“If you were given a box, and inside was a button that would kill a murderer, would you push it?”
“Dude, that’s an episode of Twilight Zone.” Lyle laughs.
A fellow TZ nerd. I refrain from declaring him cool, but that makes it hard.
“No. No, man,” I say. “In that episode, the button is linked to someone you don’t know. My question is different. You know who’ll die. You can eliminate a murderer, and no one will ever know you did it. Would you push the button?”
Jorden takes a swig of his beer. “It’s almost the same question we got on the criminal justice final last semester. Only, they used the term ‘execute.’”
“You’re prelaw?”
“Yeah. One more year, then I’m off to Texas Tech.”
“What was the right answer?” I ask.
“The test question was more about building an argument. You can say the guy should be fried, but you have to make the case as to why. Why should you be the executioner? If you argued to save him, then you had to do the same.”
“What did you say?” I ask.
“I argued that if I knew he was guilty, I could assume he’d do it again. It would be my moral obligation to execute him. Not doing it would be selfish. I’d be trading in a future victim’s life to save my own conscience—since no one but me would ever know. Right?”
“But if you were wrong?” Kyle asks. “What if he never kills again?”
“That wasn’t the question. It was if you knew he was guilty, and you had the power to put him to death, do you do it? No trial. Bypass the law and constitutional rights of the murderer.” Jorden shrugs. “I’d rather break the law than let someone like that run free. Maybe next he kills my mom. Or my girlfriend. Maybe no one. But he has to pay.”
“So you believe in justice over the law,” I conclude.
“Exactly,” Jorden says.
Kinda funny for a guy who’s planning to be a lawyer. Then again, who am I to talk? The law hasn’t served me or my family much. Yet, I still have this need to try to make it work. If the law fails, well, then maybe the world needs people willing to dance outside the lines.
“What do you think, Huff?” Kyle asks.
“Justice. But I’ll caveat that with the fact I would only be in favor if the legal system failed. Even then, I wouldn’t want everyone running around like characters from The Purge. Would make for a messed-up day if people were being blown away all over the streets.” It’s why we have a legal system. “I think justice should only be served outside the law under very particular circumstances by sane people who aren’t blinded by revenge. They have to act out of the greater good—to take a bad guy off the streets.”
“Who decides? Who’s sane? How do you know if someone’s not acting out of revenge?”
I shrug. “Maybe there’s a test. If you can survive a person you love being brutally murdered and keep from acting like a savage, then you just might be qualified.” I would never pass that test. I’m still angry about Joy’s death. I want Manda and her friends to pay because I want revenge. I want them to suffer for all the pain they inflicted on my family.
A piercing pain shoots through my heart, and my stomach locks down into a painful knot. “Ooph!” I wince and double over on the couch, gripping my stomach.
“You okay, man?” Kyle asks.
I nod, grunting through the pain. Think of something good. Something happy. I think of Keni, and the pain goes into overdrive. “Fuck.” My ears ring, and my heart knocks against my rib cage. I guess I don’t consider her happy or good?
I think of River, her smile, the sound of her laughter, and her devoted friendship. The pain subsides. How’d I know that would help? And why can’t I stop having these thoughts about her?
I come up for air and whoosh out a breath. The three guys look at me with serious faces and then laugh.
“You’re a trip, Huff,” says Kyle.
Lyle agrees. “We’re going to call you mind-fuck Huff—Muff!—instead of Huff.” He rolls back laughing.
“Muff.” I bow my head, cracking a smile. “You know I’ll break your kneecaps if you call me that, right?”
They laugh even harder, and for the first time, I’m not filled with hate or resentment. I’m not the guy with the target on his back like I always believed.
Is it possible that all along I had the power to determine how others see me? The probable answer is yes. Because as much as it bruises my ego, I’m finally seeing the people around me as people. Not chess pieces on the board who will only move diagonally or try to jump me. I’m seeing good in them even when they’ve made mistakes.
I wonder if this means that someday I’ll forgive myself. Because if I can forgive them or see myself differently and change my life in two days, then anything is possible.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The heavy dose of reality and human interaction was exactly what I needed to clear my head and bring me back down to earth. Superhero. I can’t believe I thought that.
Going forward, no more delusion of “special powers.” No more telling myself that I look like the Hulk or have a donkey dong. Sure, River saw my dick and reacted, but maybe she’s only seen micro-penises before. To her, a normal dick might look impressive.
I slip into bed around one a.m. Ronno isn’t here, and I’m guessing that’s his norm. He’s the biggest player I’ve ever met.
I pull off my jeans, take off my tee, and flop back on my pillow, thinking about how stress can really screw with a person’s head. Mine started the moment I got on that plane.
My eyes stick to the blue-stained ceiling while my mind spins. I don’t want to rehash all the garbage I’ve been through these past few days, but I can’t help it. It’s unsettling to know your brain can make you believe the impossible.
A loud knock on the door jars me from my useless thoughts.
I jackknife upright. “Who is it?”
“River.”
My heart leaps. I want to see her and try to explain—yes, and grovel for my stupidity like she predicted—but there’s only so much humble pie a guy can eat in one day. It’s pretty damned embarrassing to admit you thought you had superpowers. River’s a good friend for not laughing in my face.
I get up and answer the door. River has the strap of her oversized bag across her chest, making her breasts look very…visible under her pink sweatshirt. Her hair’s up in a ponytail, showing off the length of her smooth neck. And I shouldn’t be paying attention to either because her big brown eyes are red from crying. “Hey, you okay?”
Her eyes fill with tears that overflow down her cheeks. “No. I’m not.”
She pushes her body into mine like a ship searching for safe harbor. The sobbing that follows is unlike anything I’ve ever heard. It actually scares the hell out of me. I don’t even care that I’m in my boxers.
I wrap my arms around her and stroke the back of her head, running my fingers down the silky slope of her long ponytail. I want to say something, like: It’s okay. Don’t cry. But I don’t know what’s wrong. I don’t know how to give comfort to a problem I don’t understand.