Playing Tyler

by T L Costa

  I look at the lifejacket he’s holding out towards me and stare. I have to take it. If I don’t, Mr Anderson will kill me, it’s as simple as that. And right here, right now is a chance for me to live life on my terms, to write my own future, to write our future. “Tyler.”

  He looks up, voice gentle, “I know it’s not comfortable, but you kinda have to wear it…”

  “I love you.”

  Eyes wide, he says, “I… I…” He drops the lifejacket down by his side and wraps his hand around the base of my chin and kisses me. Slowly. His breath hot, the kiss is like silk, soft and decadent and real. He pulls back before I can part my lips, but his hand, strong and warm and tender, stays around my face and I push my cheek into it, wanting him to say the words, knowing that it’s hard. “Love you,” he says. The words sound like a prayer. He pushes his forehead into mine and drapes the lifejacket across the back of my shoulders. “Now get in the boat.” He smiles.

  The smile dies with the sound of tires screeching on the road behind us.

  Tyler

  “Duck!” I pull her behind the nearest rock. My heart’s pounding so loud I’m pretty sure that they can hear it in the car. Depending on whether the car follows the lake road around, there’s a good chance they’ll see us on the other side. Her whole body shakes and I hold her but oh fuck what if it’s that guy who was following me in New Haven and we’re dead but can’t think like that. We have to get the hell out of here.

  It’s cold. The rock is as cold as her hands and I rub them to warm them for her. We listen. Nothing. The car keeps on driving. Thank God.

  I nod to her and stand up, legs stiff. “C’mon.” Too cold to be doing this, but it’s not far to the border and it’s the middle of the night, so we might make it in unnoticed. Might make it.

  We double-wrap our packs in the garbage bags we brought with us, grab the paddles, and push out into the lake. Ani’s not so sure what she’s doing. Thank God. Explaining how to kayak gives me something to focus on, something to do. She picks it up quick and we move out at a pretty good clip. It’s cold, but the sound of the paddles cutting through the water and the waves beating on the side of the kayak is comforting, almost. The sound of good memories.

  Lake Memphremagog is a deep glacial lake, and I tell her stories as we go, always with one eye up on the sky and the other searching, looking for that light of the border patrol boat. Telling myself that it’s cool if the boat catches us, telling myself that it would be so miserably ironic if Rick launches a drone over the border and blows me out of the water. So I tell her the stories that my dad told me as a kid, about Memphremagog, the lake monster rumored to be living beneath our paddles, about the different fish I used to catch here, anything to stop my brain from spinning too much, to keep my arms moving even after they start to scream, to keep my eyes off the sky.

  There aren’t a lot of boats roaming around at night, but when we see one, we hide. Tuck ourselves down low in the kayak and hope the shoreline hides us. Hope that we’re invisible under the moon. For every movement on shore I pray. Pray that it’s not people or at least that they don’t see us. Or they don’t care.

  Finally, as the sky brightens and we hide in the brambles along the shore from another large boat, hoping not to get turned in their wake, she asks, “Is that a town?”

  I push off, looking out ahead of us, “Yeah, let’s hope it’s Magog.”

  We paddle over to a clearer patch of shore, legs aching as we disembark, and I practically fall over as she hugs me. “What do we do now?” she asks, voice breathless.

  “Try and get to Montreal, I guess.”

  We take the bus. I sleep until Ani wakes me up, my head a blur of the sound of wheels and hydraulics. Cloth seats with those little rags draped over the top and emergency aisle lighting. What are those rags about, do they ever change them? Pointless. They started out white and now they’re dirty from hair grease and drool. Stupid. Donovan Jones from the Times hasn’t emailed. Whatever. We’ve got Todd, right? The conductor calls over the intercom that we’re an hour outside of Montreal. Good. One hour to go. Wish the bus would go faster.

  “I’m so sorry, Tyler,” she whispers. Voice soft, like the kiss she leaves on my ear as she shoves her laptop onto my lap. The news reports that a body was found in my house. Found by the cleaning lady. Which is funny, because we don’t have a cleaning lady. They’re waiting until the family is notified before releasing any details.

