by Brad Meltzer
“You do that,” Ben said, staring intently at the statue of President Jefferson.
“Don’t be mad at me,” Nathan said. “This one’s not my fault.” He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket. “Eric, you ready to go?”
“I’m going back with Ben.”
“He doesn’t have a car,” Nathan pointed out.
“We’ll take a cab.”
“Suit yourself.” Nathan walked down the stairs and headed toward the parking lot.
As Nathan’s car pulled into the driveway, Ben and Eric’s taxi pulled up to the house. “That made a lot of sense,” Nathan said as the three roommates headed for the door.
Ignoring the comment, Ben opened the front door and stepped inside.
“You should tell Ober what’s going on,” Eric suggested.
“I know,” Ben said. “But I don’t want to say anything in the house.” He noticed the yearbooks on the coffee table. “What was he doing tonight?”
“Probably reminiscing about better times,” Nathan said.
“I wasn’t asking you,” Ben said. Atop a pile of yearbooks, Ben saw a single sheet of white paper and picked it up.
“Dear Ben, Nathan, and Eric,” he read to himself. “I’m so sorry. I can’t possibly explain my actions to you, but I didn’t know what else to do. You’ll probably think this is another stupid Ober idea, but please understand that there’s no other way I’d be happy. For as long as I can remember, you have carried me forward, and I have held you back. Tell my mother she can go to hell, and tell Rick that I hope he drops dead. Also, tell my boss that I wasn’t trying to advance my career—I really want her to know that. If I can ask you one last favor, please take it easy on each other. I will miss you more than you’ll ever know. You’re my best friends and I love you. Ober.”
“Oh, my God,” Ben said, running toward the stairs. “OBER!!” he screamed.
Instinctively, Nathan and Eric followed.
“OBER, ARE YOU IN THERE?” Ben screamed, pounding on the locked door to Ober’s room. Ben turned to Eric and Nathan. “I think I found a suicide note!”
“OBER! OPEN UP!” Nathan screamed, pounding on the door.
“Break it down,” Ben said frantically.
“Move out of the way.” Nathan took a couple of steps back, then threw all his weight against the door.
“Again!” Ben said.
Once again, Nathan rammed his body into the door.
“KICK IT!” Eric shouted. “HURRY!”
Nathan rammed his foot into the door, and the door frame buckled. He rammed it again, and the door flew open. They all ran inside.
Ober was dangling against the closet door, a belt taut around his neck. “Omigod!” Eric said. “Omigod! Omigod!”
“Help me get him down,” Ben said as he and Nathan grabbed Ober’s legs and struggled to support his body. “Eric, open the door.”
Eric was hysterically crying. With his hands shaking and the tears rolling down his face, he didn’t even hear Nathan’s request. All he could see was Ober. “He’s dead!”
“OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!” Nathan screamed.
Eric pulled open the closet door, and Ober’s body slumped forward and fell to the floor. Instantly, Nathan rolled Ober on his back and started CPR.
“Hurry!” Ben said as Nathan pinched Ober’s nose. Taking a deep breath, Nathan tried to breathe life back into his friend.
“Look at his eyes!” Eric said, unnerved by the blank stare on Ober’s face. “He’s dead.”
Nathan shut Ober’s eyes and looked at Ben. “Get Eric the hell out of here.”
“Eric, go downstairs,” Ben said. “Call an ambulance.”
As Eric ran out of the room, Nathan pumped Ober’s chest and then listened for a heartbeat.
“There’s no pulse!” Ben said, holding Ober’s wrist.
“He’s all white,” Nathan said, looking at Ober’s pallid complexion.
“Keep trying,” Ben demanded. “Do it again!”
Futilely filling Ober’s lungs with air, Nathan continued to administer CPR.
“DON’T STOP!” Ben screamed, reading the disheartened look on Nathan’s face. “DO IT AGAIN!”
Once again, Nathan tried to bring back his friend. He pumped against Ober’s chest with his full strength, and did everything he could to elicit any sign of life. He listened closely for a heartbeat, but eventually pulled away. “Forget it. It’s over.”
