Chapter 24
Veritas
A scream wakes me up, and I sit bolt upright.
"No! You can't make me tell you!" Thomas shouts before I can get up from where I've been sleeping on the floor, turn on the table lamp, and get to his bed.
"It's okay, Tam, I'm here. It's okay," I say as I'm going through the familiar routine.
It's been five days now since he was released, and he still wakes up two or three times a night screaming. I convinced his parents to let me help out, so tonight, it's my turn to sleep at the foot of his bed to be here when he gets like this.
He's looking around, confused.
"I'm not gonna, not gonna . . .”
He sees me, and his ragged breathing starts to slow down.
"It's okay, Tam, you're home, in your parent's house. This is your room," I say as I sit down on his bed and take his hand in mine.
He reaches over with his free hand and touches my face.
“You’re real,” he says, exhaling heavily.
"As real as they come."
"Thank God it's over."
I brush the hair out of his eyes and feel the cold sweat on his forehead. I hate them for this, for what they've done to him.
"It’s okay,” I say, and then lean in and give him a hug. “Why don’t you lay back down and try to get some sleep.”
“Will you . . . will you sit here? I just don’t want to be alone right now.”
I nod, and then he lays back down on the bed and closes his eyes. I run my fingers through his hair and begin to hum softly. It’s the same tune my own mother used to hum to me when I would have trouble sleeping as a kid. It seems to calm him down, and in a few minutes, he’s fast asleep again.
I sit a few minutes longer on the edge of the bed, watching to make sure he’s not going to wake up again. As I turn to go back to my sleeping bag, I see Shantarius standing in the doorway, in her bathrobe, smiling at me. “Thank you.”
I nod, and as I walk by the door, she reaches out and gives me a hug of her own. “I really mean that. Thank you.”
* * * * *
The lawyer comes over later that morning, after breakfast. Philantrius is romping around playing while the rest of us sit at the kitchen table and talk about what’s next in the legal process. I’m introduced as a friend of Tam’s from school named Leigh, which is my real middle name.
“So, the good news is that, because of the lies the DA’s office submitted as part of the evidence to get approval for phase two interrogation, the judge has thrown out the terrorism charges against Tam. And now we have an opportunity to sue the state for false imprisonment of a minor, denial of first amendment rights, and a whole laundry list of other charges related to this whole ordeal. Doctor Cheros—the one who apparently organized this whole fiasco—has been put on administrative leave pending further investigation. The attorney at the DA’s office has been fired, and this whole thing is blowing up on the internet thanks to the activist you worked with to stage the protest.”
Janye is beaming. She looks to be about thirty years old, with a bright smile that’s running from ear to ear. This case will probably make her career. But as she’s talking, I’m watching Thomas. He’s not nearly as excited as she is. In fact, the longer she talks, the worse he looks.
“But there is a slight catch.”
Here it comes. This is where they put their hooks into you. The ‘slight catch.’
“Because of Tam’s involvement in the freedom movement, the DA convinced the judge to still allow them to question him regarding ongoing investigations into the group at his school. They want you to sign an agreement.”
“No!”
It’s the first time Thomas has said anything, and everyone looks in his direction.
“These people just tortured me for information about the freedom movement. They can’t be trusted.”
“It won’t be that way this time,” Janye continues. “One or both of your parents will be present during questioning, as well as myself. There won’t be any physical contact. It will only be questions, which you can refuse to answer if you want.”
“What happens if we say no?” Greg asks.
“If you say no, then there is a possibility that they could bring new charges against Tam or be more aggressive in pursuing the remaining charges against him. With the mess of things they’ve made so far, there’s a good chance we might be able to get the charges reduced or even win outright in court, should it go to trial. But there is a chance that Tamika would be sent back to jail—at least temporarily.”
Thomas stands up so quickly that he knocks his chair over.
“I can’t. I can’t go back there.”
Shantarius puts a hand on his arm. “Tam, it’s going to be alright. I’m sure we can avoid that.”
“Right . . . just like we could trust the police to not torture a minor—except they did. When are you going to see that the government can’t be trusted, Mom?”
“Tam, things are different now,” Janye says. “This case is so high profile; everyone is watching. If they so much as put a finger on you, it will blow up the internet, and people will be calling for their heads.”
