Time Will Tell

by Barry Lyga

  No. No. Exactly like a mirage.

  “You’re just springing this on me. Come on.”

  “It’s time. It’s way past time, actually.”

  “Why now?”

  Antoine sighed. The dancing light left his eyes, and he took a few paces away from Dean. His expression said that all this was going exactly as he’d predicted, not as he’d hoped.

  “At school. In the storage closet.” Antoine finally spoke.

  “Yeah. I know. That was rough. But it worked out. We didn’t get caught. Jay didn’t tell the police or the school about the rest of us.”

  Antoine shook his head. “That’s not it.”

  “Look, his dad is on the school board. He’ll be okay.”

  “And that’s not it.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Antoine clenched his fists, his lips puffed out in frustration as he struggled for words.

  “I was scared, too!” he exclaimed. “Cooped up in that little space, waiting for the cops to do who knows what.”

  “Me too, and—”

  “And you held her hand. You comforted her.”

  Dean sighed. Fidgeted. He’d never even thought of holding Antoine’s hand, and now the guilt hit. “I couldn’t. Come on. You know that.”

  “You wouldn’t.” Antoine stalked toward him, suddenly seething. “I’m the guy you say you love—you should have been thinking of me. I was thinking of you.”

  Yes. He remembered Antoine’s hand in the dark. Shame washed over him. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t… I’m not doing this well.” He knew he wasn’t. Daylight Dean and Nighttime Dean. He’d thought they could coexist, like alternate-universe versions of each other. But they were in conflict. Each dangerous to the other, like matter and antimatter.

  “I’m still figuring it all out,” Dean told him. “I promise you, I’m getting better. I love you.”

  “You can hide,” Antoine told him. “You have that luxury. I can’t. I haven’t been able to hide since the day I was born. I have to walk in this world the way I am. How long am I supposed to wait for you to figure that out? Because I don’t get to be real unless you decide to be real, and that’s not fair to me.”

  This was it: the kernel of their dilemma. Even though Antoine thought he didn’t, Dean did understand. Antoine lived in a world that had expectations and prejudices simply by virtue of his skin color. And Dean knew that. Dean got that. Just existing in his skin made the world dangerous. Antoine had lived with that danger, that constant threat, his whole life, so even though he knew opening up about his love was fraught, well, in the end it was just one more reason for the world to hate him.

  For Dean, though, it meant sacrificing… everything. Why couldn’t Antoine understand that?

  “I’m so tired of hiding the half that I can,” Antoine told him, tears glimmering in his eyes. “It’s exhausting, man. It takes so much out of me. It feels like lying and cheating and… skulking around in the middle of the night. Pretending we’re nothing to each other during the day. If I have to live like that, I might as well just leave.”

  “Don’t do that,” Dean whispered. His heart thrummed in double time at the idea of losing him. “Please.”

  “We have to be open,” Antoine said, his voice gone so soft so fast. “We have to be out and real. Or we can’t be at all. It’s the only way to live. I know it’ll be tough. I get that. But I can help you. I swear, Dean, I swear on my mother’s life, I will always, always be there for you.”

  “I can’t.” Dean’s own tears glistened now, blurring the edges of his vision, smearing wet rainbows on the periphery. “I’m not there.”

  “You have to make a choice. You’re either with me in the open or you’re with her.”

  “I’m not giving you up,” Dean insisted. “You’re the only thing in my life that’s real.”

  “Then tell everyone. Or say nothing and come with me. But we can’t keep living these half lives.”

  Dean shook his head back and forth and had trouble making it stop. No. No. That wasn’t just impossible—it was insane. He couldn’t do that. No no no no no no.

  Antoine’s expression softened at Dean’s distress. “Look… look, at the very least… this isn’t fair to her, either. You’re cheating on her every minute of every day. You gotta let her go.”

  “I can’t.”

  He knew he couldn’t. Kim was his shield and his shelter. She staved off the arrows and spears.

  “Please.” His voice was less than a whisper. He wiped at the tears. “Please. I need more time.”

