Lies(3)

“He wasn’t in the explosion, no. Tell me more about him.”

“Ah, we met in a bar downtown, been together for just over a year. He’s a hard worker. He likes watching football and going for morning runs. His favorite food is lasagna and he drinks Bud Light even though it’s trash.”

“MORE.”

“I don’t know what you want,” I cry. Never in my life have I been so scared.

“Describe him to me.”

“He’s just an average guy. Average height. Fit, but not bulky. He has brown eyes and hair. Thirty-one years old.”

“Tick-tock, tick-tock,” says the woman. “You’re running out of time.”

“Whose fucking fault is that?” hisses the man.

“Guess I gave her more sleep juice than I meant to. Oops.”

A grunt. “Keep talking, bitch.”

My head pounds. “I, um…he sleeps on the right-hand side of the bed.”

“What weapons does he keep in the house?”

“Like guns? None. I hate the things. We both do.”

Again, the woman laughs. “Not the brightest, is she?”

“Keep talking,” repeats the man.

“Thom’s a decent person. He’s nice…polite. Doesn’t do social media. Has no close family.” Nothing I’m telling them is damning or even particularly interesting. Still, I feel guilty for answering at all. But what the hell else am I supposed to do? “Is this what you want to know? I don’t understand; what’s he done? What’s he involved in?”

“Who says he’s involved in anything?”

“The fact that I’m here and you’re questioning me says something’s going on.”

“Watch it. I don’t think you appreciate how nice I’m being,” says the creep. “Things could get much worse for you very quickly. You have no idea exactly how bad things could get.”

“I don’t know what you want. Are you the ones who blew up the condo?” My heart is pounding and I can’t seem to get enough air. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Asking me questions again. Tsk tsk. You just never learn. Perhaps you’d like to try some waterboarding, hmm? Does that sound like fun?”

I choke on a sob.

“Got to say, it really messes you up. Feels just like you’re drowning. You start suffocating and water gets in your lungs, which fucking stings, let me tell you. And your sinuses feel like they’re going to explode. Eventually, Betty, you’ll lose consciousness. Then I’ll wake you back up not so gently and we’ll start all over again.” The sadistic prick laughs. “I hate to do it. But I just don’t think you’re being entirely truthful with me, you see? It’s sad, really. All of this football-and-lasagna bullshit, it’s just surface information. You must know more about the man you live with, the man you’re going to marry. You’d have to know all his secrets by now, wouldn’t you?”

I shake my head. “Thom doesn’t have any secrets.”

“Everyone has secrets.”

“No, not Thom. I mean, he hates his boss and he takes his coffee black.” I’m babbling now, the words tripping over themselves in their haste to get out. “He’s a bit of a loner. Only has a couple of friends f-from college, work…I don’t…oh, God.”

“Do you talk to your friends about Thom?”

“Well, I talk to my friend Jen. Wait, where is Jen? Have you taken her too?”

“The friend checks out,” says the woman. “She’s clean.”

“Is Jen okay?” I repeat. “Did you hurt her?”

“Your nosy little friend is fine. Took a lot of talking to keep her out of the ambulance,” says the man. “Maybe we should have brought her along. I think you just need a bit more encouragement to help your memory.”

“Are you sure about this?” asks the woman.

“Use your head,” he snaps. “If they’ve found the condo, then they know about this one. If they know about her, they’ll have tried to compromise her. Get her on the floor.”

“Oh, no. I’m observing only,” says the woman. “You’re on your own with this.”

The light clicks off and white spots dance before my eyes. I blink and blink, but it’s a while before I can see anything. In the meantime, there are noises. Water running from a tap. More heavy footsteps. The near-silent hiss of the frigid air-conditioning turning on.

Slowly, gradually, things swim into focus. We’re in an empty basement by the look of it. Small barred windows set high. Bare brick walls and a concrete floor. Over by a laundry tub, the man stands with his back to me. He’s tall with a shaved head, dressed in all black. Meanwhile, the woman leans against a wall inspecting her nails. She’s petite with short dark hair and golden-brown skin.

This isn’t real. It can’t be real. Everything hurts. And it’s about to hurt a lot more.

Someone jogs down the stairs, coming into view a bit at a time. First are the black boots. Next is blue jeans. Then a gray T-shirt hanging loose. Finally, I see his face…

And it’s Thom.

Relief rushes through me. He’s here. He’s okay. Oh, thank God. Though, now that I really pay attention, he seems different than normal. My addled brain can’t figure it out exactly. As if it’s Thom’s doppelg?nger. Because it looks like him, but the expression on his face…