by A. K. Smith
“You seem to know a little about law.” He does not take the twenty I am holding, so I place it on my lap and start smoothing it out.
“I do, my…” I must swallow, to spit out the correct word, as I push the creases out of the crumpled twenty, “…father is an attorney and I worked at the courthouse in Baltimore.”
He makes a steeple out of his hands and balances his chin on his fingers, studying me before he speaks. “I mostly do family law, bankruptcy, wills and probate, trusts and estates.”
“Your card lists criminal law,” I respond. I look around his little worn office, my intelligence coming back to life. “Want to get out of this office? Work in a bigger firm? I’ve got the case to help you.”
He moves over to lower his body into the chair beside the couch, the only two pieces of furniture besides his desk and chair in the small office. He looks me squarely in the eyes. It instinctively makes me trust him more.
“Well, that’s an interesting statement, but I happen to like my office and I’m not looking for the next big case. I’m a race car driver who never made it to the big leagues and a skier who never made the Olympics. Perhaps I should refer you to someone else who can help you.” He pulls his phone out and starts scrolling through his contacts.
I need to talk to someone now. For the first time in forever, the truth is pacing back and forth inside my body and wants to be let out. Like a caged lion gaining speed, ready to charge the gate that keeps him locked in, the lion wants to be free. I think about the MGM lion who stared me down. I give Devon Perry the same unwavering look.
“Please, Mr. Perry, I need help now. I’m afraid later will be too late, and Ward said you were one of the good ones which I could really use right now.” A tear slides down my cheek. I let it roll.
Devon Perry leans back and runs his fingers through his thick hair. He hesitates fixated on the air above me. With a deep sigh he takes out two pieces of paper. I read the heading of the one and my heart skips. He lays them down on the desk, a one-page contract of representation and a receipt of payment. He holds out the palm of his hand and I place the flattened twenty in his hand. I sign the page, before he changes his mind.
“Does this mean we now have client-attorney privilege?”
“Yes, unless you’re about to tell me you’re going to kill someone or do some future criminal act, which is not protected by the attorney-client privilege.”
The lion roars inside me. With a burst of adrenaline, I force myself to speak the words. The words I never thought I would utter. “Have you ever heard the name Sunday Foster?”
Devon shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so, why should I?”
Why would he? I had forgotten that terrible horrific shootings happen all the time. With so many school shootings, one missing teenager just gets lost in the mix.
“How about the school shooting in Ohiopyle, Pennsylvania?”
“Yes, of course, the one that happened a few months ago back East on the river?”
“Yes, that one.” I swallow the thick wad of emotion stuck in my throat. “Sunday Foster was the missing high school student.” I look at his kind eyes, and another tear rolls down my face, and then another and another.
He waits.
“I’m Sunday Foster.” The lion comes out slowly. But, once outside the cage, the truth roars.
I start from the very beginning, including Tyler, THE PLAN, and Amir’s help, which led up to the school shooting. Mr. Perry takes notes and asks a few simple questions here and there, but basically, he listens. He is immersed, as if I am reading a bedtime story.
When I come to the present day and Amir arriving to Las Vegas to blackmail me into going with him to MIT, he stops me.
“How did Amir find you?”
“I took my driver’s license exam and the GED as Hannah Williams. I still intended to go to college. Amir is a computer genius: he found me and messaged me on Facebook, threatening that if I didn’t meet him, he was going to the police to tell them I was alive. I met him. He is the only one that knows my new identity is Hannah Williams.”
“I see.” He pauses. “Why would Amir want to do that?”
He waits for me to continue. I take slow, even breaths.
