The Anonymous Source by A.C. Fuller

not send it to the defense attorney?”
    “Lawyers?” Downton laughed. “Either way it leads back to me.”
    “So, like I said before, why now?”
    “The two cops showed back up. Got the sense they really wanted their camera back. Figured if I brought it to a reporter, people could see it for what it is.”
    “But if I put out the video,” Alex said, “it will still lead back to the park that night. To you.”
    The voices in the background grew louder and Downton’s grew softer. “Maybe, but it’s just time. Never knew the city would make such a big deal outta this Santiago kid. I seen how the papers made him out to be a monster, talkin’ about him torturing bugs, watching porn all the time. But I thought somehow he’d get off since I knew they had the wrong guy. But when those two cops came back? Well, I’m not sure I’ll be around long enough to get in trouble anyway. That’s why you gotta get me into a Knicks practice as soon as possible.”
    Alex clicked off the recorder and lay down on his bed. He stared at the black speck on the ceiling. In the coffee shop he had been angry, but he realized now that Downton was right—the video might not lead to Santiago’s release. He knew he couldn’t use Downton as the only source in a story, but no one else could verify his account. If Santiago was innocent, he needed another source. And he needed to see that video.
    He thought of the strange call from the day before, opened his laptop, and searched for “John 12:25.” After clicking a few dead links, he found a site that listed bible verses with interpretations from different pastors. The complete passage read, “He who loveth his life shall lose it; and he who hateth his life in this world shall keep it unto life eternal.” Most thought the verse meant that if we love our worldly life—the life of sin—we’ll lose our eternal life in heaven. Instead, we should recognize the limits of temporal life and turn our attention to Jesus. But one new age pastor Alex read had an opposite interpretation. He wrote that the passage was about suicide and reincarnation. If we live this life correctly, it will be our last, and we will end the cycle of reincarnation. But if we hate our lives in the world—if we don’t value the gift of life—we might kill ourselves and be damned to continue the life we hate again and again, back on earth.
    Alex had no idea how any of this could be relevant to Santiago, or to anything else, and fell asleep reading an article about how 9/11 had ended the popularity of boy bands.

Chapter Eighteen
    DEMARCUS DOWNTON leaned back in an old brown recliner and turned on SportsCenter. His apartment was a one bedroom on the first floor of a four-story brownstone in Brooklyn Heights. He had only one small window that faced the street and was covered with bars.
    Sirens wailed and Downton turned up his TV. “The Knicks are going to suck again this year,” he muttered. “Jordan’s out of the league and they still can’t win the east.”
    He heard a knock at the door and muted the TV. “Neese, is that you?” He picked up his gun from the table beside the recliner and slid it into his belt as he walked toward the door. “I know the TV is loud. Deal with it. I’m already depressed about the Knicks and the season hasn’t even started.” The sirens grew louder as he peered through the peephole, his left hand on the gun at his waist. Seeing nothing but the empty street, he slid the deadbolt.
    An ambulance sped past his building as he opened the door. Downton turned away from the deafening shriek of the siren just as he felt his knee shatter. He wobbled forward as a scream caught in his throat, then fell onto his back into the apartment. His gun hit the floor and slid across the room.
    Looking up, Downton saw what he thought was a child standing over him dressed in black jeans, a white t-shirt, and sunglasses. He heard the door slam shut as the pain in his knee coursed through his whole body. He