Blood Lies

by Daniel Kalla

  Fugitive. The word stung like a slap. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

  “Let’s say you make it across, how will you support yourself in Canada?” Her voice rose slightly. “Surely they’ll freeze your accounts. What will you do for food and clothing?”

  “I am going to go see my cousin Kyle.”

  “Can you trust him?”

  “I don’t have much choice.” I hadn’t considered the question before. “But I think I can.”

  Alex pushed herself up from the counter. “I’m changing the plans.”

  “What do you mean?” For a panicky moment, I thought Alex might turn me in for what she deemed to be my own good.

  Alex stood across from me with her arms folded across her chest. “You’re going to stay here in my basement until we’ve figured out a more concrete strategy,” she said definitively.

  I reached out and gently gripped her bare elbow. “That’s crazier than my plan.”

  “Why?”

  “For starters, what about your dad?”

  “He’s staying in Spokane until at least the end of the month.”

  “And Marcus?”

  Alex hesitated. She looked away and cleared her throat. “He’s stuck back east for a while longer.”

  Her evasiveness was uncharacteristic. I squeezed her elbow. “Alex?”

  She stared at the countertop. “Marcus moved out a few weeks ago. I was going to tell you, but you’ve had so much on your plate, it didn’t seem fair.”

  “Fair?” I let go of my grip. Wrapping an arm around her, I pulled her into a hug. “You’ve listened to my problems nonstop for the last few weeks and all this time—”

  “All this time what, Uncle Benjamin?” a small voice asked from behind us.

  Alex broke free of the hug. I hopped off the stool to face Talie. “Hi, sweetie,” I said, trying to recover my mental balance. “How’s the third-tallest Talie I know?”

  “Oh, Ben,” she said, sounding just like her mother. “You don’t know any other Talies!” She giggled and wrapped her arms around me.

  “I know fourteen of them, and you’re the third-tallest.” I hoisted Talie in the air. I took a step or two away from the kitchen’s island and swung her airplane-style in my arms.

  Alex pulled Talie out of my arms. “Come on, babe. Bedtime was yesterday.”

  Wrapped in Alex’s small arms, Talie seemed bigger than I remembered. She looked over her mother’s shoulder at me with an impish grin and brown eyes that matched Alex’s. “Are you staying tonight, Uncle Benjamin?”

  “No, sweetie, Ben was just about to leave,” Alex said.

  I sat on the bed in the comfortable basement room where Alex’s father lived much of the year. A few of his heavy wool suits (“from the old country”) hung in the open closet. A photo of Alex’s mother stood on the dresser beside a black-and-white wedding shot of both parents. Her mom had died young, and Alex rarely spoke of her. They shared a strong likeness—not so much in the features (Alex had more of her father’s dark coloring and angular face) as in the same playful expression and clear willfulness that communicated through the camera’s lens.

  I stood up and walked over to the small pile of Marcus’s clothes that Alex had brought down to me. I lifted the navy blue long-sleeved Hugo Boss shirt from the top of the pile and slipped it on over my head. As Alex had predicted, it was a perfect fit.

  I wandered over to the bathroom mirror. The silky shirt wouldn’t have been my choice. I thought I looked oily in it. I know Marcus did. I remembered he’d worn the same shirt to one of the ER group’s winter social functions. Our exchange that evening was still vivid in my mind.

  I was talking to one of the young wide-eyed residents in our department when a hand clapped my shoulder. Even before I saw or heard him, I recognized Marcus Lindquist from the firm gesture and the smell of his expensive cologne. Excusing myself from my conversation, I turned to face him.

  With brown hair gelled as perfectly as ever, blue eyes, straight nose, and a cleft in the chin, Marcus wore his usual movie-star-in-search-of-a-camera smile. “What’s my second-favorite ER doc drinking?” he asked warmly.

  I held up my clear glass. “Sprite.”

  “Sprite?” He laughed. “Are you out of your mind, Ben? Have you noticed how boring this party is?”

  “I’m enjoying myself. Besides, I’m squeezing in an early-morning ride before work.”