  My throat closes. Cinches up so tight. I shut my eyes against the visions of Brandon’s last moments on earth. If he was scared. If he regretted his decision. If it hurt. I squeeze my eyelids together, clamp them down quick and hard and press so that Ani doesn’t have to see tears.

  Have to get to Todd. Have to earn this.

  Forty-five minutes later we roll into Station Centrale. I’ve been in Canada less than half a day and already the mix of French and English is driving me out of my head. Just seems like they can’t make up their mind. Like they’re teasing me.

  My legs are stiff and I have to stretch them out and the place smells like diesel and stale piss. We’re close. So close to getting to this guy, so close to being able to breathe again and feel like I can stop grinding my teeth and looking over our shoulder, looking at the other cars on the road like they bring nothing but death and the end. The end of me. Of Ani. Of us.

  Ani walks off the bus first, grabbing her foot behind her back and stretching out her quads the second we get off the bus. I do it, too. Looking around. Watching the people. Talking on phones and drinking coffee and moving fast. Like they’re important. Like they have somewhere to go. I grab Ani’s hand and we walk into the main building.

  Look at their faces. Watch. Keep her safe. Keep moving. Dude in the corner. Tall, dirty, floor-length duster and looks like he smells. He’s watching us. But probably cool. Probably not one of Rick’s. Can we make it? Can this possibly work?

  My heart beats faster as we check out the map with the Metro stops and Ani tries to figure out how to get to Todd’s office. Watch. Careful. Old ladies. Group of them, smiling. Probably just came back from a casino. Cool. But behind them, behind them…

  It’s Rick. He doesn’t see us. Yet. The whole building and its smells swirl around and seem to collapse in on itself until all I can see is him. And the distance between us.

  Approximately one hundred feet. Back entrance. Have to split up. Save Ani. Stall Rick. “Ani, don’t turn around.”

  She turns around. Shit. She gasps. “How? How did he find us?”

  “No idea, but listen, don’t panic. I have a plan.” Shit, I need a plan. “See those old ladies over there? You’re short enough, hide behind them and walk back towards the buses. Out the back door. They’ll have it covered but they won’t hurt you if you’re surrounded by a mass of people, understand? Stay in the middle of crowds. Get out of here. Get to Todd’s. Get there. Don’t let them find you.”

  “But Tyler, I can’t leave you.” Her voice cracks open, and her eyes, oh man. I am so dead. She’s so worth it, though.

  “I’ll be fine, just go.” Rick’s scanning the crowd on the level below us. Just a matter of time before he sees us. “Meet you there. Promise.”

  I kiss her, fast, hard, on the lips then push her a little, just a little, and nod to her as she walks. Walks through the door in a posse of old ladies. Please let her make it please I can’t lose her, too. Please.

  Looking down over the railing, he’s talking to some old lady. Showing her a picture on his phone. Probably me. Has to be me. Think. Have to think. Two staircases leading down to his floor are on either side of me. Throngs of people, of tourists, all swarming past me. Great. Can’t go down shooting. Don’t have a gun. Or a plane, or a drone, or a plan.

  I’m screwed.

  My fingers go numb and my legs tingle but then I see them. The guys. Gay couple, probably. Oldish, playing with a video-camera. One is tall and bald on top with a funky goatee and the other is rounder but really well dressed and they are film
ing one another. Gesturing up at the walls that are covered in paintings. Great. Perfect. Hope they speak English.

  My feet move. Each step having meaning, bringing me closer to either my salvation or my end. Probably the end. Shut up. Walk. Right foot. Left. “Excuse me, guys?” I start.

  Thank God, they stop talking. They look at me. Half-afraid. Like they don’t know whether I’m gonna make fun or ask where the bathrooms are. So been there. Rick is still surrounded by little old ladies. There’s no way around him. If I go out the back door it’ll lead him to Ani. Have to go out the front. Past Rick. “I was wondering if you could do me a favor?”

  They look at each other, lowering the camera.

