Oh, it's been far too long. Hello! Thank you all so much for sticking with me. A huge thank you goes out to my ever lovely reviewers: ThePurpleFrockCoat, TheFrenchShore, and Ernold Same for all of your kind words.

Chapter 24: Truth.

After a lot of hesitation and second guessing, Matt had finally shipped his manuscript off to be reviewed by publishers. He still felt uneasy about allowing such a personal story to be made public, but he knew he'd made the right decision. As he'd said before, Clara would want it this way.

He had managed to mend his relationship with Jack over the past month. He wouldn't say their friendship wasn't rocky at this point, but it was on its way to improvement. And finally, after weeks of silence, he'd managed to get an audience with his sister.

Matt drummed his fingers across the table as he sat waiting for Jenny in a remote corner of her favorite restaurant. He hated eating here, but he had barely been able to get his sister to agree to see him, so he knew he could tolerate it.

His stomach fluttered as Jenny entered the restaurant, and he waved a hand to get her attention.

She didn't look at all pleased to see him as she slowly walked over to his table and sat down.

"Thanks for meeting me," Matt said.

"Don't mention it," she answered tersely.

They fell into an awkward silence.

"Hello, my name's Allie, I'll be your server today. What can I start you folks off with?" The waitress clicked her pen as she stopped at their table.

"Just water for me," Jenny said.

"Make that two," Matt answered.

Allie nodded and swiftly walked away.

Matt glanced back at Jenny. "So—"

"You lied to me," his sister interrupted him with anger in her voice.

He swallowed. "I know."

"All I wanted to do was help you, I was staying with you—freely giving up my personal time to take care of you—and you repay me by lying to me?" Her voice raised in pitch as she continued on her rant. "John, how could you do that?"

Matt looked down at his hands. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" Her voice was disbelieving.

"Have you ever grieved for someone close to you, Jen? Someone who was closer to you than anyone?" Matt's voice wasn't accusatory or even defensive. It scared him a little that he could ask her such a question in a flat, unfeeling tone.

His sister paused, and pursed her lips. "You weren't the only one close with Clara, John."

He shook his head. "No, I know that. But she was my wife, Jenny, I knew her in ways no one else did. And she understood me in ways no one else ever could. Have you ever grieved for someone like that? Someone so close to you they had become an extension of yourself?"

Jenny stared at him for a long time. "I suppose not."

Matt flexed his fingers and forced himself to keep eye contact. "It's not a valid excuse, but…I wasn't rational, Jen. I wanted space, I knew you all meant well, but I needed time to myself. At the time, lying seemed like the only way to get you to leave. It wasn't kind, it wasn't rational, but it made sense at the time."

His sister's eyes searched his face for a moment, before she reached out a hand. "You should have just said something, Johnny Boy. You should know by now that lying to me never works."

His lips twitched into the smallest of smiles as he took her hand. "I suppose I should have."

Jenny pulled her hand back. "It's going to take some time for me to forgive you this time, though. You can't keep doing this to us, John."

Matt's heart fell, but he nodded. "I understand."

She glanced away. "Just…give me some space for now, yeah? I can't speak for mum, but I know I need a break for now."

Matt nodded. "I understand."

Jenny's hand tapped against the table. "So um…you missed a lot while you were on your break."

He raised his eyebrows. "Did I?"

"Yeah, I uh…" She coughed. "I got into contact with one of my birthparents. My mother, actually."

Matt couldn't help it, he smiled. "That's wonderful, Jenny."

She bit her lip. "Matt, there was a reason I haven't wanted to contact her."

Matt blinked, and pulled down his eyebrows. "What?"

His sister sighed. "I've been with the Tyler's for so long I almost forgot what she was like…my mum…is not a good person, Matt." She stared down at her hands. "Imagine your father and add on kleptomania. That'll give you a good idea of who my mother is."

He swallowed, and reached out to squeeze her hand. "I'm so sorry, Jen."

She brushed him off. "It's fine. She's doing better now from what I can tell. She lives in a home, and from what her caretakers tell me she's been a model patient."

"That's good, isn't it?" Matt prompted when she didn't continue.

Jenny shrugged. "I s'pose so. It's better than the alternative."

