Read Online The Truth of the Matter by Andrew Klavan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Andrew Klavan
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limousine. I was sitting in the backseat with Waterman. I wasn’t watching the scene this time. I was in it. I was part of it. I was living it again.
The black limousine was moving now. It had left the reservoir behind. The driver was guiding it into the darkness of the hills around my town. There was nothing on either side of us but looming forest and the night.
“What I’m about to tell you is a secret,” Waterman was telling me. “A secret of the United States government. If you tell anyone, you’ll be endangering people’s lives. I want to know if you’re ready to hear it and if you can promise me not to tell anyone, not even your parents, not even your closest friends, no one.”
I sat in the darkness, nervous. Was this guy really an intelligence agent for the United States government? What did they have to do with what happened to Alex? What did they have to do with me?
“Okay,” I said. “I promise not to tell. What’s the big secret?”
“We want to frame you for Alex’s murder.”
I sat staring at him as if I hadn’t heard him. I hadn’t really—at least I hadn’t been able to totally comprehend what he said. The meaning of it reached me slowly. And then I answered, “I . . . What?”
“We want to plant your DNA on the murder weapon, traces of Alex’s blood on your clothes. We want to rush the case to trial as quickly as we can and basically railroad you into prison for murder.”
I went on staring at him—or at his shadow in the dark. It seemed to take long, long minutes before each new sentence he spoke made sense to me. “You want to send me to prison?”
“Oh, don’t worry, we’re going to help you escape.”
“Oh.”
“But your family, your friends, your girl, everyone you know, is going to think you’re a murderer—and you won’t be able to tell them the truth.”
I didn’t answer. There was no answer I could think of. What could I say? I sat there, nodding. “Whoa,” I said finally. “You want to frame me for murder, put me in prison, and make everyone I know think I’m a criminal. That’s a really great offer. Is there a second choice? Like: you shoot me in the kneecap and leave me by the side of the road to die?”
Waterman gave a small snort of laughter in the dark. “Doesn’t sound like much fun, does it?”
“Any,” I said. “It doesn’t sound like any fun. But since you have the word intelligence in your agency, I’m guessing you have some reason for wanting me to do all this.”
“We do,” said Waterman. I heard him take a deep breath, as if he needed strength before he tried to explain this to me. “Your friend Alex was murdered by one of your teachers at school.”
“What?” I blurted out. Immediately, my mind went through a roster of my teachers. I couldn’t think of any one of them who would murder somebody. Okay, maybe Mrs. Truxell, the girl’s PE instructor . . . but no, not really, not even her. “Who?” I asked. “Who killed Alex?”
“Mr. Sherman. Your history teacher.”
“No! Come on!”
Waterman shrugged in the shadows.
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “Sherman’s an idiot, but he’s not a killer.”
“Actually, I’m afraid you’ve got that backward, Charlie. He’s a killer, but he’s no idiot.”
I brought my hands to my face, confused. For a moment I felt that I was forgetting something important . . .
And then, I was in the dark again, looking through a sort of keyhole of light, looking in at my own body where it lay writhing in agony on the floor of the Panic Room.
They’re going to blow it up! They’re going to blow me up! I’ve got to get back there! I’ve got to stop it! I’ve got to get out of this flashback!
For that one moment, I remembered my present situation, my present danger.
But the next second, as if I’d reached the end of some enormous elastic tether, I was snapped backward out of consciousness and hurled into the past again . . .
Back onto the seat of the dark limousine next
The black limousine was moving now. It had left the reservoir behind. The driver was guiding it into the darkness of the hills around my town. There was nothing on either side of us but looming forest and the night.
“What I’m about to tell you is a secret,” Waterman was telling me. “A secret of the United States government. If you tell anyone, you’ll be endangering people’s lives. I want to know if you’re ready to hear it and if you can promise me not to tell anyone, not even your parents, not even your closest friends, no one.”
I sat in the darkness, nervous. Was this guy really an intelligence agent for the United States government? What did they have to do with what happened to Alex? What did they have to do with me?
“Okay,” I said. “I promise not to tell. What’s the big secret?”
“We want to frame you for Alex’s murder.”
I sat staring at him as if I hadn’t heard him. I hadn’t really—at least I hadn’t been able to totally comprehend what he said. The meaning of it reached me slowly. And then I answered, “I . . . What?”
“We want to plant your DNA on the murder weapon, traces of Alex’s blood on your clothes. We want to rush the case to trial as quickly as we can and basically railroad you into prison for murder.”
I went on staring at him—or at his shadow in the dark. It seemed to take long, long minutes before each new sentence he spoke made sense to me. “You want to send me to prison?”
“Oh, don’t worry, we’re going to help you escape.”
“Oh.”
“But your family, your friends, your girl, everyone you know, is going to think you’re a murderer—and you won’t be able to tell them the truth.”
I didn’t answer. There was no answer I could think of. What could I say? I sat there, nodding. “Whoa,” I said finally. “You want to frame me for murder, put me in prison, and make everyone I know think I’m a criminal. That’s a really great offer. Is there a second choice? Like: you shoot me in the kneecap and leave me by the side of the road to die?”
Waterman gave a small snort of laughter in the dark. “Doesn’t sound like much fun, does it?”
“Any,” I said. “It doesn’t sound like any fun. But since you have the word intelligence in your agency, I’m guessing you have some reason for wanting me to do all this.”
“We do,” said Waterman. I heard him take a deep breath, as if he needed strength before he tried to explain this to me. “Your friend Alex was murdered by one of your teachers at school.”
“What?” I blurted out. Immediately, my mind went through a roster of my teachers. I couldn’t think of any one of them who would murder somebody. Okay, maybe Mrs. Truxell, the girl’s PE instructor . . . but no, not really, not even her. “Who?” I asked. “Who killed Alex?”
“Mr. Sherman. Your history teacher.”
“No! Come on!”
Waterman shrugged in the shadows.
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “Sherman’s an idiot, but he’s not a killer.”
“Actually, I’m afraid you’ve got that backward, Charlie. He’s a killer, but he’s no idiot.”
I brought my hands to my face, confused. For a moment I felt that I was forgetting something important . . .
And then, I was in the dark again, looking through a sort of keyhole of light, looking in at my own body where it lay writhing in agony on the floor of the Panic Room.
They’re going to blow it up! They’re going to blow me up! I’ve got to get back there! I’ve got to stop it! I’ve got to get out of this flashback!
For that one moment, I remembered my present situation, my present danger.
But the next second, as if I’d reached the end of some enormous elastic tether, I was snapped backward out of consciousness and hurled into the past again . . .
Back onto the seat of the dark limousine next
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