“The thing is, the reason why I’m sitting here, is not just because of what I have done. Amir knew Eric Beck was going to go to the school trip with a gun that day. It’s almost as if he dared him and sent him over the edge. He got Eric to look up radical terrorist videos and research ISIS. His mother is a Muslim. Amir is not. But Amir has been bullied his whole life—kids called him terrorist and horrible names. It’s like Amir snapped and this whole other person emerged. He looks completely different, his behavior is odd, and he has some weird sense of confidence; a sick power trip inside him. He even told me his parents are afraid of him. They must suspect.” I lean back into the couch, my shirt sticking to me with sweat. I take a deep breath. “I think Amir planned the whole thing and Eric did it for him. In fact, I know he knew it was going to happen. Is that enough to question him, investigate him, or arrest him?”
“It depends. If they could prove he was involved, possibly. They would need proof, to charge him with anything.”
“Can they throw me in jail?”
Devon Perry leans back in his chair, his eyes never leaving my face. “Yes, identity theft is a crime even if it is ghosting someone who is dead. This is a serious case, Hannah.” He pauses and asks, “or should I call you Sunday?”
Chapter 26
Karma, Chapels, and Reality
Scan and check. No one is following me. I twist around, my chest tight as I study each of the diner patrons. Paranoia. I’m full of it. I need to do something to control my anxiety. I peel my fingers off the countertop, focus on my phone, and scroll through the local news of my hometown. I’ve stopped myself from doing this daily task weeks ago, but in an attempt to kill time, I search the headlines. A post, “Battered Woman Presses Charges Against Abusive Husband in Complicated Case” catches my eye, but the post right below it makes me stand up.
The black coffee cup tumbles on the counter at the diner. The black liquid runs over the edge, dripping on my pants. I can’t take my eyes off my phone. The words of Jack’s mother, Marcia flash in my head: “Bad things come in threes.”
Tyler Glass. His picture fills up the screen along with two other faces of lacrosse players from Towson State. I stop breathing. The headline from a Baltimore news website: Three Towson State lacrosse players arrested for the rape of an eighteen-year-old freshman.
A strange series of emotions overwhelm my mind. Fear, sadness, and satisfaction swirl around together. On the one hand, it makes me feel free from self-blame; almost a relief. I did not cause what he did to me. And, it’s not my fault that college-boy Tyler is sick. But guilt creeps in behind the respite. Guilt for the innocent freshman. What he did to me was not my fault. But, I carry the burden of silence. I should have gone to the authorities. Maybe if I did, this wouldn’t have happened to someone else.
A barrage of questions keeps pounding my mind. The thought of an altered outcome to this mess is overwhelming. Tyler is guilty. That, I am certain. But, I’m not so innocent anymore, but I was then. Now, I, too, was guilty of different crimes. Twisted, lying violent offenders should not be ignored. No matter what package they are wrapped up in. I will make this right. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but I will step forward. But for this moment, I must focus on the task at hand.
Ward’s son Devon (he insists I use his first name) reluctantly let me leave his office with the promise of meeting up tomorrow morning at ten a.m. I need time to think. I purposely skated around the fact that I was only seventeen. Devon would know soon enough, as he researched the case on the internet. I knew what being a minor would mean to the authorities. They would have to contact HE and SHE, and then maybe I would get sent to a juvenile detention center. I have to think this through.
I need proof that Amir was involved. I know he is the mastermind, a stone-cold
murderer. I am slowly discovering my gut instinct, which if I only trusted more often, is more right than wrong. Flashes of Amir controlling Eric surface in my mind. He called him a coward more than one time in front of me. Too wrapped up in my own troubles, I hadn’t paid more attention to how Amir was speaking to Eric.
This is my one chance to let the truth be told. If I help them get Amir, perhaps the charges against me will not be so harsh. Faking my death is not necessarily a crime, however, all the fraud that comes with it is a criminal act. I’ve defrauded the Social Security Department, the Motor Vehicle Department, and the State of Nevada, a government agency that processed my new identity. I have been working illegally under the table, underage, at the Magic Hat Casino. Devon also referenced the Search and Rescue efforts for my missing body, which apparently cost thousands and thousands of dollars.
