The Inner Circle

104

"You really think I believe a word you’re saying?” I ask, my eyes narrowing on Clementine’s gun.

“She’s a liar,” Dallas agrees. “Whatever she’s about to tell you, she’s a liar.”

“Don’t let Dallas confuse you,” Clementine says. “You know what’s true… you met Nico yourself. They ruined him, Beecher. They ruined my dad’s life.”

“You think that excuses everything you did? You killed Orlando! And then that lying… exploiting our friendship…!” I shout, hoping it’s loud enough for someone to hear.

There’s a small group of employees all the way down by the cave’s cafeteria. They don’t even turn. They’re too far.

She points with her gun, motioning us around the corner as we duck under the yellow police tape with the word Caution written across it. Back here, the lights are dimmer than those in the main cavity. From the piles of metal shelving on our right, and the rolls of cable wire piled up on our left, it looks like this section of the cave is mostly used for maintenance and storage. No one’s hearing us back here.

My brain whips back to our old schoolyard and when she tied that jump rope around Vincent Paglinni’s neck. Two days ago, when Clementine saw her father, I thought the girl who was always prepared was finally undone. But I was wrong. As always, she was prepared for everything.

“Beecher, before you judge,” she says. “I swear to you… I tried telling you the truth.”

“When was that? Before or after you hired someone to play your dead grandmother?”

“I didn’t hire anyone! Nan’s the woman I live with-the landlord’s mother-in-law. Instead of paying rent, I take care of her!”

“Then why’d you say she’s your grandmother?”

“I didn’t, Beecher! That’s what you said! And then-You cared so much about it, and I just wanted-You have no idea what’s at stake.”

“That’s your response!? You’re not even pregnant, are you? That was just to suck my sympathy and lead me along!”

“I didn’t tell her to blurt that! She saw me throwing up and that’s what she thought! The woman hates me!”

“You still let me believe some old woman was your dead grandmother! You understand how sick that is?”

“Don’t say that.”

“You’re sick just like Nico!”

“Don’t say that!” she erupts.

“You killed my friend!” I erupt right back. “You murdered Orlando! You’re a murderer just like your crazy-ass father!”

She shakes her head over and over, but it’s not in anger. The way her chin is tucked down to her chest, she can’t look up at me. “I–I didn’t mean to,” she pleads. “I didn’t think he would die.”

“Then why’d you bring that chemo with you!? I know how you did it-don’t say it’s an accident, Clementine! You came in the building with that chemo in your pocket-or was the real plan to use that on me?”

“It wasn’t meant for anyone,” she says, her voice lower than ever.

“Then why’d you bring it!?”

Her nostrils flare.

“Clementine…”

“Why do you think I brought it? Why does anyone carry around oral chemo? It’s mine, Beecher. The medicine is for me!”

My eyebrows knot. Dallas shakes his head.

“What’re you talking about?” I ask.

“Orlando… He wasn’t supposed to be there,” Clementine stutters. “When Orlando opened that SCIF and handed me his coffee… I thought the chemo would just… I thought he was in the Plumbers-that he was watching me for the President… that they’d found out about me. I thought it would knock him out… but I never thought it’d…”

“What do you mean, the medicine’s for you?” I ask.

“Ask yourself the real question, Beecher: After all these years, why now? Why’d I pick now to track down my father?” Her chin is still down, but she finally looks up at me. “They diagnosed me eight months ago,” she says, her hands-and the gun-now shaking. “I’m dying, Beecher. I’m dying from… back when Nico was in the army… I’m dying from whatever they did to my father.”