Jimmy looked in Dave's face and Dave saw his death there. It lived in Jimmy like the wolves. Dave wished so hard that he could face this. But he couldn't. He couldn't face dying. He stood here now? right now with his feet on this pavement, his heart pumping blood, his brain sending messages to his nerves and muscles and organs, his adrenal glands open wide? and any second, it could be the very next one, a blade would plunge through his chest. And within all that pain would come the certainty that this life? his life and his vision and his eating and lovemaking and laughing and touch and smell? would end. He couldn't be brave to that. He'd beg. He would. He'd do anything they wanted if they just didn't kill him.
"I think you got in that car twenty-five years ago, Dave, and someone else came back in your place. I think your brain got fried or something," Jimmy said. "She was nineteen. You know? Nineteen and she never did nothing to you. She actually liked you. And you fucking killed her? Why? Because your life sucks? Because beauty hurts you? Because I didn't get in that car? Why? Just tell me that, Dave. Tell me that. Tell me that," Jimmy said, "and I'll let you live."
"Fuck no," Val said. "Jimmy? No. Come on. You're feeling pity for this fucking turd? Listen? "
"Shut up, Val," Jimmy said, pointing across the tar at him. "I handed you a fucking machine when I went in the joint and you ran it into the ground. Everything I gave you, and the best you can do is run muscle and sell fucking drugs? Don't you give me advice, Val. Don't you fucking think of doing that."
Val turned away, kicked at the weeds, talking fast to himself in a whisper.
"Tell me, Dave. But don't give me that child-molester bullshit because we're not purchasing bullshit tonight. Okay? Tell me the truth. If you tell me the lie again, I'll open you the fuck up."
Jimmy took a few breaths. He held the knife up in front of Dave's face and then he lowered it and slid it between his belt and pants over his right hip. He held his empty hands wide. "Dave, I will give you your life. You just tell me why you killed her. You'll go to jail. I ain't bullshitting you there. But you'll live. You'll breathe."
Dave felt so grateful he wanted to thank God aloud. He wanted to embrace Jimmy. Thirty seconds ago, he'd been filled with the blackest despair. He'd been ready to fall to his knees and beg and say, I don't want to die. I'm not ready. I'm not ready to leave. I don't know what's out there beyond me. I don't think it's heaven. I don't think it's bright. I think it's dark and cold and an endless tunnel of nothing. Like your hole in the planet, Jim. And I don't want to be alone in nothing, years of nothing, centuries of cold, cold nothing and only my lonely heart floating through it, alone and alone and alone.
Now he could live. If he lied. If he bit the bullet and told Jimmy what he wanted to hear. He would be reviled. He would probably be beaten. But he would live. He could see that in Jimmy's eyes. Jimmy didn't lie. The wolves had gone away and all that was left in front of him was a man with a knife who needed closure, a man who was sinking under the weight of all this not-knowing, grieving for a daughter he would never touch again.
I will come home to you, Celeste. We will make that good life. We will. And then, I promise, no more lies. No more secrets. But I think I need to tell this one last lie, the worst lie of my lying life, because I can't tell the worst truth of my life. I'd rather he think I killed his daughter than know why I killed that pedophile. This is a good lie, Celeste. It will buy us our lives back.
"Tell me," Jimmy said.
Dave told as close to the truth as he could. "I saw her in McGills that night, and she reminded me of a dream I've had."
"About what?" Jimmy said, and his face crumbled, his voice cracked.
"Youth," Dave said.
Jimmy hung his head.
"I don't remember having one," Dave said. "And she was the dream of it, and I just snapped, I guess."
It killed him to say this to Jimmy, to tear him with this, but Dave just wanted to get home and get his head right and see his family, and if this was what it took, he was going to do it. He was going to make things right. And a year from now, when the real killer had been caught and convicted, Jimmy would understand his sacrifice.
"Some part of me," he said, "never got out of that car, Jim. Just like you said. Some other Dave came back to the neighborhood in Dave's clothing, but he wasn't Dave. Dave's still in the basement. You know?"
Jimmy nodded, and when he raised his head, Dave could see that his eyes were damp and shiny and filled with compassion, maybe even love.
"It was the dream, then?" Jimmy whispered.
"It was the dream, yeah," Dave said, and felt the cold of his lie spread through his stomach and grow so cold that he thought it might have been hunger, having emptied his insides just minutes before into the Mystic Rive. It was a different cold, though, different than any he'd ever felt before. A freezing cold. So cold, it was almost hot. No, it was hot. It was on fire now and licking its way down through his groin and up through his chest, sucking the air out of him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Val Savage jump in the air and shout, "Yes! That's what I'm talking about!"
He looked in Jimmy's face. Jimmy, his lips moving too slowly and too quickly at the same time, said, "We bury our sins here, Dave. We wash them clean."
Dave sat down. He watched the blood leak out of him and onto his pants. It was pouring from him, and when he put his hand to his abdomen, his fingers touched a crevice that ran from one side to the other.
He said, You lied.
Jimmy bent down over him. "What?"
You lied.
"See his fucking lips moving?" Val said. "He's moving his lips."
"I got eyes, Val."
Dave felt the knowledge sweep over him then, and it was the ugliest knowledge he'd ever faced. It was mean and indifferent. It was callous, and it was merely this: I am dying.
I cannot come back from this. I cannot cheat or slide away from this. I cannot beg my way out or hide behind my secrets. I cannot expect a reprieve based on sympathy. Sympathy from who? No one cares. No one cares. Except me. I care. I care a lot. And this isn't fair. I can't handle that tunnel alone. Please don't let me go there. Please wake me up. I want to wake up. I want to feel you, Celeste. I want to feel your arms. I'm not ready.
He forced his eyes to focus as Val handed Jimmy something and Jimmy lowered it to Dave's forehead. It was cool. It was a circle of cool, of kindness and relief from the burning in his body.
Wait! No. No, Jimmy! I know what that is. I can see the trigger. Don't, don't, don't, don't. Look at me. See me. Don't do this. Please. If you get me to a hospital I'll be all right. They'll fix me up. Oh God Jimmy don't you do that with your finger don't you do that I lied I lied please don't take me away from this please don't I can't prepare for a bullet in my brain. No one can. No one. Please don't.