The Long Way Home

by Andrew Klavan

  By now, the broken macadam of the road was all but gone. There was nothing left but dirt and stones. They crunched under my sneakers as the path dipped down into a small valley and then rose again.

  I climbed up over the crest of the little hill and finally saw the house.

  It hadn’t changed any. It still loomed large and tumbledown and gloomy on the top of the rise. It still stared out at the darkness through its broken windows as if waiting for victims to approach. The predawn wind still moved over the surrounding fields, still stirred the trees and the unmown grass so that the place almost seemed a living presence, restless and murmuring. It was all just as I remembered it.

  But if the house hadn’t changed, I had. I’d changed a lot. The last time I’d come here, I was pretty much just a kid, getting into a little harmless mischief. I was afraid of ghosts then. The noise of mice in the walls made me jump and shiver. A staring statue in a graveyard sent a chill up my spine.

  I was older now—a young man, I’d guess you’d call me. Even though I’d lost a year of growing up—even though I couldn’t remember it—I had grown up all the same. I was still afraid—I was afraid all the time—but the things that frightened me were different. They were real. Not ghosts, but people—bad people—who didn’t believe we should have the freedom to think and say whatever we wanted and live the way we thought was right. They hated America because we had those freedoms. They wanted to hurt our country and they wanted to hurt me. I was afraid of them—the bad guys—and I was afraid of the good guys, the police. The police who wanted to put me in prison for the next twenty-five years. I was afraid they would catch me before I could find out the truth.

  So as I walked up the hill toward the Ghost Mansion, my feelings were weird—mixed, I guess would be the best way to describe them. I looked up at that great hulk of a house sitting against the deep blue sky and among the silhouetted trees—I looked up at it and I felt it looking back down at me—and yeah, I have to admit I still felt that old chill, that same chill I’d felt the last time I was here, as if something supernatural, something bizarre and frightening, might be waiting for me behind those black, staring windows.

  I felt that—but mostly, I felt something else. I felt sad. I missed those old days, those days I’d last been here. I missed being a kid. I missed being afraid of dumb things that couldn’t really hurt me. I missed laughing until I couldn’t breathe and then breathing and laughing some more.

  I guess the point is that more than anything, I missed my friends. I missed Rick and Miler and Josh. I missed having someone to kid around with and talk to. I missed long conversations about girls and sports and arguments about whether Medal of Honor was cooler than Prince of Persia and why part 2 of any trilogy was never as good as parts 1 and 3. I missed being with the guys who knew me best and liked me just the way I was. I missed my friends.

  But they were gone. I had to face that. Those days were gone and I was alone, as alone and empty as the McKenzie house.

  The dark house rose over me as I approached. The autumn branches of the trees leaned down toward me, creaking and groaning as I stepped into the shadow of the doorway.

  The last time I’d been here, I remembered, the front door had been locked and we had had to go around to the side before we found a door that was open. Now I just touched the front door and it opened easily, the rotten wood around the latch cracking and giving way.

  I stepped inside. The door swung closed behind me with a soft, high moan. I stood in the foyer at the foot of the front stairs as the brooding darkness of the house closed around me.

  I was about to reach for my flashlight, but then I noticed: in the time it had taken me to walk up the path, the first faint light of dawn had crept into the sky. That light was filtering to me here from the windows in the living room off to my right. After only a moment or two, my eyes adjusted and I could make out the shapes of things pretty clearly.

  I went to the foot of the stairs and peered up into the deep shadows. I put my hand on the banister—and then quickly pulled it away as I felt the slimy dust under my palm. I was about to start upstairs when I hesitated. Did I hear something up there? Was something moving around?

  I stood still and listened. The wind was rising the way it does at dawn and it blew freely through the house. The house creaked and settled, just the way it had the last time. And the mice—they were still here as well. In fact, they sounded particularly active. I could hear them scurrying this way and that. I guess they were trying to get back to their nests before daylight.

  I smiled to myself, remembering how Josh and Rick and I had lain in our sleeping bags, listening to those same noises, scared out of our wits. Every time we heard a new noise, we would glance at one another nervously and try to explain it away, try to laugh it off and reassure one another. It seemed kind of silly now.

  So I started up the stairs again—and stopped again. I had heard something. Something was moving around on the second floor. It wasn’t the wind or the house or the mice either. It was bigger than that. I could tell by the way it made the floorboards shift.

  I was tense now. My mind was racing, trying to come up with some explanation, trying to make sense of it. I thought it might be the cops or even the Homelanders, waiting for me. But how would they ever think to come here? Maybe it was just some animal, I told myself. Some raccoon who’d gotten stranded. Or maybe it was some homeless guy who’d crept in to get out of the cold and get some sleep.

  I thought about turning away. I thought about running. But the sky was getting even brighter and there was really nowhere else to go, nowhere else I could think of anyway.

  I waited there a long time, but there was no other noise. I shook my head at myself. Maybe I hadn’t grown up as much as I’d thought. I was still afraid of spooks and shadows and strange bumps in the night.

  I shrugged it off. It was probably nothing. I started up the stairs again, faster this time, moving with more boldness than I felt.

