The Hiding Place

Chapter Fifty-three

“I thought it was Ray all this time,” Michael said. “I really did. And here he was getting remarried and moving on with his life. He wanted to act like what happened in these woods didn’t happen. That we could all just go on with our lives and be happy.” Michael’s voice caught. “He was going to have a new wife and pretend like I wasn’t his son anymore. I wanted him to know it wasn’t that easy to just leave the past behind.”

A chill passed up Janet’s back. “You really thought he didn’t want you to be his son?”

“He cut me off, Janet. He cut me off.”

Janet paced back and forth. Something welled inside her, a hot mixture of anger and grief. “My God, Michael. You killed Justin. You killed him.”

“An accident-”

“All these years. A man went to jail. All these years…we didn’t know. We didn’t do anything. I thought…”

“Janet.”

Janet bent double at the waist, as though racked by a sharp pain. She felt sick, nauseated. She stayed like that, hands on knees, breathing deeply, trying to regain her equilibrium. She didn’t know how long she remained in that position before she was able to straighten up again. Her sides hurt.

“Oh, Michael.”

It was all she could say.

“Janet, it was an accident.”

Janet took a couple of steps closer to Michael. She worked up to it. She didn’t know if she could bring herself to do it, to reach out to him. The man who killed her brother. But he was Michael, too. Always Michael. Always the boy she knew and loved. She knelt down next to him and placed her hand on his shoulder.

“What do you want to do now?” she asked.

He took a moment to answer, then said, “I came to say good-bye. I wanted you to know all of this before I left, but I need to go.”

Janet took her hand away. “Go?”

“I have to,” he said. “Ray’s talking to the police right now. Whose hide do you think he’s going to save? Mine or his? It’s his fault this happened, Janet. All of it. Do you think your mother instigated the affair? Do you think she started it?”

Janet stood up. “Michael, you have to tell the police. Let’s call Detective Stynes and clear this up. An innocent man went to jail.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You were seven years old. You didn’t mean it. We’ll tell Stynes, and they’ll work it out. You have to face what happened.”

Michael shook his head. His eyes were on the forest floor, the intensity of his shaking growing. It looked mechanical and regimented. “I won’t go to jail, Janet,” he said. “Not even a little bit. I’ve had a taste of that before.”

“You have?”

“I can’t,” he said. “Not for something Ray did.”

“You did it, Michael. Yes, Ray is to blame. He should have helped you. He’s to blame as well. He manipulated us, told us not to tell the whole truth about that day. But you have to come clean.”

Michael buried his head in his hands. He rubbed his hands over his face, then spoke in a muffled voice. “Let me go, Janet. I’m just going to leave. You can get out of here and make it back to your life and your kid and even your dad. You have your job and your benefits and the whole thing. Right? I don’t have any of that. I have to go. Just get out of here, and come tomorrow, I’ll be gone.”

“Gone for good?” Janet asked.

Michael lowered his hands. He didn’t speak, but he nodded.

They didn’t touch or hug. Janet just turned and walked back up the path, out of the clearing and the woods.