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Flash 9: Blacklist
275 words
Betrayal
“Are they insane?”
Jeremy just shakes his head, not saying anything.
I re-read the letter – Hah! The summons – that arrived in the mail that day.
“Why do they think we’re—”
“I dunno, Sal,” he murmurs, not looking at me. “I don’t know.”
For a minute – maybe longer – we don’t say anything at all. He stares at the table in the other room, and I stare at the letter in my hand, and neither of us says a single word.
But I have to ask it, eventually, almost whispering the words, not wanting to say them loudly enough to make them real.
“What happens,” I ask, “If we’re convicted…?”
Jeremy shrugs.
“Jail time? Fines? I’ll probably lose my job. You’d loose your scholarship… It could be anything.”
“How… How do you think they found out…?” I ask, and my voice is even smaller, now. I don’t really want to know the answer.
“Someone must have found out about us,” he answers. “Someone must have known.”
I look at the letter again, addressed to Mr. Salvador J. Perez, that had been delivered to my house.
Someone – someone who knew one or both of us well enough to know our names and where we lived – had let our secret out.
Jer might get through it. Mr. Jeremy T. Waters, who’s as American as apple pie, who would believe he’s a communist? But me? My parents are Cuban for god’s sake. There’s no way I’ll get out of this without someone branding me a commie for the rest of my life.
I reach for his hand, squeezing his fingers, lightly, and wonder who it was who betrayed us.
275 words
Betrayal
“Are they insane?”
Jeremy just shakes his head, not saying anything.
I re-read the letter – Hah! The summons – that arrived in the mail that day.
“Why do they think we’re—”
“I dunno, Sal,” he murmurs, not looking at me. “I don’t know.”
For a minute – maybe longer – we don’t say anything at all. He stares at the table in the other room, and I stare at the letter in my hand, and neither of us says a single word.
But I have to ask it, eventually, almost whispering the words, not wanting to say them loudly enough to make them real.
“What happens,” I ask, “If we’re convicted…?”
Jeremy shrugs.
“Jail time? Fines? I’ll probably lose my job. You’d loose your scholarship… It could be anything.”
“How… How do you think they found out…?” I ask, and my voice is even smaller, now. I don’t really want to know the answer.
“Someone must have found out about us,” he answers. “Someone must have known.”
I look at the letter again, addressed to Mr. Salvador J. Perez, that had been delivered to my house.
Someone – someone who knew one or both of us well enough to know our names and where we lived – had let our secret out.
Jer might get through it. Mr. Jeremy T. Waters, who’s as American as apple pie, who would believe he’s a communist? But me? My parents are Cuban for god’s sake. There’s no way I’ll get out of this without someone branding me a commie for the rest of my life.
I reach for his hand, squeezing his fingers, lightly, and wonder who it was who betrayed us.
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