by Lisa Henry
Bel shook his head, disappointed in Dav’s reaction. “You believe him when he says he’s gonna be a good law-abiding citizen from now on? Never gonna kill someone again?”
“He’s trying, Bel. He deserves as much chance as the next man.” Dav picked up a knife and began to slice the tomatoes.
If Dav were a bleeding heart, Bel would have dismissed her. But she wasn’t. Couldn’t afford to be, in her job. He thought again to that moment last night when he’d banged the partition and Whitlock had . . . had what? Jolted awake? Something had happened, but Bel wasn’t sure what.
“Joe and Marcy are coming tonight, your parents too.” Dav dumped the tomatoes on top of the lettuce in the bowl. “Maybe you should ask Joe what he’s thinking, making you work when there’s a game on.”
“Uncle Joe doesn’t play favorites,” Bel said. “Anyway, I work a few game nights and miss a few barbecues and maybe I’ll get Thanksgiving off. Billy coming?”
“He’s gone hunting, Jim said.” Dav frowned at the paltry mix of greens and tomatoes. “I hope your mama brings her potato salad.”
Stump slunk back into the kitchen, peering hopefully at Bel.
“She always does,” Bel said.
Dav had slotted right into the family. She’d been Bel’s friend before she’d been Jim’s girlfriend, now wife. She called him Bel, which was his nickname on the force. To the rest of the family he would always be Little Joe, all six foot two of him, to distinguish him from his Uncle Joe. Billy had been named after their dad, Jim after their grandpa, and Bel after their uncle. The Belmans had been recycling long before it was the done thing.
Plain unimaginative, in Bel’s opinion.
Speaking of.
“You started thinking up any names?”
Dav’s hand went unconsciously to her abdomen, even though she wasn’t showing yet. “No. And keep that to yourself. You’re the only one who knows apart from us. We’re not telling people until after the first three months.”
“My lips are sealed.”
“They’d better be,” Dav said. “Instead of standing there like a lump, pass me my drink, would you? Top shelf.”
Bel opened the fridge and frowned at the beer bottle. “Dav?”
“It’s cola. But I’ve got to throw your mom off the scent somehow. She’s fixing on me like a bird dog.”
“Yeah, Mama could teach Stump a thing or two.” Bel bent down to scratch the pup’s ears.
Dav rolled her eyes. “I’m pretty sure that animal’s beyond teaching.”
Stump gazed at them lovingly.
Master Beau was everything Daniel had expected, but it didn’t matter. He’d said on his profile that he was in his forties, but he looked older thanks to his sun-damaged skin. He was big, his belly coming down past his belt, bearded, and he wore a trucker’s cap low over his eyes. When he pulled up outside the library in his piece-of-shit truck, he looked Daniel over and said, “Your name Daniel?”
Like there was anyone else waiting on the sidewalk.
“Yeah, that’s me,” Daniel replied, wiping his sweaty palms on the back of his jeans.
“You ain’t got a name now except Boy,” Master Beau said. “Get in.”
Daniel climbed into the truck, his heart racing.
The cab stank of cigarettes. Master Beau’s fingers, tapping on the steering wheel, were stained brown and yellow. Daniel told himself it didn’t matter, not if the man could give him what he needed.
“You gonna sit all the way over there?” Master Beau growled at him.
Daniel shifted closer, feeling the heat from Master Beau’s body seep into him where their thighs touched. Swallowed down his revulsion.
Master Beau ground through the gears, turning onto Main. A police cruiser passed, and Daniel wondered if it was Officer Belman. He remembered when Belman used to work at Harnee’s. And before that, when he was a skinny kid running around town. Never took too much notice of him though. Belman must have been four years younger, which was a lifetime when you were kids. The summer before Daniel graduated high school, the kid had hung around with Casey a bit. Had a brother her age and tagged along. Daniel couldn’t remember if he’d ever spoken two words to him. Most of Casey’s friends steered clear of her weird big brother.
A silver sedan followed the police cruiser, and Daniel looked the other way. His mom’s car. What was she doing out at this hour? Heading home from her book club at Cherry Hanson’s place, maybe, if they still had that on Wednesday nights. Which meant his dad would be at home, blustering and swearing as he tried to cook mac and cheese in the microwave.
