Do Half-Truths Count?

My best friend Victor lives in his own version of reality where angels fall from the sky, mysterious men in all black are constantly after him, and zombies come back from the grave with crazy superpowers. Sometimes it’s exhausting being his friend, but some nights he seems almost normal, and that’s when it pays off.

Like tonight. Victor’s sitting still, which never happens. He’s barely even bobbing his leg up and down. His hair is combed, his shirt is buttoned- it’s like he’s a completely different person. Still, that funny little slant to his mouth always gives him away, even when he’s playacting as the picture-perfect young scholar.

“Two truths and a lie,” he says.

“Victor, that’s a kid’s game,” I say. “I thought you wanted to go out tonight.”

“I do. I promise. Just humor me, Jude.”

I always do.

“You first,” Victor says.

“Give me a second to think,” I tell him.

“Sure, but it better be good.”

I’m tempted to blow this off, but Victor doesn’t react well when you blow him off, so I put some honest effort into coming up with my answers. “Okay, first one: my favorite movie is Dead Poets Society.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’ve been to three foreign countries.”

“That’s the lie,” he says.

“Let me finish! I’m allergic to bees.”

“Huh,” he says. “You’ve stumped me. I really don’t know. I’m gonna say bees.”

“Nope,” I say. With someone else, I might say, “Seriously? How don’t you know that I’m allergic to bees? We’ve been friends for ten years!” But Victor is kind of self-absorbed. I used to be annoyed by it, but now it’s just a fact of life.

“Oh, right,” he says. “That only happened in my head.” I have no idea what he’s referring to. A lot of things happen in Victor’s head. “The three countries one, then.”

“Wrong again. I hate Dead Poets Society.”

“I don’t watch movies,” Victor says. “Ready for mine?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Without hesitation, because he’s probably had these prepared since he woke up this morning, he says, “Truth: You’re my favorite person, Jude.”

Compliments from Victor are few and far between, so I let myself enjoy it.

“Lie: I'm allergic to bees.”

“Victor, I don’t think you’re supposed to tell me which one is the lie.”

“Truth: by the end of the night, one of us will be dead.”

I force a laugh, because how else can you respond to something like that? Besides, Victor loves making dramatic proclamations. That doesn’t mean there’s any truth to them, no matter what he says. “Can we go now?”

“Yeah,” he says, and it’s like a spell’s been broken. He puts on his shoes, runs a nervous hand through his hair, and flashes me a brilliant smile.

Outside, Maisie’s pulled up in her 2004 Toyota Camry, a car with few redeeming features, the speakers blaring. Her latest boyfriend wired it to sound like the inside of a club. Maisie loves her hobbyists. We slide into the backseat, and even though Tanner or Travis or whatever is vaping up an apple pie-flavored storm in the passenger seat, Victor doesn’t complain.

“Victor, you’ve met Trent, right?” Maisie asks as she pulls out of the lot.

“I think so. Didn’t we have a class together in freshman year?” This is the most normal thing I have ever heard him say.

“Maybe,” Trent grunts, offering me the pen, which i politely decline.

“Babe, put that thing away,” Maisie says. “Jude’s allergic, or something.”

“I get rashes,” I say, even though it’s not true.

We end up in an IHOP, and after that, one of those hippie stoner stores that smell so strongly of incense, it would overwhelm any vape cloud. Maisie’s elbow-deep in a bin full of crystals and geodes, Trent’s perusing a rack of baja hoodies, and Victor and I are pretending to be interested in these cheap zodiac symbol pendants.

“I’m pretty sure I’m a Libra,” Victor says. “I googled it once. Which one of these is the Libra sign?”

I’m about to respond that I have no idea when the power flicks off.

“Aw,” the cashier says gloomily. “Hey, I’m going to the back- don’t steal anything.”

“We won’t,” Maisie promises, even though I saw her pocket a chunk of rose quartz earlier.

We shuffle out to the car, and everywhere nearby has gone dark, too. I wonder what happened that caused the whole area to lose power.

“You’re my favorite person, Jude,” Victor says very quietly behind me.

I turn around, but he’s already falling backwards. Trent whips out an arm to catch him. I’m impressed- I didn’t expect him to have decent reflexes.

“Is he on something?” Maisie asks. “Besides, like, Adderall?”

