Installment 10

            Double digits. What do you know about that? I made it.

            I know it’s probably really annoying by now how I’m always so surprised that I’m still alive. It probably seems like I’m trying to act like my situation is more dangerous than it really is, or maybe I just want attention.

            Go ahead and believe that. Actually, that’s a great idea. Believe that.

            Even if it isn’t true.

            Anyway…I’m off track. Back to the story.

            Clara had things planned out well, and she was right about the police. By the time it neared ten o’clock, the police had cleared out, apparently deciding that we would not surface here. While we sat in our little back room, waiting for ten, I told Clara about my little escapade. Naturally, she was annoyed -- but also curious as to what I had found out.

            I told her about what Travis said, about me being a tool. And as I said it, a few puzzle pieces came together in my head.

Obviously, Travis Thatcher had me framed. He as good as admitted it. But the question was, why? Why me? What was this program “Back Door?” Why was this complicated system guarding it?

Well, one question was answered: Travis wasn’t working for himself. We knew that for certain. Both he and Larson were working for someone higher up.

“But why would he frame me?” I asked in frustration.

Clara laced her fingers together in her lap. “Well, let’s see what we do know. We know that Travis Thatcher framed you for hacking into his computer system.”

“Which is guarding some program called Back Door,” I added.

“He’s only using you as…what did he say again?”

I tried to remember his exact words. “He said that I was a way to attach a name to an image so that nobody found out about the real image. Or something like that.”

“That sounds like he’s trying to cover up the real hacker,” Clara said slowly.

I shook my head. “That doesn’t make sense. It’s his system. If someone hacked into it…”

I trailed off. Both of us were suddenly hit with how few facts we had. We barely had any information about the alleged hacker, the alleged system, or the alleged program.

Wait…

“We do know one thing,” I said suddenly. “We know that it’s supposed to be a matter of national security.”

Clara frowned. “I don’t know…they seemed pretty loose about you. If it were national security…”

I shrugged. “Clara, listen. If it were national security, real national security, then there would be a huge fuss. But they wanted to frame me, remember? Travis wasn’t even all that secretive about it. And he also said that I would be just as good a fugitive as jailed.”

“But Larson was also freaking out about you escaping,” Clara pointed out.

“He might be just scared of getting into trouble. That’s what it sounded like.”

We both fell silent, pondering the questions and what few answers we had.

I had not told Clara about Travis saying my name after Larson left. It didn’t seem like valuable information, and somehow, it seemed private. Like a connection I had with Travis.

Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t want a connection with the man who framed me. But on the other hand, he had said that I wasn’t any good on my own. I was just a tool, a kid to pin the crime on. So it gave me some amount of pleasure to think that my name meant something to him, that I wasn’t just “the kid.” Then again, he had also said he didn’t like it.

But was he talking about the name?

If I were back in that position right now, I would tell Clara about it. If I could go back and tell her, I would. But I didn’t, because back then, I didn’t fully trust Clara Stone.

I would learn to trust her with my life in the next few weeks.

At ten o’clock, we left the back room and made our way to the now crowded station. Outside, I didn’t notice any police cars. Clara had done it. We bought the tickets using money Clara provided -- when I asked her where she got it, she gave me a look that clearly said not to ask -- and we just barely made it onto the bus before it departed.

This particular bus station was a pretty big bus station. I may have lived in a small town, but obviously the mayor took pride in our bus transportation system. At the time, I was glad. This way, it would be harder for anyone to tell exactly where we were going, in case anyone tried to follow us.

Just before we left, I glanced out of the bus window and, to my horror, recognized a figure standing on the platform, watching us.

“Clara!” I whispered fiercely. Clara glanced over.

“What? What is it?” she asked, confused.

But I didn’t answer. The bus had already begun to move, and the damage was done. There was nothing I could do.

But to my surprise, the lonely figure of Travis Thatcher didn’t run to inform anyone of our imminent departure. He didn’t even look distressed.

Instead, Travis smiled his crooked half smile as Clara and I escaped.

And waved.

-Nathan T. Dalton