“Don’t lie to me, Daniel!”
God, he just wanted it to stop.
Master Beau reached down and fiddled with the radio. Found some shit song where a woman wailed about her cowboy leaving her.
“Yeah,” Master Beau drawled, “this is a good one. Put your hand on my dick, Boy. Want to be nice and hard for when I get you home.”
Daniel forced down the sudden spike of panic. He put his hand on the man’s thigh, slid it up toward his groin. Long as Master Beau didn’t ask Daniel to suck him, they’d be good.
Fuck.
What had Daniel been thinking? Master Beau was sure to want head at some point, and Daniel couldn’t . . .
“That’s it, Boy,” Master Beau said, widening his legs. “Get on up in there.”
Daniel rubbed his hand over the bulge in Master Beau’s jeans. “I want to talk about our limits.”
Master Beau looked sideways at him. “You got any, Boy?”
“I need to be locked up,” Daniel said. Didn’t mention he couldn’t give head, in case it was a deal breaker. “Not—not always in bondage, but I need to be chained when I sleep.”
Master Beau dropped his right hand from the wheel, and ground Daniel’s hand harder against his crotch. “You and me are gonna get along just fine. I got a collar at home that will look real nice on you. You want me to chain you to the radiator and fuck you on the floor?”
“Yes,” Daniel said dully.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Master Beau.”
Daniel kept stroking Master Beau’s dick the entire way to his place. Absently, trying to shut out Master Beau’s groans. Wouldn’t have thought the man could hold off coming for so long, but Master Beau did. Muttered at Daniel to ease off a few times, and grunted like a pig rooting around when he started again. Daniel had liked hearing Marcus make noises. It hadn’t been any timeless romance he and Marcus had shared, but it had been a cut above this. Daniel had told himself he only needed Marcus for the pain, and yet he’d been secretly pleased when Marcus had refused to give him only that. Marcus had wanted to hurt Daniel, and Daniel had needed to be hurt. But Marcus hadn’t liked that Daniel didn’t like it. So he’d walked away rather than answer Daniel’s demands for more.
Something kind of sweet about that.
“You like getting your ass beat?” Master Beau asked.
Do you want me to like it?
Probably not.
“No, sir. But it ain’t a limit.”
Master Beau grinned. “I like you.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “I’m gonna like you even better when you got my cock in your mouth. Gonna choke you till you puke, Boy. And you’re gonna have to swallow it back down, ’cause I just got the carpets redone.” He laughed, and Daniel couldn’t tell if it was because he was joking or because he just liked the image. He sat rigid with panic as they pulled onto the interstate.
The one fucking thing I can’t do.
If I don’t have a choice, though . . .
Daniel lifted his hand from the cracked leather seat. Saw the patch of sweat he’d left.
Stupid piece of shit. Anything he does to you’s gonna be just what you’ve earned.
Master Beau lived about thirty miles from Logan, at Watson’s Landing. Wasn’t much to the place except a bar, a junkyard, and a couple of houses. They turned onto a narrow street with ragged pavement, and into the driveway of the s
econd house on the left. A light was on inside.
The house wasn’t as shabby as Daniel would have imagined. The outside looked like it had been renovated recently. And it was . . . quainter, too. Like a country cottage. Daniel would have laughed if he hadn’t been so worn out and so scared. He hated the exhaustion that came from sleep deprivation. He couldn’t sink into it, could only let it jab him over and over. A repeated reminder—Hey, you’re tired. Hey, you can’t do anything about it. His eyes felt bald and blistered, his mouth dry.
He followed Master Beau up to the front porch. The big man fumbled with the keys, then opened the door and slapped Daniel’s ass to move him inside.
A cloud of cigarette smoke hit Daniel as he stepped across the threshold. They weren’t alone. There were two—no, three other guys in the dim room. They all stared at Daniel. Their faces were gray. Their hair was gray. Their smoke was gray. Actually, one of the guys had dark hair. His eyes were small and glinted, and he stood with his hand in his pocket. The other two were sitting. Daniel stared at them, half-hoping he was hallucinating.
