The Truth of the Matter Read Online Free PDF

injustice of it. I couldn’t remember Alex dying. Until I got the truth out of Sherman, I sometimes worried I might really have killed him. But I did remember what happened with Sherman. “He was alive when I left him, I swear it. The Homelanders must have found him. They must’ve punished him for letting me get away. I can’t believe Detective Rose is blaming that on me too.”
    Waterman answered with a slight sniff. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “We’re going to find out all about that,” he said. “We’re both going to find out all about everything.”
    That didn’t sound good. I felt a nauseating gout of fear as I wondered what was coming next.
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” I said.
    Without answering, Waterman walked across the room to an empty spot on the wall underneath one of the monitors and in between two of the workstations. Once more, he moved his palm over the space. Once more, I tried to follow the movement, the pattern of diagonals and straight lines. It reminded me of something, but I couldn’t place it.
    Once more, as he finished, there was the hum of a motor. A door that had been invisible swung open. A light came on automatically within the next room.
    Waterman gestured to the opening.
    “Welcome to the Panic Room,” he said.

CHAPTER FIVE

The Panic Room
    I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. No way I wanted to go through that door, to go into that place. But I was surrounded. There was no getting out of it.
    I walked into the Panic Room.
    It was a small, square, stark space. Looked like a prison cell. Four white walls, a metal chest against one wall, a cot against another, a metal toilet, a metal sink, a metal chair in the center of the floor.
    I didn’t like the metal chair especially. Just the sight of it sent a new pulse of fear through me. It reminded me of how all this had started. I’d gone to bed one night and awakened strapped to a metal chair just like that one. Two Homelander goons had been torturing me. There were so many memories I wished I could get back, but that was one memory I wished I could get rid of forever.
    Waterman and Dodger Jim came into the room behind me. Dodger Jim made a motion with his hand, and the electric door swung shut, becoming an invisible part of the wall again. I felt light-headed in the small space, helpless to stop what was happening.
    Waterman stood to my right. Dodger Jim was to my left, holding the gun on me.
    “This is the way it is, Charlie,” Waterman said. There was no tone, no emotion to his voice at all now. “We’re going to handcuff you to that chair . . .”
    The fear flared higher. “Why? What for? Who are you people?” I said.
    “Shut up,” said Dodger Jim.
    “Either you can just sit down and let us do it, or we can do it by force,” said Waterman. “Whichever you choose, the result is going to be the same.”
    I took a deep breath. I nodded, as if I agreed with him. And the fact was: I knew he was probably right. But I didn’t care whether he was right or not. There was just no way on this planet I was going to let them handcuff me to that chair without a fight. Once I was there, it was over. Once they had me cuffed, I had no chance at all.
    “Look,” I said, “if you have something to ask me, why don’t you just ask? I have nothing to hide.”
    “We have to be sure,” said Waterman. “Get in the chair, Charlie.”
    I put my hands up as if to surrender. “Okay,” I said.
    Then I pivoted, fast, and sent a snapping roundhouse kick at Dodger Jim’s gun hand.
    The gun went flying—and then Waterman was on me. He was big, fast, tough—and a real fighter. I tried to chop at his throat, but he blocked it hard and got my arm in a lock. He got his foot behind me and, as he hit me in the chest with his hand, his foot came swinging back and swept my feet out from under me.
    I flew backward, landing hard on the floor. I gave a loud “Oof!” as the wind rushed out of me. In the next instant,