Broken Identity

by Ashley Williams

  Ronnie leaped from his chair and hugged Drake. “Drake, I’m so happy for you!” He let go, as if suddenly remembering something, and backed away slowly. “But if Jesus came in your heart, why do you look so sad?”

  Drake gulped and tried to figure out exactly how he would explain this. “That’s what I wanna talk to you about. Because I have Jesus in my heart, that means I have to get rid of the old stuff. Y’know, throw away all the junk to make room for Him.”

  Ronnie just sat there, listening intently to his every word.

  If only Ronnie had been running around the room and half-listening, this would have been so much easier for Drake to get through. But when he looked at him like this, it gave him a churning feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  “So that’s what I have to do,” he said, wondering how long he could avoid reaching the main point. “Get rid of the bad stuff.” He scooted next to Ronnie and rested his hand on his knee. “Ronnie, you don’t know how hard this is for me to tell you.”

  “You can tell me, Drake,” Ronnie said. “I’m listening.”

  I know. That’s why it’s so hard. Drake fingered the tassel on the embroidered pillow beside him and said, “Ronnie, you know how your dad made you mad sometimes?”

  Ronnie stared down at his floppy socks and nodded.

  “It really hurt, didn’t it?”

  “A lot.”

  Drake wrapped his arm around Ronnie’s narrow shoulders, fighting everything inside him that screamed against telling Ronnie the truth. “Well, Ronnie, that’s how my dad was, only I was a lot bigger than you, so things usually got ugly.”

  Ronnie stared up at him in horror. “Did he hurt you?”

  “Never hit me, but I found out something about him one day that made me really mad at him.” There was movement at the top of the stairs, and Drake glanced up.

  Andrew was standing at the top with his hands on the rail, listening to him as tears moistened his eyes.

  Drake nearly broke down right there. “So I came home after finding out what he did,” he choked up. “I had enough of him, so I…”

  “You what, Drake?”

  Drake clenched his teeth. “I hit him. And he fell. I didn’t know it would happen.” A tear leaked from his eye, and he briskly wiped it away. “I said something to him after that—I don’t remember what it was now—but he never moved. Never got up.”

  Ronnie observed the dark shadow line on the side of Drake’s face. “You mean…”

  “I killed him, Ronnie,” Drake said, somehow maintaining eye contact when all he felt like doing was hiding his face.

  “No,” Ronnie mumbled, standing up. “No, I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s true, Ronnie,” Drake said, his lips tight as he spoke. “You asked me where I was going, so here’s your answer. I’m going back home so I can turn myself in to the police.”

  “No!” Ronnie screamed, running upstairs and smearing his cheeks with his tears. Andrew rushed to his room, but Ronnie slammed the door and shouted, “Leave me alone!”

  Drake had never felt so depressed in all his life sitting in the front seat of Andrew’s car, staring out the windshield as a gray world passed him by. It had been practically a re-creation of the Battle of Bunker Hill just to get Ronnie out of his room and into the car. Ever since they had left the house, Ronnie had sat with his arms crossed, refusing to talk to anyone. Andrew was just as quiet, only he at least moved slightly when he had to turn the steering wheel. Ronnie looked like a statue ready to shatter into a million pieces any second.

  “You don’t have to try to be so macho and hold it all together, Ronnie,” Drake told him after watching him for five minutes in the rearview mirror. “It’s OK to cry. I had to.”

  Ronnie began tearing up, so he turned his head and moved out of Drake’s sight.

  Drake sighed and rested his head against the window. “I shouldn’t have told you. Either of you. I should’ve just waited till my stupid leg healed up and did all this by myself.”

  “No, it was better you told us,” Andrew said, trying to hide the waver in his voice. It was the first thing he had said since they had backed out of the driveway. “Besides, I’m glad I’ll be there to support you.”

  Drake waited for Ronnie to say something. When nothing came, Drake realized his lips would obviously be sealed for the entire trip. He couldn’t stand this kind of pain.

  Two hours later, Andrew spotted a fast food joint and pulled into the drive-through. “All right, everybody tell me what you want to eat. There’s chicken, fries, burgers—”

  “I’m not hungry,” Ronnie interrupted.

