“I told you to leave!” Drake fumed through clenched teeth. “I don’t want to live anymore.”
Andrew pried one of Drake’s hands open and put something hard inside.
Drake looked down and blinked twice. “A magazine?” He stared down at the gun he was holding and realized it wasn’t even loaded. “But it wasn’t like this when they gave it to me,” he said in amazement.
“I know. I unloaded it while you and the others were in the other room.”
Drake gawked at him. “You? But how did you—”
“Let’s just say you didn’t learn how to tie knots from Boy Scouts. I was able to untie myself and reach your gun in less than a minute’s time. I tied myself back up before you came back.”
Drake stared blankly out the window. “You could have killed me when I walked back in the room. Why didn’t you?”
Andrew gazed out the window with him, finding a world almost as dark and lonely as the one inside the car. “Because this was more important to me. Talking to you so we could work out what’s wrong.”
Drake looked at him in disbelief. He had pointed a gun at the man who could have easily pointed the same gun at him only minutes earlier. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because I care. And I believe in you.”
“Stop it! Your words don’t mean nothin’ to me. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. I heard you talking to the cops, and that’s why I took off. Well, you can’t have me, you hear? I’m not goin’ back with you, even if it means loading up this gun again and killing myself!”
Now Andrew was thoroughly perplexed. “What? Is that what this is all about? You thought I was talking to the police about you?”
“Who else?” Drake retorted.
Andrew shook his head. “Drake, the police called to tell me they found the man who’s been going around at night beating up people’s mailboxes—mainly, my mom’s. It had nothing to do with you. Why would you even think such a thing?”
Drake felt blood rush to his face. “Oh. Well, I just…I don’t know. I guess I figured you got suspicious of me or somethin’ and called the cops,” he said, not even making sense to himself.
“It had nothing to do with you. I reported the mailbox-smasher to the police after Mom told me about her busted-up mailbox, and I made them promise to call me back as soon as they heard anything. The police traced the license plate number and apprehended him yesterday. That’s why they called.”
And that’s where the baseball bat comes in, Drake thought. To smash the mailboxes. The pieces were finally beginning to come together now. “I thought you were telling them about me,” he said, still reeling from the news.
“Why would I tell them about you, Drake? I’ve never suspected you of a single thing.”
Drake turned back to the window, feeling like the biggest idiot alive. Andrew had explained his side of the story, but Drake’s side—that is, what he had told Andrew—didn’t add up at all. Andrew had never once suspected him of anything, yet that was the only excuse Drake could give. What a loser. What a self-centered, shallow guy I’ve turned out to be. I’ve been so worried about myself and so focused on my own fears that I’ve ignored their concern. What was I thinking getting myself mixed up with Ivan and his gang? All along, I was safe at Andrew’s home, but tonight I put both my life and his in danger.
And in his pathetic attempt to keep away from the cops, he had just given Andrew a reason to take him straight to them. He tore his mind away from his endless stream of stress and turned to Andrew. “So, what are you going to do to me now? Turn me in?”
“For what?”
“For attempted robbery while armed,” Drake said dejectedly.
Andrew climbed up to the front seat and started the car. “You didn’t rob me, and I can’t honestly say you were armed. That would suggest the gun was loaded, and it wasn’t.”
Drake couldn’t understand this guy. He thought he had Andrew all figured out, but the man never ceased to amaze him. What Andrew saw worthwhile in him was a mystery even to Drake.
Andrew pulled into his mother’s driveway, thoroughly exhausted. He glanced in the rearview mirror and felt the weight of the day settling in. “You coming inside?”
“No thanks,” Drake mumbled, sitting slumped in the backseat. Those were the first words he had spoken to Andrew since they had pulled out of the bank parking lot. He felt ashamed and still slightly confused, but his dignity refused to confess that he had been wrong. OK, so he had had a little misunderstanding about the whole phone call ordeal. So far, Andrew hadn’t pressed him about it, so why should he feel so badly? What he did was just a natural reaction. Anyone with brains would have done the same thing.
