by Lisa Henry
“You wanna question it, or you want to agree to it?”
“If—” Daniel sucked in a breath and tried again. “If you’re looking for something in exchange, that’s okay.”
Belman gave a quick grin. “You offering me your ass, Daniel? That’s the first time you’ve done that awake.”
Daniel’s face burned. “Yeah, well.”
“Yeah, well,” Belman echoed. “Well that’s not what this is about, okay?”
So what’s it about then?
“Okay, fine.”
“I gotta head back into town now. I’ll come back this evening and check in with you. You gonna stay awake until then?”
“Yeah,” Daniel managed.
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” Daniel said, stronger this time.
He could stay awake. He had a few tricks.
“All right,” Bel said. He and Dav were sitting on Dav’s front porch. Bel had a beer, and Dav had a cream soda. Bel was scratching Stump’s neck, in that spot that made the dog twist his head and start kicking his hind leg. “So he ain’t crazy. But he’s got issues, huh? And maybe that’s the problem. Maybe if his life’s a little less fucked up when he’s awake, he wouldn’t do such fucked-up shit in his sleep.”
Dav nodded. “Could be.”
Bel took his hand away to scratch his own neck. Took a long gulp of beer. Stump whined until Bel started petting him again. “I mean, all the websites, they say, oh, sleepwalking ain’t linked to having mental problems. But . . .”
“But maybe what you do when you sleepwalk is linked to your psychological health,” Dav finished.
“Yeah,” Bel said, relieved that she got what he was trying to say.
“Daniel and I have discussed therapy. I think it’d be good for him to start talking about what Kenny did. And about some of the shit that goes on with his family.”
“What shit?”
“They’ve essentially disowned him. They weren’t able to help him make sense of or deal with his sleepwalking as a kid.” Dav glanced at him. “You know I’m not exactly Little Miss Care and Share—”
“Understatement.”
“But it’d do him good. To talk.”
Bel leaned back and watched the neighbor’s kid, Joshua, roll his mother’s yoga ball around the yard. “The websites say there’s no treatment. Ain’t that nuts? There’s cancers they can get rid of, but they can’t figure out how to make someone stay in bed for eight hours? Just ‘establish a bedtime routine.’ What the hell? Whitlock’s got a routine all right, and it’s fucked up.”
“Well,” Dav said. She didn’t finish the thought for a while. “I think you’re onto something. Attack the problem at the source. Figure out what’s messing with him so bad when he’s awake that he hurts himself in his sleep.” She paused and swigged her soda. “Don’t know who’s gonna help him with that, though.”
“Well, I ain’t his therapist. I’m just sayin’ maybe he should get one.”
“I’ll look into it. I know someone out of town who might help out.”
“Whatever. I’m no expert.”
“You asked Uncle Joe to put you on days.”
Bel colored. “Yeah. So what?”
“So I think it’s good you check up on him. And Daniel looks better than I’ve ever seen him.”
Bel watched Joshua slam the yoga ball against the ground. Had a sudden vision of Kenny Cooper throwing Daniel to the ground. Beating the shit out of him.
You never knew, did you, with kids, what they’d turn out to be? Bel’s mother had never liked him playing with Harvey Blake when they were little because she thought Harvey wasn’t quite right, but now Harvey had a scholarship to some journalism program.
“What would you do?” he asked Dav. “If your kid turns out like Whitlock. Or like Cooper.”
“Now there’s a lovely thought. What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“It could happen.”
“Asshole. I’d love him. Or her.”
“Even if he half beat someone to death? Or burned a guy’s house down?”
“Probably. Yeah. I dunno, ask me when little Jim’s on the news in an orange jumpsuit.”
“You gonna name that thing Jim Jr.?” He couldn’t picture Dav agreeing to that.
Dav grinned. “Hell no. I was thinking maybe Berkeley, if it’s a boy.”
“Why don’t you just name him Wedgie Bait?”
“Shut up. Bel.”
“I pull it off.”
“Yeah, I guess you do.”
They were silent a minute. “Dav?”
“Yeah?”
“I think I might try to help Daniel Whitlock. And I was wondering if you’d help me do that.”
Joshua was rolling the yoga ball again. Bel and Dav both watched as he charged at a squirrel and laughed when it ran up a tree. It was a suicide mission, right? Rescuing a guy from a fire was one thing. Rescuing a guy from himself? Bel booked enough addicts and wife beaters to know people didn’t change. Not really. Bel didn’t even know what the hell he meant by trying to help Whitlock, what he planned to do, or whether it would work. He just knew he had to try.
He wasn’t gonna watch Daniel burn.
Dav clinked her soda bottle against his beer bottle. “Welcome to the club. I haven’t had anyone join in three years.”
Daniel was helping Mr. Roan in the garden. A good way of keeping himself occupied until Belman showed up. Until he could sleep. Daniel kind of liked spending time with someone who was crazier than himself—though he didn’t tell Mr. Roan that.