“That’s easy to say when you’re not the one they’ve just tortured,” Thomas says, right before he turns around, grabs his cane, and walks out of the room. Shantarius starts to get up, but Greg puts a hand on her arm. “It’s probably best to give him some space, Shan.”
Janye looks like she’s about to say something but then thinks better of it and holds her tongue.
Shantarius sits back down, crossing her arms, obviously upset. “So, what are our options?”
Janye takes a stack of papers out of her briefcase and slides them across the table.
“You can sign this agreement, in which case you’re seen as cooperating with the police, and Tam could be questioned or deposed on an ongoing basis until they no longer need him. You can refuse to sign, in which case I’ve already mentioned what could happen. Or we could try to re-negotiate the agreement to put in some additional safeguards to make Tam feel safer. We might be able to negotiate a requirement that the questioning has to happen in this house, for instance, or require that we be able to record a video of the meetings. We could brainstorm options.”
Greg turns the agreement around and looks at it. “We’re gonna need time to think about it.”
I get up and go looking for Thomas, finding him on the back porch, looking out over the yard. I walk up beside him, slide my arm around his waist, and lean in for a hug.
“I’m so sorry all of this happened to you.”
“I can’t go back there, Vee. I just can’t.”
“I know. We’ll figure something out; I promise.”
* * * * *
It’s mid-afternoon when there’s a ring at the doorbell. Thomas and I remain seated on the couch in the living room. We watch as Greg goes to the door, looks through the viewer, and then goes outside. When he comes back in, he’s holding a big bouquet of flowers, which he places on the island counter in the kitchen.
Thomas and I go back to looking at the pictures in the family photo album.
“Who are those from?” Shantarius asks as she enters the kitchen area.
“It doesn’t say. The note is kind of strange, too. It says, ‘Dear Thomas, glad to hear you aren’t dead. I decided to drop these off and hope this message helps you feel better.’”
Thomas and I look at each other.
“Dad, can I see the card?”
“Sure.” He walks over and hands the note to Thomas. “They must’ve gotten the address wrong,” he continues. “Come to think of it, I don’t know a Thomas anywhere on this street.”
I look down at the note and see three words underlined: dead, drop, and message. Dead drop message.
I get up and go over to the bouquet and start feeling around in the dirt. It doesn’t take long for me to find what I’m looking for. A plastic tube that’s been shoved into the soil and covered up so no one could see it without feeling around. Thomas is by my side as I pull it out and hold it up for him to see.
“What’s going on?” Shantarius asks.
“It’s a message for me,” Thomas says.
“From who?” Shantarius asks.
“What does it say?” Greg prompts as I retrieve the paper from the tube.
“It’s from the freedom movement,” Thomas replies.
I unroll the message and read it aloud. “It says, ‘Have a nice day,’ and it’s signed, ‘Your friends.’” I toss it onto the counter, and Greg picks it up, taking a long time to read it like it’s going to say something different the longer he stares at it. Of course, it does say something else, but I can’t let on that I know that.
“Surely they didn’t just send this to tell you to have a nice day,” Shantarius says.
“No, there must be some other meaning,” Thomas says, taking the note from Greg and staring at it.
“I think they want us to communicate with them, using this plant as a dead-drop,” I say, hoping they’ll buy my story.
“That could be it,” Thomas says.
“Have they ever done something like this before?” Greg asks.
I take the opening to continue my little deception.
“I have a friend in the movement who was being watched by the police once. They sent him a message this same way. He was able to communicate with them by putting a message back in the plant and putting it on the front porch.”
“Isn’t that risky?” Shantarius asks. “What if the police are watching and they figure this out? Won’t you be in even more trouble than you already are?”
Greg walks over and puts a hand on Thomas’ shoulder. “Tam, I realize this cause is important to you, but don’t you think you’ve done enough? If we play our cards right, Janye seems to think we can keep you out of jail. But if you keep communicating with others in this group and the police find out about it . . . I mean, is this really worth it?”
“If we stop, they win, Dad. Is that what you want? Maybe you and Mom want to hide behind these stupid masks for the rest of your lives, but I don’t.”
“Honey, I don’t think that’s what either of us is saying,” Shantarius says, “but maybe it’s time for you, personally, to take a break from this sort of thing. Let some of the other people involved in the movement carry the load for a while. You’re only seventeen, for goodness sake. We just want what’s best for you.”