  “May I take your order?” a voice said cheerily through the tiny machine.

  Andrew turned and faced Ronnie. “But, Ronnie—”

  “Me either,” Drake said.

  Andrew looked at Drake and said slowly, “Me either what?”

  Drake shrugged and said, “I’m not hungry either. But you go ahead.”

  “I don’t believe this,” Andrew said, shaking his head. “Drake, you didn’t eat breakfast. You have to be starving.”

  “Sorry, but I don’t even wanna look at food right now,” Drake said.

  “Nope,” Ronnie said.

  “Sir?” the voice asked. “Are you ready to order?”

  Andrew glanced at them both and waited for a response. Finally, he stuck his tongue in his cheek and leaned his head out the window. “No thanks. We all suddenly lost our appetites.”

  “You didn’t have to tell her that,” Drake said after Andrew pulled back onto the main road. “Now she probably thinks we thought the food on their menu looked disgusting.”

  “I don’t know why everyone has to be so stubborn,” Andrew replied.

  Drake threw his hands in the air. “No one’s being stubborn! I’m just not hungry. Sorry, but you can’t really blame me, can you? I mean, it won’t be much longer until I’m—”

  “I know, all right? I don’t care about the food!” Andrew said sharply. “I know it won’t be much longer until we get there and they take you away. Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you know that’s all I’ve been thinking about this entire trip?”

  “OK, then, so why are you so mad at me all of a sudden?” Drake said heatedly. “I just said I wasn’t hungry. Gah, you’d think the sky was falling or something by the way you’re acting. Just turn around then and order me some fries if it’ll make you feel better.”

  “For the billionth time, it’s not about the food!” Andrew shouted.

  “Then what?!”

  “I just don’t want to let you go yet, OK?! I was just trying to kill a little time,” Andrew said, his voice trembling now. “I’m sorry. It’s not you. It’s not you either, Ronnie. I just…wanted us to be together a little longer. I don’t want to have to let you go yet, Drake. Not yet.”

  Drake felt his face flush. “I didn’t realize,” he said gently.

  “Just ask if they’ll let you come outside and see us one last time before we leave, all right?” Andrew said, rolling down his window to allow the air to cool his face.

  Drake nodded his head and mumbled, “Yeah.”

  Two more hours passed, until suddenly the roads turned familiar and the town hiding so many bad memories climbed into view. The engine rumbled as Andrew put the car in park and sat there with his seat belt still buckled. “I guess this is really it, huh?”

  Drake’s leg bounced nervously as he stared down at the tiny, black spokes in the floor mat. “That’s what it looks like,” he said, welling up.

  Ronnie sniffled in the backseat.

  Drake gazed outside his window and listened to the rain hiss as it cascaded on the warm pavement. “I’m sorry I drug you both into this. I never wanted it to be this way.”

  “We’ll write and visit as often as we can,” Andrew said, forcing himself to smile and sound positive. “Isn’t that right, Ronnie?”

  “I guess so,” Ronnie answered halfheartedly.

  Andrew pulled the keys from t
he ignition and shoved them deep in his pocket, leaving them all in an awkward silence as a stiff wind rocked the car.

  Drake finally unbuckled. “I know you’re just trying to waste time, but please don’t make this any harder than it is. I have to go.”

  Andrew leaned over and hugged Drake one last time. “I’m gonna miss you, you know. You’ve meant so much to me. I’m just glad I can let you go knowing you have Christ going with you.”

  “I’ll miss you both too,” Drake said sadly. “Gonna hate leaving that beautiful piano behind.”

  “I’m gonna hate not hearing you play it,” Andrew said, trying to keep the conversation going. “Just take care of yourself, all right?”

  “I will.” Drake turned and looked around his headrest to see Ronnie. “C’mon, Ronnie. Can’t I even get a goodbye from my best friend?”

