Page 111 of Empty Net
I have never seen that before.
It should stop me.
It almost does.
"I built it so this wouldn't be rotten," he says.
"I know that."
"I gave up the file."
"You did."
"I did not leak it."
"I know."
The last word comes out like a weapon anyway.
Caleb looks at me like I have put it in his chest and left my hand on the handle.
"Then what are you saying?" he asks.
I do not know.
That is the truth. I do not know what I am saying because there is no sentence that can make the terror smaller, no target that can take the full force of it and deserve the impact. Caleb does not deserve it. The reporter does. The source does. The whole machine does. The old silence does. I do. Maybe I do most of all because I thought one good day in a locker room meant the world had changed enough to stop being dangerous.
But Caleb is in front of me.
And I am very good at surviving by leaving.
"I'm saying I can't do this."
His face goes blank.
Not empty. Blanked. Like his body has pulled a shade down so the hit can land somewhere private.
"Do what?"
"This."
"Us?"
The word is so quiet I almost do not hear it.
I hear it.
"Being a file," I say.
"You are not a file."
"I am in yours."
"No."
"I'm in HR. Compliance. Legal. Media relations. A reporter's voicemail."
"You are not in mine like that."
