Sliver Of Truth

“Ridley,” she started. But I interrupted her. If I’d been listening to myself, I would have realized that I wasn’t making a whole lot of sense. I was assuming a lot of knowledge on her part.

“I know I shouldn’t have run away from him, but I’d be willing to come into the FBI-if he was taken off the case. Sometime tomorrow. I didn’t have anything to do with Sarah Duvall’s murder.” I took a breath.

“Ridley,” she said quickly in the pause, “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“Agent Dylan Grace,” I repeated.

“I’ve never heard of him.”

My heart started to thump.

“What I do know, Ridley, is that your face is all over the news. They’re saying that you’re a person of interest in the murder of Sarah Duvall and that an accomplice helped you to escape from NYPD custody.”

“No, not an accomplice,” I said, my mouth going dry. “Agent Grace took me. I’m a federal witness.”

“Not anymore you’re not. The Project Rescue case is long closed.”

“I’ve been under surveillance for a year. Someone over there is still looking for Max Smiley. They thought he’d come for me, because he loved me.”

In the silence that followed, I realized that I sounded like a crazy person. A sad, desperate crazy person searching for a dead man who loved her once.

“Ridley,” Agent Sorro said carefully, her voice soothing, “Max Smiley is dead. You know that.”

I tried to think back on all the things Dylan Grace had told me and suddenly it all seemed nebulous. How much had I filled in with my own imagination? How much had he really said? I told her how he’d showed me his ID on the street that day and took me in for questioning, about the photographs, how he was trailing me, how he’d had access to my phone records, how he’d taken me from the police precinct. I must have sounded hysterical, possibly delusional. I wondered if she was tracing this call, if she could triangulate the signal and figure out where I was.

Another heavy silence followed. “What did you say this man’s name was again?”

“Dylan Grace,” I said, feeling more and more foolish by the second. “Are you seriously telling me you’ve never heard of him?”

“I’m telling you I’ve never heard of him,” she said. “And I’m looking on the database now.” I could hear her fingers tapping on a keyboard. “There’s no one listed in our files by that name. No one named Dylan Grace works for the FBI anywhere in the U.S.”

I let the full impact of the information register. For a moment, I wondered if I’d imagined him altogether, if all of this was just a figment of my imagination. Maybe I should check myself into a hospital somewhere, get some meds.

“Listen, Ridley, it sounds to me like you’re in more trouble out there than if you turned yourself in. The NYPD just wants to talk,” she said with a slight singsong quality to her voice that told me she thought I’d gone over the edge. “I’ll meet you somewhere and bring you in if you want. We’ll get it all worked out. We need to find out who this guy is, why he’s been impersonating an FBI agent, and what he really wants from you. We can help each other.”

Just then I heard the lightest click on the line. It brought me back to myself. I weighed the pros and cons of just turning myself in. She was right; I’d probably be safer. But part of me had already decided that this meeting at the Cloisters was the only way to Max. Something inside me had seized on that, and even though I had no reason to think it was true, I just couldn’t let it go. If eight o’clock came and went and I wasn’t at the Cloisters, Max would elude me forever. I wasn’t sure if I could live with that.

“Okay, Agent Sorro, thanks,” I said.

“Where do you want to meet?”

“Um…I’ll think about it and get back to you.”

“Ridley-”

I ended the call then and sat there for a second, every nerve ending in my body tingling, my stomach in full rebellion. I had been lied to and tricked by Dylan Grace, my imaginary friend. I didn’t even know how to react or what to think. Oddly, I didn’t even feel that shocked or betrayed. In a way, I guess I had always expected him to be something other than what he appeared to be. It was almost a relief to know that I had been right about him.

I scanned the room around me. No one was looking in my direction, everyone hyper-focused on the screen in front of them. I wanted to scream for help, but of course I didn’t. Then I saw a young guy huffing and puffing his way up the stairs. He was pasty and soft but had a pretty face framed by a mass of golden curls; he wore tiny round silver spectacles. I was sure it was Grant. I felt scared suddenly that I’d led the poor kid into danger, that I’d wind up kneeling over his dead body on the floor. I thought about bolting, but he saw me and made his way over.

“I knew it was you,” he said as he sat down heavily. He took off his glasses and wiped them on the hem of his T-shirt. His shirt read THE ONLY THING NECESSARY FOR EVIL TO TRIUMPH IS FOR GOOD MEN TO DO NOTHING.

I didn’t say anything just out of surprise that he’d recognized me.