For several seconds, the old locker room made no sound except the fluorescent lights humming overhead.
Someone else was using his name.
I read the sentence again.
Then a third time.
It did not become more reasonable.
Claire took the incident report from me.
“You said you’d never been here.”
“I hadn’t.”
“Ever?”
“Not that I remember.”
Evan leaned against the locker bank.
“My father said he saw you?”
“Apparently.”
“When?”
“The night before the crash.”
I looked toward the doorway.
Carl stood outside far enough away to give us privacy.
I pulled out my phone.
Thomas answered immediately.
“Did you find it?”
“Locker 214.”
Silence.
“So the key worked.”
“Yes.”
“What was inside?”
“Dad’s toolbox. A cassette. A report.”
Thomas breathed out.
“His incident report?”
“You knew about it?”
“No.”
“Then why did you call it that?”
“Richard wrote reports for everything.”
Fair.
I pressed ahead.
“Dad wrote that you saw me at the plant the night before my crash.”
Thomas said nothing.
“Thomas?”
“I’m thinking.”
“I wasn’t here.”
“I know.”
“You just said you’re thinking.”
“I’m trying to remember what Richard asked me.”
My frustration rose.
“This matters.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
Claire touched my arm.
I lowered my voice.
“Dad wrote that someone was using my name.”
Thomas’s breathing changed.
“Oh.”
That one syllable told me memory had moved.
“What?”
“I remember.”
“Who did you see?”
“Not you.”
“I know that.”
“I didn’t know it then.”
“Who?”
Thomas spoke slowly.
“There was a young man outside Building C.”
“What did he look like?”
“Your height, maybe. Dark hair.”
“That describes half the town.”
“I barely saw him.”
“What was he doing?”
“Waiting near the employee parking area.”
“At midnight?”
“Close to midnight.”
“Why were you there?”
“Overtime.”
“And you talked to him?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Thomas took a long breath.
“He asked whether Richard Mercer was still working.”
My skin prickled.
“Dad wasn’t?”
“No. He had already left.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That.”
“And then?”
“He asked whether I knew where Richard lived.”
Claire looked sharply at me.
I stared at the phone.
“You gave a stranger our address?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I asked who he was.”
“And he said Daniel.”
My name sounded foreign.
“Daniel Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“Why would you believe him?”
Thomas was quiet.
“Because I knew Richard had two sons.”
“You knew my name?”
“I’d heard it.”
“And this person knew enough to use it.”
“Yes.”
“What happened next?”
“I told him if he was Richard’s son, he should already know where Richard lived.”
Despite everything, that was almost funny.
“What did he say?”
“That he’d been staying with friends and didn’t have his phone.”
“That explanation makes no sense.”
“It didn’t then either.”
“So?”
“I told him to come back during the day.”
“And?”
“He left.”
“You didn’t tell Dad?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“The next afternoon.”
The day of my crash.
Everything began connecting.
Dad had called Thomas’s house not because he needed a ride.
Because Thomas said someone calling himself Daniel had been outside the plant.
Dad wanted details.
Thomas wasn’t home.
Evan answered.
During that conversation Dad mentioned me, my location, and eventually the problem of getting me home.
One subject had turned into another.
“What did Dad say when you told him?”
“He laughed at first.”
“That sounds right.”
“Then I described the man.”
“And?”
Thomas went silent.
“What?”
“He stopped laughing.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You must know something.”
“No. I remember asking if Daniel had been there. Richard said no.”
“What else?”
“He asked whether the man had a scar.”
Evan straightened.
Claire looked at me.
“A scar?”
Thomas said, “On the left cheek, I think.”
I looked at Evan instinctively.
His scar was near his jaw.
Wrong side.
Wrong person.
“Did the man?”
“I couldn’t remember.”
“What did Dad do then?”
“He said he would call me later.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
Because hours later, I was in the hospital.
Claire asked, “Who would Richard think it was?”
Thomas answered her.
“I don’t know.”
“He asked about a scar for a reason.”
“Yes.”