  Marcus rolled his eyes. “Come at least watch someone drink a real drink.”

  With an arm still around my shoulder, he guided me to the self-serve bar set up in the corner of the room. He poured three fingers of scotch into his empty tumbler and took a generous sip. “Emasculating, always being the dumb spouse at these functions,” he said.

  “You were smart enough to get out of medicine,” I said, referring to his career jump from hematologist to vice president of a company involved in umbilical cord blood storage.

  “Don’t kid yourself,” Marcus said with a rare hint of self-parody. “Selling your soul isn’t always more rewarding than saving lives.”

  I grinned. “Still, you got yourself a nice car in trade.”

  “Yeah, I do love my toys,” he said. “I’ve got my eyes on a red convertible 911 for the spring.”

  “A Porsche? You getting a head start on your midlife crisis?”

  “No head start required. I’m forty-four already.”

  With his life-of-the-party attitude, I tended to forget that he was ten years older than Alex and me.

  Marcus pointed his empty tumbler across the room at his wife. Locked in a conversation with two older male colleagues, Alex threw her head back in a fit of laughter. “She’s painfully beautiful, isn’t she?”

  In a simple black dress with her hair tied back, she was. “Hmmm,” I had to agree.

  Marcus reached for the scotch bottle and refilled his tumbler. “Must make it very difficult for you.”

  I turned to him with a frown. “Difficult?”

  “The chemistry between you two isn’t exactly subtle.”

  I stiffened. “We’ve worked together for over six years. We’ve been good friends almost as long.”

  “I know,” he said affably. On the way to his lips, his full glass gave me the once-over. “But look at you. A handsome, available ER doc. The women should be hanging off you. Ben, it’s almost weird that I haven’t seen you with another woman since…” He paused. “Emily, was it?”

  Anger rising, I simply nodded.

  “She was gorgeous, that one.” Marcus sighed a laugh. “I wouldn’t have kicked her out of bed for leaving crumbs the size of toaster ovens.”

  “Maybe you should slow down on the scotch, Marcus.”

  “Hell, I know what it’s like,” Marcus said, ignoring my remark. “I’m on the road a lot. I get my share of attention from women.”

  “And you’re just restraint personified, aren’t you, Marcus?’ I said quietly.

  He laughed, spilling his drink. “Unfortunately for Alex, restraint is not in my nature.”

  “Too bad. Alex deserves better.” I turned away from him.

  Marcus grabbed me by the shoulder. I shook free of the grip and spun to face him again.

  “No question, I’m no saint.” His eyes burned. “But at least I don’t try to fuck my friends’ wives,” he spat.

  “What the hell makes you think you’re my friend?” I snapped. Without waiting for his answer, I strode off.

  “Hands off, Ben!” His voice followed me out of the room.

  Looking back on that occasion, I realized that despite his alcohol-accentuated belligerence, everything Marcus had said was true. It didn’t make it any easier to like him, even now when I was beholden to him for the clothes on my back.

  What did it matter? The petty personal drama paled in comparison to my current crisis. With time to think, the hopelessness of my situation sank in; my whole strategy now struck me as a series of long shots.

  I trudged out of the bathroom and back to the bed
. I sat and stared at the phone on the nightstand. I decided that the only sensible next step was for me to call Michael Prince and to arrange my surrender.

  I was about to reach for the phone when Alex, carrying a thick manila envelope, burst into the room. She sat down beside me on the bed. “My brother, Peter, still has six more months left in his contract with a private hospital in Taipei.”

  I always liked Pete, an easygoing internist, but I was bewildered as to the relevance. Then she slipped her hand in the envelope and withdrew a copy of his medical license.

  Suddenly I understood.

  “After Pete finished his internal medicine residency in Toronto, he qualified for a Canadian license,” she said. “He’s done some fill-in coverage in Victoria, and he’s kept his registration up to date in British Columbia, because he hasn’t decided on which side of the border he plans to settle.”

  “Alex…”

  “Pete gave up his condo when he moved to Taipei,” Alex continued. “He left a bunch of stuff in storage with me here, including the originals of all his certificates and licenses.”