Mr. Roan planted vegetables by hurling fistfuls of seeds down like magic dust. Daniel kept half-expecting to see a ball of smoke fly from his hand, hit the ground, and burst into a bouquet of zucchini. Half of what the old man said didn’t make sense, but Daniel nodded and agreed anyway. There were also random periods where Mr. Roan was totally coherent, and Daniel enjoyed hearing him talk about his brothers, his travels, and the history of Logan.
At one point Mr. Roan said something about the soil not having enough iron, and Daniel found himself talking animatedly about the chemistry of topsoil, something no one—not Marcus, not Casey, not Jeff—ever used to let him prattle on about. But Mr. Roan seemed to like the information, even if he didn’t retain much of it.
“You know a lot,” Mr. Roan said.
“I took a lot of bullshit chemistry classes.” Daniel paused. Wiped his forehead on his arm. “Sorry. A lot of useless chem classes.”
“Well, that’s college for you. A lot of bullshit.”
Daniel grinned. “I liked it okay.”
“You have a feller in college?”
Daniel glanced at him warily. Just about anyone else in town, and Daniel would have assumed it was a trap. Could he count on Mr. Roan, at least, not to make a fag comment? “Yeah. I did.”
“Me too.”
“You . . . you too?”
Mr. Roan nodded. “A string of ’em.”
Daniel glanced around, half-worried they were being overheard.
“I been alive eighty-two years,” Mr. Roan said, following Daniel’s gaze. “I don’t care who knows I like cock.”
Daniel burst out laughing. He felt simultaneously shocked, uncomfortable, and relieved. “I never knew that about you.”
“Well, I don’t advertise. But it ain’t some dark secret.”
Daniel’s smile slipped. He thought back to Kenny. There had been no point in pressing charges after the assault, since he’d come on to Kenny. Since he didn’t remember what he’d said to Kenny, and it didn’t matter anyhow. It was Daniel’s fault for not keeping his mouth shut. You didn’t advertise, not in this town. Everyone knew that.
“Hey, Whitlock! Still wanna suck my dick?”
And Daniel, frozen at the edge of the field that stretched north from downtown, thinking why would he want to suck Kenny Cooper’s dick. Bold and stupid enough to say so.
“Don’t worry, though,” Mr. Roan said now. “You’re safe. Not my type.”
/> Daniel laughed again. “Who is your type?”
Mr. Roan kicked the wheel of the wheelbarrow. “White hair. A real pretty head of white hair. And wrinkles. I like these ones.” He pointed to the corners of his mouth, which had deep furrows down to his chin. He moved his fingers under his eyes. “I like just a slight bag right here.” He grinned, showing his yellow teeth. “A nice, wrinkly dick that smooths out as it gets hard. And curly eyebrow hairs.”
“You found anyone in Logan who fits the bill?”
Mr. Roan shook his head. “I’m working on it.”
“Well, good luck. I advertise more’n I ought to, and believe me, the pickings are slim.”
“I been here a lot longer than you, and I know it.”
Daniel propped up a section of the fence that was sagging. Took his hand away and watched it sag again. “It’s okay in a lot of places. Where I went to school, you could hold hands with a guy. No one fussed.”
“Maybe you ought to go back there.”
“Can’t. Gotta stay where . . . where I know what’s what.”
Where I don’t forget what I am, and that I don’t deserve anything better. Would wreck anything better.
“I reckon that’s what most of us think. But there’s more strangers where you’re from than in some sandland halfway around the world. And more strangers in your head than any place on the map.”
Daniel laughed again. “Maybe so.”
Ten minutes later, Mr. Roan was in a cawing match with some crows. Then he made a comment about Eisenhower, went inside, and fixed lemonade without any sugar. Daniel drank a whole glass anyway.
Beat the hell out of his own piss.
Daniel flinched as he released the tabs of the second clamp, letting the teeth sink into his right nipple. Increased the tension bit by bit. Five clamps—two on his nipples, two on his balls, one on his dick. The clamps on his nipples were clothespin clamps, and he’d screwed them as tight as he could without passing out. No way he’d fall asleep with these on. Just had to stay awake until Belman got here. He stood.
He’d felt all right since gardening with Mr. Roan. Being outside, being active, usually helped him feel centered. He was tired now, but in a good way—exhausted enough that he’d almost fallen asleep when he’d sat down for a minute, but at least he didn’t feel quite so scared. And he was glad Belman was coming. Glad Belman wasn’t so pissed about last night that he’d refused to have anything to do with Daniel.
Your fault anyway, Belman. You spoiled me.
Daniel almost grinned. Not that it was funny, what he’d done last night. And it sure as hell wasn’t funny that he was becoming reliant on Belman—that would only lead to trouble.
But he wanted to smile. So fuck it, he was gonna smile.
He pulled up his boxers and went to the kitchen to make dinner. Chili. He made enough for Belman, too, in case he was hungry.
Just standing here in my clamps and boxers, making dinner.
The absurdity of the situation really was epic.
There was a knock at the door, and Daniel froze. Was Belman early? He took off the nipple clamps as quickly as he dared and shoved them in the spice cabinet. Almost doubled over as the blood came rushing back. He paused until the pain subsided. In the main room, he grabbed a baggy T-shirt and threw it on. It mostly covered his boxers. He thought about putting on pajama pants, but it would be too hard to get them on without jostling the clamps between his legs. And besides, he didn’t mind Belman seeing him in his boxers. Didn’t think Belman would mind either.