“Did Richard know someone who looked like Daniel?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
I thought of Aaron.
Older by two years.
Similar height.
Dark hair then.
But Thomas knew Aaron existed too.
And Aaron did not have a scar.
Also, Aaron had been living three states away at the time.
I knew because he came home after my accident.
“Could it have been my brother?”
“No.”
Thomas sounded certain.
“I’d met Aaron once.”
“Where?”
“Company picnic.”
So not Aaron.
Evan spoke from beside me.
“Ask about Marcus.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“Marcus.”
“What about him?”
“You said you were at his apartment.”
“Yes.”
“Did he know your father?”
“Everybody met Dad eventually.”
“That isn’t what I mean.”
Evan’s face had tightened.
“I knew Marcus.”
The statement hit oddly.
“How?”
“We went to the same high school.”
Marcus was two years older than Evan.
That fit.
“Were you friends?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“He sold beer to younger kids.”
Claire said, “Including you?”
Evan nodded.
My stomach shifted.
“Did Marcus give you alcohol the night of the crash?”
“Yes.”
I stared.
“You never mentioned that.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“That’s becoming an irritating phrase.”
“I know.”
“Was the party at Marcus’s?”
“No. Someone else’s house.”
“Did he sell you the beer?”
“He brought it.”
I rubbed my face.
Marcus had been one of my closest friends in college.
Not lifelong.
We met freshman year.
By sophomore year, I spent enough time at his apartment that Dad knew the address.
“Did Marcus ever work at the plant?”
Thomas answered through the phone before Evan could.
“Yes.”
I went still.
“When?”
“Temporary labor. One summer.”
“What year?”
“The year before the accident.”
My heart began beating harder.
“What did he do?”
“Cleaning, moving parts, whatever contractors assigned.”
“Building C?”
“Sometimes.”
Claire watched my face.
“Daniel.”
I already knew what she was thinking.
I didn’t want to think it.
“Did Marcus have a scar?”
Thomas was quiet.
Then: “Yes.”
Every hair on my arms lifted.
“Where?”
“Left cheek.”
The old building seemed suddenly colder.
I walked toward the doorway because I needed air.
Claire followed.
Evan stayed a few steps behind.
Thomas remained on speaker.
“How did he get it?”
“I don’t know.”
I did.
Bike accident.
That was what Marcus told everyone.
A pale line along his left cheek from the corner of his ear toward his jaw.
I had seen it a thousand times.
“Why would Marcus come here pretending to be me?”
Nobody answered.
I thought about the night before my accident.
Marcus’s apartment.
Pizza.
Beer.
Friends.
Had I been there that night or only the next?
Memory at twenty years old was not organized by date.
I could picture the apartment.
But perhaps I was remembering dozens of similar evenings.
“Claire.”
“Yes?”
“Call Aaron.”
She did.
He answered with a groan.
“If this is about brunch, I’m dead.”
“It’s Daniel.”
“Why are you calling from Claire’s phone?”
“I’m using mine.”
“Oh.”
He was apparently still asleep.
“Aaron, wake up.”
“I regret answering.”
“Do you remember Marcus Hale?”
Silence.
Then his voice changed.
“Your college friend?”
“Yes.”
“What about him?”
“Did Dad like him?”
Aaron took a moment.
“No.”
I hadn’t expected the answer to be that immediate.
“Why?”
“Dad thought he was shady.”
“That’s vague.”
“You asked a hungover man a fourteen-year-old question.”
“Try.”
I heard movement.
Aaron probably sat up.
“Dad caught him lying once.”
“About what?”
“Money.”
My stomach tightened.
“What money?”
“Marcus borrowed cash from you.”
I frowned.
“I don’t remember that.”
“You wouldn’t. Dad found out from Mom.”
“How?”
“You asked Mom for money because you said your account was short.”
A memory surfaced.
Barely.
Two hundred dollars.
Maybe three.
I had loaned Marcus something for rent.
He repaid me.
Eventually.
“What did Dad do?”
