CHAPTER FIVE

“When can I come home?” asked Archie, staring at his father. He had a bottle of whiskey in his hand and a dozen empty bottles of beer on the table in front of him.

“Archie, you can’t come home until we can get this matter cleared up for you.”

“It can’t get cleared up unless that bitch tells them she lied about me confessing to the wreck!”

“It’s not just Khloe, Archie. There were witnesses that saw you there. I keep telling you that you need to get your face changed. We can wipe your prints, we can change your features, give you a new start, all of it,” said his father.

“Then what, Dad? Do I just pop up with an alias and hope to be a lawyer again? Run for office with no history at all?”

“You know that we can create all of that and make sure that you have a new start to your life. You’re being stubborn about this, Archie. Men reinvent themselves all the time and do just fine. Staying hidden is no life, you know that.” He looked at the bottle and then at the table of empties. “You’ve got to get that under control, Archie.”

“I like being drunk, Dad. It’s the only time I can truly be myself. Besides, it dulls the pain,” he said with sarcasm.

“We’re all in pain, Archie. Your mother, me, everyone. Your actions affected everyone, not just you.”

“Yes, but you get to keep living your life,” he snarled. “You and Mother still go about your business. Attend fundraisers and dinners. Go to the country club. And my friends? Fine fucking friends they are. They don’t even send notes with my daddy.”

“Our life? Our life!” he yelled. “We don’t have a life thanks to you, Archie. Your mother and I don’t go to the club any longer. We don’t have dinner with friends because they don’t want to have dinner with the parents of a killer! We have no damn life! Your friends extricated themselves from your life because they can’t afford to be known as your friends. Besides, you were never a friend, Archie. You were a user. I don’t know what we did wrong, but we obviously didn’t do something right.”

Archie stared at his father, wanting to feel sorry for him, but he couldn’t. He started drinking in law school when his parents were already putting pressure on him to become a senator. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want that pressure. He wanted none of it!

“Forgive me if I don’t feel apologetic for you and Mom,” he said, staring at his father.

“I don’t know what else to do for you, Archie. You need to have the facial reconstruction, and then we can work out a background for you. I’ll hire you in the firm, and we’ll build you up from there.”

“And what about me? What about Archibald Mansur Jr.? Do I just get forgotten about and disappear to the world?”

His father said nothing, pulling on the warm coat and gloves. The mountains were cold, and this cabin wasn’t exactly the warmest place to hide out. But it was Archie’s great-uncle’s place, and no one knew it even existed. He’d built it himself a half-century ago, and now it was Archie’s penance, his torture to live here.

“I’ll come back and see you in two weeks. Figure it out, Archie, or there will be nothing I can do for you.”

When his father left the cabin, Archie threw the half-full bottle of whiskey against the wall and cursed his fate. Once a week, groceries and liquor were delivered to his doorstep by someone from his father’s office, no questions asked. He’d have to have them come early this week or go into town on his own.

“I will get my life back. One way or another.”