Page 99 of The Memory Wood

‘Thetruth, Elijah.’

‘I’mtellingyou the truth.’

‘“And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”’

‘I tried to save you. I did everything I could!’

My lips are burning. I touch them, remembering Gretel’s mouth on mine. I recall my panicked flight from the cellar, the petrol cans in the hall, and then … and then …

I hear my brother’s voice, disembodied and full of blame:She kissed you, Eli. But maybe you went back for more.

‘I didn’t,’ I moan. ‘Ineverwould’ve done that.’

‘You killed her.’

‘No. Isavedher. I saved her for all eternity.’

I hear something else, now. A snapping, a cracking. It sounds like my brother’s. 22. I’d almost welcome it, a calamity inside my head, until I remember there’s no way Kyle can shoot me, becauseI’mKyle, and I killed my brother long ago.

‘Not just your brother,’ Elissa whispers.

‘Only him,’ I tell her, and wish I could believe my own words.

The cracking isn’t a bullet but a key, working inside a lock. Behind me, the cell door swings open and now I don’t know what’s worse: being imprisoned in here with Gretel or going outside to a world that wants me dead.

III

I’m back in the interview room, opposite MacCullagh and her colleague. On the ceiling, two cameras cast disapproving eyes. Every few seconds my gaze strays to the rear wall, but however often I check, Mama never reappears.

‘What’s happening, Kyle?’ MacCullagh asks. ‘The custody officer says you were making a racket.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Are you able to answer some more questions?’

‘I’ll try.’

‘That’s good. Like I said before, it’s important you hold nothing back. If you want to help Elissa – if you want to help her family – you need to tell us everything.’

I stare at MacCullagh, wondering what it must be like to spend days mixed up in other people’s misery. She looks exhausted – almost as if she’s in pain. It’s not easy, this. For any of us.

‘“And you will know the truth,”’ I tell her, ‘“and the truth will set you free.”’

‘Kyle?’

‘It’s from John, chapter eight. Don’t you read your Bible?’

‘Not since school.’

‘Well,’ I say. ‘I feel bad for you.’

‘I can still appreciate the sentiment. Are you ready to tell the truth? Is that what you’re getting at?’

I open my mouth.Isthat what I was getting at? I spoke without thinking too much about my meaning. Those words were from Scripture, certainly not my own.

Suddenly, in the bleakness of this interview room, everything seems so simple. Mama always loved Ephesians, and I know which verse she would quote:Each of you must put off falsehood and speak truthfully to your neighbour, for we are all members of one body.

Sometimes, I’ve spoken untruthfully. Whatever my reason, I see now it was a sin. There’s a verse in the Book of Proverbs that says an honest answer is like a kiss on the lips. To MacCullagh, I say, ‘“An honest witness tells the truth, but a false witness tells lies.”’

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