  Unbidden, his legs carried him forward, stumbling into Antoine’s arms. “I’m trying. Please. Please don’t leave.”

  Antoine held him. Strong arms around him. Dean wept.

  Outside, the sound of a car’s tires broke into the weeping.

  THE PRESENT: ELAYAH

  “… knew that I had to make a decision,” Antoine’s voice went on from the stereo. “And that meant Dean had to make a decision, too.”

  They all sat in silence as the voice purled forth from the speakers. No one spoke as Antoine described his love for Dean, their relationship, their impasse.

  And then suddenly Dad leapt up from the sofa and lunged over the coffee table, reaching out for Liam’s father.

  “What did you do to my brother?” he howled. “Tell me what you did!”

  The sheriff leapt back. Brian was up from his chair faster than she would have thought possible, given his size.

  For the first time, Elayah realized how huge Brian was. Her father still had the coiled, muscular build of a runner, but Brian was built like an alp. He interposed himself between the two men and held them apart.

  “Everyone just calm down,” he said. “Just calm down.”

  From the stereo, Antoine kept speaking. “… didn’t even realize a car had pulled up until we heard the door close outside…”

  1986: DEAN

  What was that?” Antoine’s head snapped up. He’d been nestled against Dean’s shoulder, but now he peered around.

  They still held each other. Looking around. Another sound.

  The front door. Steps on the floor above.

  They exchanged a look of fear. They were back in the storage closet again, terrified.

  Unless Antoine had closed the basement door—and why would he have?—the light from their lantern would lead whoever it was right to them.

  The steps creaked. As though through some silent, telepathic agreement, Antoine and Dean separated, but still held hands. They would face this together.

  And then there was Brad Gimble on the final step, staring at them.

  He gazed around the basement, taking in the sleeping bag on the floor, the duffel, the beer bottles, and the lantern. After an interminable wait, Gimble laughed a low, cruel, nasty laugh. “Holy crap. You two are queer for each other?”

  They were still holding hands. Dean jerked his out of Antoine’s grasp.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Dean demanded, as though he himself had any right to be in the same place.

  “Marcus and Dean, two fairies in a fairy nest!” Gimble chortled. Antoine didn’t even bother to correct him. “I wasn’t expecting that! Man, Kim T.’s gonna be soooooo disappointed when she finds out those big ol’ titties of hers are wasted on her boyfriend!”

  Dean’s fists clenched of their own accord. “Shut up, Brad. Why are you even here?”

  Brad seemed to mull this question over for a bit.

  “Let’s just go, Dean,” Antoine said quietly.

  “What?”

  “Yeah, what?” Brad said in a high falsetto.

  “Seriously, shut up, Gimble!” Dean turned to Antoine. “What do you mean, let’s go?”

  “There’s no point talking to this jackass,” he said, gesturing to Brad. “Let’s just get out of here.”

  Gimble crossed his arms over his chest. “No one’s going anywhere until you tell me who pissed in my locker. Wa
s it one of you two?”

  Dean snorted. “Is that what this is about?”

  Gimble grunted and set his jaw. “I’ve been looking to get one of you alone. Saw Marcus over there running through town on my way home from the movies and figured I’d follow him. After homecoming, everyone knows you guys broke into the school. So which one of you pissed in my locker?”

  “It wasn’t us,” Antoine said wearily. “Now get out of my way.”

  Gimble actually stepped aside and let Antoine pass. Halfway up, he turned, expecting Dean behind him. When he realized Dean wasn’t coming, he shook his head and disappeared up the stairs.

  Dean couldn’t move. His fists were so tight they hurt.

  “Kim doesn’t know, right?” Gimble said. “There’s no way she knows. Oh man, when she finds out, she’s gonna lose it. How does a homo end up with one of the hottest girls in school?”

  “Just shut up.”

  Gimble laughed. “You know what? This is even better than finding out who pissed on my stuff.” Then, turning to go up the stairs, he said with a pronounced lisp, “Thee you at thchool, thweetie!”