“Let me try,” Ben said, pushing Nathan aside.
“Ben, it’s over.”
“Help me take him downstairs!” Ben demanded, lifting Ober’s feet. “Maybe the ambulance can revive him. They have that shock machine—”
“It won’t do any good,” Nathan said, sitting on the floor and leaning against Ober’s bed. “He’s gone.”
As the paramedics rolled the stretcher out of the house, Ben gave the suicide note and the leather belt to the policemen assigned to the scene. After interviewing the three roommates, one of the officers gave Ben his card. “I’d like to talk to you more about this.”
“We’ll come down tomorrow,” Ben said. He felt emotionally drained. Shutting his eyes, hoping to somehow shut out reality, Ben attempted to quell the throbbing pain at the back of his neck.
“I’m really sorry about your friend,” the other officer said.
“Thanks,” Ben said, walking the two officers to the door. When the police car and the ambulance pulled away from the house, Ben shut the door. Collapsing on the floor, he rolled on his back and tried his best to think clearly. A minute later, he turned toward Nathan, who was sitting at the glass table in the dining room. “Where’s Eric?” Ben asked.
Nathan peered through the glass, staring at his feet. “He’s in his room talking to his mom.”
“Is he okay?”
“Under the circumstances,” Nathan said. “When he gets off the phone, you should call Ober’s parents.”
“I have to call?” Ben asked. “I can’t do that.”
“Oh, yes, you can.” Nathan got out of his seat and headed for the stairs.
“Why me?” Ben asked, following his roommate.
“You’re the one responsible,” Nathan said curtly.
“Don’t you dare say that,” Ben warned.
Nathan turned from the stairs and looked at Ben in disbelief. “You’re not responsible?” he asked, approaching Ben. “Whose fault is it, then?” Nathan stood face-to-face with Ben in the living room. “Is it Ober’s fault? No, it can’t be Ober’s fault. Maybe it’s Rick’s fault. Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe it’s Senator Stevens’s fault.”
“It’s nobody’s fault,” Ben interrupted.
“So no one’s to blame?” Nathan asked. “This is something that just happened out of the blue?”
“Obviously, it didn’t just happen. And if it weren’t for me, Ober would probably still be alive. But that doesn’t mean I killed him.”
“No, you just put the belt around his neck.”
An angry silence filled the room. “You can really be a bastard, y’know that?”
“I just want to make sure that you—”
“That I what?” Ben interrupted, his eyes filled with tears. “That I blame myself? That I think it’s my fault? Don’t worry—I do. I hold myself one hundred percent responsible. I’m the one that put this whole thing in motion, and it’ll haunt me for the rest of my life. Until the day I die, there won’t be a single day that I don’t feel guilty about this.”
“You should feel guilty.”
“Don’t tell me how I should feel,” Ben said, his voice shaking. “Ober was my best friend! I would’ve done anything to save him.”
“You could’ve saved him,” Nathan said. “All you had to do was open your mouth.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Ben lashed out. “How can you be so callous? I was going to the authorities! That’s what tonight was all about! I didn’t know Ober’d kill himself! I didn’t know he was suicidal!”
“And I don’t
know what you expect me to say. Do you think that just because you admit it’s your fault, I’ll absolve you of your sins? It doesn’t work like that. You killed him. Now you have to deal with it.”
Enraged, Ben punched Nathan in the stomach. “I DIDN’T KILL HIM!”
Bent over in pain, Nathan struggled to catch his breath.
“I DIDN’T KILL HIM,” Ben repeated. “HE KILLED HIMSELF!”
Still heaving, Nathan ran toward Ben, tackling him and sending them both crashing into the coffee table. The homemade table splintered in two, the yearbooks and the scrapbook sliding onto Nathan and Ben.
Sitting on top of Ben, Nathan grabbed him by the shirt. “Why did you let this happen?” he screamed.
Ben pushed Nathan back and staggered to his feet. “I never wanted this to happen!”
“Then why didn’t you—”
“I wish I could’ve done a million things!” Ben yelled.
