Broken Lies

by Roger Williams

  One Friday night, an hour past Ryan’s eleven o’clock weekend curfew, Chase impatiently paced back and forth in the living room, fuming as he waited for him to return home.

  The door finally opened, and Ryan meekly informed his father that two policemen were on the porch.

  “What?!” Not waiting for an answer, Chase hurried toward the open door.

  “Mr. Macklin?” one of them asked.

  “Yes.”

  “We received a call tonight about some kids partying on a nearby street. When we arrived, your son was the only one we were able to detain. Even though the can of beer he held in his hand was unopened, he appears to have had one or two.”

  Chase glared back at Ryan.

  “Listen,” the officer continued, “it didn’t seem significant enough to bring him in, but it’d be good if you set some guidelines. We did impound his truck just to get his attention.”

  “Okay. Is there anything else I need to know?”

  “We already warned him that if it happens again, we won’t be as easy on him.”

  “Thanks,” was all that Chase could manage to say in return.

  He closed the door, shook his head, and peered into his sons’s eyes, his own narrowing. “Ryan, what do you think you’re doing?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “You think drinking in public is nothing?”

  “I had one beer. That’s all.”

  “No, you didn’t. I know better than that.”

  “Whatever.”

  Chase shook his head again. “Listen, you got off easy with the cops, but you won’t with me. You were out partying, and now you have to answer for it. How long have you been drinking?”

  “I don’t know. A while, I guess.”

  “Are you into any drugs?”

  “No! I don’t do that.”

  “All right, but this is bad enough. I went overnight from doing a few drugs to becoming a dealer. You don’t want to go down that path.”

  “I’m not! Just havin’ some fun.”

  “And you’ll pay for that fun. Now go to bed and we’ll talk in the morning.”

  “I’ve got plans tomorrow.”

  “Not anymore you don’t! I’ll talk to you later.”

  Chase crawled quietly into bed. Linda stirred and turned over. “Is Ryan home?”

  “Yeah. He got into some trouble with the police but luckily nothing too serious.”

  Linda quickly sat up. “What? What kind of trouble?”

  “Out drinking with some buddies. The cops caught him, impounded his truck, and fortunately just dropped him off.”

  “Really? Out drinking?”

  “Yeah. I’ll speak with him in the morning.”

  “I can’t believe he’s drinking! What are we going to do about it?”

  Chase shrugged wearily. “All I can think of at the moment is to talk to him and to give him a warning. Let’s just sleep on it, and hopefully I’ll find out more tomorrow.”

  “Hey hon’, you know what’s weird?”

  “No, what?”

  “Just last night I was reading through my journal about the dream you had years ago with Ryan as a teenager. You know, the one about him reaching the destination before you? Pretty strange timing.”

  “Guess so.”

  “Well maybe this will somehow lead to the fulfillment of that dream.”

  “That’d be nice.”

  Chase attempted to sleep, but his restless mind mulled over the possibility that he had been shirking his parental responsibility. He wondered how much a parent should feel compelled to take in such a situation. How could he feel successful in rearing one child and fear that he had failed with the other? How could two children raised so similarly turn out so very differently? What did he and Linda do wrong regarding Ryan? Were there warning signs they somehow missed? Did he merely want to have fun without considering the potential consequences, or could the situation be much more serious? Of course underage drinking was serious regardless, but how long had Ryan behaved this way under the radar? He denied taking drugs, but could Chase believe his son at this point?

  Finally he drifted off, waking from time to time with the same mental torments, unable to find answers. Chase groggily rose at seven o’clock and made coffee, still wrestling with his thoughts. He knew firmness would be necessary; however, he didn’t want to push his son further away. What if this issue had arisen between him and his dad—that is, if his father had remained with the family when Chase turned sixteen? His dad would probably have beaten him, shouting and cursing that he better behave or move out. Chase told himself he would not be that type of father.

  Linda came down in her pajamas and robe, joining him for coffee. Her face appeared worn and a bit gaunt, her hair sloppily pulled back around her ears. She greeted him with a forced smile. Chase returned the gesture with raised eyebrows. “Looks like you didn’t sleep much either,” he observed softly.

  “No, I didn’t. Couldn’t help but wonder where we could have gone wrong, you know, as parents.”

  “Me too.”

  “How long are you going to let Ryan sleep?”

  “Let’s just eat breakfast, and I’ll get him up after that.”

  “Okay, but what are you going to say?”

  “I’ll figure it out.”

  He roused Ryan at eight, ordering him to be outside by the fountain in twenty minutes. Chase waited impatiently, rehearsing questions and possible responses, his coffee cold by the time Ryan reluctantly sat near his father on one of the stone benches, head down. Chase demanded eye contact. “So what’s going on with you?”

  “What do you mean?” Ryan asked with a frown.

  “I’m going to ask you again. How long have you been drinking?”

  “Not too long.”

  “You said last night ‘a while.’ What does that mean—a month, six months?”

  “Maybe a couple.”

