Chapter 5 - Mason Had Stolen More Than A Flask
Mason asked to speak with me that evening.
I said yes because refusing would have let me imagine the conversation more cleanly than it deserved.
We met in an administrative room.
Door open.
A captain within sight.
Mason’s cheek had started swelling.
He did not mention it.
Neither did I.
“Why me?” I asked.
He looked at the table.
“I saw your name on the incoming roster.”
“Hayes.”
“Yes.”
“You knew Evan Hayes was my father?”
“I checked.”
“How?”
“Public biography. Unit history.”
“You researched me.”
“Your father.”
“That distinction isn't helping.”
He nodded.
“Why plant the flask?”
Mason took a breath.
“My dad kept it in his office.”
“You stole it.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know the wings were inside?”
“No.”
“Then what did you think you were using?”
His jaw tightened.
“The thing that ruined him.”
I stared.
“You took an object your father spent sixteen years keeping and used it to frame me as a drunk.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Mason's eyes came up.
“Because every time Dad told the story, there was a Hayes at the other end.”
“Your father just told you that story was incomplete.”
“I know.”
“Did you know before today?”
He hesitated.
That was the real question.
“Mason.”
“I knew there were pieces.”
“What pieces?”
“He always said Evan tried to correct it later.”
“So you knew.”
“I knew enough to think it was too late.”
I laughed quietly.
“You decided the correction didn’t count because it ruined the revenge.”
His face hardened.
“That’s not—”
“Isn't it?”
He stopped.
I continued.
“You could’ve asked your father what happened.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“He wouldn’t talk about the wings.”
“So you filled in the blank.”
Mason looked away.
“I grew up watching him get angry every time your father’s name came up.”
“That isn't the same as being told what happened.”
“No.”
“Did Alan tell you Evan planted the flask?”
Mason's face tightened.
“No.”
“Then why did you tell me that?”
He looked ashamed.
“Because that’s what I thought.”
“You said it like fact.”
“Yes.”
That word mattered.
Mason had not merely inherited a story.
He had improved it until it justified what he wanted to do.
I sat back.
“Why ‘drunk’?”
He knew immediately.
“That's what people called him.”
“So you wanted me to hear it.”
“Yes.”
I looked through the open doorway.
A soldier passed carrying paperwork.
Ordinary base life.
Mason said:
“I wanted one Hayes to stand in a room while everyone laughed.”
I turned back.
“You got that.”
His face changed.
“I know.”
“No. You got exactly what you wanted until the wings fell out.”
He swallowed.
I continued.
“If that cap had stayed closed, you would still believe you were right.”
He didn't answer.
That answer was worse.
Then Mason asked:
“Are you filing on me?”
I stared.
He regretted the question immediately.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No. Say it.”
He looked at the table.
“I wanted to know.”
“Because you're sorry?”
He didn't answer fast enough.
“Or because you want to know what happens to you?”
His jaw tightened.
“Both.”
At least he said it.
I stood.
“My statement will have my name on it.”
Mason looked at me.
“And mine.”
I left him there.
Outside, Alan was waiting.
I stopped.
“How much did you tell him growing up?”
His expression changed.
“Not enough.”
“That is becoming a family profession.”
Alan looked toward the room.
Then said:
“I told him your father let me take the fall.”
“Did you tell him Evan wrote a statement the next day?”
“Eventually.”
“How eventually?”
Alan didn’t answer.
I understood.
Years.
Maybe after resentment had already hardened into identity.
May you like
Mason had built a revenge around a story.
Alan had handed him the first bricks.
Related Stories