As Matt sat and struggled to think of something to say he couldn't help but be reminded that there was still so much he didn't know about his adopted sister. He knew that the Tylers had adopted her when she was thirteen, and that she'd lived in and out of foster homes since she was eight, but Jenny had never offered to paint in the rest of the picture and neither Matt nor his parents had ever forced her to. The three of them had all understood what it was like to have a past, and that most things were better left in just that—the past.

He hesitantly leaned forward. "For what it's worth—and I know it's not worth much, but…I'm sorry."

Her eyes flicked back up to his, and a small smile touched her lips. "Thanks, John."

John Matthew Smith was not his father.

Paul Smith was an abusive alcoholic that had torn apart Matt's world. He was the reason behind his mother's death; Matt knew that for a fact. He was what had driven her so deeply into her depression that she had seen no hope for herself. He had murdered Matt's mother, and for that Matt would never forgive him.

But Matthew Smith was not his father. He was successful, he rarely drank, and most importantly he never laid a hand on anyone—man, woman, or child.

No, Matt Smith was not his father. So why then, was he so afraid to knock on his door?

Matt let his finger press against the buzzer to Paul's building, and waited.

"Randy, if that's you then you should know I—" his father yanked open the door with a red, angry face that quickly melted into shock. "Oh."

Matt shifted on his feet. "Um…I was just in the neighborhood, and I—I, um…I thought I would stop by and, well, check in."

Paul blinked. "I thought you didn't want to see me."

Matt scratched the back of his neck. "I don't."

His father's eyes squinted in confusion. "Then why are you here?"

Matt opened his mouth to speak, and instead took a step back. "You're right. I shouldn't be here." All the reasons why he had been putting this meeting off were racing through Matt's head as he turned to leave.

And then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Wait," Paul said. "It's been so long…I tried calling your foster parents to try to get in touch with you but they wouldn't give me a number…please Matt, I just…I want to talk. Can I at least have ten minutes with my son?"

Matt closed his eyes, but turned around. "Ten minutes."

He felt as though his feet were on autopilot as he followed Paul into the apartment. The tiny space was filthy to say the least. The paint was peeling in most areas, the tiny front room was barely furnished but covered in old cans and take out boxes, and the smell was enough to make Matt gag. But, from what he could see, there wasn't a bottle of alcohol to be found.

"Please sit down," Paul offered as he shoved a pile of dirty laundry off of a sagging couch.

Matt gingerly sat down on the piece of furniture, and watched as Paul pulled up a fold up chair across from him.

He swallowed. "So…"

His father sucked in his cheeks and the familiar nervous tick made Matt's skin crawl. "I never got to extend my condolences last time we spoke. For your wife."

Matt's back stiffened at the mention of Clara. "No, you didn't."

Paul clamped his hands together. "I'm sorry, Matt, I really am."

Matt clenched his teeth together, but granted his father a sharp nod. "Thanks."

Paul studied him for a moment, and then sat up straight. "Well, I know you didn't just come here to talk to me. What can I do for you?"

Matt shook his head. "Nothing, I…" He stood. "I don't really know why I came here." He turned to leave.

"Matt, wait," Paul called out. "Please, can't we just talk a little longer?"

Matt pulled in a shaky breath. "I don't think that's a very good idea."

Paul stood. "I've been doing better, you know. Look, they even gave me one of them button things for hitting the five-year mark. I've been clean and sober since…" He trailed off.

Matt glanced back at the button. "Happy to hear it. If you'll excuse me, I think I should go." He headed for the door again in swift strides.

"Matt," Paul called after him as he shoved himself out of the front door.

He sighed heavily, but turned around. "Yeah?"

"I just wanted you to know…I'm proud of you, son. Your, uh, your foster dad used to send me updates about how you were doing every now and then. I'm proud of the man you've become."

Matt stared at his father for a moment, and then snorted. "No thanks to you." He quickly spun around, and jogged for his car.

It seemed only too natural that he would end up at her headstone after the meeting with his father. He had no idea why he had thought going to see Paul was ever a good idea in the first place. Maybe it was because her anniversary had passed not too long ago, or maybe it was because he heard Jenny talking about her birthmother, but whatever the reason was, he was regretting the decision now.

Matt felt a smile tug on his lips as he placed the flowers he'd hastily bought onto her gravestone. "I'm sorry I haven't been by to visit you more, mum, but you know how people talk when a young man spends all his time in a graveyard." He chuckled at his bad joke, and the smile quickly fell from his face.

