The Smaller Evil (18 page)

“SO, YOU GOING TO TELL
us what happened with that van or what?” Kira asked. They were all sitting on the floor in the middle of the cabin, and Dale had his head in her lap.

Arman passed the joint to him and released the smoke from his lungs with a gasp. He'd been holding it for as long as he could, which was what they'd told him to do. It felt sharp inside of him, crackling and hot, like a burning cactus had taken up residence inside his chest.

“Nothing happened,” he said. “Nothing good.”

“But you went to go see it, right? That's what Dale said. Was it really Beau's?”

Arman shook his head. “I shouldn't—I don't think I'm supposed to talk about it.”

“Suit yourself,” Kira said with a shrug.

But Dale sat up then, his eyes squinting as smoke streamed into his face. “What do you mean
suit yourself
? He should definitely talk to us about what's going on. He absolutely should.”

“Well, he won't,” Kira told him.

“How do you know?”

“Because when it comes to secrets, Arman's a master at holding them.”

“Why do you say that?” Dale asked, and Arman stared at her. He was wondering the same thing.

Kira plucked the joint from Dale's mouth. Sucked on it. “Because when we were in fourth grade, Arman and I were in the same class. Ms. Vasquez. She had this pet guinea pig. Her name was Bella, and we all took turns feeding her and cleaning her cage. Well, I guess Bella must've died the week Arman was taking care of her. I don't know how. I think she was old.” She glanced at Arman, but he said nothing. His mouth was too dry and his head felt heavy, like it was on the verge of falling into some unseen abyss. Plus he wanted to hear what Kira had to say. He knew where the story was going. He'd just never known if anyone had understood.

“Anyway,” she said. “Instead of telling us what happened, he let us all believe Bella had escaped. We left food out for her and set up cameras at night so we could see where she was. But we found nothing, obviously.”

“So where was she?” Dale asked.

“Arman had hidden her in his desk, under some of his books. Ms. Vasquez finally figured it out when Bella started to stink.”

Dale blew smoke through his nostrils, then burst out laughing. “Oh, shit. Why'd you do that, man?”

Arman shrugged.

“He did it because he was scared,” Kira said. “He was too scared to do anything. So he did nothing.”

She did understand.
Arman realized, dropping his heavy head back to stare at the ceiling.
She really did.
Closing his eyes, he coasted as best he could—attempting to ward off the darkness by steering his mind clear of the future while not wallowing in the past. And all the while, he used his index finger to carve into the skin around his collarbone.

Deep.

Deep.

Deeper.

Then Arman's eyes flew open and he sat straight up. Struck by sudden inspiration. “Look,” he said, surprising himself more than anyone else in the room. “How about this? I'll tell you guys what happened with the van. I'll tell you everything. Not about Bella, but about Beau and the truth of what's been going on around here. Okay? I'll tell you because I really need your help.”

• • •

By the time he was done explaining, Dale and Kira were both staring at him in disbelief.

“You think you walked in on Beau's murder?” Kira worked her jaw, as if her mouth needed to process the words along with her brain. “I mean, a scam is one thing, but this is sort of . . . I don't know, Arman. It's a
lot
. It's kind of a leap.”

“But I'm not the only one who thinks so! The cook, she believes it, too. She says the trainers have been trying to get rid of Beau for a while now.”

“But you said you don't think it's all of the trainers? Just this one?”

He nodded. “The guy you had the meeting with. Who told you to call your dad and get money.”

“And who's this cook?” Kira asked.

Dale grinned. “That's Arman's girlfriend.”

“Arman has a
girlfriend
?”

“She's not my girlfriend,” Arman said. “But she could get hurt. Someone could hurt her.”

“What do you want to do?” Dale asked.

“I want to get her away from here. And I want to go to the cops. But
first I need proof of what happened to Beau. That
I
didn't do it.”

“Do you have proof?”

“No. But I think I know where to look.”

“What about us?” Kira asked. “They're going to be closing this place off soon.”

“Just act normal. Follow the program. Pretend you don't know anything about me. And I'll be getting help. It won't take long. If the cops aren't here by breakfast tomorrow, that means something happened to me. Then you guys should go. Kira, you should call your dad. Raise as much hell as you can.”

She snorted. “Oh, I will absolutely do that.”

“Thank you.” Arman felt jittery again. Restless. Just talking about the situation, his fears, made him want to move, get moving, do
something.
He had a plan, after all, a real plan.

For once.

KIRA LEFT FIRST. THE SKY
had turned dark, and it was her job to find out where everyone was and to report back to Arman before he took off.

While they waited, Arman resumed his pacing. Dale, true to his nature, rolled another joint.

“Have some,” he offered. “You need to relax.”

