Chapter 3 - Mason Had Known I Was His Cousin For Years
I didn't drive home.
That was what Claire wanted.
I didn't stay on the firing line either.
That was what my anger wanted.
I sat outside the range on a concrete bench and tried to remember my father dying.
There was no funeral.
I had been twelve.
My mother came into my bedroom and sat beside me.
She said:
“I heard about Caleb.”
I remember asking:
“Is he dead?”
She cried.
Then nodded.
That was it.
One nod.
Fourteen-year-old memory? No.
Twelve.
Old enough to understand.
Young enough to accept grief without paperwork.
Mason came outside twenty minutes later.
No supervisor badge now.
Walter followed him to the door but stayed inside.
Mason saw me.
“You shouldn't be here.”
I laughed.
“Apparently that's a family motto.”
He stopped.
“You spoke to Claire.”
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened.
“Of course.”
“Why did you punch me?”
He looked away.
“Bad decision.”
“That is the smallest possible answer.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know who I was before today?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Years.”
I stood.
Mason immediately raised both hands slightly.
Not fighting.
Good.
“Did you know Caleb was alive?”
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“You've seen him.”
“Yes.”
“How recently?”
Mason looked toward the glass doors.
“Today.”
I forgot the shoulder.
The fake sessions.
Everything.
“My father was here.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Observation area.”
“The voice.”
Mason said nothing.
That was enough.
I moved toward the doors.
He stepped sideways.
I stopped.
“Do not touch me again.”
“I wasn't going to.”
“Good.”
I pointed through the glass.
“Is he in there?”
“No.”
“Where did he go?”
“I don't know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
At least he knew.
I asked:
“Did he shoot the Lane Two target?”
Mason's eyes shifted.
“No.”
“Then who did?”
Silence.
“Mason.”
He rubbed his swollen lower lip.
“I did.”
That answer hit almost as hard as my mother's.
“You.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked embarrassed now.
Not frightened.
“You were supposed to have two failed sessions in the system before you arrived.”
I stared.
“You used my name.”
“Yes.”
“Then shot under it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To create a prior record.”
“What kind?”
“That you'd already been evaluated and removed from the lane.”
“Why?”
“So your test today wouldn't happen.”
I laughed.
“You tried to fail me before I got here.”
“Yes.”
“Did Caleb tell you to?”
Mason took too long.
“Answer.”
“He told me years ago that if you ever showed up here, I was supposed to keep you out.”
That slowed me down.
“Exact words?”
Mason's jaw tightened.
“Something close.”
“Close isn't exact.”
“He said, ‘If Ethan ever comes looking for this place, don't let him become part of it.’”
I stared.
“That doesn't say falsify my record.”
“No.”
“Doesn't say hit me.”
“No.”
“Doesn't say drag me out.”
“No.”
“So which part was him?”
Mason looked away.
There.
Less than he wanted.
“Why do you care whether I shoot here?”
His expression hardened.
“Because this place already took enough from my family.”
“What did it take?”
He laughed without humor.
“You.”
I stared.
“I've never been here.”
“Exactly.”
Before I could answer, Walter opened the door.
“Mason.”
He turned.
Walter held a phone in his hand.
“Your father called.”
Mason frowned.
“My father's dead.”
Walter looked at me.
Then back at Mason.
“Not Gordon.”
Silence.
Mason’s face changed.
Walter corrected himself.
“Caleb called.”
Mason looked at me.
I caught the detail.
Walter had called my father “your” something before stopping.
May you like
Not Mason's father.
But close enough to one that the mistake came naturally.
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