“You didn’t have to do a million things,” Nathan said. “All you had to do was one.”
“I swear, I was going to turn myself in tomorrow!”
“Who cares what you were going to do?” Nathan screamed, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Ober died tonight! He’s gone, Ben! We’ll never see him again! Because of you, he’s dead! Ober is dead!”
“Nathan, I—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Nathan said, storming toward the stairs. “Enough of your damn excuses. No matter what you say, I know you killed him. And I hope that thought haunts you forever.”
“I told you already,” Richard Claremont told Rick. “I never touched him. I spent the whole night watching the other three at the Jefferson Memorial.”
“If you’re lying, the police will find you,” Rick warned. “They dusted the entire place for fingerprints.”
“I’m not lying! I didn’t know he killed himself until I got back here.” Taking off his coat, Claremont asked, “And since when are you so concerned about what happens to these guys?”
“I’m not concerned when one of them loses his job, but I am concerned when one of them winds up dead.”
“I don’t know why you’re so shaken by this,” Claremont said, sitting on the plush hotel sofa. “You put them in an impossible scenario—you should’ve expected one of them to snap.”
“I never meant for this to happen!” Rick shouted.
“But you should’ve known—”
“Don’t tell me what I should’ve known,” Rick interrupted. “You can’t anticipate something like this.”
“But—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Rick said. “Drop it.”
“Consider it dropped,” Claremont said. “Now, what are we going to do about the decision?”
“I’ve been thinking about that.” Rick pulled a miniature bottle of white wine from the hotel refrigerator. “I’m afraid Ben’s no longer running in the maze.”
“You don’t think he’s going to meet us tomorrow?”
“Not a chance,” Rick said, opening the wine. “He’ll be talking to the authorities by noon.”
“But if he—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Rick reassured his colleague. “He’ll never get there.”
Wrapped in a haze of anguish and remorse, Ben walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He undressed and stepped into the hot stream of water, anxious to wash away the past few hours. With his arms outstretched in front of him, he leaned against the front wall of the shower, letting the water glide over his body. For a full three minutes, he stood there, motionless. Slowly and without warning, a quiet fit of weeping overcame him. “I’m sorry, Ober,” he sobbed, as his crying became hysterical. “I’m so sorry.” As the water rushed over him, he imagined carrying Ober’s coffin, and remembered carrying his brother’s. He imagined Ober’s mother’s face when she heard her son was dead, and remembered his own mother’s wails. He imagined the future without Ober, and knew how much he’d miss his brother.
Chapter 18
AT A QUARTER AFTER NINE ON SUNDAY MORNing, Ben put on his coat and picked up his briefcase. Still reeling from Ober’s death, he tried not to think about the unnerving silence that now filled the house. Instead, he turned around and walked out the front door. A new layer of snow blanketed the neighborhood. He stepped outside, carefully maneuvering into the footprints left behind by Eric and Nathan. As he headed toward the Metro station, he periodically looked over his shoulder. After the events of the past few nights, Ben’s watchfulness had become instinctive. When he rounded the corner he saw a man in a navy winter coat and a brown fedora coming toward him. He was bothered that the brim of the hat blocked the man’s face. In the street, a gray car pulled up and stopped. Ben immediately recognized it as Eric’s.
“How’re you doing?” Eric asked, rolling down his window.
“Okay, I guess,” Ben said unconvincingly. He stepped into the street and leaned in the window. “I slept about five minutes last night.”
“Me too,” Eric said. “I can’t get him out of my head. Just the thought of him dangling there…”
“Please, let’s not talk about it,” Ben said, his gloved hands gripping the metal door frame.
“Did you tell Lisa?”
“I called her late last night. Before I finished my first sentence, she was crying. I never heard her like that. She offered to help with the eulogy.”
“That was nice of her.” Noticing the briefcase in Ben’s hand, Eric asked, “Where are you headed now?”
“The U.S. Attorney’s Office.”
“So this is it?”
“I hope so,” Ben said. “By this time tomorrow, I should be done with this nonsense.”
