Danny had nodded, not believing, knowing now that it would never be over, that he’d finally woken into his recurring nightmare. And even so, trying to control the damage. An engineer on the Hindenburg. “I’ve got the meet location picked.”
“Where?”
“Union Station.” He’d told Evan the logic, leaving out the hope that doing it in public would keep him calm.
Evan had shrugged, scratched his neck with the barrel of the gun. “Whatever. That’ll work.” Then he’d dismissed Danny with a wave of his cigarette.
Now, back on his own block, Danny stepped out of the truck and closed the door quietly. The air had grown chillier, with a breeze that blew through his shirt to cut at the skin beneath. His street radiated the easy calm of a place where monsters only came out on Halloween. He shouldered his bag and started down the sidewalk, trying not to see Tommy’s face in every shadow.
As he passed the weathered steps of his neighbor’s porch, a high-pitched shriek burst from the graystone. The scream gave way to an evil-genius laugh, and a strobe flashed on in the bay window, where a medical skeleton loomed amid drugstore cobwebs. After a moment the recorded sound track shut off, but harsh white light kept splashing up every few seconds. Danny stood in front of the window, watching as the beam flared, died, flared, died. In the periods of darkness, the streetlights were enough to turn the window into a dark mirror, and within it he could see himself reflected. A normal-looking guy with a few scrapes on his face and the beginnings of a shiner under one eye. Other than the bruises, not the kind of face that earned a second look.
A month ago, he would have said the skeleton was the scarier monster. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
How had this happened? How had it gotten so far? He’d done everything he could along the way, tried to think through every step, and still, here he was. Somehow, playing it smart just wasn’t enough.
The light was on in their window. Karen was home. He winced to think of his lies, of the betrayal and confusion she must be feeling.
There was still one thing he could try and make right. He straightened his shoulders and walked away from the play monsters.
The outside of their own condo was minimally decorated, just some desiccated cornstalks the downstairs neighbor trotted out every year, the husks picked clean by the squirrels. The mailbox was full, and he opened it and took everything out, then shook his head and stuffed it all back in. No point pretending it was life as usual. He unlocked the stairwell door and took the steps quietly, trying to collect his thoughts. How to tell her?
Despite Karen’s intuition that something was up, this was way beyond what she would be imagining. The key would be to do it slowly. To tell her they needed to talk. Sit down at the kitchen table. Start small, let her see the way the thing had built up, the net that had been woven around him. Get to the kidnapping last, after she’d had time to grasp everything else. She was whip-smart, and a realist; if he could make her see the reasons behind his decisions, she might understand.
He stood in front of the apartment door, took a deep breath, slid his key into the lock. What he was doing was right. He felt good about finally coming clean. Even dared to hope things might work out. Here goes.
For a split second after opening the door he wondered if he’d somehow gone one flight of stairs too far and opened the door to the wrong condo. Things looked different. It took his tired mind a second to figure out why.
Two suitcases and a half dozen moving boxes stood by the door.
“Hello, Danny.” She straightened from the cabinet she’d been packing. “You’re just in time to say good-bye.”
34
In Our House
She’d practiced the phrasing, had run through it in her head, somehow knowing that he’d show up before she was done. Wanting him to? She couldn’t say. So when she heard the door open, she rose and said her line, calm as you please. No choked-back sobs, no trace of the crying fits prompted each time she opened a new cabinet, packed a coat he’d given her, weighed whether to take her books now or return for them later. She stood and said her line and only then looked at him. His face was a mess, a bruise purpling beneath one eye, scrapes across his cheek like he’d been jumped. He looked at her, and then at the boxes, and then he sagged, his shoulders slumping like something vital inside him had snapped.
Despite everything, she had to fight the urge to go to him, to hold him close and smell his skin and tell him that they would work it out, that everything was all right. But everything wasn’t all right, and instead they eyed each other like gunfighters.
When he finally spoke, it was in a thin, hoarse voice. “I didn’t know we had gotten this far.”
She looked away, undid her hair band to free her sweaty ponytail, then gathered it back neatly. She had planned to be furious at him, had every right to be, but it wasn’t coming. All afternoon her emotions had blown back and forth, and exhaustion was setting in. “You’ve been lying to me.”
He looked at her, looked away. “Yeah.” He stepped into the apartment, closing the door behind him and weaving his way through the boxes to drop on the couch. He shook his head, snorted. “It’s funny.”
“What is?”
“Just — I was right now coming to tell the truth.”
She shook her head, squatted back down in front of the cabinet to stack a photo album in the box beside her. “It’s too late. I already know the truth.”
“You do?”
He sounded shocked, and that pleased her. She dusted off her hands, walked over. There was a box in the chair opposite him, and she moved it to the floor before sitting down. His eyes followed her, but she couldn’t be sure what she saw in them.
“You’re back to it, aren’t you?” She faltered, the words hard to frame. “You’re a criminal again.”
He looked away, hesitated. “I don’t know how to answer that.”
