Page 13 of The Code

Jack chuckles then, a low grumble, and Evan’s shame flares even hotter.

His ears are burning. Why the ears?

“Two stories,” Jack says.

“What?”

“There are two stories here you can choose between.”

“This is reality,” Evan spits. “It’s about my life. It’s not about stories.”

“Sure it is. Deal with the world like you’re in a story. And the world will respond in kind.”

“That makes no sense. What’s that even mean?”

“Do you really want to know?” Jack says. “That requires listening.”

Evan says, “Yes,” though he does not want to listen at all.

Jack downs the last of his scotch.

Then he pulls himself forward in his armchair, reaches into a heretofore invisible ice bucket at his far side, and drops a spherical ice cube into a fresh glass. Next he lifts a squat unmarked bottle of clear liquid from the same spot.

Jack uncaps the bottle and pours in a splash.

Evan is stunned by what he is witnessing. Jack never doesn’t drink scotch. It feels like another small piece of his world is crumbling. He is inexplicably furious and slightly intrigued.

“What is that?”

“Vodka,” Jack says. “A friend makes his own.”

“Who?”

“That master chief I had run you around some.”

“Why not scotch?” Evan says accusatorily.

“Because I want to think clear, not deep.”

Jack takes a minuscule sip, closes his eyes to really taste it. A pleased exhale.

“Now,” he says, settling back. “Two stories. Want the first?”

Evan says, “Sure.”

“You’re a foster kid no one wanted and no one cares about. I’m being paid to turn you into an expendable weapon. If you drown in a training tank or die on a night swim or freeze to death in the mountains, no one gives a shit. We’ll find another. There are countless kids no one wants in this country. You are replaceable. That’s the whole point of you. You’re not like Court, a young man with a future, deserving of love and happiness. Deserving of belonging.”

The words assail Evan. His worst fears and deepest shame all at once.

His mouth has gone dry. He cannot respond.

“That’s one story. If you act like that story is the truth, it will become truth. You’ll force it on the world and the world’ll be only too happy to accommodate.” Jack lifts the glass and it catches the light of the fireplace, setting the spirit twinkling in the crystal. “Or…”

It takes a moment for Evan to find his voice again: “Or what?”

“Or maybe you’re in another story. Maybe I’m not just your handler. Maybe I’m your guardian angel.”

Evan gives a low snicker. The noise is cheap, below him and his training, but he cannot help it.