by Ben Follows
He opened up the phone app and pulled the letter from his pocket. He dialed the number.
He glanced at the doorway, begging whatever deity might be listening for enough time.
A receptionist at the halfway house answered.
Marcus asked to speak with Jeff Candor and was informed he wasn’t there at that moment but that the receptionist could take a message.
Marcus's heart fell.
“Wait a minute,” said the receptionist. “He just walked in."
“Hello?” came Jeff's voice. His voice was strained and course from years of abusing his body.
“Jeff, this is Marcus Devereaux.”
“Marcus!" said Jeff, immediately brightening up. "How are you, my man? I haven't heard from you in ages. Did you get my letter?”
“How else would I know where to call you?”
“Good point, my man.”
Marcus took a deep breath. “I need your help.”
There was a silence.
“You still there?” said Marcus.
“What do you need?” Jeff was deadly serious.
“I need you to break me free from Angela, and save my daughter’s life.”
“I can do that." There was an excited glee in Jeff's voice which Marcus had never heard before. "I can definitely do that. Tell me everything.”
Marcus outlined what had happened over the last few days. He told Jeff about his daughter and how he had found her, then lost her, how her boyfriend had been arrested for the murder but that Marcus knew that Angela and Ricky were going after them. He told him about how he had gone to General Thompson but that Angela had gotten to him first.
He didn't mention the lie about his paralysis and that he had been the one who murdered Tatiana Shembly, instead choosing to leave out certain details. He implied that he knew about Danielle from the newscast about the murder.
He kept glancing at the door during the duration of his story, trying to condense it as much as possible.
“I can be there within thirty-six hours," said Jeff when he'd finished. "Don’t do anything stupid until then. I'll get you out of there.”
“How can you do that?”
Jeff laughed. “I’ve got connections. You think I've just been sitting around twiddling my thumbs?"
Marcus jumped as the door opened and Angela's voice came into the room.
32
Angela stepped inside. She was looking back outside and talking to someone, probably a soldier based on her tone. She hadn't seen Marcus.
Marcus ended the call abruptly and deleted the call from the phone’s history. He shoved the phone under the pillow and lied down casually.
Angela turned and closed the door behind her with her foot, then looked up at Marcus. She was holding a tray of food.
“Hey,” he said. “Just getting some rest. Thanks for the food.”
He reached out to take the food from her, but she pulled it back. “Why are you in my bed?”
Marcus leaned back against the pillow and said, “You have a better view of the television.”
“The television isn't on," she said.
"I was looking for the remote."
"It's on your bed." Angela put the tray on the desk and pointed to Marcus's bed. The remote was lying on top of the covers.
"Oh, there it is," said Marcus. "My mistake."
Angela glared at him. "Get up.”
“I can’t. Someone shot a blank at my spine, remember?”
"You had no trouble getting to my bed.”
Angela walked over to Marcus, grabbed him by the collar and pulled him off the bed. He tumbled and rolled to the floor.
Angela threw the covers and pillows off the bed, revealing the phone.
She turned to Marcus. “How stupid do you think I am?”
Marcus pushed himself up onto his elbow. “Tell me where the money's going!"
“What?” Angela frowned.
“The money we raised over the last decade. Where did it go? Did it go to finding missing children? Ricky said it was going somewhere else.”
Angela stood over him.
Marcus noticed something red out of the corner of his eye. The wound on his knee had reopened.
“Who did you call?” said Angela, waving the phone at him.
“You used me!" he shouted. "You knew no one would doubt a paralyzed veteran with a story like mine. Did even a single dollar go to helping children?”
“Of course it did. Now tell me who you called?”
“We claimed to have helped a hundred children. How many did we help find?”
Angela crouched down beside him and spoke slowly. “Who did you call?”
“How many?”
“Maybe we've saved zero. Maybe we've saved a hundred. What does it matter?"
Marcus stared at her. “What do you mean?"
She shrugged. "Most of the kids probably would have been saved anyway. What do you care? You just want to feel superior to people."
"We could have helped other kids. You're letting people get away with kidnapping and murder. How can you do this?"
Angela smirked. “I’ve been doing it for a long time.” She stood and walked around Marcus. He tried to turn and keep her in his line of sight, but his dragging legs slowed him down.
She put her foot on his spine, where the bruise was.
She put a small amount of pressure on the spot. Marcus clenched his teeth and gasped. He clenched his fists shut and took deep breaths. The painkillers did little to alleviate the bolts of pain.
“Who did you call, Marcus?"
“Fuck you!” Marcus gasped.
She pushed harder on his spine. He screamed through his teeth.
“No one. Check the recent calls.”
Angela frowned and did so. A moment later she took her foot off his spine.
“I’m going to have someone check if you deleted something,” she said, pointing at him. “If you did, I’m going to get Ricky back here to put a real bullet in your spine.”
Marcus forced himself up on his elbows. “Where is Danielle? What is Ricky going to do to her?”