  “You’re going to lend me your brother’s identity?”

  “Believe me, Pete would understand,” she said. “And you have to admit there’s more than a passing resemblance between you two.”

  The idea struck me as surreal, but at the same time I felt a glimmer of excitement. “You really think it’s alright?”

  “No.” She grinned. “But it’s the best harebrained scheme I can come up with on short notice.”

  The spark of hope was dampened by my next thought. “Of course, you don’t have his passport or birth certificate, do you?”

  “No.” She dug in the bag and pulled out a card. “Only his Washington state driver’s license.”

  I took the card from her hand and studied it. Peter Horvath’s license photo was the typical nondescript mug shot that most of us end up with. Peter and I shared brown hair, the same hazel eye color, and strong jaw. I held it closer. “Maybe with a baseball cap and beard, on a quick glance I could pass for your brother.”

  “Why not?” She winked. “After all, you and I are practically twins.”

  “Without a passport, this won’t get me across the border.”

  She stroked the back of my hand reassuringly. “We’ll think of something.”

  I slipped the license back in the envelope and closed its flap. I viewed Alex with a heartfelt smile. “You’ve gone way above and beyond for me, but I think I better go now.”

  She shook her head. “You’re staying put until things are better sorted out.”

  “If the police found out, you could be charged with aiding and abetting a felon.”

  Her resolve didn’t waver. “They won’t find out.”

  “What about Talie?”

  “She thinks you’ve already left,” she said. “Thanks to Marcus, we’ve got a huge house here. And again, thanks to Marcus, it’s just Talie and me now. So you can safely stay down here for as long you need to.”

  I wanted to kiss her. “A day or two, maximum.”

  “However long it takes.”

  Our knees touching, we sat on the bed in silence for a few moments. When I looked over at her, her eyes had reddened. “Alex?”

  “It’s all so fucked up,” she said.

  “I know.” I reached over and squeezed her hand.

  She cleared her throat. “I don’t want to lose you, too, Ben,” she said softly.

  I’d never seen Alex look as vulnerable. Or as beautiful. I wanted to kiss her so badly that it was a physical ache, but I stopped my head from moving to hers. I couldn’t think of a more selfish act. She was already far more wrapped up in my personal disaster than was reasonable or safe for her to be.

  I rose from the bed. “Alex, I don’t think I’ve ever felt as greasy in my life. If it’s okay with you, I’m going to hit the shower. And then try to sleep while I can.”

  She nodded. “I’ll bring you down coffee and a bite of breakfast in the morning.”

  I leaned close and brushed my lips against her cheek. “Alex, you’re wonderful.”

  Her face lit with a sad smile. “You’re very complimentary when you’re cornered.”

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” I said, though I had no intention of seeing her in the morning, or anytime soon.

  Chapter 15

  I tossed and turned the night through, resisting the impulse to sneak upstairs and get at the beer in the fridge or whatever else lurked in Alex’s liquor cabinet. Only the risk of waking Talie stopped me.

  I don’t know if I slept at all, but if I did, my prayers weren’t answered by morning. Still a wanted man, I had no better plan than the feeble one I’d taken to bed.

  At 4:45 A.M. I got up and headed to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, feeling dejected by the sight of the haggard face staring back in the mirror. The shadow on my chin and neck had begun to thicken but didn’t yet offer any kind of camouflage. Neither did the heavy bags under my eyes.

  I hurried back into the bedroom, where I chose a pair of Marcus’s jeans and a casual shirt. They fit well enough, but his running shoes were a full size too snug. However, unless I wanted to make my escape on foot in cycling shoes, I had no choice except to ignore the viselike grip around my toes.

  I dug behind the suits in the closet until I found a dusty old knapsack that smelled musty, as if gym clothes had been left inside too long. I sorted through the rest of Marcus’s clothes, choosing two pairs of casual pants, four shirts, and a bunch of socks and boxer shorts. I stuffed them in the bag. Its zipper resisted the load but eventually relented.

