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He sat down on the bench next to me with a sigh.
“Nice day,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said. “Really nice.”
“I have to admit, I didn’t expect your text,” he said. “You were up late last night.”
“I had a lot of thinking to do.”
He grunted and nodded. “I bet. How’s the story?”
“It’s coming along,” I said.
“And the subject?”
“He’s… good,” I said. “I’ve been spending a lot of time with him.” I tried to look at him, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I stared straight ahead at the asphalt and tried to take deep, calming breaths.
“Good,” Thomas said. There was a short silence, then he said, “but you’re okay?”
“I don’t know.” I let that hang in the air, adjusted my position, gripped the seat and dug my nails into the wood. “I saw something yesterday. I was… a part of something. It was really bad.”
He took a breath and let it out. “Huh,” he said.
“I don’t know what to do now,” I said. “I haven’t gotten enough for this story. But now I’m in this so deep, and I’m starting to question if I’m doing the right thing.”
“You think you want to walk away?” Thomas asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said.
“Let me ask you something,” he said. “If you walk away, will anyone tell this story?”
I shook my head. “No, definitely not.”
“And is it a story worth telling?”
“I think so,” I said.
“So maybe you need to stay, then,” he said. “Sometimes this job isn’t good or nice or fun. Sometimes you’re stuck witnessing horrible things, and you feel powerless and angry and broken. But the witnessing is important, Mona. Even if you can’t change anything, someone needs to witness it.”
I nodded a little. “He’s not so bad, you know,” I said, not sure why the words tumbled from my mouth.
“They never are,” Thomas said. “I don’t think anyone’s truly evil. Even Hitler loved his dogs.”
I let a breath out through my nose. “I don’t mean it that way,” I said. “I don’t mean he’s evil but has some good qualities. I’m saying I think he’s a fundamentally good person.”
“Interesting,” Thomas said. “Can a person be in that line of work and still be good?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Probably not,” Thomas said. “What does he think?”
“He thinks he’s a monster,” I said, then finally managed to turn and look at him, my eyes wide and shining with tears. I hated myself for those tears, but I couldn’t make them go away. “I saw him do something horrible yesterday, something so horrible that I hope I never see it again, but he had to do it. That’s the really messed-up thing. He saved me, kept me safe, and if he hadn’t done it…” I trailed off.
“What did he do?” Thomas asked, his voice soft. He leaned toward me, his eyes hard, his tongue licking his lips.
For a second, I felt a jolt of panic run through my gut. He looked at me like a hungry lizard, like all he wanted was a piece of information. I was a story to him all of a sudden, and if I spoke, if I told him the truth, he could take it from me and do whatever he wanted with it.
But then the look was gone and the feeling passed. His hunger turned into real concern, and I thought maybe I had imagined it to begin with.
I looked away, back down at the ground.
“We were attacked,” I said. “Men with guns. There’s a war starting up, Thomas.”
“You witnessed a shooting?” he asked.
“I witnessed multiple murders,” I said. “Murders in self-defense, but… still murder.”
He was quiet for a long time and I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. The teens rollerbladed past again and I watched them go, wondering if I could ever feel that free and easy again in my life, deciding I probably couldn’t.
“You should call the police,” he said.
“I can’t do that.” I shook my head and let a mad laugh bubble up from my throat. “I really, really can’t.”
“I didn’t think so.” He let out a breath. “Are you in danger, Mona? Be honest with me.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I mean, I am, but not in any more danger than I was before.”
“Because you think he’s going to protect you.”
“He did once. He’ll do it again.”
Thomas sighed and I heard him slap the paper down onto his knees. I looked over and saw that it was the Inquirer.
“You need to be careful,” he said. “Can I tell you a story?”
I nodded and kept my eyes on the newspaper in his lap.
“When I was a young reporter, I was sent to interview this woman in jail, her name was Bethany. She was this pretty young woman, maybe in her mid-twenties, just a couple years older than I was. She’d been tried and convicted of killing her children, and since she’d admitted it in court, there were no real doubts about her guilt.
