Shame

looking at his own pathology.
    “Farrell was methodical if nothing else. He studied you very closely because he wanted to learn what would hurt you the most. He knew you were gentle, kind, and good, and he knew he was none of those things. He probably hated you all the more for that.”
    Gentle, kind, and good.
The words echoed around Caleb’s red ears. He felt embarrassed, unworthy.
    “He was interested in how you had run away from your past, and he knew the biggest hell of all would be for the sins of your father to catch up with you.
    “As for me,” Elizabeth said, “I was the messenger, and he didn’t like my message. I’m the one who told the world about his mother.”
    Caleb could hear regret in her voice.
    “Maybe this will turn out to be another book where I’m short of the answers to the biggest questions. Maybe your take on Farrell, that figure in the fog, will ultimately prove to be the most accurate of all. But I’m going to do my best to remove that shroud.”
    Caleb reached for his coffee cup but didn’t drink from it. He only looked at it. Murky. Like his insides. Over the past few days he had been learning how to be honest. The process was a scary one. He considered the implications of what he might do, of what he could and should do, and was terrified. His heart was pounding so much that it hurt him. He knew that he didn’t have to say anything, and that his life would be easier if he didn’t, but he felt compelled to at least broach the subject.
    “I’m not comfortable with how you’ve been portraying me,” he said.
    Elizabeth sipped her coffee before answering. “How have I made you uncomfortable?”
    “You’re making me out to be a hero.”
    “Was it easier being a villain?”
    “No,” he said, but then he thought about it for a moment and reconsidered. “Maybe it was. I know it felt more right. But I guess the truth of the matter is that I can do without being either.”
    “In my mind,” she said, “you are a hero. I’d be dead if it weren’t for you and Lola. And you saved that girl in the sorority.”
    “I was trying to save myself.”
    “I don’t believe that’s all there was to it.”
    “You’re right. I wanted to kill Farrell.”
    “You’ve taken so many slings in your time. Is it so hard for you to take a few bouquets?”
    “Don’t make me noble,” he said, his voice stretched tight. “Don’t make me out to be more than I am.”
    “Your father said much the same thing to me.”
    “Maybe we’re the same.”
    Caleb opened his mouth to say more, then closed it. He shook his head and moved his arms and hands. His body was doing a lot of speaking, but he still couldn’t find the words.
    “You’ve been telling me this whole time,” said Elizabeth, “that you are not your father’s son.”
    “Wishful thinking.”
    She heard the desperation in his voice. “What do you mean?”
    Here it was, Caleb knew. It was so ugly he didn’t want to look at it. It was in him, like a terminal tumor or a bomb. And he was going to explode it. He really was.
    “The rest of the story,” he said.
    “Go on.”
    “My polygraph...”
    “Yes.”
    “...was accurate.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “You said it yourself: writing about my father’s life was the hardest thing you ever did. And you said you felt there were so many unanswered questions.”
    “There always are.” Elizabeth’s response gave Caleb an out, a chance to escape. But he didn’t take it.
    “I murdered my father.”
    “What are you saying?”
    “You heard me.”
    “How could that be possible?”
    “Little Mister Mimic. That’s what my mother used to call me. I wonder if Lola suspected. She came up with the idea to save you. ‘Use Elizabeth’s voice,’ she said. She heard me talking when I was delirious, heard me using your voice. And I don’t think that’s all she heard. I think she discovered my deception. She heard me use my father’s voice. I suspect I relived the event. Lord knows, I’ve thought about it enough. I was good at mimicking dear old dad. Since he wasn’t around much, it was my way of keeping him near. I could bring him out when I wanted to, conjure him up. I hated him, but I loved him.”
    “You were the one...?”
    “You said how it always bothered you. How you knew he died with secrets. I was his big secret. I was the one who called up the Concho County Sheriff’s Office and identified myself as Gray Parker. I even knew to make myself sound a little