The Smaller Evil (20 page)

ARMAN PEERED OVER THE EDGE
of the cliff. Saw a single figure. A lit kerosene lantern.

“Beau?” he called.

“Arman,” he said.

“You're okay?”

“I'm okay. How are you?”

“I'm confused right now. Really confused.”

“I understand.”

“You didn't try to kill yourself, did you?”

“No.”

“And I didn't try to kill you?”

“Definitely not.”

“But you wanted me to think that you did.” The words spilled from his mouth before he had time to consider them. “You wanted me to think one of those things or both of them. Am I right?”

“Yes. I suppose. In a way.”

Arman fingered his stitches. Felt the tenderness there. “Did you drug me?”

“Why don't you come down here? We'll talk.”

So Arman walked back down to the clearing, where he and Beau sat on the ground facing each other, the lantern burning between them. Staring into the older man's affable, unlined face, those cool river eyes, Arman could almost believe no time had passed—that this was the same night when they'd sat together in the circle of watching eyes and Beau had held his hands.

Only it wasn't.

“I don't get why you'd do this,” Arman said. “I don't get it at all.”

“That's an understandable response.”

“But this isn't an understandable situation.”

“Then ask me. Ask me anything you want to know.”

“Did you drug me? Is that why you told that guy at the store I was junkie?”

Beau nodded. “It's also how you hit your head. You fell. I'm sorry about that.”

“But you knew where I was going to be that morning? That I was leaving?”

“I did.”

“How?”

Beau lifted an eyebrow.

Arman's stomach dropped. “Wait. You mean—?”

“Yes.”

Deep breath. He took a deep breath. “And who was the guy I talked to at Vespers? The one who looked like you? Who knew what you'd said?”

“That was my son, Paul.”

“Your
son
?”

“That's right.”

Arman's urge to dig at his wrist was stronger than ever. “And the Damascus knife. It's not one of a kind, is it?”

“More like a dime a dozen,” Beau said. “But it's what you believed that mattered.”

“I believed what you told me!”

“Most people do.”

“And you somehow just knew I'd find the knife you'd buried? What if I hadn't gone back for the money?”

“You were always going back for the money, Arman. And when you found the knife, I knew you wouldn't kill yourself or turn yourself in. You'd do just what you did.”

“Which was?”

Beau's eyes twinkled. “You found another way.”

“So that was the plan? The whole point? For me to end up here?”

“That wasn't the plan. It was the conclusion. The ending. But if you think back on everything that's happened, everything you've done, you'll understand what the point was.”

What he'd
done
? “All I did was screw things up! A lot of things. From the moment I got here.”

“No,” Beau corrected. “Don't tell me what you
think
you did. Tell me what happened.”

“I . . . I felt good that you wanted me here. Then I felt terrible when I let you down.”

“Not feelings, either. Events. Start from the beginning.”

Arman blew air through his cheeks. “Fine. I got here. You asked me to keep a secret for you. Then I met a girl. She liked me. But I think you knew that.”

Beau nodded.

“Then I didn't cut you with the knife. And when I thought you'd killed yourself, I didn't take you to a hospital. I came back here.”

“Very good. What else?”

“I don't know. After that I was really confused. And scared. I thought
that Gary guy was trying to take over the camp from you. I told Mari that.” He paused. “Wait. Is
that
what you wanted me to do?”

Beau's lips twitched. “Hoped. I hoped you would.”

“He's crazy, you know. Like, really crazy.”

“I know.”

“Yeah, well, other than that, all I did was convince my friends that this place is evil. Then when I found the knife and figured I was the one who'd hurt you, I . . .”

“You what?”

Arman felt sick. “I did something cowardly.”

“Which was?”

“I buried it again. Somewhere else. I was going to just leave.”

“But don't you see?” Beau said. “That was the point.”

“It was?”

“Absolutely. What you did wasn't cowardly at all. You've learned what you never could just by listening to me talk or trying to make me proud. You've learned how to give a damn about yourself. How to do what's necessary. Not what you think is right.”