Arman shook his head. “I need to be focused. I can't afford to fuck up.”

“Focus is overrated.”

“Tell that to my mom.”

“You're not going to fuck up, dude. You're going to be fine.”

“You don't know that!” 

Dale lifted an eyebrow. “Christ almighty, kid. Like I said, you need to relax.”

Arman's neck went hot. “Look, I get that this is all a joke to you. But this is my life! This is important to me.”

“I don't think it's a joke. I think—”

“You think what?”

Dale sighed. “You remember how you helped me climb that rock the other night? When I was scared shitless?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Well, you didn't make me
not
scared, but what you said let me act. In a way that I wanted to.”

Arman returned to pacing. “All right.”

“Well, I want to return the favor.”

“You are returning the favor. You're helping me. That's enough.”

“That's not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I mean this.” Dale tapped his collarbone, which made Arman reach for his.

“That's nothing,” he said, although he cringed to feel the blood there, to know it was seeping through his shirt. “It's stupid.”

“I also mean
that
.” Dale pointed to the pills still heaped on Arman's bed.

Arman stopped walking. He brushed his hair back, then brushed it back again. “I know what you're thinking, but I'm not going to do anything. I was just frustrated.”

“You're sure?”

“I'm absolutely sure. My dad tried to do it once and I hate him for it.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I hate him for a lot of reasons. I'm not like him, you know. At all.”

Dale paused. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

They were both silent for a moment. But it was Arman who spoke next.

“Hey, Dale?”

“Hey, what?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“You can do anything you like.”

“What happened to you last night? You said you didn't like this place. You said it was a scam. So why were you so upset?”

“You mean in the meadow?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, I don't know why I was upset exactly. But that thing we did in the tent, sharing secrets we hadn't told anyone. That was
hard.
And not just sharing about myself. But holding someone else's truth. That's heavy shit. Like, really heavy. I wasn't ready for that. You know what I mean?”

Arman nodded. He did know. Of course he did.

Dale took another long drag off the joint. “I guess maybe also something can be a scam but that doesn't mean it has no value.”

• • •

It wasn't long before Kira returned to the cabin. She looked at Arman.

“You can go now,” she said. “They're all in the dining room.”

“Everyone's there?” Dale asked. “Even that Gary guy?”

“I think so. Apparently there's some big announcement after dinner. We should get going, too.”

Dale put out the joint. Grabbed his sweatshirt and got to his feet.

“Do the guards really have guns?” Arman asked impulsively.

Dale turned around. “That's what I heard.”

“Be careful,” Kira said. “That Mari lady's looking for you, you know. She's seriously pissed.”

“She is?”

“Yup.”

“About what?”

“Don't know.”

“You sure you want to do this?” Dale asked.

“I have to,” Arman said. “It doesn't matter what I want.”

“Then we'll see you on the other side, kid.” Kira gave a wave as she and Dale slipped out of the cabin into the night.

Then they were gone.

Arman set about gathering up the pills he'd poured out, putting them back in their bottles, then into his bag. Next he grabbed the flashlight from the table, slipping it into the waistband of his pants. It was pitch-black outside. He'd need the light for what he was going to do next.

At last, he left the cabin. Ducked onto the main trail and took off running. His shoes pounded the ground; the night wind was at his back, a howling roar, and perhaps he was fleeing reality as much as he was chasing truth. It broke his heart to know that Mari was mad at him. That she could believe he'd hurt Beau. Arman could only hope that someday she would know of his innocence. Only for that to happen, he had to accomplish his goal tonight.

But what is your goal?

What exactly are you looking for?

Well, he was looking for
proof
, Arman knew. Proof of his innocence and someone else's guilt.

And maybe, he told himself, he was searching for a little bit of relevance, too.

WEIGHTED DOWN BY HIS BELONGINGS,
Arman eventually slowed to a walk as he made his way through the woods, sweeping beneath the thick coat of darkness, the white trim of stars. Mosquitoes bounced off his cheeks and fluttered through his hair, nipping, sucking as they went. Pieces of the puzzle were coming together for him, and he was headed straight toward the research building. Yesterday, Dr. Gary had said the place wasn't used for anything but storage. But on his first day here, Beau had told him that research at the compound was an ongoing thing. That's what the tuition fees for the classes went toward.

Arman reached the building at last. Standing at the front entrance, he tipped his head back and gazed upward. Unlike the night when he'd walked past here on his way to the cook's, all the rooms on the second floor were dark now. And still.

That was a good thing. A very good thing.

He walked to the front door. Pulled on it.

Locked.