I have no idea which pills Victor takes, but none of them have ever had the side effect of making him pass out, or- I frantically check his pulse, remembering what he said earlier, but thank god, he’s still alive. “We should probably take him to the hospital.”

Trent helps me get Victor into the car. I guess I can’t really dislike him anymore. He’s good in a crisis. Maisie looks up directions to the hospital, because she doesn’t know how to get anywhere by herself, and off we go.

I check to make sure Victor’s still breathing about every five seconds. As we get closer to the hospital, something about the air feels off somehow- like I can see it moving.

“Turn around! Turn the car around!” Victor shouts. He’s suddenly conscious again.

“You passed out, Victor. We need to get you to the hospital,” Maisie says.

“I’m fine,” Victor says. “But you need to turn this car around and drive in the other direction.”

“Why?” Maisie asks, returning her attention to the road. “Wait, are those...”

“Bugs,” Trent says. “A lot of them.”

“I think they’re...” Maisie closes the windows. “Bees.”

As soon as she says it, I know she’s right. I can hear a thousand, a million, a billion bees buzzing at once. They’re swarming around the hospital in the distance, and there’s so many of them that I can’t even see the building.

“I’m allergic to bees,” I say.

“Yeah, I guess we better turn around,” Maisie decides, taking a U-turn at the next light. It’s getting pretty dark, and without streetlights it’s difficult to see the road. If the bees don’t kill me, Maisie’s driving might.

“What would make so many bees swarm like that?” Trent wonders.

“There shouldn’t even be that many bees,” Maisie says. “They’re endangered.”

“I’ve never seen something like that when I’m sober. I must be tripping,” Trent says, staring out the back window.

“Drive faster,” Victor urges Maisie. “They’re coming after us.”

He’s right- there’s a group of bees that have broken off and are in hot pursuit of the car. Maisie slams on the gas. I search through my pockets for my Epipen, even though if I get stung more than once, it won’t do any good. For a moment, I stop worrying about Victor and start worrying about myself.

“Bees don’t behave like this,” I say. “That’s not normal. I’m probably just dreaming or something.”

“Come on, Jude.” Victor’s eyes are dazed and unfocused, but he turns his head toward me. “It’s not a dream.”

“Did you know this would happen?” I ask him.

“Not this exactly,” he says. “Something like it.”

It’s strange how his lie was about bees, and now there’s a swarm of them chasing us through the streets. But Victor didn’t bring up bees, I remember. He just repeated me. It’s a funny coincidence.

“I can make it stop, I think,” he says.

Then the car spins out of control.

In Maisie’s defense, the bees have blocked the windshield. Still, I can’t help but be a little angry at her. None of us gets out.

“I don’t know what to do,” Maisie says. “Do we just wait them out?”

“Victor, explain what you just said to me,” I say. “You’re not messing around?”

“I can take care of it,” Victor says. “Watch.” He reaches for the door handle, and Maisie deftly smacks the child lock.

“Did you not hear Jude? They’re allergic! Do not open that door!” she says like she’s speaking to a child.

“They’re stinging the windows,” Trent observes. “They’re gonna break through.”

I suppose I should be panicking, but I just look to Victor. “Humor me,” he says,

and I always do.

I nod, and he picks up his phone and types something out before reaching for the lock on Maisie’s door. He flicks it open before she can protest. He’s out of the car, and not one bee slips in during his exit- they all go for him.

I can’t see anything because the window is covered with bees, but after a little bit the swarm disperses quickly, and Victor is nowhere to be found.

He’s not on the ground, and Maisie and Trent report that he’s not a short distance away. They insist that I stay in the car in case there’s any stray bees remaining in the area. Trent’s still convinced that he’s hallucinated the whole thing, and I’m not sure I haven’t. In fact, when I return to our apartment later that night, I half-expect Victor to be waiting for me with something batshit crazy to say.

It doesn’t really hit me that he’s gone until the morning. That’s when I finally call the police and tell them he’s missing- I don’t know what I was thinking, not calling it in last night. Once that awful phone call is over, I check my messages and see one from Victor from last night. I don’t know how I missed it.

It says: Maybe I told you one and a half lies.

I text back: What do you mean? Even though for all I know his phone’s still in the back of Maisie’s car- I don’t know if he took it with him. Two hours later, I still haven’t moved from the couch when the reply comes. It’s from a different number that I don’t have saved, but I know it’s him.

He says: You’ll see.