His evasion got the anger flowing. She slapped him, her hand just flying out to smack his cheek before either of them knew what had happened. “Don’t lie to me.” She wanted to slap him again, to hurt him. To heap all the uncertainty and doubt she’d been feeling back on him. “It’s a simple question.”
His eyes blazed. “No,” he snarled, “it’s not.”
“I know the truth.” Her voice had that shrill tone she hated in women in the movies, but she couldn’t help herself. “I met Nolan today.”
“What?”
“Your old buddy Nolan. The detective. I wanted to know what was going on, and you wouldn’t talk to me, so I called him.”
“And what did my old buddy tell you?”
“He told me Evan McGann was out of prison. That…” She paused, forced herself to say it. “That you and he were partners again.”
“He told you what?” He leaned forward, surprise on his face.
“He said that you had come to see him about Evan.”
“That’s true. Did he tell you why?”
She thought about it, realized he hadn’t. Of course, she had stormed away before the detective had a chance to finish.
He laughed, a bitter, mirthless sound. “No, he wouldn’t. Better to stir you up, see if you knew anything. If you could contribute to his case.”
Now that she thought about it, there was something odd about what Nolan had said, something that didn’t add up. Why would Danny have told a cop about Evan? At the time, it had seemed to make sense, but she’d been stunned by everything, in a hurry to escape, and she hadn’t thought to clarify. “So why did you go see him?”
He leaned forward and put his hand on hers. The touch was so comfortably familiar that more than anything she wanted to curl her fingers up around his. She didn’t.
“There’s a lot I have to tell you, and none of it is good.”
The earnestness in his expression siphoned off some of her anger. “Is it the truth?”
“Yes.”
She took a deep breath. “Tell me.”
He gave her a smile like a lily beaten down in the rain
. “About three weeks ago, Evan came to see me. He was out on parole, and wanted to go back to work.”
Even though she’d known it, the words stung. It was like Danny telling her he’d been visited by the tooth fairy — or the boogeyman. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know. I wish I had. I was scared to even bring the idea of Evan back into our lives. I guess I thought…” He sighed, absently touched his bruised eye, then winced and pulled his hand back. “I thought I could get rid of him.”
“But you couldn’t.” It wasn’t a question.
He shook his head. “When I told him I wasn’t interested, he started pressuring. Showing up on the street, threatening us. I didn’t know it, but he was also following me. And then one day I came home and found him sitting in the kitchen.”
Her head went light, and she yanked her hand from under his. “He was here? In our house?”
Danny stared back. “Yes.”
She had a flash of Evan at the defense table, all those years ago, calm and peaceful while the prosecutor described the hideous things he’d done. He’d been here. Had touched their things, sat on their couch. Maybe laid in their bed. Her skin crawled. “Why didn’t you call the police?”
“That’s when I went to Nolan.”
“I mean the regular police.”
He sighed. “Because… you know why. I’m an ex-con. And I was in the pawnshop. They’d have started digging through all of that. At least with Nolan, I thought maybe he’d understand, help out. But I couldn’t tell him everything either.”
She looked at him appraisingly. “You couldn’t tell him why Evan was in our house?”
He shook his head.
“Why not?” She stopped as it began to click. “You couldn’t tell him because Evan wanted you to do something illegal.” She tapped her fingers on the table. “And you were thinking of doing it.”
He nodded, his expression neutral.
“Danny, what did he want you to do?”
He paused, looked away, and then back. “He wanted me to help kidnap Richard’s son.”
She laughed. The idea was so absurd, so beyond the pale. Danny was in construction. They had a regular life. They were talking about having children, for God’s sake. The whole thing was preposterous.
Except Danny just sat and looked at her.
Her laughter faded awkwardly. She stared at him, willing him to say something, to nudge her, to tell her it was a joke. But he didn’t. He just watched her, the bruise on his face swelling. “You mean…” She squinted. “You didn’t.” He said nothing. “Oh my God.” Her voice came out a whisper. She rose, jerked away from him. “Oh my God!” The room was spinning and she felt desperately ill. “You did it. You helped him.”
“Karen.” He stood, took a half step toward her, stopped when she moved farther away. “It’s not what it seems.”
“Did you do it?” She clutched her hands to her mouth. “Please tell me you didn’t do it.”
He sighed. “I can’t.”
She stared at him in horror. “Why? Why would you do that?” She felt hysteria beckoning, her voice coming out almost a shriek, the feel of it cutting her throat.
“I had no choice.” He was on his feet now, hands out and his eyes wide. “You have to understand—”
“Understand what?” Her words came fast, trying to keep him from telling any more terrible truths. She couldn’t hear more of them, couldn’t stand it. “You’re going to get caught.”
“Listen—” His voice growing heated.
“I can’t. I don’t want to.” How could there be any explanation? “Oh God, and that poor little boy. What did you do to that poor little boy?”
“Goddamn it—”
“You’re a monster.” The words slipped out, and the moment they did she wanted to grab them, to shove them back in her mouth, but it was too late.
“You’re not listening to me!” He turned, his hand balled in a fist, and lashed out at the mirror beside the couch. Their reflections shattered into a thousand fragments.