  Dean growled deep in his chest and charged at Gimble. Brad was a football player and a wrestler, but those were games with rules. Dean just flat-out launched himself at Gimble, throwing all his weight into it. He caught Gimble from behind, on the stairs. Together, they slid down and crashed to the basement floor.

  “Shut up!” Dean howled. “Shut up!”

  Gimble struggled against him. The element of surprise had given Dean the upper hand. “You… you getting all excited, Dean?” he managed. “Getting a boner?”

  Dean reared back with his right hand and drove it into Gimble’s stomach. Gimble woofed out a breath and made a choking sound.

  Dean saw it all flash before him: The look of disappointment in Kim’s eyes. His mother’s tears. His father’s anger. His grandparents. All his friends. Everything he would lose.

  Dean’s vision went red. He raised a fist again, but Gimble was too busy catching his breath to notice or flinch.

  Dean managed to shift his knees so that he was pinning Gimble’s arms down. But Gimble was strong. Too strong. The shift and surge of his body under Dean’s meant that it was only a matter of time before he threw Dean off.

  He raised his fist again. The face this time. If he was about to get his ass kicked by Brad Gimble, at least he’d leave him with a black eye. But just then, Gimble jerked his lower body, trying to heave Dean off him. Dean lurched forward, tried to catch himself. His forearm lodged itself under Gimble’s chin, across his throat.

  This worked pretty well, actually. Gimble’s chest hitched and he stopped laughing. Dean leaned into it, putting more weight on his arm.

  Shut you up. Shut you up. Shut. You. UP!

  Gimble started thrashing, but Dean knew he couldn’t let up. He couldn’t.

  He pressed down harder. He had to scare Gimble enough that he would never ever threaten Dean again. Never ever say anything about—

  Dean’s arm slid suddenly. Something gave out beneath. There was a crunching sensation, the feeling of walking on layers of autumn leaves. Without realizing it was happening, Dean stumbled off Gimble and rolled to the floor.

  Every nerve in his body hummed and sang danger. Get up. Get up before he does!

  He rolled to his side, then heaved himself into a crouch. Gimble still lay there. Completely still.

  Dean stared at the body for how long he could not say.

  He’d killed Brad Gimble.

  He’d killed—

  He swallowed, hard, willing himself not to vomit. Bile burned in his throat.

  What would he say? What would he do? When people asked why, what would he tell them?

  He was angry about piss in his locker. He threatened me. I fought for my life.…

  No. No one would believe it. No one would believe that an angry Brad Gimble had attacked Dean and Dean had won.

  I jumped him. I started it. Oh, God.

  The bile rose again. He spat it out, his mouth gone sour.

  Gimble stared up at the ceiling, unblinking.

  I killed him!

  What could he do? What could he do now?

  He ran his hands through his hair. His palms sweated.

  Nothing. Nothing to do. No apology to make. No way to take it back. No do-over.

  There was no way forward from this. None.

  It was over.

  He was a killer.

  There was nothing for him now.

  Nothing but prison. A lifetime of horror.

  He saw it before him. He experienced it in a rush.

  No.

  There was another way.

  One way.

  One way out.

  He found a piece of paper in his duffel bag, along with a pen. He began to write.

  It was the only way. He drew the knife from his belt.

  Steps. Creaks.

  “Are you two still—oh.”

  Kneeling on the floor by Brad Gimble’s body, Dean looked up at Antoine, who stood, shocked and paralyzed on the stairs.

  “What… what did you do?” Antoine asked, but Dean could tell he already knew.

  “It was an accident.”

  “What did you do?” Screaming it this time.

  “It was an accident!”

  “You killed him?”

  Dean struggled for words. “He was—he was saying—”

  “So you killed him?”

  “It was… I didn’t…” Nothing made sense. Dean’s thoughts whirled. He went dizzy and the taste of bile returned.

  The only thing to do…

  It was so obvious.

  He looked at what he’d written so far: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to kill anyone.