"I saw Paul today," he whispered, "I know, I know, it was a bad decision but you know how I get around this time. Not that that's any excuse, of course…"

He sighed. "I wish you were here, mum. I miss you."

Matt would have liked to believe that she was still there with him in some way. He wanted to believe that, somehow, his mum was still watching over him. Part of him wanted to smile at the thought that she and Clara were probably together laughing at him over a pot of tea, but lately that was getting harder and harder to do.

He sighed again, and headed back for his car.

That night he came home to a very empty, very silent flat.

Matt dropped his keys into the dish and grabbed the mail he'd received that day as he headed towards his study.

He glanced down at the envelopes in his hands, and froze. One of the letters was from Bloomsbury Publishing.

Matt tore the envelope open without hesitation.

"Thank you for sending your manuscript, duh, duh….we regret to inform you that, while we enjoyed your novel, we have decided not to publish it at this time…"

He let out a short breath, and crumpled the letter in his hands. "It's only the first," he reminded himself, "everyone gets rejected by the first. Right?" He spun on his heel, and was met with empty space.

He sighed. He hated not having Clara here to share this with him.

Matt tossed the letter into a bin and headed for his kitchen. His brain went on autopilot as he went through the motions of making tea.

As soon as he'd put the kettle on, Matt headed for his lounge. He settled into the couch with a huff, and flipped the television on. He seemed to be doing that more and more lately—distracting himself with television.

He drummed his fingers against his leg. The silence was starting the make his skin crawl.

"Sod it," he grumbled, and darted into his study. He snatched up the copy of his manuscript he had lying on his desk and grabbed his pen. He had been meticulously writing notes for edits in the margins ever since it was finished, and he couldn't seem to make himself stop. Even now, when the full novel was being read by publishers, he couldn't make himself give up his obsession.

"It's not an obsession," he mumbled to himself, and began his editing.

It wasn't until much later in the night that he found it within himself to put his work down. His third cup of tea sat ice cold and untouched beside him, and his eyes felt strained under the dim light of his work lamp.

He sighed, and smacked his pen down onto the table. "I know, I know, I need some rest." He could hear her voice in his ear chastising him for allowing himself to stay up so late when he had work in the morning.

"There's just one thing I need to do first…" He murmured, and pulled out his mobile.

Matt had no idea what prompted him to call her. He knew she was angry with him. He knew she probably didn't want to speak to him for a long time, but right now, he knew he needed her more than ever. He knew that was selfish after all he'd put her through, but Matt couldn't stop himself from calling her.

"Hello?"

He swallowed. "It's me, mum."

The line was quiet for long enough that Matt started to wonder if she had hung up on him. "What do you want, Matthew?"

"I just—" He felt a wave of surprise wash over him when tears stung at the back of his eyes. "I'm sorry, mum, I'm so—" He pulled in a shaky breath, and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

"Matt?" All of the anger in Rose's voice melted into concern. "John, are you alright? Where are you?"

Matt tried to regain control of himself with a deep breath. "I'm fine, I'm at home, I just…mum, I'm so sorry. I never should have lied to you, I never should have—" The lump that had abruptly bubbled up into is throat forced him to stop speaking.

"Shh, Matthew, shh, it's alright. It's alright, sweetheart. Can you take a deep breath for me?"

Matt struggled to breathe with the slow pace she set, but managed to calm himself after a few deep and even breaths.

"Listen to me Matthew, it's okay. Jenny explained your reasoning to me, and although I'm hurt that you felt the need to lie to me, I understand. I forgive you, Matt, and I love you. You do know that right? I love you so much. You're my son, Matt; you don't need to lie to me. If you need anything all you ever have to do is ask. I would have backed off if I'd known, Matt, I'm only worried about you. I just…" She let out a shaky breath of her own. "I just want to see you happy again, love. That's all."

Matt felt a very small smile creep onto his face. He would be forever grateful for his mum's kind heart. "I love you, mum."

"I love you too, sweetheart," she answered with warmth in her voice.

"I'll see you soon, yeah?"

He could almost hear her smile through the line. "Come see us anytime."

"Goodnight, mum."

"Goodnight, Matt."