The front door flung open suddenly and a small figure bounded down the porch steps and ran up to the car. “Drake!” Ronnie threw open the car door and jumped in beside him.
Just what I need to top off my day.
Kara embraced Andrew as soon as she rose from her chair to meet him. “Where have you been?” she said, trembling as she held him.
You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Andrew thought. Instead, he answered, “Everything’s OK.”
Kara took a step back and looked into her son’s tired eyes. “I’ve been so worried about you. I tried calling you and calling you. How’s Drake? Is he hurt?”
“He’s fine, Mom, and so am I. Stop worrying about me so much.”
“Where were you? What took you so long?”
“It just took a little longer than I expected, but Drake’s all right. It was all a mistake. Drake was fine. He just needed a ride back home.”
“But you said he called you and told you he was badly hurt. Andrew, you’re not making sense.”
Andrew breathed deeply. Obviously, it didn’t make sense. All he wanted to do was go home and put this day to rest; instead, he felt like a piece of barbeque chicken being grilled on both sides. “I know, I know. I said a lot of things, but come to find out, he was never in any danger after all. It was just a misinterpretation of a phone call.” Here he was, covering for the young man who had just lied to him over the phone and had the intent of taking a large sum of money from him.
Yet somehow, he knew what he was doing was right. Andrew had to admit he had considered driving Drake straight to the police and turning him in. His actions needed to be punished. Andrew knew what sin could lead to in Drake’s life, and he wanted to break it before it had the chance to grow in his heart.
But was it what God wanted him to do? That was the most important question that had no easy answer. For some bizarre, outlandish reason, Andrew couldn’t seem to give up on Drake. And he had the feeling that Drake wanted—and needed—his support, too.
Kara seemed to relax only slightly at Andrew’s response. “Well then, why didn’t he come inside? I would have liked to meet him.”
Andrew shot a glimpse through the screen door and saw Drake’s unmoving silhouette in the backseat of his car. “Oh, I don’t think he’s up to it today. Maybe some other time.” He continued to stare at Drake, scared of what the future held, but in spite of everything, still prepared to take the risk. It was hard to see at times, sometimes growing and sometimes fading, but there was something worth believing in that kid. He just had to find it.
“Would you like some hot chocolate, Andrew? Coffee?”
Andrew smiled. “Could I get it to go? Coffee with two spoonfuls of sugar and a little of that Italian Sweet Crème you got me addicted to.”
“I’d give you just the coffee grounds to drink if I thought it would wipe that tired look off your face.”
“You just mix it up, and I’ll drink it.” Andrew watched her walk off into the kitchen. What a crazy day. What a crazy life.
“Uncle Andy told me you were in trouble,” Ronnie said, out of breath. “Are you OK?”
Drake pretended to be interested in something out the window and tried not to look at Ronnie. “Sure.”
“What happened?”
“More t
han I could tell.” Drake eventually peered past Ronnie and saw Andrew hugging his mother through the open door. “You’ve got a great uncle, you know that?”
Ronnie grinned proudly. “Yeah.”
Chapter
13
“YOU’RE TRASH…”
The atmosphere was tense when Drake was back in Andrew’s house again, even with Ronnie in his room upstairs. For once, he could hear the clock on the mantle ticking. The floor creaked a little as he stepped across the room. If it was up to him, he would just go to bed now and call it a night. But Andrew said he was coming back down to talk.
Drake was ready to defend himself against any accusation Andrew might throw at him, but he was running out of excuses—and fast. How far would he go to avoid telling the only person who seemed to care about him that he was fleeing from a murder and needed help? He couldn’t hold out like this much longer. His soul screamed to be freed from the weight that jerked and wrenched at his heart like venomous fangs; it was killing him slowly—death was always like that, never merciful. Dreams were cruel, a smile only sent a shock of pain, kind acts were twisted into bad motives…face it, the world just wasn’t the same anymore.