“You wanted me to learn that?”

“Of course.”

“But
why
?”

“Well, that's a different question,” Beau said. “And it's not just
my
why. It never was.”

“Then whose why is it?”

“You don't know?”

“No.”

“Your father's.”

Arman blinked. Very quickly. “What did you say?”

Beau leaned forward. “When I told you we were alike. I said that because I
knew
. Not just from what you'd told me. But because I truly know who you are. Where you come from and more important, who you could someday be. Those are the reasons I needed you here this summer. I told you that, too.”

“So you know my dad? You actually know him?”

“In a way, yes.”

“Jesus. That explains a lot.”

“Does it?”

“I hate him.”

“I know you do. Believe me.”

Arman folded his arms. Licked his lips. “So you used me? Is that what you did?”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“I feel stupid.”

“You don't have to.”

“I could go to the cops. Tell them everything.”

“I know.”

“I might.”

“That's your choice.”

“But I don't
get
choices!” Arman cried. “That's the point. I never do.”

“You will,” Beau said.

They were silent for a moment.

“Is there anything else you want to know?” Beau asked finally.

He nodded. “Kira and Dale.”

“I needed them to make you feel comfortable. But they don't know anything. That's the truth.”

“Truth.” Arman tested the word. It felt like heartbreak.

“Yes.”

“One more thing.”

“Okay.”

“What's the doctrine of double effect?”

At this, Beau looked surprised. For the first time that night. “Where'd you hear that?”

“Some people were talking about it at dinner. It has to do with morality?”

“It does. It's a philosophical principle that states an immoral act can sometimes be considered moral if the greater good outweighs the smaller evil.”

“And do you think that's true?” Arman asked.

Beau smiled his easiest smile. “Why, I don't think about it at all.”

• • •

Later, when he was alone again, Arman dragged himself back down the mountain to the cook's cabin. He knocked on her window.

She opened it.

And smiled.

“Can I come in?” he said.

She nodded.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad?” she asked.

“Because I didn't find you earlier like I said I would.”

“I know you didn't,” she said.

Of course she did.

Arman crawled through the window. Not an easy task, given his state of exhaustion. She kept him from falling, then pulled him into her bed. Started to pull his clothes off. Hers, too. At first, he let her. At first he didn't care about anything else.

But then he stopped. Put his hand on hers.

“I want it to be different this time,” he said. “Is that okay?”

“More than okay.”

“I want to talk. I want to keep my eyes open.”

“Me, too,” she said.

So they did.

And after:

“Arman?”

“Yes?”

“Which would you rather believe in: a bad truth or a good lie?”

“The truth,” he whispered. “Always the truth.”

She touched his cheek. Kissed his brow. Reached beneath the sheets to run her fingers across the thick scars that lined his bare thighs.

Her hand lingered.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Do you remember what I told you the other morning? When I said that being part of a system that helps people change was the most important thing to me? That it was everything?”

“Of course. What about it?”

“That was all true.”

He smiled. “But that's not bad.”

“You're right,” she said. “It's not.”

WHEN HE WOKE THE NEXT
morning, she was gone.

This didn't surprise Arman. It disappointed him, yes. But it wasn't surprising. Everyone had been using him. He realized that now.

He sat up in the bed in the empty room. The dust on the furniture made more sense in light of what he knew. This had always been a place of absence, and he was meant to leave, too. Arman dressed, gathered his things. Made his way outside into the early morning mist.

He walked down toward the iron gate with his head held high. He refused to hide or be fearful or take any route other than the obvious one. He didn't care who saw him and he didn't care what anyone else thought about his choices. Well, maybe he did care. A little bit. But less than he used to. So he would leave this place now, alone, and get a head start. In a few hours, Kira and Dale would leave, too. What happened after that was up to fate. Maybe the cops would come. Maybe there'd be a lawsuit. Maybe Beau would get arrested again.

Then again, maybe not.

“Arman!” a voice called out. “Wait!”

He held his breath before turning around.

It was Mari. Dear, dear Mari.