"Good evening Ms. Higgins!" Matt called out as he passed his neighbor on his way to his front door with his arms filled with groceries.

The old woman glared at him. "Next time you have friends coming over I'd like a little warning."

Matt stopped on his stairs, and his eyebrows pulled down in confusion. "What?"

Ms. Higgins scoffed at his reaction. "Oh don't play dumb. I heard your friend blunder in here. They said you gave them a key."

"I most certainly did not give anyone a key." Matt nearly dropped his groceries as he reached for his mobile. "Did they take anything? Did they threaten you?"

The woman's eyes widened a little. "Not that I know of. They just stormed into your flat and left."

"Can you tell me what they looked like?"

She shook her head. "It was a woman, I know that much, but I never got a look at her face."

"Okay, I'm going to call my friend Detective Smith. She'll look into this." Matt pressed down on Sarah-Jane's number and pressed the phone to his ear as he hurried to his door.

"What can I do for you, Matt?"

Matt's heart nearly stopped when he found his door open, and stepped into his flat cautiously. "I need to report a break-in. According to my neighbor there was a woman with a key to our building who broke into my flat today."

"Is anything missing? Did your neighbor get a look at the assailant?" Matt recognized Sarah-Jane's "Detective" voice, and quickly glanced around the flat.

"Nothing's missing that I can see…" his eyes fell to his desk as he entered his study, and his heart stopped. There, lying in the very center of his desk, was a note. "Wait…"

"What is it? I'm heading over there now."

Matt glanced down at the note, and felt his heart leap up into his throat.

Stop looking.

He stepped back as if the words had actually stung him. "There's a note."

"What does it say?"

"Stop looking," he said, and shivered at the monotone in his own voice.

She was quiet for a moment. "I'm on my way. Stay put and don't touch anything."

"Okay," he said absentmindedly, and hung up.

It took Detective Smith and her forensic team only fifteen minutes at most to arrive at the building. Matt stayed with his neighbor until one of the police officers pulled her aside for questioning, and turned to find Sarah-Jane walking towards him.

"Are you alright?" She asked.

He nodded. "I wasn't home."

She let out a breath of relief, and pulled out her notepad. "And you're sure Ms. Higgins didn't get a look at the assailant?"

He shook his head. "No, according to her the woman never showed her face."

"Do you know of anyone who's aware of the ongoing investigation into your wife's murder that would do this?"

"River," Matt said immediately with a poison in his voice. "This is a stunt she would try."

Sarah-Jane scribbled something onto her notepad. "Okay, we'll check in on her. Do you know of anyone else who would do this?"

Matt shook his head. "Not offhand."

Detective Smith nodded, and turned to leave. "Alright, we'll contact you if we find anything."

"Detective Smith." Matt reached out to stop her from walking away. "I was beginning to think Clara wasn't murdered after all…have you found anything new?"

She pursed her lips, and sighed. "I might as well tell you, you have a right to know."

"Know what?" Matt asked warily.

Her eyes were filled with reluctance. "We've narrowed down our list of suspects to two possibilities."

"Who?" He demanded when she didn't continue.

Detective Smith placed a hand on his arm. "Matt, you won't like it."

"Who?" He repeated more forcefully.

She sighed. "We suspect that your wife's murderer is either Melody Song or…" she trailed off and Matt tried to steel himself against whatever she was so hesitant to say. "Or Jack Harkness."

Matt's heart stopped. No. No, Jack couldn't have done such a thing. How could they suspect him?

"What?"

Sarah-Jane lowered her voice so only he could hear her. "He was placed at the murder scene before police arrived. We originally thought he only showed up after Amelia Williams called him, but we found evidence that links him to the warehouse."

Matt stepped away from her. "What?"

"Residue from a gunshot was discovered only a few feet away from where Clara was found," she explained, "and that residue is a match for a handgun owned by Jack."

"Did he shoot her?" Matt's voice came out strangled.

Detective Smith shook her head. "The powder on Clara's body isn't a match to the sample found that's linked to Jack's gun, but he was there. That much we're certain of. We only took him into custody this morning."

"Why wasn't I informed?" Matt demanded, his voice rising with his anger.

The detective sighed heavily. "I had to question him first, Matt."

Matt reached up to rub his face roughly. "I can't believe this."

"This note may change things, however," Sarah said. "It could mean that the killer is still at large for the moment. Jack may not have murdered Clara."