What he said earlier was true. He wanted to die. He should have loaded the gun and got it over with when it was still in his hands. As much as he relied on his own strength and fast thinking, even he was smart enough to know that he couldn’t get himself out of this pit on his own. His dad had warned him of this, repeating the wounding phrase over and over until Drake found himself saying it in his sleep. You’re trash, just like me. Everyone knows it, so you might as well get used to the idea while you’re young, OK? Bad thing was, he was starting to believe it.
Andrew walked in from behind him. He moved over to a lamp and clicked it on before sinking into his favorite chair. He allowed a few seconds of silence before he began. “Drake, I don’t know how to say this…”
“Spare me. I already know what you’re going to say. I’ll have my bags packed in ten minutes.”
“That wasn’t what I was going to say.”
“Fine, then I’ll leave now.”
“Sit down, Drake.”
Drake sat, combating every emotion he felt that told him to run away as far as he could and never look back. However, after all Andrew had suffered from him, he at least deserved to be heard out.
“I still feel like there’s more you’re not telling me,” Andrew said, studying Drake’s facial expression closely as he spoke.
Drake slumped in his seat, wishing he could sink to the floor and ooze through the hardwood. His internal organs still felt like jelly after the brutality they had suffered by Ivan’s hired ninja, so that idea might not be too far-fetched. “What else am I supposed to say? I’m sorry. I just acted on impulse and it was a stupid decision. I know that now, and it’ll never happen again.” He snorted and added, “’Course, I don’t blame you if you don’t believe me. It’s hard for me to even trust myself anymore.”
“I’m not talking about what happened today,” Andrew said. “I noticed a change in you long before this ever took place. You’ve been bothered by something. I can tell by the way you’ve lashed out at people here lately. It’s like you’re always nervous about something, but I can’t put my finger on what the problem is. Every time the phone rings, you jerk your head in its direction. At meals, you act like you’re sick and stare down at your food. What’s up, Drake? You can tell me.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because you wouldn’t understand.”
“Don’t give me that. Families tell each other things.”
“I’m not family.”
“Ronnie and I consider you our family.”
“Well, I hate families. If there’s anyone that’s gonna look out for me in this world, it’s me,” Drake said, jabbing a finger in his chest.
“Drake, I don’t mean to pry, but—”
“Then don’t.”
“I deserve answers, Drake. Since this morning, I’ve been knocked out, tied up, held at gunpoint, and now you’re giving a big spiel about all the things you hate while you choose to keep all the things that really matter locked inside. What are you holding onto? Can’t you just trust me?”
Drake nervously ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the clock. It was late. He needed sleep, though he despised the very word. “Not now.”
“What do you mean ‘not now’? Then when, Drake? When another incident like this one takes place? I’m sorry, but I’m not taking that risk.”
“It’s nothing against you or Ronnie. Gah, can’t you understand that? I got something I have to deal with myself. Nothing of it’s related to you. It’s all me, and I don’t want to talk about it.”
“That’s why I’m here. To help.”
Drake stood and paced to the other end of the room. “You can’t help me outta this one. Anyway, what would you know about problems? You’re living in a big house with a nephew who loves you to death. What have you ever had to deal with? Your life is perfect. Mine just stinks.”
“A house and a lot of expensive things don’t make a person. I’ve had my share of trials and fears and doubts, believe me.”
“Whatever,” Drake muttered.
Andrew rose from his chair but restrained himself from walking over to Drake. “Let’s not go through another conversation arguing about the same old stuff again. It’s time to talk this thing out once and for all and get everything out in the open.”
Drake shook his head and ran up the steps briskly. He slammed his bedroom door shut behind him.
Andrew sighed and looked up at the ceiling. Help him, God. Right now, he seems so far away.
