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He moved to replace the revolver and leave when he heard the creak and groan of the garage-door motor. He wished the congressman had not shown up just before the fool was going to get a free pass. He heard a female voice say: “Satan connects all things” before high-pitched laughter came from all directions.
Ed laughed in return. “Yes, but will he help me survive this without going to prison?”
Before Ed knew it, the kitchen door slammed, and the sound of feet drummed up the steps. He imagined an army of tiny pustule-faced demons in a procession up the stairs, preparing the way for unspeakable evil. Ed’s trembling hand readied the revolver as an old man with a black business suit and a red necktie flipped on the light.
“Put your hands behind your head. Get face down on the floor!” The ski mask on Ed’s face made his eyes itch.
The man dropped to the ground without hesitation. “Take whatever you want. Please don’t shoot me.”
Ed landed on top of the stranger and pushed the tip of the pistol into his temple. “Leave your wife alone.”
The man turned his face to speak but averted his eyes from Ed. “You’re mistaken. I’m a widower.” Ed saw the brown age spots on the man’s hands; he looked older than 70.
“Where’s Jonathan Miller?”
“You’re with him, now.”
“That beating you gave Helen sent her to the hospital, but we’re not going to run from you anymore. You won’t hurt her again.”
“My daughter, Helen, is mentally ill, but I promise she hasn’t visited any hospital lately. I saw her at my congressional office a few hours ago.”
Ed looked up at several old photos, decorating the room. He saw Congressman Miller posing with another woman and Helen, who looked no older than 12-years-old at the time.
He regretted his failure to notice this key detail in his haste to hide in this dark room.
The congressman paused often as he spoke. “In the top drawer of the filing cabinet, you’ll find a folder of medical records with Helen’s name on it. See for yourself.”
Ed squeezed the pistol handle and walked backwards to the cabinet; Congressman Miller remained motionless on the floor. In the folder, Ed found reports from the medical director of a mental hospital, indicating Helen often suffered from “delusions of persecution” and a persistent belief that “her father is actually her husband.” The file said Helen also tried to kiss several patients, insisting: God had told her they were “meant to be together.”
Scratching the itchy skin beneath the ski mask, Ed wondered if Kenny knew all this when they’d gone to his house for the passport. Had Kenny really tried to warn him in the supermarket?
“Why’d they release her?”
The congressman lifted his head and looked into Ed’s eyes. “She promised to take her medicine. We put her in a group home, but she disappeared until recently. If your name is Ed Keller, I suspect you’ll find some of the answers you’re looking for on that DVD on top of my television.”
“Where did you get that name?”
“I read the police report from her suicide attempt in the subway station. Watch the surveillance footage. See for yourself.”
Ed watched silent grainy footage from the D.C. Metro cameras. He saw Helen jump onto the track. No one stood near enough to push her.
Ed felt so unsettled that he removed the ski mask and allowed the congressman to see his face. “So much for her wild talk about murder attempts. She lied to me.”
"Indeed. She’s very sick. It took considerable effort to keep this latest embarrassment out of the press.”
Ed wished he hadn’t removed the ski mask. He looked beyond the congressman’s head and imagined a dense crimson pool on the floor. He asked himself how he could be sure this mealy-mouthed politician wasn’t the real liar. “Why did you let Helen leave your office without getting her help?”
The politician’s voice cracked. “She promised to live with me again. I plan to get her counseling.”
Ed sat with his back against the wall, wondering what the congressman wasn’t telling him. He looked at the gun in his hand and started trembling. In the back of his mind, high-pitched voices repeated: Kill him.
“Don’t ruin your life for a lie. You know you wouldn’t get away. My neighbors would hear the gunshots and see you leave. The police patrol regularly.”
Ed agreed killing this man would be a mistake. He tossed the revolver on the bed behind the congressman. “You’re right. I didn’t come here to become a murderer. I only wanted answers.”
A rush of adrenaline tightened Ed’s chest when he saw the blue police-cruiser lights flash through the curtains. Turning to the congressman, he saw the remote to a silent alarm in the old man’s hands. Congressman Miller snatched the gun and locked him in a sinister stare. “If you corroborate my story, I’ll be lenient.”
“Lenient? You tricked me.”