  “Look at me again. Is it because all your friends are drinking?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered sullenly, lowering his head.

  “Are you okay with it? I mean, you don’t see any problems with anything, even after what happened?”

  “Like I said, we were just havin’ some fun. Everybody does it.”

  “Son, do you think everything’s about you having fun? Don’t you realize that there are serious consequences when you break the law? You don’t want to end up in juvenile hall or something worse, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Then you have to start making better choices. You know that I was about the same age as you when I got caught up with the wrong people. I was extremely fortunate that I didn’t end up in prison, but I told you how I got shot and had to flee the state. Because of all I’ve been through, it’s important to me that you think through all the potential consequences of your behavior, but it has to be important to you as well. Listen, Ryan, you’re a good boy. You don’t have to bow to pressure from your peers and go down a road you’ll later regret. Does this make sense to you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ryan, look at me. Are you going to let me help you or not?”

  “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

  “Well you’re not going to have a lot of choices for a while since you haven’t made good ones recently. You’re going to be grounded for three months, and we’ll continue to talk through all of this.”

  Ryan jumped up. “What do you mean grounded?” he demanded.

  “Sit down, Ryan.” He obeyed. “Grounded means you’re not going to drive your truck or leave the house alone for three months, through the summer. Period.”

  “What, are you crazy? No way!”

  “Ryan, stop it. Listen to me. This is the way it’s going to be. You may not like it, but I never had a father who cared about me the way I care for you.”


  Ryan jumped up again and ran back into the house, the words “I hate you!” trailing behind him.

  Chase followed him upstairs. He opened the slammed door and found his son crying on his bed. He stood for a moment, surveying the room for any signs of rebellion. Chase saw two posters of heavy metal rock bands. Next to them, in perspicuous contrast, hung an old picture of the family at Disneyland. On the other side of the room was a red-and-yellow sign he had never before noticed, the letters boldly and ironically announcing, “No Drinking Allowed!”

  Chase rolled his eyes and sat down next to Ryan, attempting to comfort him. “Son, you’re not going to understand this, but I love you with all my heart. I want the best for you, and where you’re headed is not the best.”

  “You don’t know where I’m headed,” Ryan said, his face still in his pillow.

  “Don’t talk back to me like that. You’ve got a few months of restriction, and you need to focus on reimbursing us after we pick up your truck.”

  “How am I going to do that?” Ryan snapped.

  “Whatever it takes. Paper route, mowing people’s lawns, helping me around the house. You just need to make enough money to pay us back. And who knows, you may find something you really like.”

  “Are you done?”

  “Yeah, sure. But, Ryan, take some time to think about this, and we’ll talk some more.” He touched his shoulder. “I really do love you, son.”

  Hearing no response, Chase furtively glanced once more around the room before heading downstairs.

  “Sounded like that didn’t go too well,” Linda observed with a hint of frustration.

  “No. I didn’t expect it would. We talked about what he did, and then I grounded him for the summer.”

  “Three months? Really?”

  “Yeah. It’s just a number, but I’m not about to let him get away with this type of behavior. It’ll all work out. He’ll come around.”

  “I sure hope so.”

  Ryan’s disposition radically changed after a weekend of sulking. On Monday morning he stepped into the kitchen with uncharacteristic alacrity. “Hi, Mom! Hi, Dad! What’s for breakfast?”

  “Well good morning, Ryan,” Linda said with a surprised look at Chase. “You’re in a good mood. Want some oatmeal?”

  “Sure!” He plopped himself down at the table across from his father, who stared in bewilderment. “Hey Dad, do you have anything for me to do around the house today?”

  “Uh, well, certainly. There’s always something.”

  “Okay, just let me know. I’ll obviously be here.” He stole a glance at his mother, hoping for a smile.

  She complied. “Ryan, what happened to you? Why the sudden change?”

  “I don’t know, Mom. I guess there’s nothing I can do about anything at this point, so I just need to make the best of it.”

  Chase remained silent. Although it was nice to see his son’s quick turnaround, he wasn’t naïve enough to believe the conflict was over. Nevertheless, he thought, What an amazingly positive start after such a miserable weekend! He couldn’t believe what finally came out of his mouth, however. “You know this could have turned out a lot worse.”

  “Yeah.”

  Linda couldn’t believe her husband’s insensitivity. Chase immediately tried to be more positive. “Well your mother and I are behind you.”

  “I know.”

  He kicked himself for changing his son’s mood. Linda tried to pull Ryan out of it. Chase observed in silence.

  After breakfast, he went upstairs, dug for the letter he had written to his children eight years earlier, and reread it. Quite pleased with his message, he found another envelope, copied his instructions on the front, placed the letter inside, and sealed the envelope.

  CHAPTER 29

  On the following Monday, his cell phone rang with Linda’s number displayed. Working at his job in Syracuse, completely absorbed in a new marketing idea, the call surprised him.

  “Hi, babe, what’s up?”