She was coming toward him along the path that led from the domed meeting hall. She was waving, too, in apparent excitement, although she didn't move very fast. Arman walked back to meet her, because that seemed like the kindest thing to do.

But he didn't know how to feel.

“Hey,” he said.

“I've been looking for you,” she told him. “Everywhere.”

“Yeah, well, I'm leaving. You don't need to worry about me anymore. Although I didn't do anything. I didn't hurt Beau. Really.”

“I know that,” she said.

“You do?”

“That's what I wanted to tell you. I heard from him last night. Beau's fine, Arman. He's in San Francisco. I guess his van broke down on the way up north and he lost his phone. But he's there now. He says he might stay away for a while. He has traveling to do. But he's fine. He's absolutely fine.”

“He is?”

She nodded, holding up her own phone. “Look.”

Sure enough, there was a snapshot of Beau in San Francisco. God knew when it had actually been taken, but in the picture, he was smiling broadly, with Coit Tower in the background and the glittering bay beyond. Arman's throat tightened. He couldn't help thinking that if the photo were taken today, there'd be two people in it. Both smiling. Both celebrating being together again.

At last.

Arman looked away. Swallowed his anger. Or his grief.

Whatever it was.

“I'm glad he's okay,” he said flatly.

“This is good news,” Mari said. “Really good.”

“I know.”

“It means you don't have to leave.”

“Oh, I think I should.”

“But why?”

Arman couldn't tell her the real reason. So he forced a goofy smile on his face. The kind adults liked to see on him because it made him appear docile. “Look, I know I'm not going to be a part of Containment. I don't have the money. Or the status. So I might as well leave and save you the hassle of kicking me out.”

Mari's eyes twinkled.

“Arman,” she said. “Containment isn't happening.”

“It's not?”

“No, it's not what Beau wants. It never was. We can't make the world a healthier place if we don't bring new people in. Teach them what we know. And while Beau's gone, I'm the one in charge. It's up to me to make sure we stay true to his vision. At all costs.”

“But what about Gary? He said—”

“Don't worry about Gary.”

“Yeah, but he's got plans to—”

“I know about his plans. And he's officially been relieved of his training position. As of last night.”

“He has? Why?”

“It wasn't a good fit. The things he wanted to do, what he tried to make our visitors do, well, it wasn't in line with our purpose. It wasn't healthy. Just the opposite, really. I couldn't in good faith let him stay.”

“So he's leaving?”

“He's already gone.”

“Where'd he go?”

Mari paused. Then she placed a hand over her brow and gazed out
over the hillside, her eyes focused on the horizon beyond. “Do you see all that, Arman? Do you really see?”

He tried following her line of vision. “See what?”

“Everything,” she said. “Here we are, in the mountains, overlooking the sea. We're surrounded by miles and miles of forests and lakes and meadows and rocks and cliffs and waterfalls. Every kind of danger you can imagine. We're nothing here. Absolutely nothing. And that's a wondrous thing. To have so many places to lose ourselves in. To have so many ways to start over when the solutions we think we've found don't work.”

A chill ran up Arman's spine, slick as a weasel, and he stared at Mari. He stared for a long time. At her sweet grandmotherly face. At that long, girlish braid and those soft, gauzy clothes, a fluttering reminder of power. There were so many questions he could've asked about what she'd just said.

But he didn't.

After a moment, Mari turned to smile at him. Gracious as always. “Beau also wanted you to know that you're welcome to stay here. For as long as you'd like. You've impressed him. He says you'd be a wonderful addition to the staff. That you have real leadership potential.”

“Really? He said that?”

“He did. And I happen to agree.”

“Well, thank you,” Arman said, but he took a halting step backward. Felt the earth sway beneath him. “Can I, you know, think about it?”

“Take all the time you need.”

Arman nodded and spun around. Started walking again. His legs felt weak and his heart fickle, but he had to keep moving. He had to get out of here. This place was crazy. Absolutely crazy. He couldn't stay and ignore all that, just because he was wanted.

Could he?