Angela looked down at him. “That’s none of your concern.”
She walked to the door and stopped. She grabbed the tray of food and flipped it through the air. The meat, mashed potatoes, and carrots, flew across the room and landed on the floor. Marcus turned his head away. Some mashed potatoes hit his shoulder.
Angela shot him a look of disgust, then left their quarters, slamming the door behind her.
Marcus fell onto the floor, breathing, waiting for the pain in his back to pass.
Once it had lessened, he wiped the mashed potatoes from his shoulder and crawled around the scattered food to his bed.
He grunted the entire way, leaving a trail of blood from his knee through the food on the floor.
He screamed through his teeth and pulled himself onto the bed.
He grabbed the bottle of pain medication from the top of the dresser and dumped a few of the remaining pills into his hand. He shoved them into his mouth.
He took a deep breath, feeling his strength return. He looked down at his knee, which was bleeding onto the sheets. He reached down and shoved the sheet into the wound.
He kept expecting to feel pain as he pushed harder and harder into the wound on his knee and the sheets turned a deep red.
He had to grab onto the headboard to stop his hands from shaking.
He had to admit that, for the first time in over a decade, he was genuinely scared.
33
There was a rattling at the bars.
Todd opened his eyes and looked up. He had been in the cell less than a day, but it felt like an eternity.
An officer stood outside the cell. “Your bails been posted.”
Todd sat up on the bed and turned his legs until he faced the officer, rubbing his eyes. “Who posted it?"
“Get out there and see for yourself.” The officer opened the door to the cell and stepped back, his hand at his
waist in case Todd tried anything.
Todd swung his legs off the bed and walked to the door.
He stepped out of the cell and walked to the front desk in a daze.
Apparently, Jameson had gotten the murder charge rescinded, or he would never have gotten bail. He wished the lawyer had told him earlier. It might have alleviated some of his fears over the night.
The officer at the desk handed Todd his wallet, phone, and cigarettes, and ushered him into the waiting area.
He stepped into the waiting area, looking for anyone he recognized. A man in a white long-sleeved shirt and jeans stood and walked over to him.
“Todd! How great does it feel to be out?” The man wrapped his arm over his shoulder.
It took Todd a few seconds to realize who the clean shaven and nicely dressed man embracing him was.
“Dennis?" he said. "You posted my bail?”
"I told you I would. I'm a man of my word. I’m parked outside.”
Todd didn't move. He hadn't believed a word Dennis had said, and had assumed he'd never see the man again.
“Why?" he asked.
"I'll explain when we get going." They walked out of the police station and Dennis unlocked his car. “Climb in.”
Dennis climbed into the front seat. Todd crossed his arms and waited.
"Get in," said Dennis.
"I don't trust you," said Todd, feeling a confidence in his words he hadn't heard before. Maybe this was what people meant when they talked about prisons creating hardened criminals. "Tell me what's going on, or I'm leaving."
“Todd,” said Dennis, leaning over the passenger seat toward him, “about fifteen years ago, I got arrested for the first time. None of the people I thought were my friends showed up, and I was left to rot in jail on a five-hundred-dollar bail. After a few days, a complete stranger posted my bail and took me in. I asked him how to repay the favor. He told me to pay it forward. If I ever saw someone in the same situation I was in, I would do the same as he had done for me. I’d forgotten about it until I saw you last night.”
“I’m not a criminal," said Todd.
Dennis sighed. “You missed my point. Get in.”
Todd walked closer to the truck and leaned through the window. “I'm not like you."
"I'm trying to help you, Todd. Just take it."
"Are we going to my house?"
"No," said Dennis. "We're going to mine. Your house is swarming with media vans. You can stay at my place until this is over."
Todd climbed into the passenger seat. “How do you where my house is?”
“It's the house the media is swarming," said Dennis. "I just said that."
Todd leaned against the window as they pulled out of the parking lot. His breath fogged up the glass. "They won’t find anything. Do you mind if I smoke?"
"Open the window."
Todd rolled down the window and lit a cigarette. He blew the smoke out. After going almost twenty-four hours without a cigarette, it was a massive relief. His headache slowly receded.
34
They didn't speak for the duration of the drive, until they pulled into a small but well maintained one story house.
They walked up the front drive to the house, and Dennis unlocked the door.
"Your room is down the hall to the right," said Dennis. "The bathroom's on the left."
"Where's your family?" he said. "I saw your wife bail you out."
Dennis sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm not welcome at that house anymore."
"Why did she bail you out?"
"She thinks the kids need a father, even if I'm not living with them. Come inside. I'll get some food cooking."
Todd walked down the hall to the room Dennis had indicated.
He closed the door and fell onto the bed. He felt as though he only closed his eyes for a second, but suddenly he was being shaken awake by Dennis and the sun had set.
"Dinner's ready," said Dennis.
Todd nodded and Dennis left the room. Dennis had left some extra clothes in the bathroom. Todd cleaned up and checked his phone.
