Brian Freeman - Marathon

“Don’t touch the curtains,” Malik said.

“Why not?”

“Cops are all over the neighborhood. They’re looking for you. We can’t let anyone see that we’re here.”

Malik turned around and walked away, and Khan followed him into the kitchen. Like the rest of the house, it was empty. No table or chairs. No appliances on the counter. One cabinet door hung open, revealing a few crumbs of food and the white dust of flour. The refrigerator was unplugged. Malik picked up a plastic bottle of Lipton iced tea, unscrewed it, and drank. He held out the bottle to Khan.

“Want some?”

Khan began to say no, but he realized he was thirsty. He took the bottle and drank down the rest of the warm, sweet tea. When he was done, he wiped his mouth and said, “Where are we?”

“This house is on the end of Redwing Street across from the Ridgeview golf course.”

“Who owns this place?”

Malik shrugged. “Now? Some bank. One of my friends in Minneapolis works in the foreclosure department. He gave me the keys. From the outside, it looks abandoned. Long grass. I have to come and go carefully to make sure the neighbors don’t get curious.”

Khan didn’t ask questions about Malik’s friends. He didn’t want to know who they were.

“Does anyone else know I’m here?” Khan asked.

“Just me.”

“I need to call Ahdia.”

“No. I’m sorry, Khan. That’s not possible for many reasons. I can’t have you use my phone and risk people tracking it to us. And the fact is, Ahdia’s phone is probably turned off, so that no one at the FBI can track her .”

“Where is she?”

“Gone,” Malik said. “She and Pak disappeared last night. It’s all over the news. You are a wanted man, Khan, and so is your family.”

“Where did she go?” Khan asked.

“I don’t know. The good thing is, the police don’t seem to know, either. Otherwise, you can bet they would have her in a holding cell somewhere, and your boy would be with Child Protective Services. I’m trying to find out through my channels where she went. She’s probably still in the city and somewhere close by. If she escaped, it wasn’t on her own. She had help.”

Khan thought about it. “Haq.”

“Yes, that’s my guess,” Malik replied.

“Call him.”

“I can’t do that. It wouldn’t be safe for us to be in contact. And you know that Haq and I don’t exactly see eye to eye. Don’t worry, Khan. I’m sure Ahdia and Pak are safe. I’ll talk to a friend, and a friend will talk to a friend, and somewhere in the chain, I’ll find out where she is. Be patient.”

Khan looked around the empty house, which felt like a prison. It had none of the smells, none of the comforts, of home. He wanted to smell sandalwood and jasmine. He wanted to kiss his wife and go out in the fresh air to drive his cab.

“Patient? How can I be patient? What’s happening to me? Malik, what is going on?”

Malik didn’t answer. He grabbed another bottle of tea from the floor and returned to the living room, where he sat cross-legged in the dust. Khan was too anxious to sit, so he paced back and forth from the curtains to the kitchen doorway. Then he knelt in front of his friend.

“Please, tell me what’s going on.”

“What’s going on is exactly what I warned you about. Since Saturday, they’ve been looking for a Muslim face, and they finally found one. Yours.”

“But how?” Khan asked.

Malik reached into his pocket for his phone and showed Khan a photo. Khan had seen it before. It was the same photo that the man at the market had shoved in his face. “ Is this you? Because it sure looks like you.” And it was. The photo showed Khan rushing back to his cab from Canal Park on the day of the marathon. Seconds later, the bomb went off, and he’d reversed his steps to wade into the terrified crowd and help.

“This photo is all over Twitter,” Malik told him. “Dawn Basch called you the bomber. Now everyone thinks it’s true, and they’re all looking for you.”

“So I was there!” Khan protested. “What does that mean? And yes, I was a fool; I lied about it to the police. I was going to go there today and explain it to them.”

Malik gave him a tight smile. “Explain what? That you were really looking for me? Thank you so much, Khan.”

“I’m sorry, but if you did this terrible thing—”

“I didn’t.”

Khan’s eyes narrowed. He tried to decide if Malik was telling the truth. “You weren’t the bomber?”

“No.”

“Malik, I was in your apartment. I found a marathon brochure. And a bit of copper wire, too.”

“You call me for help, and I risk my life for you, and now you interrogate me?”

“I need to know what you did,” Khan replied.

“You already know enough. I told you. It wasn’t me. We talked about the marathon, but that wasn’t the plan.”

“Then what was?”

“Never mind. Everything has changed because of you.”

“If you didn’t do this, I can go to the police,” Khan repeated. “I can explain what really happened. I can clear this all up.”

“It’s too late for that. The photo went viral because a man claims he saw you a few minutes before the bombing with a backpack. In this photo, you don’t have one. Everyone leaped to the obvious conclusion. Your backpack wound up shredded all over the marathon course, along with the body parts of the people you maimed and killed.”

Khan backed up in horror. He put trembling hands over his face. “That is insane! I don’t even own a backpack!”

“Do you think they’ll care about that? How do you prove a negative? Besides, you have other problems now. You killed a police officer in the cemetery. The cops are baying for your blood, my friend.”

“I didn’t kill him! I didn’t have a gun!”

“Witnesses saw you with one,” Malik told him.

“They’re wrong! The man who accosted me at the market had a gun. That was his, not mine.”

Malik got to his feet. He stood in front of Khan, and his face was filled with anger. “Don’t you get it? The truth doesn’t matter! No one cares about the truth! People said you had a gun, and now a cop is dead with a bullet in his head. As far as the world is concerned, you did it .”

Khan’s eyes widened with disbelief. “I can’t believe this. I don’t even know how it happened. It wasn’t me! I didn’t shoot him!”

“Wake up, Khan. You are their bomber. You are their murderer. And once they find you and shoot you, you won’t be able to say anything different.”

“So what do I do?” Khan asked.

“For now, nothing. Read the Qur’an. I have my copy for you. Pray. Ask for guidance from Allah.”

“I can’t just sit here. Ahdia needs me. I need to go to her.”

“I told you, I’m reaching out to friends. I’ll find out where she’s taken refuge. But you can’t go anywhere during the daylight. Hopefully, I can exchange a message with Haq, and he can find a lawyer, and the lawyer can figure out a way to keep you safe. Until then, you have to sit tight, my friend. Stay away from the windows and doors. If someone knocks, don’t answer. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“You’re leaving?” Khan asked. “Where are you going?”

“I can’t take the risk of turning on my phone while we’re together. I don’t know who’s being watched and who’s being tracked, and if they run a search, it will lead the FBI right to you. I parked a car on the other side of the golf course. I’m going to slip over there and stay on the move. Don’t worry, I’ll return when I’m sure it’s safe.”

Malik turned toward the back of the house, but Khan grabbed him and embraced him. “Thank you, my friend. Be careful.”