In Between Days

by Andrew Porter

  But, in the end, Fatima kept her promise. The next day at the meeting she didn’t mention it. Nor did she mention it the following night when she met up with Chloe and Raja for drinks. Still, it was probably asking too much that Fatima wouldn’t tell anyone, and within the next couple days Chloe soon found out that she had not only told two of her roommates, both of whom had come up to Chloe on the quad and expressed their sympathy, but that she’d also told Seung. Chloe could understand why she would have told her roommates, she’d even half expected it, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why she’d told Seung. Didn’t she realize that Seung would immediately go to Raja and confront him? Didn’t she understand that this was essentially like lighting a fuse beneath a powder keg? That everything that followed would be disaster? In fact, if there was one person in the world who she absolutely should not have told, it was Seung. But maybe that was her point. Maybe this was her own indirect way of bringing the issue to a head, of making it public, without actually having to do so herself.

  Whatever her reasoning, by the time Chloe found out that she had done this, by the time she’d discovered that Seung knew, it was already too late. The night it all happened, she had come over to Raja’s dorm room with the intention of giving him a gift, an obscure book on the films of Wim Wenders, which Raja had been looking for on the Internet for months, a book that Chloe had serendipitously found in a small used bookstore in Houston over the winter break and which she’d been secretly hiding away for a special occasion. She had wrapped the book up in newspaper that afternoon, had tied a bow around it, then had gone over to Raja’s room with the intention of giving it to him. In her mind, she had imagined a night spent lying on his bed, listening to music, drinking wine, a night when they might actually make love again, a night when he might actually want to touch her, but when she arrived at his dorm room that night, they were already going at it, Seung and Raja, their voices so loud that she could hear them shouting from the end of the hall. When she got to his door, she stood there for a moment, then knocked tentatively. Nobody answered, so she knocked again, louder. This time the door cracked open, and all of her worst fears were confirmed. Seung stood there, staring at her, and behind him on the bed, she could see Raja, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, his eyes looking down.

  “Come in,” Seung said. “We were just talking.”

  But when she entered the room, Raja looked away. She walked over to the bed and put down the present and wine, but he ignored her. There was a tension in the room, something she could feel, something that unnerved her. Finally, Raja looked up.

  “You know, I wanted to thank you, Chloe,” he said finally. “Really.”

  “I didn’t tell him,” she said.

  “No, really,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “She didn’t actually,” Seung added. “Fatima did.”

  “And let me guess who told Fatima,” Raja said, turning to her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Look, I just—”

  “Whatever,” he said, throwing up his arms. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “Don’t get mad at her,” Seung said. “It’s not her fault.”

  Raja looked at him, then back at Chloe. “Like I said, forget it. Who cares? It’s all over now. Everyone knows.”

  Chloe wanted to point out that not everyone knew, that only a few people knew, and that these people were his friends, but she kept her mouth shut. Instead, after a long silence, she said, “Look, do you want me to leave or something?”

  Raja shrugged, then looked away.

  “No,” Seung said finally. “You should stay. You should hear this.”

  “Hear what?” Chloe asked.

  Seung looked at Raja. “You haven’t told her?”

  Raja shook his head.

  A moment later, Seung walked over to Raja’s desk and pulled out a piece of paper, then held it up to her. It was another sign, this time with a photocopied picture of Raja’s family on it and, beneath it, in bold letters, the words AMERICA’S MOST WANTED. Chloe felt her stomach drop, realizing that this was the same picture she’d seen in a small silver frame on Raja’s desk, the same picture she had studied on the first night they kissed.

  “How the hell did he get this?” she said, and then she looked at the desk and noticed that all of Raja’s photographs were gone.

  “Broke in,” Seung said, then, looking at Raja, added, “When was it?

  Last night?”

  “I don’t know,” Raja said. “I guess.”

  “He broke into your room?” she said. “Jesus.”

  “Jimmied the lock,” Seung said. “I mean, these old doors, it’s not that hard.”

  She shook her head, then looked away.

  “I mean, you hang up some signs on the door, that’s one thing,” Seung continued. “But you break into a dude’s room and you steal his personal shit. You steal pictures of his family, and then you disgrace them. I mean, that’s taking things to a whole nother level. That’s getting fucking personal.”

  She looked back at Raja and she could see that something had changed in his face. The old passivity was gone, replaced by something else, a new anger perhaps, or maybe something else, something deeper than anger, a hatred perhaps. She knew that if there was one thing Raja couldn’t condone, one thing he couldn’t forgive, it was someone disgracing his family. His family was the one thing no one else was allowed to touch.

  “Too far,” Seung was saying now. “He’s taken this thing way too fucking far.”

  Raja nodded.

  “Have you called security?” Chloe asked.

  “Security?” Seung laughed. “Really? What the hell is security going to do?”

  She looked at him.

  “We have a better idea,” Seung said. Then he looked at Raja.

  “No we don’t,” Raja said.

  “Oh, come on, dude.”

  Raja shook his head.

  “Look, what I’m talking about here, what I’m talking about is just a little payback. Retribution. You fucked with us, now we’re going to fuck with you. That type of thing.”