  Well, at least they’re listening. “See that guy down there, with the buzz cut? The one talking to the little old lady? I was wondering if you could film me when I go talk to him.” Think of a lie, think of a lie. It comes so easy. “See, he’s my dad and I’ve never met him before, so I was wondering if you could record it for me? I want to remember what he says and his face and all. Here, I’ll give you my name and if you could just email it to me later. Can’t believe I forgot my own video. Sucks.”

  Their faces melt. Soften. Totally cool. “We’d love to.”

  “Do you think you could even get sound from this far away, I mean, I don’t want him to know we’re being filmed because then he might not say what he really thinks, you know?”

  “Oh, don’t worry, he won’t notice a thing,” the larger one says.

  I bet he won’t.

  Rick still doesn’t see. But I bet he has his guys. Watching. Better not hurt these guys. I would feel so bad. I give them my email, knowing if something happens to me that getting into my email account would be easy for Ani, and they load it into their phones. Nodding my thanks, I try and look happy. Try and look like I’m not about to vomit.

  Would he kill me right here? In front of everyone? Maybe. I walk down the stairs.

  Right foot, left. Driving each foot down into the concrete. Feel it shudder up my leg. Strong. I can do this. If he shoots me at least it’s on film. Breathe. He’s not going to shoot. Not in public, anyway.

  I hit the main floor. And he sees me.

  He is so going to shoot me.

  I stop about five feet away. “Hey Rick.”

  Ani

  What do I do? I have to get out of here quick and help Tyler. Brandon must have called Todd before they found him; it would have been easy enough from there for Rick to figure out that we wouldn’t fly or even risk driving through a border crossing. I duck into the throng of old ladies and use them as cover until I see a door. It’s probably a closet but I don’t really need a lot of room, do I? The room is stuffed, filled with boxes of cleaning supplies and junk. I sit and open the laptop, quickly calling the Montreal police through the computer. Wrangling my fear until I can keep my voice steady, I tell them that there’s a man with a gun in the bus station. Then I email Todd and let him know that we’re here and that Tyler needs help. Listening through the door, I wait for the sound of people screaming, wait for the door to fly open and for the space to fill with a man and a gun. My heartbeat frantic, it hasn’t happened yet, Tyler’s fine, he’ll be fine, just keep going.

  Are people screaming? Tyler. Please don’t be Tyler. No, just a toddler on the other side of the door, his mother. OK.

  Taking a long breath, I go in for the kill. It took some doing, most of the ride through Vermont, in fact, to override Rick’s block on the program. But it’s my program. I built it. There’s no way he could keep me out. I’m surprised he was able to block me for the full six hours that he did. Typing in the directive to the four other kids who are part of Rick’s plan, I find that three are at their sim stations, flying. I hit the code and send three drones screaming out of the sky. Screaming out of the sky and crashing into desolate fields of poppies.

  I peek out through the door and walk quickly, positioning myself in the middle of a tour group, and exit through the back doors. I stay with them all the way to their bus platform. Then I run.

  Tyler

  “Tyler.” His voice is tight, guarded. I know he plans to kill me. I see the look of regret.

  “How’d you track me?” Get him talking. Make him talk. Make him mad, make him blow up here and not in a car. Can’t get in a car with him. Stay here. Stay public.

  “I’m sorry to hear about Brandon. I know he meant a lot to you.”

  “Don’t talk to me about Brandon” – saying B’s name is agony, like the word weighs a thousand pounds on my tongue – “just tell me how you tracked me.”

  “Your brother’s cell phone records. His last call was to someone here in Montreal. Figured if you crossed over the border you’d probably have to take the bus, since I know you didn’t come through in a car.” Rick searches my face for a reaction, his eyes looking into mine like he’s trying to see. I don’t care. Let him see how much it hurts. “I have to say that I’m impressed with you, Tyler. Sending Brandon to the house as a decoy, buying yourself some time. That requires moral clarity. You’re a man of decision, sacrificing the weak to save the strong. These are exactly the kinds of decisions that we have to make every day in the real world. You’re growing up. There’s still a place for you with Haranco if you want it.”