Being sent to prison may not be in my future plans, but a real scary and possible alternative is returning to HE and SHE. Regardless, the families of those poor students deserve to know the truth. Amir should not be walking free. I need to think. Amir is out there somewhere, looking for me, but Las Vegas is a big town. It is also the city of second chances, and I want mine.
I decide to go to the gods.
HE and SHE never took me to church as a child, but it never stopped me from praying to God. Over the years, the few times I went with Jack and his family on the holidays, the safety and serenity of the church wrapped me up like a warm blanket. It felt like a sanctuary away from my cold, evil house. I vowed that when I was on my own, I would find a loving church to join; some non-denominational community full of support.
Amir would not be hanging out in a church or a chapel. He told me once, after kids had called him a Muslim, that he hated all religion and was a self-proclaimed atheist.
Hudson mentioned in our tour that almost all casinos had a chapel. The closest casino was Caesars Palace.
As I ride the moving sidewalk into the hotel lobby, I pray to God to help me. I think if maybe if I could get a little closer to Him in a spiritual place, I will have a better chance of being heard.
Ten minutes later, I walk toward the Forum shopping center, my face flushed, my heart anxious, feeling stupid. The stuffy hotel employee told me chapels are not open to the public; they are for weddings and private guests.
“Do you know someone who’s getting married in the chapel?” she asks with an attitude as she sizes me up from head to toe. With the old me, a lie would have rolled off my tongue and I would have fabricated a story of looking at a chapel for my upcoming wedding, but instead a warm flush travels up my neck to my cheeks. “No, I’m just looking for a place to pray.” I’m not that knowledgeable about religion, and she’s making it worse. I really thought anyone could walk into a church and pray.
Then I hear the roll of the thunder and hear the booming voice of the gods coming alive at the Forum shops. It is a perfect place to think. As their voices rumble, the fire and the water and lights flash and dance, and I realize that Greek mythology is about control. A sister and brother are fighting for the rights of the kingdom of Atlantis. Their jealousy and greed led to its eventual doom.
Today, without Hudson, the show looks old and tired to me as they turn back into their frozen statues, but it sparks an idea. I know what I have to do. First, I need to find Hudson. I owe him the truth before he hears it from the media. He’s the one good thing in this mess of the life I created.
I text Hudson and he agrees to meet me at the Bellagio Fountains after his shift. A good place to let it all flow. Then I text Amir. I still have a few more lies to tell, and then I promise myself the lying will end. Forever.
I take a deep breath. I can do this. I text, Amir, I’m sorry. Would you meet me at the bench in the park and give me a chance to explain?
As I walk away from the stone statues of the gods, I look at them and then up and whisper, wish me luck. With eighteen dollars left to my name and a quick prayer, I walk into a pawn shop hoping it will be enough.
Chapter 27
Last Lies, Control, and Whiskey Courage
Dressed in a white shirt and blue designer jeans, Amir leans back on the bench and glares at me as I walk toward him. Another brown paper bag sits beside him. I catch a whiff of the lingering smoke of a cigarette.
This is it: my final performance of lies. Hopefully, all the years of practice of faking my emotions will assist me in this moment.
I attempt a smile, as I walk up in silence and sit on the bench next to the brown bag, the only thing between us. I turn sideways and pick up the bottle. “Do you mind?” I need some liquid courage and more importantly, I want him to be a little drunk. His expression is rigid, angry, and wary as he stares at me under heavy eyelids of contempt.
“I’m sorry, Amir.” I gulp from the bottle and the pungency of whiskey almost makes me gag. I swallow the involuntary retching as warm liquid goes down my throat. “I need you to understand what is going on with me.” His expression unflinching. This is going to be harder than I thought. “I panicked. I’m afraid. I have been terrified ever since the shooting and the move here, every second of every day. I have been alone and afraid.”
Suspicion clouds his eyes. I hold out the bottle to him, and he takes it. I wait for him to take a sip.
