“Walk out the front door.Go home.Go wherever you want.Just don’t go to the police.”
He stares at me.Not the usual disdain.Not fear.Something else.The look of a man trying to find the trap in a room he’s already been trapped in.
“She put you up to this.”
“She’s in New York.”
“She put you up to this before she left.This is one of her things.A test.See if I run.See if I’m?—”
“Nobody put me up to anything, Charles.I’m standing in a basement telling you the door is open because we both know you can’t stay here forever and the longer this goes on the worse it gets for everyone.”
He’s quiet for a long time.Looking at me.Looking at the stairs behind me.The stairs that lead to a kitchen and a front door and a road and a world he hasn’t seen in weeks.
“Why?”he says.“Whynow?You could have let me go the first day you walked into this house.”
“Because this doesn’t end well.Not for you.Not for her.Not for anyone.”
“That’s not what I’m asking.”He leans forward.“Why would you let me go?What do you get out of it?”
“I don’t get anything.”
“Everyone gets something.That’s how deals work.”
“This isn’t a deal.This is me telling you the door is open.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that the man who fucked my girlfriend on the kitchen table and then discussed burying me in the yard is now offering me freedom out of—what?Decency?”
“Believe whatever you want.The door is open.”
He looks at the stairs.Looks at me.Looks at his wrists in the cuffs.
“You can’t guarantee she won’t come after me.”
“She won’t.”
“You don’t know that.You’ve known her for three weeks.I’ve known her for two years.You don’t know what she does when things go sideways.”
“I know her better than you think.”
“Then you know she doesn’t let things go.That’s why I’m in this basement.That’s why you’re in this house.”
“Maybe she loves you as much as she knows I love this house.”
“God.”His eyes widen.“You’re as crazy as she is.”
“I’m sure you’re right about that too.”
Charles leans his head against the wall.Closes his eyes.I can see him working it—the angles, the risks, the probabilities.“How do I know this isn’t a setup?”he asks.Eyes still closed.
“You don’t.”
“How do I know you won’t call her the second I walk out?”
“You don’t.”
“How do I know she’s not parked at the end of the road waiting to?—”
“You don’t know anything, Charles.That’s the point.You’ve been in a basement for weeks.You don’t know what day it is.You don’t know what’s real.You don’t know if I’m lying or telling the truth and you won’t know until you’re standing on the other side of that door.”