  “He didn’t fuck with you,” Raja said. “He fucked with me.”

  “Whatever,” Seung said. “You mess with one of us, you’re messing with all of us.”

  And suddenly Chloe could see that for Seung this wasn’t personal at all. It was political. It was the fight he’d been fighting ever since he got here.

  “I’m not lowering myself to his level,” Raja said. “Seriously. I’m just not going to do that.”

  “Lowering yourself?” Seung said. “You think when people fight in a war they’re lowering themselves? You think when my grandfather fought against the fucking KPA, all those fuckers in the North, he was lowering himself?”

  “This isn’t a war,” Raja said.

  “No?” Seung said. “Well, you could have fooled me.”

  Raja nodded and sipped his beer, and Chloe suddenly noticed that there was a pile of empty beer cans on the floor behind him, that they’d probably been drinking here for quite a while.

  “Look,” Seung continued, “you know as well as me that if you’re a person of color in this country, if you’re not pasty fucking white, then every fucking day of your life is a war. And that’s all I’m talking about. If you let people keep messing with you, they will. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Raja looked at him, and Chloe could see that a part of what Seung was saying was starting to sink in, that he was starting to hear something he wanted to hear.

  Later, she’d wonder if she should have stopped it, if she should have seen it for what it was—a knee-jerk reaction—if she should have prevented Seung from fueling the fire. But at that moment she was so filled with anger herself, so overcome by it, that she could barely think straight. And the room itself was almost electric with it, with all these crazy emotions flying around, these crazy thoughts, the three of them on tilt, it was hard to know what was right and what was wrong. It was hard not to see the utter simplicity
in what Seung was saying.

  “So, what are you talking about specifically?” she asked.

  “I’m talking about messing with him,” Seung said. “I’m talking about going over there to that dude Tyler’s room and messing with him. Roughing him up a little. Scaring him. I’m talking about letting him know that we’re not gonna lie down over this shit. If you want to play rough, that’s fine with us. Then we’re going to play rough back. But we’re not gonna just sit here and take this shit, you know. That’s not going to be happening anymore.”

  Chloe could see in Raja’s eyes that he was starting to get salty, that he was starting to understand the simple logic of it all, but she could also tell that he was drunk, that they both were, and when Raja stood up, she noticed that he needed to use the edge of the windowsill just to keep his balance.

  “So what do you say, Raj?” Seung said, raising his beer, smiling this time. “You want to fuck with this guy or what?”

  2

  DAYS LATER, WHEN RAJA was brought in for questioning, when they’d finally gathered enough evidence to bring him in, he’d say nothing of Seung’s involvement. It was only later, when a witness stepped forward, a boy from Chloe’s American Politics class, a boy who had been in the hallway that night and had seen them both leaving Tyler’s room, it was only then, when this boy stepped forward and identified them both, that Seung would eventually be brought in, too. But, even then, it seemed that Seung was simply being looked at as a peripheral figure, a casual bystander, an unwilling accomplice. It was Raja, they believed, who had masterminded it all. It was Raja, they believed, who had a bone to pick with Tyler Beckwith.

  The day that Seung was brought in, Chloe was approached herself, though not because they believed that she was involved at this point. They had brought her in for questioning simply because she was close with the suspect, they said, because Seung had told them that they were dating and that she had seen him on the night that everything happened. They had brought her into the station that evening, had given her a soda, and explained that she was not under suspicion herself. They were simply following protocol, they said, trying to cover all the bases. They were actually surprisingly friendly to her, so friendly, in fact, that she let down her guard, so friendly that she didn’t even consider asking for a lawyer. This is what Raja had done, of course, had asked for a lawyer almost as soon as they brought him in, though not before they had gotten him to admit that he had been there that night, in Tyler’s dorm, and that there was a history of bad feelings between the two. Still, she was not feeling overly worried at this point. It had been an accident, after all. An unfortunate accident, but still an accident, and she figured that Seung would have told them the same, if he had told them anything at all.

  The room where they had brought her was filled with photographs of historical buildings in Stratham, some of which belonged to the college itself, a large oak desk, and several potted plants. There was a soda machine in one corner, a microwave, and several filing cabinets covered with magnets and bumper stickers. There were flyers on the wall, advertising an annual potluck dinner, a weekly poker game, a St. Patrick’s Day bash. If this was an interrogation room, she thought, it didn’t feel like one, and it was maybe for this reason that she began to loosen her guard, that she began to believe that what was happening here wasn’t as serious as she’d initially thought.

  They had left her with her soda for almost twenty minutes, had left her to consider, perhaps, what she might want to say. Then one of the two officers who had picked her up earlier outside her dorm, a man who had introduced himself to her as Detective Sprague, had returned to the room with a notepad and a pen and a small handheld tape recorder, which he’d placed down on the desk before her. Sprague was an older man, maybe in his early sixties, a man with graying hair and a potbelly and a warm, avuncular smile. He made her feel immediately relaxed.

  “So, how do you like this weather?” Sprague asked, winking. It had been snowing all day, and there was talk of a blizzard approaching the following morning. “Probably a lot different from what you’re accustomed to, I’d guess.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Back in Texas.”