“I’ve been all alone and just lost everything I had. But now I realize that if we can talk this through, if you will help me, help me understand, maybe we can do this. You’re all I have. I have nothing else in this world but you.”
Amir places the bottle back to his lips again, takes another long swig, and then hands it to me. I force myself to take another sip. I place the bottle on the bench and push myself to grab his hot and sweaty hand. Mine are hot and sweaty for a different reason.
“Can we do this together?” I say with all the conviction I can muster. “Start all over? You and me. It will take me a while to get adjusted, but if we take it slow, I think we can have the trust we always had.”
Amir focuses on my hand on his.
“What are you saying? MIT?” Amir speaks in a softer tone, and when he bites his lip, I can see a reflection of my old Amir.
“Yes, I’m ready to leave this town. Get out of here and begin again. Tonight. I can pack up my clothes and we can catch a bus tomorrow.” I swallow and hold onto his hand with just one of mine as I pick up the bottle and take another fake swig. I hold it out to him, and he does the same, not losing eye contact. “I just need to understand one thing, Amir. The lying must stop, at least with you and me. I need one person in my life who truly knows me. One person I can speak the truth to. I’m so tired of all the lies. Let us have some honesty.”
Amir leans in to kiss me. I don’t know what to do, as his face comes closer, inches from mine. I go with it. My finale, slightly turning my head but half-kissing him on the lips, telling myself I am kissing my old friend goodbye. My sick friend, who is a psychopath. “I don’t know how this will work… this thing between us, but we can start slow.” I squeeze his hand. “I just need you to help me understand what you meant the other day about Eric. Did you know he was going to the river to shoot at us? If you knew, why didn’t you tell me? Save me from being killed. Why would you do that to me?” I try to change my tone to make it about me, but I am afraid all the acting in the world can’t hide my disgust. I know the truth; I just don’t want to believe I’m right.
“How… how did Eric get a gun?”
Amir sighs. “Come on, I’m good with the fake I.D.s, you should know that. I took a drive to West Virginia, same little town where you and I went. That small little shop didn’t even question my application. It was so easy.”
He bought the gun.
“Sunday, don’t you understand? I saved you. That’s how I was sure you were alive. I knew you were not missing. You and I, we are so much alike, and we always have been. I knew you would choose that moment for your pseudocide. When the reports came in and you were missing, I knew. I applauded you. You did exactly what I thought you would d
o. Eric promised me he would not shoot at you. He wasn’t even supposed to get so close.”
Every ounce of my body wants to run. The bile from my stomach is now in the back of my throat, and it is going to come up, and I know it isn’t from the whiskey. A tear runs down my face. I can’t control my sadness for this twisted, sick boy. Who did this to him? What makes someone go so off center that they have right and wrong so contorted? The bullies? His father? He has psychological issues. He needs help. Amir wipes the tear off my face and puts his arm around me. I am shaking from head to toe.
“It’s going to be okay now, Sunday, we have each other. I’ve always been here for you and I always will be.” He nods as he rubs my arm. “Always.”
Amir insists on walking me back to my apartment. I pray my key will work and the locks are not changed. Better yet, the lights are on and I can hear Jamie and Adriana laughing inside.
Amir seems to know my apartment before we reach the door.
Before I tell him which unit is mine, he slows his step and hesitates when he notices the lights are on. His eyes focus on that apartment window, my apartment window, and it only solidifies my theory. He broke into the apartment. I am sure of it. It is too much of a coincidence.
Since my roommates are inside, Amir doesn’t try to come in. I promise Amir I will meet him at the Greyhound bus station tomorrow morning at 9:00 a.m.
“I’ll buy the tickets,” he says. He leans in to kiss me, but I hug him though I’d rather punch him.
When I slip inside, Adriana and Jamie are standing in the kitchen drinking wine. I am never happier to see them. I run past them straight for the bathroom… I can no longer keep my sick insides from coming up. I retch over and over again.