“I know I didn’t say this last night, but I think you’re doing the right thing.”
“Thanks,” Ben said as the stranger in the navy coat passed behind him. Ben turned around to watch him walk down the block. “Does that guy look suspicious to you?”
“Not really. Why?”
“He looked a little weird to me.”
“I wouldn’t worry,” Eric said. “I’m sure he’s no one.”
“Yeah,” Ben said, pulling out of the window.
“Do you want a ride to the Metro?” Eric asked.
“I’d prefer a ride downtown.”
“No time. I have to do some quick edits at the house, then I need to get back to work. The Metro is as good as it gets.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Ben said, heading back to the sidewalk. “I think I can handle the two blocks.”
“Your choice,” Eric said, rolling up his window. “See you tonight.”
“I hope,” Ben said. “If you don’t hear from me by dinner, it means I’m still in the middle of my plea bargain.”
As the car pulled away, Ben continued his walk up the block. When he reached the commercial section of the neighborhood, his eyes darted everywhere. At the old man pulling his grocery cart along the snow-covered sidewalk. At the undeterred athlete jogging with her black labrador. At the supermarket employee shoveling the sidewalk. At the overweight woman struggling to keep her footing. Still jumpy, Ben reached his favorite bakery. I really have to calm down, he told himself as he stepped inside. There’s no one following me. After a quick bagel and a fresh banana, Ben wiped his mouth, zipped his coat, and stepped back into the cold. Immediately he saw that the only thing between him and the Metro station was the man in the navy coat and the brown fedora.
Cautiously, Ben inched up the block, trying to identify the approaching stranger. The man appeared to be Rick’s height, but heavier. But then, it was a heavy coat, Ben thought. As his heartbeat accelerated, Ben tried to convince himself that it was just his imagination. Relax, he told himself. There’s no reason to get crazy. When they were ten feet apart, Ben pulled off his right-hand glove and made a tight fist, determined to swing if the man made a suspicious move. When he was five feet away, Ben was sweating furiously. As they were about to pass each other, Ben was frantic, his mind preparing for every possible s
cenario.
Holding his breath as the man walked by him, Ben fought the urge to turn around. It wasn’t until he was well past the stranger that he finally breathed a sigh of relief. All that perspiration for nothing, Ben told himself, forcing a laugh. As he was about to turn to get one last look at the man, Ben’s neck snapped back as he was grabbed from behind. He felt an arm wrap firmly around his neck, while a hand in a navy coat sleeve shoved a pungent handkerchief into his face. Instinctively, Ben threw his head back, slamming it into his attacker’s nose.
“Son of a bitch!” the man yelled, releasing Ben and grabbing his bleeding nose.
Coughing as he ran up the block, Ben struggled to catch his breath. As he passed the supermarket, he looked back and saw that his attacker was in pursuit. Ben dropped his briefcase and grabbed the snow shovel from the hands of the supermarket employee. As the man approached him, Ben swung the shovel wildly. “Stay the hell away from me!”
“Calm down,” the man said. “I’m not here to hurt you.” As the man tried to keep Ben’s attention, Rick turned the corner and was slowly sneaking up behind Ben.
“Who are you?” Ben asked. “Who sent you?”
“I’m on your side,” the man said. “I swear. I’m from the Justice Department.” His eyes were locked over Ben’s shoulder.
Following the man’s gaze, Ben spun around, swinging the shovel blindly as he turned. To his surprise, the flat side of the shovel connected with Rick, who would’ve otherwise grabbed him. “I don’t believe it,” Ben said. When Rick fell to the ground, Ben took the shovel and hit Rick once more in the head. “Who the hell do you think you are?” Ben screamed. “This is my life!”
Ben yelled at the supermarket employee. “Call the police!”
“We are the police,” Rick’s accomplice said to the employee. “Don’t call anyone.”
“Grab him already, Claremont!” Rick yelled, holding his ear, which was covered in blood.
Throwing the shovel at Claremont, Ben turned around and ran down the block.
“Follow him!” Rick yelled, even though Claremont was already in motion.