  “Oh,” Chloe nodded, suddenly understanding. “You knew I was from Texas?”

  “Your friend Mr. Cho told me.”

  Chloe nodded again, though she suddenly wondered how much Seung had told him.

  “Mr. Cho was actually very helpful to us,” he continued, “and we’re hoping you will be, too.” He winked at her. “Just so you know, we’re just trying to get the facts straight here. Just trying to get a handle on what actually happened. Your boyfriend’s not in any type of trouble right now. You should know that. Neither is Mr. Cho. We’re just trying to fill in a few of the hazy spots in the story, okay? And that’s where you come in. We’re hoping you can help us out with that.”

  Chloe nodded, feeling a little nervous still. “I’ll do my best,” she said.

  “Well, that’s all we can ask for, right?” Sprague smiled again. Then he reached for his pen and turned over the first sheet on the pad. “Mind if I write some of this stuff down?”

  Chloe shook her head.

  “Great,” he said, then he proceeded to write something down at the top of the pad. “It’s just that when you get to be my age, your memory doesn’t work like it used to, you know.” He laughed heartily to himself, still writing, then finally looked up at her. “Okay,” he said. “So why don’t we just start at the beginning, okay? Why don’t we just start with what happened that day. The day of the accident.”

  That he was using the word “accident” relaxed her a little, but she still felt a tightness in her chest. “You mean like that whole day?”

  “Sure. Why not? Why don’t you just start with when you woke up?”

  “Okay,” she said, looking at her lap. “Well, you know, I woke up around noon, I guess.”

  “And this would be in your own room?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not in Mr. Kittappa’s room.”

  “No.”

  “And Mr. Kittappa wasn’t with you?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Sorry. Keep going. Like I said, I’m just trying to keep the facts straight.”

  Chloe nodded. “Okay,” she said. “So I guess I went to class around twelve-thirty, and then I was in class until about four or so. And then I went to dinner by myself at the dining hall. And then I went to the gym and then, you know, back to my room, I guess.”

  “And what time would that be? When you got back to your room?”

  “Seven-thirty or so.”

  “Okay. And you didn’t have any contact with Mr. Kittappa during this time?”

  “No.” She shook her head.

  “Not even a phone call?”

  “No,” she said and shrugged.

  “Okay,” he said. “So then when exactly did you see Mr. Kittappa that evening? After you got back to your dorm?”

  “Yeah, about a half hour later. I took a shower, and then I walked over there to his dorm to give him something. A present.”

  “A present?”

  “Yes, a book.”

  “Any occasion?”

  “No,” she said. “It was just something he’d wanted for a while. The book.”

  Sprague nodded and continued to write. “Okay,” he said. “So this would be around eight p.m. or so?”

  “I guess so.”

  “And when you got to his dorm room, can you describe what you saw?”

  Chloe tried to picture it, but her memory was hazy. Suddenly time felt very fluid. “He was there with his friend Seung,” she said finally. “They were talking, you know. And they weren’t really expecting me, so I guess you could say they were a little surprised.”

  “Surprised?”

  “Yes.”

  “And do you know what they were talking about?”

  “No,” Chloe lied.

  “And how did Mr. Kittappa seem when you arrived?”

 
“I’m sorry?”

  “I mean, did he seem upset? Angry?”

  “No,” she said. “He seemed normal. You know, like, relaxed.”

  At this, Sprague reached for his tape recorder. “Mind if I turn this on?”

  Chloe stared at him, then shook her head.

  Sprague pressed down the button, then announced to the room the exact time and date, who he was speaking to, and his own name and rank. “Okay,” he said, smiling at Chloe. “So approximately how long would you say you spent in Mr. Kittappa’s dorm room that night?”

  “About forty-five minutes, I guess.”

  “And what did you do while you were there?”

  “Talked mostly.”

  “About?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Lots of things. Friends, you know, class, stuff like that.”

  “Stuff like that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tyler Beckwith?”

  Chloe paused. “Yeah, I guess his name might have come up.”

  “In what context?”

  “I don’t really remember.”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “No, I mean, you know, he’d been harassing Raja and all. Leaving signs on his door and stuff, so I guess we were kind of talking about that.”

  “And you’re sure it was Mr. Beckwith who had left these signs?”

  “Yes,” Chloe said. “Positive.” Then she told him about the navy-blue peacoat she’d seen, and how she’d seen Tyler Beckwith wearing that exact same coat a few days later.

  Sprague looked at her then and nodded. “And did Mr. Kittappa seem angry about it? About the signs?”

  “No,” Chloe lied. “I mean, he wasn’t happy about it, of course, but I wouldn’t describe him as angry.”

  “And did he seem inebriated?”

  Chloe peered at him now, suddenly feeling uneasy. “Inebriated?”

  “Yes, Mr. Cho mentioned that he and Mr. Kittappa had been drinking some beer. Is that true?”

  “They might have been,” she said, “I’m not really sure. I mean, they might have had a few before I got there.”

  “But they weren’t drinking when you were in the room?”