Andrew Klavan - The long way home

I sat in the Civic with all those thoughts running through my mind, kind of racing around and crashing into one another. I guess I kind of drifted off into my own private world. Then, when I came back to myself, I saw through the dojo's storefront that the last lesson of the day was over. The students were giving their quick karate-style bows of respect to the American flag and to Sensei Mike. Then they knelt in the meditation position for a few minutes. Finally, Mike dismissed the class.

I sat and watched while the students helped Mike clean up the dojo for the day. It was getting close to ten o'clock when they finally finished. Mike watched them carrying their equipment bags out the door, giving each a goodnight punch on the shoulder as they went past. Then the door swung shut and Mike was alone. I watched as he disappeared into the changing room in back to get out of his gi and put on his street clothes.

I waited in the car a few more minutes. I scanned the parking lot. It was late now. A lot of the mall stores were closed. But there were still plenty of cars parked around. People were still using the supermarket and the restaurants and the Starbucks, all of which stayed open late. That was a good thing from my point of view. As long as there were people in the mall, I could blend in. I doubted anyone would recognize me in the dark. I didn't see any cops patrolling either.

I faced forward in time to see Mike come out of the back room. He was dressed in jeans now and a gray sweatshirt that said US Army on the front. He came across the dojo to the foyer and then went into his office off to the side.

I moved quickly. I got out of the car and started walking directly toward the dojo, trying not to look left or right. My heart started beating really hard. I didn't know how Mike would react when he saw me again. I didn't know how he'd react when I asked him about Alex.

I could see Mike inside through the slats of the venetian blinds on his office window. He was getting ready to close up shop. He was standing at his desk in the office, bending over his computer, shutting it down. I saw the white light of the monitor on his face for a moment. Then the light went out.

By the time I reached the door, I was so nervous I could hardly breathe. I pushed the door open.

I stepped in quietly, but I guess Mike heard the door swing shut. He called from the office.

"We're closed."

Then he stepped into the office doorway.

He didn't look any different than I remembered. He wasn't like my friends-teenagers who change so much in a year. He still had the black hair, neatly combed, and the big mustache. He still had that permanent sardonic smile and the sad, secret laughter in his eyes-even now-even when he saw me and froze where he was.

It was really good to see him after all this time. I hoped he wouldn't turn me away.

There was no big reaction. Mike just gave a quiet snort, that's all. "Hey, Charlie," he said.

"Hey, Mike. You don't look all that surprised to see me."

He shook his head. "I'm not surprised. The police won't be surprised either. They figured you might come here. Maybe you'd better move away from the window, let me close the blinds."

I stepped deeper into the foyer, to the doorway of the dojo. Mike went to the storefront. He peered out briefly into the parking lot-checking for cops, I guess. Then he pulled a string and brought the venetian blinds down over the glass. He turned the rods and the slats shut, so that no one outside could see us. All the while he went on talking to me:

"The police contacted me this morning. After they lost you at the library in Whitney, they figured you were probably on your way to Spring Hill. They asked me to get in touch with them if I saw you." When he was done with the blinds, he turned around and faced me, standing in front of the door. "You took a big chance coming here, chucklehead."

My heart hammering, I watched his eyes, tried to read his thoughts. It was impossible. There was just the same look as always-a look that said something like: This is a crazy world full of chuckleheads doing crazy things. Which I think is pretty much how Mike figured it.

"You gonna do it, Mike?" I asked him. "You gonna turn me in?"

He paused before he answered. "I might. Depends on what you have to say for yourself. You did the wrong thing, breaking out of prison like that, Charlie. You had a fair trial and you were convicted. If you're innocent, you gotta prove it, that's the law. Now you're a fugitive. You're alone. You could get shot by the cops-by anyone who recognizes you and has a gun. Best-case scenario: you get arrested again and thrown back into prison, only now you got penalty time and everyone's more convinced than ever that you're guilty. It was a pretty dumb play, Charlie. Not the way I taught you to think at all."

"Do you think I'm guilty, Mike?"

He gave another snort. "No." He said it just like that, like he had no doubt.

"How do you know? There was a lot of evidence against me."

"There was," he said. "I figure you must've been framed. It must've been something like that. You're no murderer, that's for sure."

"But how do you know?"

"I just know."

"But how, Mike?"

He snorted again and I saw his smile flash beneath the black mustache. He shook his head. "What're you, some kind of doofus? What kind of question is that? We're not talking about whether you're a Republican or a Democrat. We're not even talking about whether you're right or wrong. We're talking about whether you're good or evil. You think people don't know the difference between good and evil? Even evil people know the difference, Charlie, deep down, where they hide it from themselves. We're made that way at the factory, pal. It's how we find our way back." He cocked his head and eyed me sharply. "Is that why you came here? To ask me that? What's this all about?"

It was hard to answer him, hard to talk at all. Things always seemed so clear when Mike was explaining them. It made me wish I had him around to explain them to me all the time.

"I don't remember," I finally managed to tell him.

He narrowed his eyes. "What? You don't remember what?"

"Any of it. The murder. Breaking out of prison. I don't remember anything after the last time I saw Alex. A whole year of my life has gone down some sort of black hole in my mind."

For the first time, Mike looked genuinely surprised. More than that: he looked shocked.

"It's, like, I went to bed one night, the night Alex got murdered, and the next morning I woke up captured by a bunch of terrorists. And now they say I was one of them and they're trying to kill me. And the police are trying to arrest me and… I just don't know anything anymore, Sensei."

For a long time, Mike just stood there, not saying anything. Then he let out a breath-a long, whistling breath. He turned away. He put his hands on his hips and looked down at the foyer floor, thinking. It was several seconds before he looked at me again.

"Why did you come here tonight?" he asked me then. "It wasn't just for a philosophical chat about good and evil."

I shook my head. "I heard something. I heard that Alex was coming to see you. The night he was murdered- I heard you guys had some kind of secret meeting arranged."

It was the second time I'd surprised him. His eyebrows shot up. "Really? It must've been a pretty big secret. Even I didn't know about it."

"Well, that's what I heard."

"From where?"

"A friend of Alex's named Paul Hunt."

"Good guy?"

"No. But I think he was telling the truth."

Mike went on looking my way, but I could tell he was staring past me, through me, thinking, thinking. Then, slowly, his lips curled and his teeth showed under his mustache as he broke into a smile. His focus shifted and now he was looking at me for real. "Ah, okay. I get it now. You don't remember anything so you don't remember whether you killed Alex or not."