Master Beau set a hand on the back of Daniel’s neck. “Boys. Meet Boy.” He shoved and Daniel staggered a few steps, caught himself, and tried to back up. He hadn’t expected anyone else. He’d agreed to do the slave thing for Master Beau, but he wasn’t gonna get gangbanged.
You wanna be locked up or not?
Not this much.
But he was thirty miles from Logan, and he had no way back except Master Beau. He’d have to wait this one out, see what happened. He nodded at the group. “Hello, sirs.”
Master Beau cuffed him between the shoulder blades. “Don’t speak unless I ask you a question. Shoes off. Get on your knees.”
Daniel slipped his sneakers off and knelt, keeping his head bowed. The dark-haired guy kept shifting, and Daniel raised his head to watch him. He felt sluggish, like his heart was the only part of him that could move at a decent pace. Master Beau bummed a cigarette, muttered, “Be right back,” and headed toward the back of the house. Daniel tried to breathe through the haze. Concentrated on the floor. The carpet did look new.
“You suck cock pretty good, Boy?” one of the older guys asked.
Daniel wasn’t sure whether to answer or not. Master Beau had said “unless I ask you a question.” But maybe that applied to all of them.
“I’m all right,” Daniel said, his throat dry. He had been, once.
The group laughed.
“You’re a lot prettier than anyone else Beau’s brought around.” The dark-haired guy.
Daniel glanced up and saw an outline in the pocket of the guy’s stained khakis. A gun. The guy had a gun.
Daniel had to force himself not to rise and bolt.
No. Fuck no.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and when he looked up again, he couldn’t see anything in the guy’s pocket.
Not real, you asshole. You’re making things up.
But as he stared, he thought he could see the outline again. The guy had turned, and it was hard to tell . . .
Not a gun. Please not a gun. Please.
He was startled by a clanking behind him. A second later, a hand struck the back of his head. “Head down,” Master Beau said.
Daniel swayed. Bowed his head, trying to forget the gun.
Master Beau sat in an armchair across the room. He held up two thick chains. Fear merged with a strange thrill—for a second, Daniel remembered Marcus. Remembered what it was like to fear what Marcus was going to do without fearing Marcus himself. Daniel hadn’t liked the beatings, hadn’t cared about the gear. But he’d liked what came after—drifting, too tired to move. Marcus’s hand moving in slow circles on his back, skirting welts.
The thrill quickly turned to a queasy bitterness. Wasn’t going to be any drifting with Master Beau.
You’re gonna get just what you’ve earned.
Master Beau jingled the chains. “Crawl to me, Boy.”
The chains scared him, but he needed them. Deserved them. He’d fucking killed someone. He was a murderer.
He hated himself for the times he forgot. The minutes or sometimes hours he went without reminding himself he was a murderer. It felt like the kind of thing you ought to keep close to you, ought to remember all the time, like being in love, or being the president, or having lost a child. It wasn’t the sort of thing you forgot, and yet sometimes Daniel did, had to—just for a little while. But the few minutes of peace were seldom worth the guilt he felt afterward. For forgetting.
Almost as bad were the times he convinced himself Kenny Cooper had deserved it. When rage flared up in him big enough to make all the other angers Daniel had ever felt look like parodies. He’d never been as scared as he had been when Kenny had attacked him. Not even when he was younger and woke to accusations he didn’t understand. What have you done? and Of course you remember; don’t give me that. And Daniel, what possessed you? The fear of what he was doing in his sleep, that was psychological. His fear of Kenny had been visceral, no thought behind it, no slow build. Just a sudden, all-consuming terror. He’d been electric with adrenaline, spurred by an animal need to escape.
He could recall a few lucid thoughts, there and gone faster than puffs of breath on a cold night. When Kenny raised the butt of the revolver for the first time: God, it’s gonna hurt, it’s gonna hurt, it’s gonna hurt, might kill me, but maybe he’ll miss, maybe I can make him miss. Please, God, please.
