Andrew Klavan - The long way home

I nodded.

"So what're you trying to do-you trying to solve Alex's murder yourself?"

"Yeah."

"And you asked around and you found out he was coming to see me."

"That's right."

"I get it. You're so messed up in your head, you don't even know whether you're a good guy or not. So how can you know what I am?"

I felt my face get hot. Suddenly I felt ashamed- ashamed for suspecting Mike could be some kind of secret criminal. "Sure I know," I mumbled to him.

"Sure you do. You just forgot, that's all."

I put my hand on my forehead and massaged it, as if I had a headache. Really, I just couldn't stand to look Mike in the eyes. In a lot of ways I knew Mike better than I knew anyone. I knew Mike was a good guy. I knew it deep down, all the way down. I knew he wasn't any kind of criminal or terrorist or anything. I wondered if maybe-maybe if I could just clear my head for a little while-maybe I would know that about myself too.

"I didn't know Alex was coming to see me," Mike said then. "But if he was, I'm pretty sure I know why."

"Never mind," I said, still averting my eyes, still ashamed of doubting him. "You don't have to tell me."

"I know I don't. But I will." He moved around me until he was standing in front of the door. He folded his arms across his chest so that it looked like he meant to block my way out, keep me from escaping. He gazed at me and waited-waited until my gaze met his. Then he said, "About two or three weeks before he died, I bumped into Alex at the library. I recognized him because he used to come in with you to take karate lessons- remember that? You were both pretty small back then, but I recognized him all the same. And I remembered you'd mentioned at some point that he was having problems. He didn't look good, that's for sure. He looked-I don't know what the word is. Hunched-up and secretive. Like he was hiding something. Furtive- that's it. Anyway, I went over to say hello, you know, maybe talk to him, see if there was something I could do to help out. He was working on one of the library computers. When he noticed me coming up behind him, he shut it down really fast, like he didn't want me to see what he was looking at. But those library computers, you know, they're kind of slow and I got a look at the page. It had some kind of title like Real True America or something. I tried to find it once, but I couldn't, so that might not be the exact name. Anyway, I talked to him. He told me about what was going on at his house, all the trouble he was having. He seemed pretty upset, pretty confused. I told him he ought to drop by to see me, talk things out. He said he might-he might just do that-and he sounded like he would too. So I guess maybe that's why he was in the mall, that's what he was planning to do."

"You mean, you think he just needed someone to talk to?" I said. "But why would he want to keep that secret?"

"I don't know. It's a good question. Maybe someone didn't want him to talk to me. Or maybe he was just embarrassed that he needed help. A lot of guys are."

"Did you tell the cops about this?"

"I told them what I knew. I didn't know he was planning to come here that night so it didn't really seem all that important."

I nodded. It made sense. It made a lot more sense than the idea that Mike was some kind of secret criminal, that's for sure. I thought back to the night of the murder. When Alex and I had our big argument, he said all kinds of crazy stuff-about how everything he had learned to believe in-his parents, God, his country- was all false. I could see at the time that he was saying stuff he didn't really think was true. I could see in his eyes that it bothered him. It made sense that he had been on his way to Mike, that he was hoping Mike could set him straight.

"Does that answer your questions?" Mike asked me.

"Yeah," I said sheepishly. "Look, Mike, I didn't mean to say I thought you were involved in anything bad or anything."

"I know what you meant to say."

"It's just all this stuff-and not being able to remember- it's confusing."

"I know it is. And that's why…" He reached up and stroked his mustache as if he was thinking. Then he said, "That's why I'm going to have to turn you in."

For a second, I didn't really hear him, didn't really understand what he'd said. Then I did. My mouth opened, but I couldn't answer. I felt sick inside. I felt like my heart was speeding up and falling down at the same time. "Turn me in?"

Mike nodded slowly, sadly.

"Mike…" I said. "You can't. The police… they'll arrest me."

"Yeah," said Mike with a kind of laugh that wasn't a laugh. "I actually figured that out myself. I'm sorry, pal. I have to do it."

"But why?"

"Because look at you, man. I can't let you leave here and go wandering off. You're in a lot of trouble and a lot of danger and you're not thinking straight. You can't remember anything. You're all confused about what's what. Plus, it sounds like you've gotten yourself involved with some pretty-bad-news hombres. If you don't get off the streets, they could do you some real damage."

"I know, Mike, but… I can handle it."

"Maybe. But for how long? And for what? So you can live on the run. So you can live as a criminal. Look, I know being in prison is no picnic. But we'll get you out. You're innocent. We all know it and we're gonna prove it. Out here, you're just going to get yourself killed. Think of your mom, Charlie. Your mom and dad, they're practically dying with worry about you. They're terrified every day, every minute, just waiting to hear you've been shot by some cop somewhere."

"But Mike, listen…"

"It's for your own good, Charlie, your own protection. You're in over your head. I've got to hand you over."

I took a step toward him, toward the door. He held out his hand like a policeman stopping traffic. Our eyes met. I could see just by looking at him that he didn't want to do this. But I could also see that he would do it because he thought it was right.

"Look…" I said. "You've got to let me go. I've got to prove I didn't kill Alex."

"Charlie, you don't know what you sound like. You're outnumbered, you're outgunned. You can't remember anything. What can you do that we can't do for you? I mean, you escaped so soon after the trial, your folks didn't even have time to file an appeal. You gotta give the system a chance to work, man. It's the best way. Better than this."

"Mike, I just need some time…"

He hesitated. I don't think I'd ever seen Mike look so indecisive before. He wasn't sure he was doing the right thing, but he felt he had no choice. If I could just convince him…

"Sorry, chucklehead," he said now. "Don't make this harder on me than it already is."

He stepped away from the door. He started walking toward his office, toward his phone.

I seized the moment. I leapt for the door.

But Mike was too fast. The next moment, he had me. He grabbed me by my belt and the back of my collar. He hurled me backward so that I went stumbling across the foyer, through the doorway into the dojo. I tripped on the threshold and went down, my butt hitting the carpeted floor with a thud.

Mike, meanwhile, went back to his office door. But he didn't go in. There was a plastic box on the wall there. It had a little flap. He pulled it open. I could see what it was: the alarm system.

Mike pressed a button. A bell began ringing, not in the dojo but out in the mall where any passing cop could hear it.

"The police won't show up right away," he told me. "The alarm company will call here first. Then, when I don't answer, they'll call the cops. It usually takes about five, ten minutes before they get here."

I scrambled to my feet just inside the dojo. "Please, Mike, don't do it; let me go."

"No can do, my friend. This is for the best."