Arman gave a low growl of frustration, but the compound's motto told him what to do. Sidling to his left, he stepped straight into the shrubbery, tamping down branches and snapping twigs as he inched
his way along the side of the building. Finally he reached one of the wide metal-rimmed windows that he thought must open into Dr. Gary's office.

But he couldn't be sure.

Hopping up on his toes, Arman tried peering inside. The tempered glass was coated in dust and cobwebs, too thick to see through. He pushed on the window to see if it would give.

It didn't.

More trying was needed. Arman bent down, rooting around on the ground in the dead leaves and dirt until his fingers closed around a grapefruit-sized rock. Sliding his sweatshirt over his head, he wound the whole thing around his hand for protection. Then he gripped the rock and reared back. Punched the window as hard as he could.

The safety glass exploded with a crash. This was followed by a deafening downpour of shards. Like hail falling on asphalt. Heart rattling, Arman twisted his head to look over his shoulder, fully expecting to hear the blare of an alarm or angry voices or the thundering of footsteps running toward him.

But there was nothing.

Still using the sweatshirt, he worked to clear the remaining glass from the frame, dusting it to the ground so that the heavier pieces scattered across his shoes and pinged off rocks. When he was sure he wouldn't get cut, Arman pulled himself up and into the bare window frame, before twisting onto his stomach and sliding to the floor below.

• • •

He landed on carpet in complete darkness. Arman fumbled around the room on his hands and knees. His hip bumped a desk, then a filing cabinet before he remembered the flashlight. Yanking it from his
waistband, he switched it on. Prayed the light couldn't be seen from the outside.

In the shaky yellow glow Arman saw luck was on his side for once; this
was
Dr. Gary's office. There was no mistaking the site where he'd gotten his stitches. Arman crawled to his feet and shuddered as he moved around the creepy examination chair in the middle of the room.

Reaching the far wall, he began opening cabinet doors, pulling out drawers, poring through the shelves. Looking for anything suspicious. Plans of a coup. Evidence of a conspiracy.

Or foul play.

What he found instead was a shit ton of medical supplies, including what appeared to be a wartime stockpile of medication, which seemed more than a little hinky considering the condescending lecture on mind-body purity Dr. Gary had given him. Apparently the only self-sufficient thing around here was Dr. Gary's ego. Arman spied ample bottles of amphetamines, anxiolytics, sleeping pills, muscle relaxants, even narcotics—really strong stuff. Dangerous, too. His skin prickled, remembering the unnamed painkillers he'd been given with no instruction on how to take them other than “as needed.”

Guided by the flashlight, Arman padded over to Dr. Gary's desk, which was piled high with books and papers, a laptop he couldn't get to work, and what appeared to be a vile and rather large collection of musty ceramic mugs with rotting tea bags floating in them. Arman made a face and poked around the mugs carefully. He was loath to spill anything. He also riffled his way through a yellow notepad that was filled with tiny scribbled notes but found them impossible to decipher.

Something on the desk caught his eye. Peeking out from beneath a book on organic farming and another on coercive restraint therapy—
which sounded like either an oxymoron or something really, really unpleasant—was a thick printed document held together by binder clips. Arman slid it out and picked it up.

Typed on the title page were the words
Phase II
, and
Gary Powell III, MD
was listed as the author. Curious, Arman flipped to the next page. Then grimaced. Holy crap. The document was over
fifty pages long
. That didn't even include the table of contents. Knowing the limitations of his scant attention span, Arman proceeded to skim the thing, his eyes jumping from section to section.

Minimum requirements for participation in Containment must be met at all times. All members shall maintain their own Resource Levels, Emotional Harmony, as well as a Natural Physiological State. Failure to comply will be cause for Reabsorption.

A Third phase, Integration, will follow shortly and will be outlined in a separate document. Please familiarize yourself with the distinctions between the Phases. Ignorance shall be no excuse for a lack of progression.

Beneath Beauregard, the current leadership structure will be streamlined, with some positions eliminated altogether. This is necessary for maintaining Sterility. Should civil discord erupt, look to Sparta for guidance. Seek to destroy dissension. Else find a common enemy.

Be warned! The immunosuppressant contamination of the more entrenched paths of Resistance will require
elderflower ointment for optimal healing. Apply liberally 3x/day. May scar.

Arman set the Phase II document down. He didn't have the time or interest to get through the rest. What he'd read seemed far from helpful. Plus Beau was clearly accounted for in the Phase II plan. He gave one last look around. There was nothing else in the room—no more drawers to open or cabinets to rifle through—but Arman wasn't ready to give up.

Pushing open the office door as quietly as possible, he stuck his head into the hall. Used the flashlight to peer in every direction. There was nothing. No one. The coast was clear. After checking the lock to make sure he could get back inside, Arman held his breath, stepped into the corridor, and let the door shut behind him.