  “Ryan’s gone!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s gone! I just went to his room to wake him and he wasn’t there. I looked for his backpack and it’s gone too. I think he’s run away!”

  Chase heard uncontrollable sobbing in between her words. “I’ll come home immediately. Have you reported it to the police?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well do it and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Okay. Hurry!”

  Chase grabbed his laptop, shoved paperwork into his briefcase, informed the boss of his sudden emergency, and shot on to the highway.

  No warning signs of such behavior, he thought. Just the opposite, in fact. Chase felt betrayed, not only by his son but by his own stupidity in believing change had occurred so suddenly and dramatically. “He’s only a teenager!” he yelled, slamming his hand on the steering wheel. Chase wondered where Ryan would go, what friend might be sheltering him. Lost in thought and neglecting to signal a lane change, he nearly sideswiped a semi-truck. The driver pounded his horn in anger.

  “Man! That was close!” Chase wiped his brow, checked the rearview mirror, and waved “sorry.”

  Forty-five minutes later he sprinted into the living room to find Linda weeping hysterically. “Chase! What are we going to do?”

  Holding her close and brushing away the tears, he managed to say, “It’ll be all right, Linda,” not believing his own words. “Did you call the police?”

  “Yes,” she answered between sobs.

  “What did they say?”

  “They told me to come down and fill out a missing child report. Chase, I can’t believe this is happening. Should we drive the neighborhood?”

  “I’ll call Teddy’s parents. Maybe he went over there. If not, I’ll try to get some of his friends’ phone numbers. Babe, he’s probably in the area. Don’t cry. We’ll find him.”

  “K.”

  Chase left her alone and hurried to the study. Teddy’s mother had no idea where Ryan was but provided a few other possibilities. The first call proved valueless, and no one answered the second. He dialed the last number, perspiration mounting on his forehead and staining his armpits.

  “Hello.”

  “Mrs. Thompson?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Chase Macklin. Listen, my son Ryan … Do you know him?”

  “Of course! He’s here with Zack.”

  Chase’s chest rose and fell with relief. “Great. Well I need to come pick him up. What’s your address? … Okay, thanks. I’ll be right there.”

  He quickly hung up, informed Linda of Ryan’s location on the other side of town, and rushed out of the house.

  Feeling less anxious now that he knew Ryan was safe, Chase wondered if his own life could be a huge lie. He had, in fact, grown quite weary of the entire process of discovering lies and attempting to overcome them. Backing out of the driveway, he questioned himself. Could it be that every experience, including his initial vision, held some sort of demonic power over him? Chase pulled into the street and raced away. Were demons even real? he wondered. And if so, did they control a person’s mind? Or could each vision and dream, along with each conclusion and interpretation, be an illusion?

  Chase’s life seemed to mimic a long movie with unbelievable tragedy and trauma, laced with hope but filled with disappointment. What if everything indeed proved to be simply a way of coping with reality? Could it all have begun with some sort of supernatural apparition that provided a sense of escape but that effectively led to personal imprisonment? And then, perhaps all by design, had a subtle trap been set by dark forces and eluded his cognitive awareness?

  Chase knew he should be thinking of Ryan, but suddenly, out of nowhere, a phrase entered his confused mind. He had mentioned it to Linda and to Doctor Rhinegold but had somehow missed
its significance. This time he heard it clearly, forcefully, from somewhere deep within himself and instantly understood that he dare not ignore it, that it somehow held the key to all of his mental and emotional struggles. Self-centeredness.

  Of course! That was his primary problem, perhaps even the father of every lie he believed about himself. If he looked at his previous fear of vulnerability or of trust, Chase found self-centeredness demanding that he take care of himself at all costs. When he considered his past issues with touch, self-centeredness explained his jaded, scornful attitude toward others needing such comfort. If he were honest with himself, he had to admit that self-centeredness had given birth to his pride, which was possibly its first offspring.

  But what about anger? That, too, Chase quickly resolved. Angry thoughts and actions proceed from a person’s frustration that others don’t understand him, don’t consider his perceptions or ideas, don’t allow him to remain in the center of his own created world.

  The spider web appeared again, and Chase saw with his mind’s eye the large, sticky strands accompanied by all of his old lies. Then, as if giving life to each of them, a carefully crafted mesh of web tauntingly displayed itself in the very middle—self-centeredness. There it hung, untouched. He shuddered.

  Chase stopped at a signal. He realized his life could not go on as before since he had no idea how to defeat such an innate enemy. How does one stop an angry jaguar leaping through the air with its bared claws aimed at its victim’s head? How does one fight off the razor-sharp teeth of an attacking barracuda or the powerful grip of a hungry crocodile? Self-centeredness, gloating at him from the web, implored him to try. He fought off the temptation.

  Chase decided he was done with everything. How could he continue if no matter what he did, he’d be swallowed up by this vicious enemy? How could he go on if he faced the eventual defeat of all that he had lived for, all that he had ever known—the preservation of himself?