Even amid the flood of fear, there’d been foolish hope—maybe I can make him miss. After the shock of the first blow, which had pushed Daniel under, created a pain so deep and full that Daniel’s body processed it as cold first—just cold—even after that, the Please God remained. A second blow, quicker than the first, less buildup. The crack of his collarbone sounded like the crack of a belt against bare flesh. On the third blow, his mind finally went quiet. His body still struggled, jerking and flailing in grass wet with blood.
He wanted to hate Kenny, who’d left him with this fear that had lingered and transformed into something else—a fury Daniel wasn’t sure he was entitled to.
You were allowed to hate him. Would’ve been all right even if you’d beat the shit out of him as payback. But you weren’t allowed to kill him. What right you got to be mad now, when he’s the one who’s dead?
Daniel was breathing hard, looking at Master Beau’s boots across the room, the mud on the cuffs of his jeans that darkened as Daniel stared, became bloodstains. Someone nudged him with their toe. “He said crawl, bitch.”
A laugh. “Panting like a dog, ain’t he?”
Master Beau held the chains and whistled.
“I’ll help him.” Someone moved. The man with the gun. He grabbed Daniel by the hair and shoved him onto his stomach, then started pulling him toward Master Beau. Daniel couldn’t see the man anymore, couldn’t see if he had the gun out or not, and pain tore through his scalp. He thrashed and kicked, and the man let go of him. Daniel was on his feet and running for the front door. Now the man would be angry. If he had a gun, he’d shoot.
Ignoring Master Beau’s protest, Daniel threw open the door and ran out into the yard, barefoot. He’d have a better chance of staying out of sight if he cut through backyards, but he wanted to be able to get to town. So he followed the road. No headlights appeared behind him. He ran until he couldn’t anymore, until he became aware of how torn up his feet were, and then he walked, his hands jammed into his pockets. The gravel on the shoulder hurt so much he had to walk in the street.
No cop to give you a lift this time.
He thought again about waking up in Belman’s car. How freaked out he’d been. How Belman’s sober up had been the nicest thing anyone had said to him in a while.
His breathing slowed eventually, and he started to berate himself. The guy probably hadn’t had a gun at all. It had been Daniel’s imagination.
Could’ve had one, though. Could’ve killed you. All of ’em, crazy fuckers. Animals.
Could’ve killed
you.
Now that would really be getting just what you earned.
Daniel had believed in Hell when he was younger but had outgrown it in his late teens. In college there’d been plenty of atheists with whom Daniel had gladly allied himself. Religion was bullshit, they’d said. Fairy tales. Big Brother BS. But once he’d come back to Logan, Daniel had lost that certainty—the sureness that he was his own person, capable of doing the right thing without the fear of punishment or the promise of reward. When Kenny had broken his bones, he’d known there was a God, and that He hated Daniel. And when he’d murdered Kenny a year later, he’d known there was a Hell, and that he’d end up there.
Daniel, what possessed you?
When they asked him, Daniel wondered if they meant it. His dad would stare at him the morning after some minor crime Daniel had committed in his sleep, like he didn’t recognize his son—or didn’t want to. “Come with me,” he’d say, and lead Daniel to the next room, where he’d take off his belt. He wouldn’t hit Daniel, just snap the belt a few times to satisfy Daniel’s mother, and then he’d make Daniel do chores until he was exhausted. Those were actually the days Daniel slept best—right after a sleepwalking episode, when his punishment wore him out enough that he could sleep soundly.
What possessed him?
When he was a kid, he figured it was the devil. Easier to blame some outside force determined to rip their family apart than accept the alternative: it was his fault. Every crazy thing he did came from a subconscious that wanted to paint the living room neon green, or dig holes in the garden, or smash the china that had belonged to his mom’s grandmother. Some part of him craved the destruction.
One Sunday when Daniel was twelve, Daniel’s parents had him meet with Reverend Park after church. Reverend Park told Daniel about spiritual demerits. Daniel’s behavior had earned him a great burden of demerits, and this made Daniel vulnerable to spiritual subsumption when he slept. Daniel had never figured out exactly what he was supposed to do about that. Didn’t know how to unburden himself, or strengthen his vulnerable spirit.
