All Forms of Brevity

If you're going to get lost somewhere on foot, don't get lost in Quantico. And if you do, don't do it with two handguns on your person after having just incapacitated two Marine guards. It's torture on your nerves.

I got back to my car after half an hour of hoofing it, nobody seeming to care about me. The base seemed deserted, and I wondered if the military in fact took weekends off. I only saw two other people the whole time, and neither of them seemed to notice me. All the walking reminded me of my early years of high school, when on warm days I'd walk home instead of taking the bus. This was bearable because of digital audio players and headphones. Without either of those, walking seems crude and pointless.

When I arrived at my car at last, I opened the door and used it for cover while I removed the two guns from myself and hold them awkwardly with one hand while I got in the car and shut the door. Amy had her seat reclined all the way back and seemed to be trying to find some measure of comfort; a pointless endeavor in an American sports car. Sitting in the driver's seat, I looked the two guns over briefly, confirmed that they were Beretta 92s, and only for a moment wondered how I'd known before. I couldn't be sure if it wasn't just my own unique situation, but I was quite certain that every teenage boy's dream is to hold the same gun in both hands. Berettas akimbo. Thanks, video games.

Amy leaned her seat back up and watch me drop the clips from both guns at the same time (another fantasy) and set the two guns in the back seat next to the USP. Nice little collection I was starting.

"Have a good time?" Amy asked, looking back at my new arsenal.

I opened my mouth, ready to say something, but I couldn't think of a thing to say. I still wasn't sure how much of Schumer's story I believed, but even if it was all true it wasn't something I could condense into a few sentences.

So I sat there, my face frozen in an expression of mid-speech. Amy waited for noises to come out, then ran her eyes around the inside of the car as if looking for the remote to turn my volume up. She pulled my cell phone from the center cup holder and handed it to me, saying, "Your mom called."

As if I'd forgotten each, the fact that my mom was supposed to come home today flashed into my mind, then the fact that home wouldn't be there.

"Called me?" I asked.
"Your phone," she said.
"Did you answer it?"
"I did."
"What did she say?"
"'Who's this?'"
"And what did you say?"
"'Amy'."
"And she--"
"'Amy who?' 'A friend of Chris.' 'Where's Chris?' 'Meeting with someone.' 'Meeting with who.' 'Someone in Quantico. 'Oh.' 'Yeah.' 'So he's alright.' 'As far as I know.' 'Ok, could you have him call me back as soon as he can?' 'Ok.' End of communication."
"You told her I was here?" I said.
"Yeah, I didn't really know what else I could say. I didn't know what would be believable for you."

I sighed, not knowing either, and called my mom's cell phone from my own. It rang once.

"Chris?"
"Yes."
"What are you-- oh, God, so you're alright?"
"I... am. Are you back in town."
"Yes. I mean I, I'm at the police station. Do you know what happened to the house?"
The phone felt hot on my ear. "Oh that, it's this whole... thing. I can't really talk now, I'll come meet you at the police station in 45 minutes or so."

I hung up, started the car, and drove out.

"The police station?" Amy asked.
"Oh... no," I said in realization, "I'm trying to avoid them, aren't I?"
"That's what I thought."
"My mom's there, though, so if they still think the dead cop in Lorton was my fault they'll have already told her. And the fact that you called 911 last night saying there were guys with guns at my house."
"Should you call the FBI people? Maybe they can keep the police off you like they did before."

The FBI. If what Schumer said was right, the FBI may have been the ones who killed my dad. Or responsible for it, or something. I didn't know, what I really needed was a few hours to just sit down and process everything I'd been told.

"Chris?" Amy said after I'd said nothing.
"What?" I'd just pulled onto the highway.
"FBI?" she repeated.
"I don't think--" I started, "What was our working theory for what's going on with my dad and the money and me and all this?"
"Umm, I think we were at him being a spy and getting killed overseas."
"And about me?"
"Stress plus super movie-fight-scene-absorbing powers?"
"Had we ever brought up brain washing?"
"I think it may have come up once."
"Well, whoever came up with that one gets horseshoe points for being closest."
"Huh?"