Part 25 (2/2)
”Andrew!. . . Andrew!”
”So much blood,” I murmured. Then: ”I killed him, didn't I? I killed him.”
”No, Andrew,” my father said. ”It was an accident.”
”I was chasing him. . .”
”You were following him.”
”. . . I chased him into the street.”
”You recognized him, and he got scared. You didn't push him in front of the van. He stepped back on his own.”
”He stepped back because I scared him. He --”
”It was an accident, Andrew. The only thing you did wrong was to put your own safety at risk -- our safety at risk -- by confronting Warren Lodge yourself instead of getting a policeman like I told you.
That was stupid. That was very stupid, and very dangerous. But it wasn't evil.”
”I don't know,” I said. I raked a hand through my hair. ”G.o.d, the police. . . I'm going to have to call them, aren't I? Call them and tell them --”
”No,” my father said, very firmly.
”But they don't know what really happened. On the news, they said they think Warren Lodge committed suicide. . .”
”They think he might have committed suicide.”
”But that's not true!”
”It's OK, though. They don't need to know exactly what happened.”
”But witnesses are supposed to come forward. They're not. . . they're not supposed to leave the scene of an accident without telling what they saw.” I faltered, wondering: how did I leave the scene?
How did I get on the bus? ”It's a rule.”
”It is a rule, but going back now and trying to unbreak it could cause more trouble than it's worth.”
I frowned. ”Trouble for us, you mean.”
”Yes.”
”So you want me to not tell the truth to keep from getting into trouble. But isn't that selfish?”
”It's the best choice, Andrew. What happened today was an accident. An accident.”
I shook my head, but didn't say anything.
”I think,” said my father, ”I think you should try to sleep now.”
”No,” I said. ”No, I'm not tired yet.” That was a lie -- I was exhausted, the body was exhausted -- but the thought of being unconscious frightened me.
”Andrew. You need to rest. . .”
How did I get on the bus? Why couldn't I remember?
I must have thought it aloud.
”You fell into the lake,” my father said.
”What?”
”When Warren Lodge. . . when he got up and tried to climb out of the window, you left the body and fell into the lake. Seferis had to take over. He got us away from the accident, got the body safe onto the bus.”
”I fell?”
”. . . into the lake. It's why you don't remember what happened. You were asleep under the waters. I had to get Captain Marco to fish you out.”
”Are you saying I lost time?”
”A little more than an hour. You weren't in the lake that long, but it took a while to wake you up, and to keep you awake.” He sighed. ”I'm sorry I didn't tell you this earlier, but I thought it would be better to wait until after you'd had a chance to rest.”
”But it can't be. I can't lose time.”
”You aren't meant to,” my father corrected me. ”But what happened to Warren Lodge. . . that was an awful thing to have to see, an awful shock.”
”This is terrible,” I said. ”Terrible. If I start losing time --”
”I'm concerned,” my father admitted. ”But it wasn't your fault, Andrew. You've never seen anyone d --”
”It's my responsibility to run the body. You told me a thousand times: I'm not supposed to give up control, no matter what.”
”I know, but --”
”No matter what. You told me.”
There was a long pause then. When my father spoke again, he said: ”Tomorrow, after you get home from work, I want you to call Dr. Eddington for an appointment.”
”Dr. Eddington?”
”Dr. Grey was right,” my father said, as if it cost him something to admit it. ”You do need somebody to talk to, somebody professional I mean.”
I thought about it. ”Could I. . . could I tell him about Warren Lodge? About what happened today?”
”Yes,” my father said. ”And about anything else you wanted to. . . Penny, Julie, whatever.”
”All right.”
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