"We're holding him in custody while we attempt to locate a possible secondary firearm he may have been in possession of, but so far he hasn't been cooperative."

"Can I speak to him?"

Sarah-Jane's expression turned into sympathy. "I don't think that would be wise."

"I might be able to get him to talk," Matt said with an urgent tone in his voice. "Please, you can post a guard in the room to keep me from doing anything improper."

She closed her eyes. "Matt, there's more you don't know about Jack…I probably shouldn't tell you this, but your friend was part of a government funded agency called Torchwood that recruited foster children of a…particular background to be trained and employed as anti-terrorist agents."

Matt felt cold tendrils curl around his spine. "I know. River told me, although I didn't believe her at the time."

Detective Smith ran a hand through her hair. "Then you understand why it's been difficult to get him to talk."

"Let me speak to him," Matt suggested again. "I've known him for years; maybe he'll open up to me."

The detective hesitated. "I don't know…"

"Sarah, please," he was unashamedly begging now, "I just…if it was Jack, I just need to talk to him. I just need to understand."

She stared at him for a long moment, and then sighed. "Fine, you can speak with him. But at the first second I think you're going to do anything that will jeopardize this investigation I'll have you removed."

"Deal," Matt agreed.

When Matt entered the interrogation room, Jack was already waiting with his head in his hands.

"I've told you a hundred times already—I don't know how my gun got to that warehouse."

"Nice to see you too, Harkness."

Jack's head shot up and his eyes snapped to Matt's. "John."

Matt raised his eyebrows. "I didn't realize we were being formal."

Jack leaned forward earnestly. "Matt, I don't care what Detective Smith tells you, I was not at the warehouse with a gun. I was with Jenny at her house until I got Amy's call."

Matt leaned back into his chair. "You know I want to believe you."

His best friend swallowed. "But?"

"They have some pretty damning evidence, Jack. I mean, how can you explain your gun getting to the warehouse without you? And what's with all of this "Torchwood agent" stuff I'm hearing about? Is it true?"

Jack closed his eyes and breathed in deeply through his nose. "No, of course not."

"Jack, we're friends. We're more than that—you're a brother to me. You can tell me anything." Matt leaned forward to squeeze Jack's arm.

His friend shook his head. "I'm sorry Smithy, but there are just some things about my life I can't tell you about."

Matt jerked backwards as if Jack had hit him. "So it is true? You're an agent for this organization? For how long?"

Jack bit down on the inside of his cheek and leaned back so he could cross his arms. "I'm sorry Matt, but this is just something you can't know about."

Matt pounded his hand against the table. "Dammit Jack! They're going to find out how you're linked to Clara's death, and they're going to convict you of murder unless you can help them find the real killer. All the evidence is pointing to you right now, and unless you start talking or your agency swoops in to save you then you're going to be convicted!"

"What makes you so convinced I didn't kill Clara?"

Matt froze, and stared at Jack with wide eyes. "Did you?" His voice barely came out as a hoarse whisper.

Jack's eyes bored into him for a long moment until he finally shook his head. "No, I didn't."

"Do you know who did?"

He sighed heavily. "No."

Frustration welled up in Matt once again. "I don't understand."

"John, you need to stop looking in to this. As your friend, I need you to stop looking into this."

"Jack, please just explain."

Jack sighed heavily. "Get your detective in here and I'll tell you everything I do know."

Matt nodded, and glanced over at the one-way mirror where he knew Sarah-Jane was watching.

It took less than thirty seconds for Detective Smith to burst into the interrogation room and quickly march over to the chair next to Matt.

"Proceed," she commanded.

Jack sighed heavily, and ran his hands down his face. "I will, but on one condition."

Sarah-Jane let out an irritated huff. "Name it."

"I want full protection. After I disclose the information you want I want you to place me in witness protection. There are people who will kill me for this."

Matt's eyes widened, and he swallowed down the lump that had lodged itself in his throat.

Detective Smith nodded. "You'll have as much protection as you require."

Jack let out a shaky breath, and glanced at Matt. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"

He nodded. "You're my best friend, Jack, of course I do."