There were three angry text messages from Liam, one from his boss at the video store telling him that he and Danielle were both fired for not showing up to work, and a dozen from people he hadn't spoken to in years who'd seen him on television. He scrolled through those without reading them. They weren't what he was looking.
Finally, he found a text that had come in from Danielle.
He swallowed as he read it, his heart thumping in his chest. It said, “Meet me for a latte below the place I dropped my phone near a stroller.”
Todd smiled at the memory and laughed. It was the perfect message. Todd was the only one who would be able to decipher its meaning.
He replied, “What’s going on?”
He waited for a minute without receiving a response before getting dressed in the sweatpants and hoodie Dennis had provided and slipping his phone into his pocket. He made sure the ringer was on.
When he walked into the living room, Dennis was sitting on the couch in front of two trays of food, watching Sportscenter. “Take a seat," he said.
Todd sat beside him and dug into the stir fry. It was a little overcooked, but Todd enjoyed it anyway.
"How are you doing?" said Dennis. "Jail used to freak me out."
Todd took a bite of food, biting down on a hard piece of rice. “I'm fine."
Dennis leaned in like he was a co-conspirator. “Why do the cops think you did it?"
"They think I did it because Danielle’s parents didn't like me."
Dennis shrugged. "Who cares?"
Todd looked over at him. “I care. It’s important to get their blessing.”
“Isn’t that a bit old fashioned?”
“My dad got a blessing from my grandparents, and they were married for forty years.”
Dennis took a bite of food. "Your parents still around? Maybe they would do it differently if they had the chance to do it again."
Todd shook his head. "They both died of lung cancer a few years back."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it." Todd took another bite of food.
“So,” Dennis said, leaning across the couch toward Todd, “How’d you do it?”
“How did I do what?”
“The murder." Dennis grinned. "You can tell me. I've found telling the truth is always a relief.”
Todd felt a cold sweat run down his back. He looked around at the house, frowning.
He stood and began walking around the house.
He walked to the window and traced his finger around the edges of the storm windows. There was a buildup of dust.
“What were you in prison for?” said Todd. "I saw those tattoos on your arms. Are you a Neo-Nazi or something?"
“Once upon a time, yes. It isn't a part of my life I want to relive."
“What were you in prison for?”
“I was in a bar fight. Almost killed the other guy. Served two years for aggravated assault."
“What do you do now?”
“I work on an assembly line."
Todd nodded, walked through the kitchen and opened the silverware drawer, taking out a knife and returning it to its spot. He opened the fridge and closed it.
“Do you have some nice clothes I can borrow?"
“Why?”
Todd opened a cupboard. “I’m leaving.”
Dennis stood and walked towards him. “I’m just trying to help.”
Todd returned the plate to its place. “I don’t think you are.”
Dennis stopped. “What do you mean?”
Todd turned to face Dennis. “You don't live here. Everything is too clean. These storm windows haven't been changed since last year. None of the mugs or knives have any stains or scratches on them. One of the plates still has a price tag on it."
“I just haven't gotten around to taking them off."
Todd swallowed and turned to face him. He didn't know where his sudden confidenc
e was coming from. “Prove it.”
Dennis frowned. “Prove what?”
“Prove you spent time in prison. Prove you want to help me.”
“I don’t have any proof."
“Why not?”
Dennis stood and walked toward Todd. “Why would I keep memorabilia from the time I spent in prison? It's not something you keep a scrapbook of. It's something you learn from and move on with your life."
Todd stepped back and opened the drawer. His hand traced the blade of a knife. “You were in jail last night.”
It took Dennis a second to come up with an answer. “I made a mistake."
“You didn’t act like it was a mistake. You acted like it was an everyday thing."
Dennis cleared his throat. “This is all a big misunderstanding. Stay here tonight. Tomorrow, we'll go down to the police station and I'll prove I spent time in prison. What do you think? Do you think I'm with the cops?"
Todd nodded. "Something like that."
"I'm not. I hate the cops as much as anyone. Please, I'm trying to do a good thing, for once in my life."
His sincerity caught Todd off guard, and he removed his hand from the knife before he realized what he was doing. He thought for a few moments, then decided that he would give Dennis the benefit of the doubt.
“I want to believe you, Dennis. I will stay here for one night, and tomorrow I want proof that you are who you say you are."
Dennis smiled. “Thank you, Todd. You won't regret this. If you don't want to talk about what happened, I won't ask anything. Let's watch the game."
Dennis sat back on the couch and watched the baseball game. Todd watched him for a few moments, then closed the drawer and walked into the living room.
He checked his phone. He still hadn't received a reply from Danielle.
He took a seat beside Dennis and watched the game. The conversation never strayed back toward the murder Todd had been accused of.
The Red Sox lost in extra innings. When the game had ended, they cleaned up and went to their separate bedrooms.
Todd brushed his teeth, washed his face, and climbed into bed. He shut off the lights in the room.
