Michael Koryta - The Prophet

“How you doing?” Kent said, already awkward, the handshake somehow removing the sense of focused control he’d had when he walked over to meet his brother.

“I’m all right. You?”

“Tired.”

“Going to get more tired, if you’re any good. Should have a few weeks left. Undefeated season’s never been done in this school. Going to get it for them?”

“We’ll try,” Kent said. “Listen, I didn’t bring you in here to talk football.”

“Should have. I could help your Pollyannas. Teach them how to play with blood in their eyes.”

“Adam, listen, we need to—”

“You remember the last time you called me?” Adam said. His dark blue eyes held a faraway sheen, and Kent could smell beer on his breath.

“You’ve been drinking tonight, haven’t you?”

“I drink every night. Now, do you remember the last time you called me?”

Kent thought about it, said, “Your birthday.”

“That doesn’t count. Remove the obligatory holiday calls and then tell me.”

They were obligatory only to Kent; he did not receive holiday calls from Adam. But his brother’s eyes had gone serious and for some reason he was compelled to go along with it, to try and remember. He couldn’t do it. Adam saw that in his face and smiled humorlessly.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I couldn’t recall it myself.”

Kent said, “A girl was murdered, Adam, and the police are calling me about it.”

“I’ve heard from them, too.”

“Apparently they don’t hear back.” Kent stepped forward, forced himself into Adam’s wandering gaze, and said, “Did you really tell some woman you were working for our sister? ”

It went very quiet then. In his office the video played, and flickers of light and shadow bled out of the room and danced over Adam’s lean face as he looked down into Kent’s eyes.

“I said I was there on her behalf,” Adam said, and his voice was slow and cold. “That’s what I said, and that’s what I meant. Would you like to take issue with it?”

“Yes,” Kent said, not backing down, not on this point, not when Marie’s name had been invoked. “I take issue with it. I don’t know what sort of scheme you had in mind at the time, but it boils down to a lie, and you can’t tell me it doesn’t. You’re not a detective, and nobody’s hired you to do anything. So you’re out masquerading as one and telling people that Marie sent you? The first half is pathetic, the second I take personally.”

“You take it personally.” Adam’s voice had gone absolutely empty.

“That’s what I just said.”

Adam gave a small nod. “And you’re entitled to do that. Because she was your sister.”

“She was our sister. I don’t understand how you could use her name like that, how you can even suggest that, twist her into whatever lie—”

“Not a lie.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Keep calling it one, Kent. That’s fine, but it won’t become one. You say I’m not a detective? I’ve got a state license that says otherwise. You say I wasn’t there on Marie’s behalf? You better believe you’re wrong on that count. You better know that.”

Kent stepped back, put one hand on a locker, and leaned against it. Let a few seconds pass, trying to let the building anger ebb away. Then he said, “What are you doing, man? What in the world do you think you’re doing?”

Adam sat down on one of the long benches in front of the lockers, braced his forearms on his knees and looked at the floor and took a deep breath. Kent could see his back muscles spread out under his T-shirt, could see his big shoulders rise. Loading dock muscle, Coach Ward had called it. That’s the kind that moves freight, boys. That’s what we want. I don’t give a damn if you look pretty in the mirror, I want you to move freight.

“What did they tell you about the situation?” Adam said.

“Which situation? The woman you interviewed? Or Rachel Bond?”

“Rachel.”

“I know that she went to you looking for help finding an address. I know that she lied to you about her age, and the police probably didn’t cut you much slack on that, but you’ll cut yourself less slack on it.” He was almost surprised he’d said that; it wasn’t a thought he had expressed to anyone else. “I know that you gave her an address.”

“And you know what happened when she went there.”

“Yeah. Yes.”

Adam nodded again.

“So that’s what I know,” Kent said when it was clear his brother was not going to speak. “Today, I was told about your contact with some woman who the police don’t want you dealing with. I was told what you said to her. I didn’t like what I heard.”

“I can imagine not.”

“Tell me, then. Tell me what you’re doing, Adam.”

Adam lifted his head. “I’m going to find him.”

Kent stared at him. Adam’s eyes were clear and cool.

“Rachel’s murderer,” Kent said.

“Gideon.”

For a moment Kent thought: There he went. Finally. All the way over, it was bound to happen, he was bound to tip and now he has— but then Adam added, “That’s what I like to call him. I needed a name. That one works.”

Kent was scared for him now. Anger had faded to fear, and he said, “Don’t talk like that.”

“The name helps me.”

“No, it doesn’t. Adam, they are not the same person.”

“The hell they aren’t. One abducted and murdered a teenage girl. So did the other. They’re close enough to share a name, at least. Shit, you and I do, and how much do we have in common? They can share a name.”

Kent said, “He’s dead, Adam. The man is dead.”

“Marie’s Gideon is dead. Rachel’s is not.”

Kent wanted to tell him to shut up, stop using names, but that wasn’t going to accomplish much. He couldn’t look into that unsettling, empty stare anymore, and turned to face the white light in the office as he said, “Don’t get in their way, Adam. Please.”

“The police. You don’t want me to get in their way.”

“That’s right.”

“Because you don’t think I can find him.”

“I don’t know if you can or not, but I know it’s not your place to try. I know you’ll cause problems if you do, I know—”

“The police,” Adam said, “looked for Marie’s killer for four months.”

“And they found him.”

“Police in another town made a random stop and caught a break. The police assigned to find Marie’s killer, though? They were not close, Kent. They were not close. And he was supposed to be in prison the whole time. He’d been missing for months, and how good a job did the police do then? How quickly did they find him?”

Kent reached up and rubbed his eyes. He hated to think of it, hated to remember it, but Adam lived in a temple of memories, he could not move forward, his past was his present.

“Don’t do this. Even if you could help, they won’t let you. It’ll only make things worse.”

“Because it’s not my place.”

“Because they’re cops, Adam, and, yes, they will be upset because it is not your role.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. It is my role, it’s the only one for me. So this, this is my place. Because this Gideon? This one belongs to me.”

“Stop calling him that.”

“It’s the right thing to call him.”

Kent dropped his hand, looked at him, and said, “Please, Adam.”

“What did they want from you? What were you supposed to accomplish? Just get me to step away? Get me to call Salter back? What?”

“All of the above. But I called you because… because I didn’t like what I’d heard.”

Adam said, “You should see the place.”