  He had more to say. How it had happened. How foolish he’d been. But none of it mattered. Not any longer.

  Dean raised the knife to his throat. “I love you,” he told Antoine.

  Antoine startled. “Hey!” He held out a cautioning hand. “Hey.”

  “Say it back. Please say it back.”

  Instead, Antoine dashed toward him, channeling every bit of Black Lightning. His hand clenched Dean’s wrist and the knife jittered.

  “Don’t do this!” he yelled at Dean.

  Dean tried to draw the knife across his throat, but Antoine was too strong. They struggled, tugging back and forth. Dean’s arm lost all its strength and it snapped back toward Antoine. He felt something give.

  Antoine jumped back. His shirt was torn across the chest and blood seeped into the fabric there. “You cut me! You actually cut me!”

  Oh, Jesus. Dean’s eyes juked from Brad’s body to Antoine’s gash and back again. The knife clattered to the floor from his nerveless hand.

  “Are you okay?”

  “You cut me!” Antoine pressed a hand against his chest to stanch the bleeding. “Oh man, it burns.”

  “I’m sorry, I…” Dean sniffled. “There’s no other way. There’s nothing else to do. I can’t… I killed him. I can’t just… can’t go back. Can’t pretend—”

  The room spun. It felt too hot all of a sudden. The air itself seemed speckled before his eyes.

  Antoine hissed in a pained breath and stooped to gather up the note, the knife. He wrapped them in a bit of cloth from Dean’s duffel bag.

  “Listen to me,” Antoine said. His voice came from very, very far away. “There’s still a way.”

  THE PRESENT: LIAM

  They listened, his dad and El’s dad staring at each other past the immovable block of Brian, as Antoine described the two of them dragging Brad Gimble’s body from the house. Driving him to the rocky overlook out on Route 9. Antoine positioned the body with the chin hooked over the steering wheel.

  They poured beer on him. They left bottles in the car.

  They pushed it over the precipice.

  “I knew that night that Dean would never come with me. That we would never be together. He was still tethered to his old life. I should
have realized. I shouldn’t have pushed him.

  “I told him I was leaving on the bus in the morning, but the truth is this: I hadn’t decided yet. I was ready to go, but I wanted him with me. I would have stayed, for him, no matter how desperately I needed to leave.

  “And then he killed someone. He was so afraid of being found out that he actually killed someone. And that made my decision for me.

  “I put it all in the time capsule. All the evidence. It was all I could think of to do. I had to protect Dean, but I also couldn’t let these things go unsaid. So that’s why you’re hearing this tape, whoever you are. I had to unburden myself. But I also had to protect Dean, so I spoke the truth and then I made sure it would be buried.

  “And in fifteen years, someone will dig it up. Or they won’t. I can’t control that. I can only control what I do now. Which is…

  “Which is try to start over.”

  The tape clicked into silence.

  No one spoke. Pop sat on the floor, his expression dazed and broken.

  Liam sought out El with his eyes, but she was staring at her dad. After a moment, Mr. Laird felt around behind himself and sat back down on the sofa.

  “Oh, dear God,” he whispered.

  “He called me.” Dad twisted his hands together, staring down at them. “From the bus depot. He told me he’d done this. I… I barely even remembered the night. I was in shock. The knife… all of it. He told me it was in the time capsule, but there was no way.… It was too late by the time he called me. We were burying it in a couple of hours.… I just had to… leave it there. And hope.”

  Liam nearly gagged. If he hadn’t insisted on digging it up to spite his father…

  Dad did not move for a long time, his hands dangling at his sides as though nerveless and useless. Finally, he reached for his phone. His hand trembling noticeably, he held it out to Pop, who stared at it as though it were an alien life-form before accepting it.

  “Honey,” Dad said, his voice sounding astoundingly like Liam’s grandfather’s in that moment, “could you please call the station for me and tell them to send a deputy over to make an arrest? I’d prefer Riley or Gonzalez, but whoever’s available.”