  Ronnie looked up and rubbed his red eyes before throwing his arms around Drake’s neck. “Don’t go, Drake,” he cried. “I’m not mad at you anymore. I couldn’t be mad at you.” He glanced at Andrew and said, “Make him stay, Uncle Andy. He doesn’t have to go.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Ronnie,” Drake said, dabbing Ronnie’s tears with his sleeve. “It wouldn’t be right.” He looked up and caught himself staring into Andrew’s eyes.

  “Goodbye,” Andrew said, his voice unsteady.

  “Bye,” Ronnie said. He let go of Drake.

  Drake brushed away his tears, grabbed his crutches from the backseat, and stepped out of the car. The large drops of rain pelted down on his head, but he hardly noticed. The only thing that registered in his brain as he walked up the path to the sheriff’s office was that he was leaving behind the best part of his life. He fought the urge not to look back, but as he reached the doors, his eyes darted toward the car one last time.

  They were still watching him, tears lingering in their eyes.

  Drake looked away and gently wrapped his wet fingers around the tarnished brass handle in front of him. God, help me. I know I’m doing the right thing, but it feels so wrong.

  He stopped for only a few seconds to stare silently at the town. Linhurst Peak looked different in so many ways; then again, maybe it was only his perspective that had changed. As he stood in front of the county sheriff’s office, he felt a calming peace knowing that he was not the same person who had left here running from a murder. A thousand bad decisions couldn’t stand up to the one good decision he was now making.

  Slowly, he pulled the door open and walked inside. The atmosphere was a few degrees colder, and the sounds of staplers clicking and men and women pecking vehemently at keyboards seemed to match the rhythm of the white ticking clock on the center wall. Wood paneling covered the walls, revealing its undisturbed history while darkening the overall appearance of the room.

  Drake cleared his throat and approached a man in a crisp, chocolate brown and gold uniform cradling a phone to his ear from behind his cluttered desk. The man held up a finger and switched the phone to his other ear as he scribbled something down.

  Drake studied the pictures on the man’s desk as he waited. He assumed that the picture of a young woman with three children gathered around her was his family. They all look so happy. Lucky guy. He remembered Andrew had called him family once. Drake had rolled his eyes at it. But then again, he really couldn’t blame himself. The only definition to the word “family” he knew meant a broken home. He was so kind to me, and I was such a jerk. He looked at the clock on the wall. Maybe I have time to say goodbye to them one last time. They said they’d wait for me.

  The man said goodbye and set the phone down on its receiver. “Can I help you?”

  Drake tore his gaze away from the clock and looked up. “Huh?”

  “Can I help you with something?”

  “Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry.” Drake’s heart trembled against his rib cage. He had to force the words out of his mouth. “I have information regarding a murder,” he said slowly, expecting the officer to slap handcuffs on his wrist and lead him down a long, dark hall where he would never see the light of day again.

  “A murder?” the man said, almost skeptically. “In that case, I’ll have to refer you to homicide.”

  Drake nearly jumped at those words. “Oh, am I in the wrong place?”

  The man stood up and pointed down the hall with his finger. “Nah, homicide unit’s three doors down to the right. I’ll buzz Frank and let him know you’re coming.”

  “Thanks,” Drake said, not honestly meaning it. He walked down the hallway and found HOMICIDE UNIT in bold, black letters on the door, just as the police officer had told him. He lightly touched the doorknob and noticed his hand was shaking. He pressed his fingers against his closed eyelids and prayed a quick prayer. A sudden stillness entered his soul, stopping his trembling, as a soft warmth passed over his heart. You’re doing the right thing, Drake. It’s hard, but don’t back down. Not after coming this far. He slowly opened the door.

  The man inside stood and reached across his desk to shake Drake’s hand. “Name’s Frank.”

  Drake hesitantly offered his hand. “Mine’s Drake.”

  “Nice to meet you, Drake.”

  Yeah, you won’t be sayin’ that in a few minutes.

  “Have a seat,” Frank said, gesturing to a folded chair leaning against the wall.

  Drake rubbed the palms of his hands together. “I’d rather stand, if that’s OK.”

  Frank shrugged and returned to his seat behind his desk. “James tells me you have information on a murder. Is that correct?”