  I picked up the manila envelope and gently poured the contents out on the bed. An ATM card fell out beside the driver’s license. I picked up the card and studied it. Registered under Alex’s name, not her brother’s, its PIN number was scribbled on an attached Post-It.

  Alex, where would I be without you?

  I stuffed both pieces of plastic in my wallet and removed out all the other cards that bore my name. I considered leaving my cards in the basement suite but realized they might incriminate Alex if the police came looking for me. Instead, I stuck them inside a plastic bag I found in the closet. I tucked the bag inside my inner jacket pocket, intending to dump them at the first opportunity. It occurred to me that I’d already begun to think like a fugitive; that sudden insight colored my dark mood even blacker.

  I grabbed my cell phone from the nightstand. Having read an article on how satellites can track cell phones via the Global Positioning System, I knew it was more of a liability than an aid. Ensuring it was shut off, I stuck it in my outer pocket; another remnant of my life I was going to have to ditch on my way out of Seattle.

  Suddenly, an idea dawned on me, and I pulled the phone out of my jacket. I found a pad on the nightstand and scrawled Alex a note with specific instructions. I scanned the note, barely able to read my own writing. I carefully reprinted my warning—“Hide it!”—at the bottom of the note and underlined it three times. Then I placed the phone on the nightstand with the note.

  I picked up the receiver of Alex’s land line, dialed the cab company’s number, and gave the dispatcher an address two blocks away. Throwing the knapsack over my shoulder, I tightened the worn straps and headed for the door. I stopped and listened carefully for any indication of Alex or Talie stirring above me. Hearing none, I eased the door open and slipped out.

  I took a tentative step out into the wet, predawn darkness. I hesitated a moment, half expecting to hear a bullhorn shout my name or feel the heat of laser cross hairs burn into my forehead. But after ten silent seconds, I hurried up the cement staircase to the backyard. Following the path around the side of the house, I jammed my hands in my pockets, dropped my eyes to the ground, and strode for the side street. There wasn’t a soul around, but I’d never felt more exposed or vulnerable. With each step away from Alex’s house, I felt like a soldier walking deeper behind enemy lines.

  The cab arrived at the intersecti
on right after I did. Slipping into the backseat, I nodded to the driver as I slid low in the seat.

  “Where to?” the chubby middle-aged driver asked.

  “Pike Place Market.”

  He eyed me warily in his rearview mirror. “It’s not open yet.”

  I felt my chest tighten slightly, wondering if he was on to me. “If I’m not behind the counter when it does, I’m looking for new work,” I blurted the first lie that popped into my head.

  He chuckled and his shoulders relaxed. “Morning shifts. Don’t they just suck?”

  “Better than graveyard,” I said, thinking of those dreaded overnight shifts at the ER. But I would have gladly done a year’s worth of back-to-back nights without pay to escape my current predicament.

  I deflected the driver’s further attempts at conversation by pretending not to know who the Seattle Seahawks were. The tactic worked. He viewed me in the mirror as if looking at a Martian.

  He dropped me off across from Pike Market. I checked my watch. It was still too early. I doubled back down Union Street and stopped in front of a Starbucks, but when I saw customers inside, my unease surged. Aching for caffeine, I dropped my gaze to the ground and trudged on.

  Two blocks away, I found a small coffee shop. Aside from the young woman manning the counter, I saw no one else inside, so I went in. Without making eye contact with the girl, I mumbled my order for a large dark roast coffee. As soon as it was in my hand, I headed straight out the door.

  Stepping back onto the sidewalk, I noticed the city’s downtown had begun to stir. More people emerged on the street. I had a yearning to grab the first bike I saw and ride it as far as my legs would carry me. I glanced at my watch: 5:43 A.M.. I couldn’t wait any longer.

  I hurried up Union Street until I reached the twelve-story modern condo complex. I typed the number into the intercom’s keypad and listened to it ring. Kyle answered on the second ring, and his voice carried no trace of drowsiness. “Morning.”

  “Kyle, it’s Ben,” I said.

  “Ben?” he said. “Holy crap! Come on up.”