I never meant to lie.
That snowy night when Deputy Patterson put me in the back of his car, I was scared, hungry, and tired. He asked me for a name. I gave him the only one I ever cared about, my best friend’s.
After killing the hiker and beating Kevin, Matt had stormed up the steps and slammed the door closed. I lay on the floor with Kevin’s hand in my own, watching him struggle to take his last breaths. I didn’t let go after he stopped. I held his hand through the night and into the next day. His fingers stiffened and grew as cold as the room. His eyes clouded and stared into nothingness.
The room darkened as the sun set outside for the second time without my friend breathing. I finally let go of his hand and sat up with my back against that stone wall. I pushed the flap of skin hanging over my jaw and held it in place while I tied an old t-shirt around my head.
I awoke feverish and shaking the next morning. I licked water from the wall and crawled across the room for the meager supply of snacks we had hidden. And that’s how I spent the next several days—staring at my friend as his body bloated, fighting off my own fever and infection that burned my face, and eating our snacks.
One morning—I have no idea how many days later—the door ripped open, and Matt stomped down the stairs. He pointed at the body and told me, “Drag Kevin upstairs.”
I sat still, sure I was dying and not caring what Matt thought, and choked out the words. “His name was Jaxon.”
Matt looked at me with his hands on his hips. “Kevin.”
I shook my head, the pain flaring across my ear and deep into my brain. “Jaxon. With an X.”
He raised his hand to slap me but stopped. I don’t know why. We stared at each other like that for a long time, and then his hand fell to his side. “Fine. Whatever. Drag Jaxon upstairs. You’ve got to get this place ready for our next guest.”
The rest of the day was simple enough. I dug two graves. The hiker went in one. Jaxon went in the other. And I went back downstairs with a bucket of food Matt gave me. Once the door was locked, I heard the van start up and leave.
A few days passed before the door opened again, and he shoved a sniveling little kid down those steps. “Take care of Steve for me, T-Dog, or you ain’t gonna be lucky no more.”
The door slammed shut, and the little kid sat up. He looked at me and said, “My name ain’t Steve. It’s Cody.”
I looked at him and said, “Look, kid, you can tell me all about Cody and the things he used to do and the family he used to have, but here in this house, you’re Steve.”
I gave him a piece of moldy bread, and we ate in silence. He looked up at me and asked, “So what did you used to do before you came here?”
And so I told him about the mud pit I built with my brother, Connor.
So, yeah, I lied. The problem was I didn’t know what I used to do before. I’ve never remembered.
After Cody died, I told the same story to the next kid. And the kid after that.
Forgive me, Jaxon. I never meant to steal your life. Giving your name to the deputy was a moment of panic, but when I met your mother and your brother and your father, I should’ve told them the truth. When they took me home, I should’ve told them.
But I didn’t lie to Nurse Sheila. I really don’t remember what my mother looks like. I don’t remember a comfortable bed with pillows, a closet full of clothes, family meals, or a dog snoring in my bed. And the longer I had those things here, the more I didn’t want to go back to the only before I’ve ever known, a cold stone cellar of loneliness.
I never meant to lie, but it was so much better than being Teddy.