“Nothing. He just said Marcus always seemed to have a reason other people should pay for his problems.”
“That sounds like Dad.”
“Yes.”
“Did Dad ever mention seeing Marcus near the plant?”
“No.”
“Did Marcus have any reason to know Thomas?”
Aaron paused.
“Thomas who?”
Right.
He knew nothing about this.
“Never mind.”
“Daniel, what happened?”
I looked at Claire.
“We found something Dad hid.”
“Is this another dead-person scavenger hunt?”
“Apparently.”
Aaron groaned.
“Of course it is.”
“I’ll explain later.”
“You better.”
I ended the call.
Evan leaned against the exterior brick wall.
“What exactly did Richard’s report say?”
I handed it to him.
He read the lines about the person using my name.
Then the entry from four years ago.
His face changed at the last paragraph.
“What?”
He pointed.
“Richard added something in the margin.”
I took the page back.
The handwriting was smaller.
Almost hidden along the fold.
M.H. came to house after Daniel’s accident. Asked too many questions about truck.
My mouth went dry.
Marcus Hale.
M.H.
I remembered him visiting.
Hospital first.
Then home.
He brought takeout.
Made jokes.
Sat on our couch.
Dad barely spoke to him.
At the time, I assumed Dad was stressed.
Maybe he had been watching.
“What questions?”
Claire asked.
I shook my head.
“I don’t remember.”
Thomas spoke through the phone.
“Richard called me about Marcus.”
“When?”
“A few weeks after the accident.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“You are remembering a lot suddenly.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“Because we are finally talking about the things around the thing I spent fourteen years remembering.”
That silenced me.
Memory works by pathways.
We had spent a day reopening roads Thomas had not traveled in years.
“What did Dad ask?”
“Whether Marcus had access to company vehicles.”
Evan straightened.
“What did you tell him?”
“No.”
“Was that true?”
“Yes.”
“Could he have gotten keys?”
Thomas hesitated.
“The spare keys were stored in maintenance.”
“In Building C?”
“Yes.”
I looked back toward locker 214.
Dad’s toolbox.
The key.
The report.
“Did Dad think Marcus took your truck?”
“No,” Thomas said.
“Evan admitted taking it.”
“Then why ask?”
“I don’t know.”
Claire looked toward Evan.
“Did anyone else know you were taking the truck that night?”
Evan shook his head.
“Not beforehand.”
“Did Marcus know you were drunk?”
“Yes.”
“Did he know where Daniel was?”
Evan’s face went still.
Claire saw it too.
“What?”
Evan rubbed his jaw.
“At the party, Marcus asked where I was going.”
My pulse jumped.
“And you told him?”
“I said I was going to get someone.”
“Who?”
“I might have said Daniel.”
“Did you?”
“I don’t remember.”
I stepped closer.
“Think.”
Evan closed his eyes.
“I remember Marcus laughing.”
“What did he say?”
A long pause.
Then Evan opened his eyes.
“He said, ‘Mercer’s kid?’”
The industrial yard seemed to fall silent around us.
Marcus knew.
Before the crash.
Maybe because I was his friend.
Maybe because Dad’s name was known.
Or maybe because the whole thing had started earlier.
I looked at the microcassette in my hand.
Dad had hidden it beneath the tray with the report.
The paper told us what he knew.
The tape might tell us what he suspected.
“We need something to play this.”
Evan nodded.
“My father has an old recorder.”
I looked toward Claire.
“We’re going back.”
She held my gaze.
“You sure?”
“No.”
The word had become easier.
“But we’re going.”
On the drive back, I sent Marcus one message.
We had not spoken in nearly three years.
People drift.
Careers.
Moves.
Marriage.
Life.
His number might not even work.
I typed only:
Are you free to talk today?
The message showed delivered.
No answer.
Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed.
I looked down.
Marcus.
One line.
Haven’t heard from you in forever. Everything okay?
I stared at the screen.
Then another message appeared.
Before I could answer, Marcus wrote:
Is this about your dad?