“I know, Mom. I know.”
“We need to be very careful here, son,” Mr. Usarian says. “Making the wrong move now could jeopardize our legal options. As far as the police are concerned, this group is involved in illegal activity. I want you to promise me you won’t try to communicate with them today. Let’s all just take a breather and think this through. Then, tomorrow, we can talk about it again. Okay?”
Thomas looks at me, and I give him my best poker face. He sighs, and then looks back at his dad.
“Okay.”
Shantarius sighs, probably from relief, and Thomas walks down the hall towards the back porch, still clutching the note. I follow him out onto the porch.
“They just don’t get it,” he says. “They’ve been following the rules for so long they’ve forgotten what it’s like to be free.”
I see him there, leaning on his cane and looking out over the backyard, and I realize I love him. He’s been through so much in the last two weeks, and yet he’s still ready to lay it all on the line for the movement. But now isn’t the time to tell him about my feelings for him. Not here, not like this.
“I lied,” I say. He looks at me with a confused expression on his face. “About the note. I’m sure it says something else. Here, hand it to me.”
He hands me the note, and I smooth it out. Then, after looking around to make sure no one else is watching from inside, I pull a lighter out of my pocket and run the flame back and forth underneath the note. As I do, another message slowly appears.
You aren't safe. We have intel suggesting that the government will send you back to jail and use a drug treatment protocol to try and get you to divulge what you know. You need to leave now. Be at the coordinates below at the time indicated, and we’ll take you to a safe place—both of you.
The time of the rendezvous is 10:30 p.m. tonight. He looks at me, his brow furrowed with concern, then back at the house.
“They won’t know where I am. Am I just supposed to leave them behind, without telling them anything, and go on the run? I’ll be a fugitive. I can forget graduation, let alone getting into the training school I want. This is so messed up.”
He runs a hand through his hair and walks over to the far end of the porch. I feel for him. It isn’t right, the position he’s in, all because he wanted to help people experience true freedom. But here we are. And I know the government—they can’t be trusted. I think back to everything they did to my mom and how that all affected me, and I won’t let them do that to someone else that I love. Somehow I have to convince him to go. I’m still not sure how I’ll do it as I walk up behind him and wrap my arms around him, pressing my cheek into his back.
“I’m sorry.”
He puts his free hand on top of mine. “It’s not your fault that I got caught. I probably did something stupid to get flagged. Who knows how many others have been arrested because they were following me around.”
“Hey,” I say, coming around so I can look him in the face. “Don’t blame yourself. You were doing something you believed in, and you did the best you knew how. The fact that they haven’t picked me or Pam up yet and that they were interrogating you is proof that they didn’t get as much as they wanted from following you around.”
“But you don’t know that for sure.”
“Look, if the freedom council wants to get you out, it means that you know things that the police don’t, and they want to help you escape before the police take you back in and do God knows what to you. I don’t want to lose you, Thomas. It was bad enough when you didn’t recognize me at first, and now you wake up a night screaming, and you’re walking with a limp and . . . and. . . .”
I’m crying now. I’m so angry and scared. I grab him in a hug and press my face against his chest.
“Hey, hey . . . I’m still here. I remembered you, and I’m sure my foot will get better eventually.”
“Run away with me, Thomas. It won’t be forever, just for a while. You need to heal. You know what they’re capable of. What good will it do anyone if they take you in again? What will those drugs do to your mind if what the note says is true?”
He takes the note gently out of my hand and reads what it says again. I’m holding my breath, waiting.
“I guess you’re right. It’s not going to do anyone any good if I hang around here and they take me back in to do whatever they’re planning to do to me.”
“So we leave tonight, you and me,” I say. “We go to the rendezvous like the message says, and we get you someplace safe.”
“Thank you for coming to help. Organizing the protests, coaching my parents, helping with this stuff,” he says, holding up the note. “I don’t know what would’ve happened to me if you hadn’t shown up. I’d probably still be in jail . . . or worse.”
He wraps his arms around me, pulling me back in close, and staring into my eyes.
“You know I’m still crazy about you, don’t you? They didn’t make me forget that.”
“And I’m still crazy about you, too,” I say.
The cold air contrasts with the heat that I feel between us right now. The next thing I know, our lips come together in a kiss.
