Blood on My Hands

green symbols from The Matrix , only they’re not flowing; they’re long multicolor lines on a white background. Jerry begins typing and working the mouse, causing numbers and values to change in the long equations.
    A few seconds later he replaces the card in my phone, tosses it back to me, and once again levels his gaze in my direction. There’s something in his eyes that makes me feel uncomfortable. I wish I knew what he was thinking.
    “I heard you quit the cross-country team,” he says.
    It’s a strange thing to bring up at this moment, but then, that’s Jerry. “Between school and work and going up to Fishkill to see Sebastian once a week, I just couldn’t do it.”
    He nods. “So you … want to take a shower? Get cleaned up?”
    I feel dirty and gritty and would love to take a shower, but there’s something about taking off my clothes in this house, with Jerry around, even with the bathroom door locked, that makes me uneasy.
    “You need a place to stay? Want to stay here tonight?” he adds.
    I do need a place to stay, but again, I feel uncomfortable. I don’t know what he’s thinking. He may be an antisocial recluse, but he’s still a male. “I better not.”
    He continues to stare. “You still with that Slade guy?”
    How does he know about Slade and me? And how should I answer? “Kind of.”
    “Kind of?” he repeats with a smile. For a moment I worry that he might take that as some sort of invitation, but then he turns back to the computer screens and resumes playing poker, and I feel relieved.
    It’s a strange moment. I stare at the back of Jerry’s chair. All I can see are the bottoms of his calves and his shoes. I came here for help and information, but now what? I know that somewhere the phone company has a record of those anonymous texts being sent, even if they don’t know what each text said. I know I have a phone I can use. But night has come and it’s dark outside. Where can I go? The big leather chair squeaks as Jerry turns to face me. He has a curious but wary look. Is he wondering why I’m still here?
    “Jerry, I … I really appreciate you helping me.”
    He intertwines his fingers as if in prayer and sucks in his lower lip pensively. “I heard the police are warning people that they can get in trouble for sheltering you.”
    I nod and stare at the floor. Is he implying that since he’s taken a big risk for me, I should do something for him? Some alarm in my head is telling me it’s time to go. It’s hard to get up and leave this warm, dry basement, but I’m just not comfortable.
    I head for the door. He follows, watching as I stuff the wet socks into my hoodie and pull the damp shoes over my bare feet. “Thanks, Jerry.”
    “Hey, stay in touch, okay?” he says. “And if you need anything …”
    “Right, thanks.” I reach for the screen door and let myself out into the night. Behind me, Jerry cleans the doorknob with a wipe.
    In the cool night air, I have to decide what to do next. A harvest moon has started to rise, big and orange-red, and as I pause to look at it, I catch some movement out of the corner of my eye. It’s come through the window of the basement, where Jerry has taken his seat again. His cell phone is pressed to his ear, and his expression implies that he’s speaking urgently. I wish I knew to whom, and what he is saying.
    I glance at the moon again and now I notice something else: near the back of the yard is a tree lit by moonlight, and in the branches is a square dark silhouette—a tree house. Stepping closer, I see planks of wood hammered crookedly into the trunk for steps. The tree house is a wooden box with a doorway and some rectangular cutouts for windows. I wonder if this is something Jerry’s father built long ago in an unsuccessful attempt to get his son to go outside.
    It’s as good a place as any to spend the night.
    A moment later, sitting in the tree house, I try Slade’s number but get his recording. I don’t want to leave a message. Even if the police can no longer trace my phone, they might be able to identify my voice and charge Slade with helping me.
    Fatigue drifts in like a thick fog. I would like to stay awake and try to figure out what my next move should be, but instead, I lie down on the floor and close my eyes.
    By August, Katherine was no longer nagging me to break up with Slade. I assumed she now liked me enough not to make it a condition of our friendship. I was being included in everything the IC