that…,” said Rose.
“You think we ought to go in? Search the house?”
There was another pause. Rose said, “It’s gonna be dark soon. We’re running out of time. West is smart. He knows we’ll knock on doors. I think he’s a lot more likely to stick to the woods, maybe head north, try to make Canada. Let’s go back a ways and search the forest a little more while there’s still some daylight left.”
“You got it.”
I heard their footsteps on the dirt drive. I heard their car doors open and thunk shut. Another second or two and the car’s engine started. Then they were driving away, the tires crunching on the rocky ground.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Margaret and Larry I heard the woman breathe a sigh of relief above me. I guess I breathed a sigh myself. She patted my shoulder.
“You’ll be safe for a little while, at least,” she said.
She rose from the bed and sat down on the chair again, brushing her hair wearily out of her face.
“Why did you help me?” I asked her. “Why did you tell Rose I wasn’t here?”
She smiled, but she didn’t answer. She just said, “You hungry at all? You must be.”
The minute she asked the question, I realized: Yeah! I was hungry! I was very hungry. “I am, as a matter of fact.”
“That’s good. That’s a good sign. I’ll make you something to eat.”
“I don’t want to trouble you…”
She gave a sort of gentle laugh. “It’s a bit late for that, sweetheart. You’ve been plenty of trouble already.”
I laughed a little too. “Why did you?” I said. “Why did you lie to Rose? Why did you protect me?”
She still didn’t answer. She handed me a juice box. “Here, drink this, get your strength up. You’re going to need it.”
“But…”
She stood up. “Let me go make you something to eat. Then we’ll talk. My name is Margaret, by the way.”
“Charlie,” I said. “Charlie West.”
She gave another smile, a wry smile this time. �
��So I’ve heard.”
She went out of the room. I worked myself into a sitting position. I put the pillow up against the wall and propped my back against it. I stuck a straw in the juice box and sipped it. I could feel myself getting better, stronger, with every minute.
I could hear the woman-Margaret-moving around in the kitchen, pots and pans banging against each other. It was a comforting sound. It reminded me of being back at home, lying in bed in the morning, listening to my mom making breakfast before she called me to go to school.
I sipped the juice. I listened to the sounds. My mind drifted. After a while, I just sat there in the bed, the juice box forgotten in my hand. I gazed off into space.
I was thinking about my dream. The dark garden maze. The dark figure standing at its center. I felt a stirring of excitement and revelation as the images came back to me. My free hand lifted slowly to my face, to my jaw. I felt through my skin to the place just behind my last molar. Yes. Yes, I remembered now. What the man said in the dream-it was all true, all real.
After the jury found me guilty of Alex’s murder, I had been put in a cell in the county jail. While I was there, someone had come to me… No, wait. It wasn’t just any someone. It was Milton. Yes. It was Milton One-the technician from the bunker, the Asian guy who had had the controller that worked Milton Two. He had come to me in my cell, wearing a white coat. He was pretending to be a dentist. He had installed the device in my gums- the device the man in the maze had talked about. He had installed it just where I was touching now, just behind my teeth. It was a tiny computer. There was a pattern of taps I could make on it with my teeth-complicated and precise so I would never set the device off by accident. But once I did set the device off, it would release an experimental chemical into my mouth. When I swallowed it, the chemical would eliminate part of my memory.
So now I knew. I knew what had happened to me. I had been recruited by Waterman to infiltrate the Homelanders. Because of my closeness to Sherman, because of Sherman’s conviction that I could be convinced to join him, because of my karate skills, because of my sure and certain commitment to American liberty, I had been a perfect candidate for the job. The rest I didn’t remember yet, but I could guess. I must’ve succeeded in my task. I infiltrated the Homelanders as planned. But somehow, it had gone wrong. I had been caught. Captured. I had been strapped to the metal chair in that white room and tortured. And in order to protect Waterman and his friends, I had set off the device in my mouth and swallowed the chemical that made me forget a year of my life.
The truth of the matter h-3 Page 17