Sliver Of Truth

I managed to support myself with various pieces of furniture-an overstuffed chair, a dresser, a bookshelf-and made my way to the bathroom. I watched myself in the mirror and gingerly removed the bandage. A gaping red hole oozed blood. I had a slow leak. The sight of it made me swoon, but I fought not to pass out on the cold marble beneath my feet. I had to imagine that whoever had bandaged me had also removed the bullet that caused the wound. I pressed gently around the edges and didn’t feel anything hard or foreign beneath my skin. But the pain caused me to puke more yellow bile into the sink.

I ran warm water over a washcloth, then sat down on the toilet. I put the washcloth to my side-I didn’t really know what else to do. The idea of calling the police or an ambulance never even occurred to me. I must have been in shock. Anyway, the pain was too much. Everything went black again.

THE CAR CAME to a stop and I stood rooted, feeling Jake behind me. I guess if I’d obeyed my instincts, we could have run at that point, but something kept me still, watching. My heart and stomach were in a weird chaos of excitement and fear, dread and hope. Was he there? Was he as close as that car? Had he seen me standing there? Jake started pulling on my arm. We moved back closer to the trees. I felt the phone vibrate in my pocket and withdrew it quickly; Grant’s number glowed on the screen.

I answered it as Jake’s tugging became more insistent. I started moving backward, away from the car. “This is not the time to be taking calls, Ridley,” said Jake. He hated cell phones more than I did.

“Grant?” I said, ignoring Jake.

“Ridley,” he said, his voice sounding funny and tight. “Don’t go there. Don’t go to the Cloisters. You’re fucked.”

“What?” I struggled to remember if I’d told him about the Cloisters. I couldn’t.

“They think you know where he is. They think you can lead them to him.” His voice ended in a horrible strangle. I had no idea what he was talking about.

“Grant!” I yelled into the phone. I heard a terrible gurgle. “Grant,” I said again. This time it felt more like a plea.

Before the line went dead he managed to say one more thing. He said, “Run, Ridley. Run.”

I WOKE UP back in the hotel room bed. I felt better. Or number, rather, as if someone had given me drugs. I had company. In the neat, comfortable sitting area beside my bed sat Dylan Grace on a sofa. His eyes were closed and he leaned his head against a closed fist, had his feet up on the coffee table. I couldn’t tell if he was asleep. He looked pale and unwell. I didn’t have enough energy to be afraid of him; I was too out of it. Definitely doped up, my whole being floaty and calm.

“Who are you?” I asked him. It was a philosophical question, really. He opened his eyes and sat up.

“You know who I am, don’t you?” He frowned a little, as if he wasn’t sure.

“I know who you’ve told me you are. I also know you’re a liar,” I said, my words thick and slurred.

“You’re surrounded by liars,” he answered. “I’m the least of your problems.”

I thought this was a somewhat insensitive thing to say. I also wasn’t sure what he meant.

“Where’s Jake?” I asked him.

He rubbed his eyes, didn’t answer.

“Where is he?” I asked again, louder. I struggled to sit up and he got up quickly off the couch, sat beside me.

“Easy, easy. You’re going to fuck yourself up again,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder and pushing me back gently. “I don’t know where Jake is. We’ll find him. I promise.”

“What happened to me? How did I get here?”

“There’s time for all of that. Now you need to rest.”

He reached for something on the bedside table. He came back with a syringe.

“No,” I said, a sob rising in my chest. My voice sounded weak and insubstantial, like a child’s; the hand I lifted to push him away had no strength. He didn’t meet my eyes, tapped on the plastic tube.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and jabbed the needle into my arm.

The pain was brief but intense, the darkness that followed total.

“WHAT DID HE say?” Jake asked. He’d let go of my arm and was watching me with concern.

“He said to run,” I answered, still looking at the phone in horror.

Jake took hold of my hand. “Sounds like good advice. Let’s get out of here. This was a mistake.”

But as he pulled me toward the trees, we could see the beams of flashlights cutting through the night. We stopped dead. There were five bouncing white points of light, maybe more, moving toward us, making their way through the woods we had come through just moments before. My heart started to thump. I saw Jake get that look he always got when we were in trouble, a dark intensity, a strategist’s concentration.