  The dawn was coming quickly now. As I reached the second-floor landing, I could see the new light coming through open doors and spilling into the hallway. I saw windows through the doors, and through the windows I saw the sky growing paler and paler blue. Soon I could make out the walls and the floorboards of the second-story corridor that led to the upstairs parlor, that same large room where I had come to stay the night with my friends all that time ago.

  I moved down the corridor to the parlor doorway. The door itself was gone and I saw the window on the wall beyond. The light of the sky was growing brighter even as I watched. Birds were singing and the branches of the trees were coming clear against the brightening blue.

  I was about one step away from the threshold when I heard a soft, quick, urgent whisper:

  “Coming!”

  There was no mistaking it: a human voice. I froze, motionless, my pulse pounding. The thoughts in my head seemed to all come together, like people shouting at each other in an argument: The police! The Homelanders! They’re here! They found me! I knew I had to run, but for a second I was so startled I couldn’t get my body moving.

  And before I could budge from the spot, a figure stepped into the doorway in front of me.

  The light from the window behind him blotted out his features. He was just a gray form standing there, as motionless as I was.

  For a long moment we confronted each other, just like that, neither of us moving a muscle.

  Then, slowly, the figure lifted his hands above his head, his fingers curled like claws.

  And he said softly, “Boo!”

  It was Miler. I couldn’t believe it. It was impossible, but it was true: it was Miler Miles.

  And now Josh and Rick were there, stepping into the doorway behind him.

  And after another moment, Rick said, “Dude. What took you so long?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  What Friends Are For

  I don’t know how long I stood there, staring like an idiot. I’m pretty sure it was a good long time. />
  Finally, Miler said, “You know, you look really stupid with your mouth hanging open like that. No offense or anything.”

  Then the next thing I knew I was in the room and we were all together, hugging and slapping hands and slugging one another’s shoulders and just saying, “Man!” and “Dude!” and “Bro!” over and over again. I don’t think I have ever been so happy to see anybody in my life. I don’t even know how to describe the feeling. It was like the dawn came up at the windows and the dawn came up inside me at the same time. It was like I didn’t realize how dark it was in my heart until the light shone through.

  The light. My friends. I could hardly believe they were here in front of me.

  I looked around in a daze. There were sleeping bags on the floor and flashlights and empty soda cans and an empty bag of potato chips. I guess they’d been waiting for me a long time.

  “How . . . ?” I finally managed to get the words out. “How did you guys know? How did you know I would come here?”

  “Josh knew,” said Rick. “He figured it out.”

  Josh touched his own shoulder with a finger and made a sizzling noise to show just how hot he was.

  I answered with a gesture of my own: raising my shoulders and lifting my hands in an enormous shrug as if to say, What’s the story?

  “I saw you on TV,” Josh said. “The whole thing about how you were in the library and the librarian called the cops and the cops showed up and started chasing you and everything.”

  “Yeah?”

  “And I thought, well, the last time anyone heard anything about you, you were escaping from the cops all the way over in Centerville. So I knew you were heading this way. I figured you must be coming back to Spring Hill.”

  “Sure, but . . .” I gestured around me at the big empty parlor. The room—the whole feeling of the house—was growing less and less dismal as the sun poured in through the windows. “The Ghost Mansion. How did you figure I’d come back to the Ghost Mansion?”

  Josh gave an almost modest tilt of his head. “I just tried to think the way you’d think. I figured if I knew you were coming to Spring Hill, the cops would know too. That meant it would be dangerous—more dangerous here than anyplace else.”

  I nodded. He was right. Spring Hill was probably the most dangerous place I could be right now, the place where I was most likely to get caught.

  Josh went on: “And if you were coming to the most dangerous place you could be, then you’d have to have a really good reason for it. There’d have to be something really urgent you had to do, something you had to do whether it was dangerous or not. So I thought, Well, what could that be? What could you do here you couldn’t do anyplace else? And then it came to me: you were coming back here to try to prove your innocence, to try to show it wasn’t you who killed Alex.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “That’s exactly right. I am.”

  Josh stood a little straighter, proud of himself. “So then I thought, well, if you were gonna prove your innocence, it might take some time, so you’d need a place to stay. Your parents moved to Stanton, so you couldn’t stay with them. And I knew you wouldn’t come to us because you wouldn’t want to get us involved; you wouldn’t want us to get in any trouble.”

  I nodded slowly. “That’s right too.”

  “So where else was there for you to go?” said Josh finally. “What other place did you know around here that was empty and secluded, where you could get shelter during the day, and get into town pretty quickly at night?”

  I nodded, impressed. Geeky as he was, Josh had always been the smartest guy in our group.

  But as I listened to him, a little of my happiness at our reunion started to fade. I moved to the window. As I passed Josh, I punched him lightly on the arm.

  “Good going, Josh,” I said softly. “That was really good thinking.”

  “I guess I’m not as dumb as I look,” said Josh with a goofy laugh.

  “No one could be as dumb as you look,” said Miler.