It was the most irrational, violent thing she’d seen him do in the eight years she’d loved him, and it stunned her into total silence.
He turned back to her, nostrils flaring. “I did it because I had to. Because I thought I could pull it off without anyone getting hurt. I did it because it was the only way I could see to make him leave us alone. But that’s all bullshit.” He paused, sighed. “It’s all true, but it’s not the reason I did it.”
His hand was bleeding badly, the knuckles vibrant red. Ruby drops of blood fell to the hardwood floor. They were strangely pretty.
“The truth is, I did it because he threatened you.”
The words jerked her gaze from the puddle on the floor. “What?”
“Last week.”
And suddenly it came clear, all of the horror lurking behind the facade of the last few weeks. The strands of web that led to the spider. “The guy in the alley.” She knew before he nodded. That had been Evan, sending a message. Telling Danny that he knew how to get to him. She remembered how spooked Danny had seemed, but how resolute, too. How he’d promised to do anything to protect her.
She stared at him. His mirror-smashing fury had drained away, and he looked like a soldier after a long campaign. His eyes were pleading, but not hopeful. She murdered half a dozen thoughts before they reached her lips. Finally, she pointed to his hand. “You’re bleeding.”
He looked down. “Oh.”
She stepped forward, took his hand gently in hers. The cut was in the meaty part beneath his little finger. There was a chunk of glass stuck there, and she used her nails, catching a reflection of herself in the mirror as she pulled it from his skin. Thick blood oozed. She looked around for a rag or a cloth, and seeing nothing, pulled off her shirt to wrap his hand. He gasped as the fabric touched the gash. “Come on.”
She led him up the hall to the bathroom. Spinning the faucet to cold, she held his hand under the water, the blood streaming thin and pink to spatter against the porcelain. “Keep it there.” She went to the kitchen pantry, found gauze and Neosporin. Back in the bathroom she used a paper towel to pat the wound dry. Clean now, it didn’t look so bad. Jagged, but not too deep. The lips of it already quivered red, so she moved fast, squeezing the ointment, placing the rectangle of gauze and then deftly affixing it, wrapping the white tape in a stripe across his palm. She didn’t meet his eyes, just worked on his hand, and throughout he stood silent and let her. It was calming, something she could handle. Just a cut, a perfectly normal cut. It was life-sized.
But eventually the bandage was in place, and she couldn’t distract herself from everything larger.
“Danny.” She held his hand by the fingers, her gaze darting around the room. “What are we going to do?”
He put his other hand on her cheek. It was so familiar, so safe, that she both feared and wanted to fall into it. She met his eyes, saw herself mirrored in them. She saw him weighing words, and realized she was praying he found the right ones. Whatever they were.
“I don’t know.” He paused. “But,” his hand caressing her cheek, “I’d like your help figuring it out.”
For a long moment she stared at him, tried to think dispassionately. She wanted to make proclamations, to hear him swear that there would be no more lies. She wanted him to feel what she’d been going through, and promise that he would never turn away from her again. But none of the phrases she auditioned sounded right. Maybe there was nothing to say.
In the end, she just put her arms around him and laid her head on the hollow of his chest. They stood together under the bright bathroom lights, holding on to keep from being swept away.
For a moment, it worked.
And then she realized something terrible.
35
Choices
Despite the impossible mess that had become his life, despite the soreness of his aching body and the steady throb of his cut hand, as Karen put her head on his chest Danny felt strangely sa
fe. Spent, both physically and emotionally, but safe nonetheless, as though the confession had created some sort of karmic loophole, a time away from reality. He knew none of their problems had been solved. But he was so tired. Everything could wait, at least a little while. He just wanted to lose himself in their warmth.
Then she pulled away from him. “Baby?”
“Yeah?”
“What about Patrick?” She bit her lip. “Did he know about Evan threatening us?”
He’d been honest with Patrick, but not with her. That would cut. But he’d had enough of lies. “Yes.” He stepped away and leaned against the counter, his good hand holding the lip of the sink. “I told him when he came over for dinner.” She stared back at him with an intensity that scared him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I needed to talk to someone, and it should have been you.”
She shook her head. “It’s not that. It’s—” Her voice broke.
Fear ice-picked him. “What?”
“Patrick…” She paused. Took a deep breath, very deliberately, then stepped closer, her eyes locked on his like she was trying to beam him something from inside herself. “He was murdered.”
“What?” He couldn’t have heard her right.
“He was shot. That’s why Nolan called.”
No.
Oh Christ, no.
The room seemed to pitch, the ceiling looming. A giant fist gripped his heart. Not Patrick. The ten-year-old boy who’d replaced the holy water with Sprite. The joker who always had a story. The friend who’d been part of every stage of his life.
The closest thing he had to a brother.
Spots danced in front of his eyes, and he squeezed the counter. He willed his lungs to breathe, to suck oxygen in, but the air felt thick. He let himself slide down the face of the cabinet to squat on the floor. “What happened?”
Karen’s voice was raw. “Nolan wouldn’t tell me very much.” She sat across from him, her legs folded, and took his hands in hers.
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