Page 109 of Middle of the Night

In the haze, I’m aware of Russ charging me again.

Of Detective Palmer thrusting herself between us.

Of me knocking into the wall and sliding down it until I’m on the floor. I touch my nose and realize it’s bleeding. Even though Russ clocked me in the face, I hurt everywhere. Yet none of it stings as much as the betrayal I feel.

For thirty years, Russ not only pretended to be innocent; he pretended to be my friend. He could beat me to a pulp multiple times, and it still wouldn’t cause as much pain as knowing it was all a lie.

Ping!

The sound erupts from the phone shoved deep inside my pocket. I ignore it, too dazed and angry and pained.

My vision’s cleared enough for me to sort of see Detective Palmer in the center of the foyer, arms outstretched like a ref in the ring. “Everyone needs to calm down!” she shouts, the boom of her voice bringing Russ’s wife out of their bedroom to the top of the stairs. Not missing a beat, Detective Palmer flashes her badge and says, “State police. Please stay where you are.”

“Russ?” Jennifer says as she leans over the banister to peer into the foyer. “What’s going on?”

Detective Palmer looks between me and Russ. “I’m trying to figure that out myself.”

“I’m okay, Jen,” Russ says, keeping his gaze fixed on me. “Ethan’s just confused.”

Down the hall, Russ’s son, Benji, starts calling for his mother. Detective Palmer hears him, too, and addresses Jennifer. “Go to your son, and don’t come out until I say it’s okay.”

Jennifer hurries off to do just that, while Detective Palmer turns back to me and Russ. “Can one of you please tell me what the fuck is happening here?”

“It was him!” It hurts to speak. All my teeth ache. I run my tongue along them and taste copper. More blood. “He did it!”

“The tent thing worked?” Detective Palmer says.

This time I merely nod. It hurts less.

“You remembered?”

Another nod.

“And he’s who you saw?”

“It was Russ,” I say, wincing through the jaw pain. “I’m certain of it. He slashed the tent.”

On the other side of the foyer, Russ leans against the sideboard I’d backed him into, unsteady now all on his own. I hope at least some of that is my doing.

“You have to understand,” he says. “I wasn’t in my right mind back then.”

“So you admit it?” Detective Palmer says.

“Yes.”

Ping!

My phone again, barely noticed as I shout across the foyer. “Why?”

“Because you were always with Billy! You never wanted anything to do with me.”

“He was my best friend,” I say.

“Yeah, you made that clear.”

The phone sounds yet again—Ping!—the sound drowned out by Russ’s voice saying, “You have no idea how much I’ve struggled since that night.”

“You? How do you think I feel?”

---