  “That’s right,” Drake said nervously.

  Frank stood up and moved to a nearby filing cabinet. “Name please?”

  “Ben Pearson.”

  Frank fingered through the worn folders and pulled out one near the front. “One of our recent cases,” he remarked as he checked the date. His eyes scanned down the page until he found the report. “Found dead of a gunshot wound to the head Tuesday night—”

  “W-wait…what?” Drake said, walking around the desk to read the file himself. “Gunshot wound? But he wasn’t shot.”

  “I’m sorry if this is coming as a shock to you. Because you came in here with information, I assumed you already knew the cause of death.”

  “No,” Drake said, shaking his head in disbelief. “No, I didn’t.” That chair would come in handy right now.

  “I can’t imagine how you wouldn’t have known. It was all over the local news for days.”

  “Do you know who shot him?” Drake said, his mind still reeling.

  Frank pursed his lips and set the folder on his desk. “Clive Roland. Based on interviews from friends, he was supposedly one of Ben Pearson’s drinking buddies. He and Ben were both very drunk when they got into an argument in the bar. Those standing around didn’t think anything of it since nothing usually came of their arguments, but then Clive pulled a gun from his pocket…”

  “I understand,” Drake said, turning away.

  “Roland shot Ben in the head before turning the gun on himself. There was also an old gash mark on the back of Pearson’s head, but we weren’t able to find the cause of that.” Frank shuddered. “Horrible scene. Nothing could have prepared our men for what they saw that night.”

  Drake’s chest burned like fire at the thought of what had happened to his father. He didn’t know why he should feel so surprised, though. He had always expected something like that to happen. Dad must’ve known it too. He just didn’t care, that’s all. But I did. As hard as it was for me to do, I still remember caring for him a little. Now that it’s actually happened, I’m not sure how to feel.

  Frank gave Drake a moment to take in the news before saying, “The case was decided by the judge two days ago, but if you have other information that would—”

  “No,” Drake said, already heading toward the door to leave. “I must’ve just made a mistake.” A horrible mistake that almost took his life too. “Thank you, sir,” he mumbled. He opened the door and never looked back. When he
opened his mouth to exhale, he tasted the salty tears falling from his eyes. Shot. All this time, I was really innocent. I didn’t kill him. I didn’t kill nobody. I’m not a murderer. The tears stung his eyes as he pushed open the sheriff’s office doors and hobbled as fast as he could toward Andrew’s car.

  Andrew opened the door for him. “What is it? What’d they say?”

  Drake put his hand to his head and looked at him, wondering if Andrew would even believe what he was about to say. “I didn’t kill Dad,” he choked up.

  A puzzled look came over Andrew’s face. “Say again?”

  “I know it sounds crazy,” Drake said, rubbing his tears away as fast as they fell. “I mean, I thought I did it. I had been so sure…” He closed his mouth as his eyes fell to the floor. “He was shot. Somebody shot him. But I didn’t know. I would have blamed myself for his murder all my life if I hadn’t come down here.”

  “You mean—”

  “I left him unconscious. After he fell and I saw the blood…I didn’t stay long enough to see if he was still alive. He wasn’t moving. He looked dead, but…” Drake stared down at his hands—the hands he had thought were responsible for murder—and an indescribable surge of relief covered him. “He woke up,” he said quietly. “He went to a bar…got in another fight and someone shot him.”

  Andrew put a hand on Drake’s shoulder and held it there. “And all the way up here, you were prepared to do the right thing. I’m proud of you, Drake.”

  “It’s strange. It’s like a weight lifted off of me when I heard what happened to Dad. But at the same time, reliving that moment all over again was still painful. I never wanted him to die, as angry as I was. Now I know I was never part of his death.”

  “The Bible says the truth will set you free.”

  Drake smiled slightly—something he thought he would never do again. “The truth sure set me free today.”

  “So…you’re not going to jail anymore?” Ronnie said uncertainly from the backseat.

  That beautiful reality set in. As Drake’s tears dried, he felt life permeate into his body and his heart embrace that part of him he thought he had lost. “No, buddy. Not anymore.”