Page 149 of The Five Year Lie

Nervous, I follow him. He heads into the bedroom, and then into the closet.

“Wow. This reallyisa fortress.” The motion-sensitive lighting illuminates shelves of gear on the walls. He plucks some kind of vest off a hook and straps it on.

Jesus.My eyes dart around the odd little room. Some camo clothing hangs on a rack. There’s camping gear, too—sleeping bags, and a duffel bag with a lock on it. I spot a filing cabinet and tug open the top drawer. It’s full of file folders.

JUDGE KERRY: METADATAreads the first one.SHAWMUT STREET WARRANTreads the next.

“Hold on,” I sputter. “This is a wholetroveof evidence.”

He grunts an acknowledgment. “I’ve got to head outside. Can we talk about this later?”

“You said you didn’t make it out of Maine with the evidence! There must be a hundred file folders here.”

“Baby—”

“Don’tbabyme. You had this when you left Maine? Yes or no? Donotlie to me.”

His eyes dip. “Yeah, I did.”

“And you didn’t use it? Why? Because you were saving your own ass?”

Those blue eyes flash with irritation.“Yes!Now can you just let me save it again, please? Now isnotthe time.” He steps out of the closet, and I follow, hot on his heels.

We’re on the landing when Woody yells, “Intruder! Ariel—take Buzz upstairs. Now.”

Even before I can process the sound of Woody’s voice, Jay has bounded down the stairs and scooped Buzz off the floor.

“But I’mplayinghere!” my son protests.

I meet him at the bottom of the stairs, taking Buzz in my arms. “Come with me. Your daddy needs you to go upstairs.”

“My daddy?”

I’m already climbing as Woody says, “South perimeter. White male. Camo jacket, baseball hat...”

Before I run into the bedroom, I turn around and glance over the banister for one last look at Jay. He’s unholstering a gun and shoving something into his ear. “Keep talking,” he says to Woody. Then he heads out of sight, in the direction of the kitchen door.

My stomach bottoms out. I make myself walk into the bedroom, close the door and bolt it. I set Buzz down on the bed.

But then I don’t know what to do, and I don’t know what to tell my child. He’s already looking at me for answers. “What are theydoing, Mama? Did Woody see a man on the screen?”

“I think so.” My voice is shaky.

“Jay has the scar right here,” Buzz says, pointing at his cheek beneath his left eye. “He was a soldier.”

I don’t say anything. I just hold him close. Until we hear the sound of a gunshot. It’s so loud we both startle.“Oh my God.”

Buzz starts to cry.

“Baby, it’s okay.” I cuddle him against my body. “I’m sorry. This is scary. Jay shot the gun to scare the other man away.” As I say these words, I realize they’re possibly true.

Since the windows are open, I can hear the rumble of Woody’s voice drifting upward. The words are indistinct. But it sounds like he’s talking to Jay, keeping him up to date on the intruder’s whereabouts.

Then I hear a second gunshot.

I have never been so scared.

“Mama, is my daddy okay?” Buzz babbles.