Free Sliver of Truth by Lisa Unger Page B

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    “No,” I said. “You were so young. It was dark and you were terrified by seeing your aunt like that.”
    He stared at me. “I know what I saw,” he said softly. “Won’t ever forget.”
    “Then why didn’t you say anything? You let an innocent man die in jail,” I said.
    “He turned around and saw me in the window. He wasn’t the Max I knew. He was . . . a monster. Those dead, empty eyes on me—I knew if I ever breathed a word, he’d rip me in two. I ran and waited all night for that devil to come and turn my face into hamburger. But he didn’t. The next day Race was arrested; Lana died a few weeks later in her coma. Max went to live with Bennie’s parents.”
    “Why didn’t he come live with you? You were his only family.”
    “My parents were barely making it. With me and my three sisters, they couldn’t afford another kid. As it is, they died in debt, a debt I’m still paying.” He looked around him. “I’m barely holding on to this house.” He cast his eyes to the floor.
    “I’ve never even heard of you,” I said angrily. I hated him for what he’d told me and was looking for reasons he could be lying or wrong or just crazy. “Neither Max or Ben has ever spoken of you or your family.”
    “They judged us for not taking Max in. Nothing was ever said, but from that point on, we didn’t have much to do with Max.”
    I looked hard at his face. I could see, at least, that he believed what he was telling me. The fear and sadness, the ugliness of his memories made a home in his face.
    “But it wasn’t the money, not really,” I said. “That wasn’t why they didn’t take him in, was it?”
    Nicholas shook his head.
    “You told your parents what you saw that night. And they believed you.”
    “Yes,” he said. “That’s right.”
    “But no one said anything as Race was arrested and stood trial. You were all so terrified of a sixteen-year-old boy?”
    “We waited,” he said, clearing his throat. “Hoped that Race would be found innocent. That we’d never have to come forward with what we knew. Even when Race was convicted, my parents still didn’t want me to go forward.”
    “Because they were afraid of Max?”
    Nicholas released another sigh. “No, it wasn’t that. I think they just didn’t want Max to go to prison. Maybe guilt that they hadn’t stepped in earlier to stop some of the violence in that house. And, well, Race might have been innocent of that murder, but in a lot of ways he was guiltier than Max. That kid was raised with violence; he didn’t even know another way. My parents thought that maybe he just didn’t know his own strength that night. That a lifetime of suffering and regret was punishment enough.”
    “But you didn’t think so?”
    “He wasn’t sorry,” said Nicholas, holding my eyes. “I could tell by the way he looked at me. He was so sad-faced for everyone else. But when we were alone, he turned those eyes on me and I knew. He killed his mother, accused and then testified against his father. Effectively, he killed them both. And I don’t think he lost a night’s sleep over it.”
    I tried to reconcile this version of Max with the man I knew. The child Nick Smiley described was psychotic—a murderer and a liar, a scheming manipu-lator. I had never seen anything in Max that hinted of that. Never.
    “That’s why you came forward finally? Because you didn’t think he was sorry?”
    “I don’t know that you’d call what I did coming forward. It was a half-assed attempt to undo one of many wrongs that had been done that night and all the nights leading up to it. I was racked with guilt, couldn’t sleep and couldn’t eat. Finally my parents took me to the police station and I told the cops that I saw someone else there that night. I told them about the walkie-talkies, that I hadn’t seen Race’s car, and that there was another man there, a man I’d never seen before. I never told them about Max.”
    He took a sip of his tea, which