  I stood at the window and looked out. The day had now dawned fully. The bright, pale sky gleamed down through the naked branches of the autumn oaks. The branches swayed in the morning breeze. On the ground below, dead leaves blew through the old McKenzie graveyard. They covered the bases of the stones and the obelisks. They danced around the base of the statue.

  She was still there. The cowled, mourning woman. Still staring blankly with her stone eyes, still reaching out in grief as if to stop the soul she loved from departing. She was just as eerie as I remembered her too. Creepy and weirdly alive. It still made me shiver a little to look at her.

  I stared down into the graveyard, thinking, troubled.

  “What’s the matter, bro?” said Rick behind me.

  I turned to them. The three of them stood together, looking at me.

  They had changed, I could see. A year does a lot to you when you’re seventeen. They had changed a lot, just as I had.

  Miler was still a small guy, still had the short blond hair and the long face with its sharp, piercing green eyes. But the face seemed darker and more serious now that there was stubble on it. And his runner’s body had filled out, become sturdy and muscular. He was wearing jeans and a corded sweater with the sleeves rolled up, and I could see his shoulders had gotten broader and the muscles of his arms had become big and ropy.

  And Rick—he still had that big, round, cheerful face—but there was something new in his large eyes, some kind of—I don’t know—gentleness and understanding that hadn’t been there before. It made him look a lot older. Plus, hard as it was to believe, he was even taller than he had been, and more substantial too. In his jeans and basketball jacket, he looked practically massive.

  As for Josh—well, he was a geek forever. He still blinked out from behind his big glasses, still had the pale face and short curly hair and the geeky laugh. But instead of being small and slump-shouldered, he was tall and skinny. And instead of a constant nervous smile, his smile was sort of crooked now and cool—ironic, I guess you’d call it. He looked like he was constantly making fun of himself—and of just about everything else too.

  They stood in the middle of the room together, watching me, waiting for me to answer them. I tried to find the right words.

  “Well, the thing is— I mean, don’t take this the wrong way. It’s great to see you guys. I can’t tell you how great it is.”

  “But?” said Miler.

  “But Josh is right. I came to the Ghost Mansion because I didn’t want to get you involved.”

  Rick gave a big laugh. He stepped up to me, towering over me, looking down at me from his height. “Hey, Charlie, we understand that. We know you want to keep us out of it. We’re just ignoring you, that’s all.”

  “Sure,” said Miler. “I mean, that’s what friends are for, guy. To figure out what you want and then do exactly the opposite.”

  I laughed. “That’s great of you, really, but . . . this is serious. I mean, this isn’t, like, a prank or something, like spending the night here without telling our parents. It’s the police that are after me. The real police. I’m a fugitive. They think I’m a killer. If they find out you guys are helping me, you could be accessories or something. You could go to jail.”

  Rick nodded. He looked over at Miler. “He’s right. Let’s get out of here.”

  Miler gave a quick laugh. None of them moved. They weren’t going anywhere.

  “The thing is, Charlie,” Josh said, “we can’t leave. You need us. The police are gonna be looking for you everywhere. Everyone in town is gonna be looking for you. You’re gonna need help, you’re gonna need people who can go out and look around and ask questions without making people suspicious. How else are you gonna find out what really happened to Alex? How else are you gonna prove you’re innocent?”

  “That’s crazy,” I said. “It’s too dangerous. Besides, you don’t even know I really am innocent.”

  Rick and Miler looked at each other again.

  “He�
�s right,” Miler said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Rick laughed. Then he turned to me. “We know you’re innocent, Charlie.”

  Miler nodded. So did Josh.

  “We all know it,” Rick said.

  “Face it,” said Miler. “You’re just not killer material, old pal.”

  “Don’t get us wrong,” Josh added. “You have a lot of other good qualities. I mean, we still like you and everything, even if you’re not a murderer. But you’re not a murderer.”

  I turned away and looked out the window again. I had to. I didn’t want them to see my face just then, the emotion in my face. The police said I was guilty. The judge and jury said so. The newspapers, the TV. Even I sometimes wondered whether I was really innocent or not.

  But not Rick and Miler and Josh. They knew I was innocent. They didn’t have a doubt.

  When I got my voice back, I said, “It’s not that easy. There’s more to it than that.”

  “Like what?” said Rick.

  “The police aren’t the only ones who are after me. In fact, they’re not even the worst of it.” I looked from one of them to another, from one waiting gaze to another. “There’s some kind of underground group. They call themselves the Homelanders. They tried to assassinate the secretary of Homeland Security.”

  “Oh yeah,” said Rick. “Last month, on the bridge. I heard about that. They said you might have been guilty of that too.”

  “I wasn’t guilty . . .”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, we know that. But what’s it all about?”

  “I’m not sure exactly. I know they’re terrorists. Foreign. Islamist. Only they recruit homegrown anti-Americans. They think I was one of them . . . What?”

  Rick had laughed. “Sorry,” he said. “The idea of you joining a group of anti-Americans. Weren’t you, like, born on the Fourth of July or something?”

  I had to press my lips together to keep my emotions down. Again, even I had doubts about what had happened to me. Even I wondered: Was I a good guy or a bad guy? But my friends didn’t. They didn’t wonder at all.