  Brandon’s dead. Dead. Grief grips my neck and I hate Rick. I hate him. Hate myself. Hate the fact that I want to scream and claw at him and at the same time I’m proud. Proud that I earned his respect. I’m sick. Something is wrong with me. But looking at him, looking at him not shooting, but instead beaming at me. He is impressed. It’s written all over him and fuck if I’m not proud. I shouldn’t be. Don’t look. Don’t look at his face. I ball my hands into fists, I look down. “You lied to me.”

  “I’ve never lied to you, Tyler.”

  “Yes, you have. I thought that I could trust you. I used to tell you everything, for years, you were the only one I could count on” – I take a deep breath – “and you were lying. The whole time.”

  “I can’t stand dishonesty, Tyler. Tell me one time, one specific time, that I’ve been anything less than honest.”

  “There is no flight school. I checked.”

  “That’s not true, it was being built, son, built around you, around your success.” Rick takes a step closer.

  I back away. “The game. The missions were real. I was flying Predator drones and killing real people and you never told me.”

  Rick looks around, glancing at the people around us, quickly, like he doesn’t care. I can’t see the guys with the camera. Please don’t let him see the guys. Please, please, please.

  “That wasn’t a lie, an omission, maybe. I admitted it to you when you figured it out. Paid you, even. That’s not the same as lying.”

  “The drugs, Rick. I was flying cover for drug dealers. You’ve turned me into something that you knew I hated more than anything.” I straighten my back. “Does JSOC know what their money is doing? Or by not mentioning it are you not lying to them, too?”

  His eyes tighten and he moves a bit closer. The crowds thin out. The guy manning the ticket booth closes his window with a shushing sound that echoes through the station.

  “I’d rather not talk about these things here, and you know that I don’t like knowing that you’re hurt. We can talk about all of this somewhere else, work everything out. Now please hand over whatever information you have and tell me where we can find Miss Bagdorian.”

  “No.” He reaches for something inside his pocket. My heart ticks up. Don’t move. Don’t show fear. Like with a dog. “It’s too late, anyway.”

  “Really, how is that? Because from where I’m standing I see a fugitive who is transporting classified information. Releasing such information about our programs to a foreign government, even Canada, isn’t just illegal, Tyler. It’s treason, which makes you an imminent threat to the safety of our nation.” He holds onto the word treason. “I’m authorized to stop you by whatever means necessary.”

  Shit. I
s it really treason? Can’t worry about it, now, though, it’s too late. “You’re going to have to shoot me, then. The information’s already out.”

  The station seems to swell up around us, more people coming in to catch the next round of buses. A woman’s voice calls some departures out over the intercom. Rick’s hand moves in his coat. Cocking a gun. I just feel it. I know that gun, too, it’s the one I used at the shooting range. Remember the way it felt in my hand. The way he smiled when I hit the targets. My chest tightens. He raises his eyebrows at me and looks broken. Devastated. He is so going to kill me. Drag me out back somewhere. Throw my body in a dumpster. Rick. Rick is going to kill me. Of all the fucking people.

  “It’s on Twitter,” I say and he stops. Shock painting his face white. “See, I sent my friends a copy of our little talk in the dining room. You knew I was recording, it, right? Told them to put it out on the web if they see ambulances or police or whatever on the way to my house. A body being pulled out of my house was on the news, you know. Alpha lives right down the block from me, I told him to watch for it. So it’s out. Facebook, Twitter, the blogosphere. It’ll be everywhere in a matter of hours. Oh, and the drones should all be gone by now.”

  “Drones?”

  “Crashed. Done. Gone.”

  “That wasn’t a smart move.” His face tells me that it was, though. It just closes in on itself, like he’s about to implode. Please let Alpha and Peanut and Ani do what they’re supposed to. Please, please, please. The intercom sounds again and I turn, I start to walk away. “I’m afraid that you’re coming with me, Tyler.”

  “Nope. Don’t want to. Sorry.” I take one step back.

  “Only cowards run.” His words are taunting, mean. Not his usual style.

  “I’m not a coward.” I take another step back. “Cowards shoot people in the back. I’ve made my decision.”