No matter how much he tossed and turned and fluffed his pillow, Drake found it impossible to stay asleep for more than thirty minutes at a time. And when morning finally came, after what seemed like a lifetime, he refused to get up. Even after the clock struck twelve, he was still lying there with his eyes focused above, trying to see what figures he could create by connecting the tiny, white dots on the ceiling.
I must be going crazy, he thought. I feel so numb and detached from life that it’s affecting every part of my body, especially my state of mind. I know I was never much to begin with, but I had hoped for a better life than this. I was going to make something of myself, but I threw away every chance of that happening when I let anger take over my better judgment. I’ve been telling myself ever since that day that the whole thing was an accident, but was it really? Didn’t I go into that house from the very beginning with every intention of killing him? I know I told him that’s what I was going to do, but it never really registered in my mind until after it happened. None of it had been an accident, had it? Hadn’t I realized how hard I planned to strike him before I did it? Hadn’t I seen the hearth behind him and known in the back of my mind that he would hit it?
It hurt to think about it. That part of his life felt so far away now. He wasn’t sure of all the details behind his father’s murder, but one thing he was certain of: He had killed him, and that’s all the police needed to put him behind bars.
What does it really matter anyway? Why do I care if I killed him on purpose or on accident? I can’t change what happened, and even if I could, I’m not sure I would. All I know is that I’m getting what I deserve. I’m a murderer, and I’ll live with that till the day I die, accident or no accident. I took another human’s life and put another one’s in danger yesterday. So what’s next, Drake? Is there another victim in your path? Will it be Ronnie’s life you put in danger next?
Drake heard the clang of utensils against plates and detected the aroma of fried chicken in the air, but food didn’t appeal to him as it had before. How could he eat? After all he had been through yesterday, and then having to deal with the fact that he had been wrong all along, he felt wasted. All the events that had taken place yesterday seemed like a vague memory every time he thought about it. The meeting with Ivan, the walk to the hideout, and
the conversation he had with Andrew in the lonely bank parking lot was almost hard for him to picture anymore.
Maybe it was just because he had seen so much junk in his life that nothing stuck out to him any longer. Just days ago, he had discovered that his mom had drowned, his dad had killed her, and then out of rage, he had killed his father. Now this. He had put an innocent man into the hands of thieves and murderers yesterday just so he could protect his selfish self. How could he ever face Andrew again?
Drake searched the drawers for a pen and paper. He realized he couldn’t stay here any longer no matter what Andrew said, and he would tell Andrew that. Well, knowing the coward he was inside, he would most likely write a note and sneak out without ever having to speak to Andrew’s face. Then what? Anywhere, he guessed. Or he might even turn himself in. At least that way he could finally get rid of this baggage.
He found a pen stuffed away in the back of the bottom drawer of the dresser, but there was no paper in sight. He caught a glimpse of the devotional books on top of his nightstand and decided to rip out one of the back pages that had no words on it. Now, what to write?
A light knock came at his door. Drake instantly jumped up from what he was doing as the door cracked open.
It was Andrew. He was holding a plate of food in one hand and a full glass of iced tea in the other. “Thought you might be hungry,” he said, briefly scanning the room to see if Drake had packed up his duffel bag. “I let you miss breakfast because I heard you sleeping, but I didn’t think you should miss lunch too.”
“I’m not hungry,” Drake said brusquely. Truth was, he actually wasn’t. With all the sleep he had lost last night, the desire to eat must have vanished along with it. Even if he were hungry, he doubted he would’ve had an appetite with everything he had running through his mind.
Andrew’s lips were tight and his eyes tired as he set the food down on the dresser beside him. He was trying so hard to develop a friendship between him and Drake, but every time he took a step closer and thought he was making progress, Drake put his foot down and seemed to fight back all the more. Calmly—mustering up all the coolness and composure he had left inside of him—Andrew said, “Well, just in case you get hungry later—”
Broken Identity Page 16