Jack sighed. "Well, for starters, my name isn't actually Jack Harkness. That's an identity I took over from a military Captain who died in World War Two. When Torchwood placed me back into civilian life I needed a permanent alias…" Jack's eyes shot down to his hands. "Everyone believes the agency was dismantled after some of their more aggressive practices were discovered, but the truth is that it was really only taken deep underground. It still operates today."

"When were you first recruited?" Detective Smith asked.

"The agency found me when I was thirteen," Jack answered in a brisk tone. He glanced at Matt. "I was…down on my luck, you could say."

Sarah-Jane's eyes flicked between Matt and Jack. "How did you end up in the warehouse, Jack?"

"I was assigned to London because the agency had picked up on some Intel that suggested that the Headquarters of a prominent terrorist group—the Silence—was located somewhere within the city. My job was to protect a young couple that had defected from the group. They had a daughter at the time."

Matt's heart stopped. "Are you saying you were sent in to protect Clara and her family?"

Jack nodded. "They were under witness protection, but Torchwood had a lead on the case. I had a partner at the time under the alias River Song, who the agency later found out was serving as a double agent for the Silence. It was her job to get close to the family so the group could strike against them."

"Why would they do that?" Detective Smith asked.

"The Silence doesn't tolerate traitors," Jack spit out the words.

"I still don't understand how this ends up with you in the warehouse," Matt said.

Jack sighed. "Well…the agency didn't discover River's true motives until it was too late. By then the Silence had already killed Clara's mother and landed her in the hospital. We needed to move quickly then, so we placed a twenty-four hour watch on the Oswalds in case River or another member from the group attempted a strike. By then we'd lost River, although we suspect that at that point she had fled the country…"

"Jack, you still haven't answered the question," Matt prompted.

"I'm getting there," he answered. "Anyway, when Clara started showing symptoms for Schizophrenia the agency advised Dave Oswald to break off contact with his daughter for her protection and allow us to relocate him. After that, it became my job to solely look after Clara." He glanced at Matt. "What we didn't anticipate was you. We never thought people like you and Clara would ever cross paths."

"Me?" Matt's eyebrows pulled down. "Why would I be a problem?"

Jack sighed. "You're a journalist, Matt, that makes you a security risk. If you had learned even an inkling of the truth and published it, then all of us would have been put in danger, especially Clara."

"How were you instructed to proceed?" Detective Smith asked.

Jack folded his hands together. "I was told to keep an eye on the situation, and to report back the moment I believed the Oswalds were compromised. Luckily, that report never had to happen…" he closed his eyes for a moment. "The day Clara died I was with Matt's sister Jenny, as I stated before. The agency called me to inform me that they had discovered that River was back in London. Torchwood had never taken off the twenty-four hour watch on Clara, so as soon as River came for her we knew."

"Then why didn't you stop her?" Matt demanded.

Jack shook his head. "We couldn't. The agency knew River was going to lead us straight to Simeon, the leader of this branch of the Silence. If we captured him, then we would have been able to find the rest of their operation. I was tasked with his capture."

"Hold on, I think I'm missing something here," Detective Smith said, "you claim that you don't know how your gun got to the scene, but I find it hard to believe that you would go into that warehouse unarmed."

"I didn't, but the gun you matched isn't the one I took with me," Jack explained. "And I never fired a shot. I got to the scene. Clara was being held at gunpoint by River and Simeon. I had already taken out the guard they had posted outside."

"So, who was shot besides Clara?" Matt asked.

"Like I said, I don't know," Jack said, "I was attempting to gain control over the situation, and I was so focused on the three people in front of me that I didn't notice when someone came up behind me. They hit me in the back of the head hard enough that I blacked out for a couple of minutes. By the time I woke Clara was dead and I could hear the sirens coming, so I ran."

Matt blinked, and stood up abruptly.

"Matt, I tried to save her, I promise I did. You don't know how guilty I've felt that I couldn't save her. She was more than a job, Matt, she was family. Just like you," Jack called after him as he shoved out of the interrogation room.

Matt didn't stop walking until he was outside of the police station. Cold air forced its way into his lungs as he stepped out onto the pavement, and he stared up at the all-too-familiar cloudy sky.

He didn't understand what was happening. He couldn't even begin to believe the amount of coincidence and chance involved in the whole situation. Could it possibly all be true? Could everything River told him in the park be true?

He didn't know. He didn't like not knowing.

He was going to find out the truth.