He opened the door and tensed instantly. Shit. Shit. Shit. His mom held a covered casserole dish. The corners of her mouth were turned down. In worry, or maybe disapproval at the state of the cabin, at the state of him. Daniel couldn’t remember the last time she’d come out here. It had been so long that he’d forgotten what he should say.
“Hey, Mom,” he managed at last. He could hardly bring himself to look at her: the lines, the gray hair, the hard cast to her features that he’d put there. Built it up over the years, bit by bit, until neither of them recognized her anymore.
“Hello, Daniel.”
He opened the screen and stepped out onto the porch. He didn’t want her in the cabin. Not with the cuffs on the bed. Not with the evidence of another fucking sickness lying there, out in the open, as stark as the scorch marks on the wall.
“I made you this.” His mom handed him the dish. He peered through the glass top. Mac and cheese, it looked like.
“Thanks,” he said numbly.
“Are you well?” She said it with as much polite concern as you’d muster up for a neighbor, or the friend of a friend.
“Sure.” His throat ached.
“We heard about the fire.”
“You and everyone.”
Please leave, please leave.
Sometimes being near his mother was worse than the memory of Kenny Cooper standing over him.
And yet some part of him was still glad to see her. Didn’t want her to go. He wanted to ask her if work was good, how her hydrangeas were doing, what she was reading at Cherry Hanson’s book club this week . . . all those things that people in the street probably asked her every day, but Daniel couldn’t.
She took a deep breath. “I’ve got some money together. To send you somewhere.”
Daniel’s heart became a heavy dark knot in his chest. “Send me where?”
“A hospital or . . . or somewhere.” The plea in her words was evident. “Somewhere they can help you.”
Help me, or hide me away?
Where had this idea of getting help been years ago? Would have been better for the whole fucking world if he’d been sent away somewhere when he was a kid. But no doctors. Just, “Don’t you lie to me, Daniel!”
And he knew now that doctors couldn’t do a damn thing.
I ain’t going anywhere. Belman’s gonna help me. Shit.
“Where’d you find money for that?” He knew money had been tight for his parents since the sawmill had closed. His dad’s two shifts a week at the plant didn’t go far.
“Borrowed it.” She looked almost defiant. “It doesn’t matter where from.”
He shifted, and the clamps tugged between his legs. Five minutes ago, he’d wanted to laugh at how bizarre his life was. But no, it was just completely fucked up. He was completely fucked up. “Is that what you came out here to tell me?” Should have known it wasn’t for mac and cheese. “I’m not taking your money. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
Not another hospital. Not where they kept him on so many drugs he couldn’t remember his own name. Couldn’t tell the difference between his nightmares and reality even when he was awake.
“You get arrested again, though, that’ll be trouble, won’t it?” Her face twisted. “I hear things, Daniel, about how you . . . how you behave. It’s disgusting. You need treatment.”
“There’s no treatment.” Daniel heard his voice rising.
She took a step back. “Don’t get mad at me. I want you to get help.”
“By locking me up?” Odd to be getting mad, when locking himself up was exactly what he did anyway. But he did it on his terms, didn’t he? He made the decisions.
“By keeping you . . . safe.”
You mean keeping Logan safe from me.
“Do you think I ought to be committed?” he asked her.
She looked away.
“Do you?” he demanded.
She shook her head. “Not committed. No. But you could go somewhere . . . voluntarily. For help.”
“What kind of help?” he shouted. “What kind of help am I supposed to get?”
She backed up some more. “Don’t yell at me.”
“Do you want to help me, Mom, or do you just want me to go away?” He clenched his fists, and her eyes widened.
He was scaring her. Shit, he wanted to scare her. But no, that wasn’t a good idea. She’d leave now. And he’d be alone.
Sure enough, she turned away. “You shouldn’t even say that.�
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Guilt bit at him, but it wasn’t an answer, was it? It still wasn’t an answer.
She walked toward her car. Didn’t say good-bye.
“I love you, Daniel,” she’d said twenty-two years ago, when they’d left the house for his first day of kindergarten. He remembered it so clearly. He’d been looking forward to kindergarten for weeks, but suddenly he’d been scared. He’d held his mom’s hand the entire way there, listening to her tell him that he was such a big boy now, that he’d love it, that he’d make so many new friends. She’d made him feel so brave that he hadn’t even cried at the front gate like some of the other kids.
What if he said it now? “I love you, Mom.”
What if she just kept walking?
Can’t love someone who treats you like that. Can’t love someone who don’t love you.
He wished he believed that.
He didn’t say anything.
He thought of Belman. Why the fuck would he think of Belman? Belman had nothing to do with love.
He went inside and tried not to think about the money his mom had borrowed. Borrowed. She was that desperate to get rid of him. Send you somewhere. And maybe then she could pretend that he’d never existed at all.
His parole period wasn’t up yet, but he didn’t imagine he’d have any problem getting permission to leave Logan if it was to be locked up somewhere.
By the time Belman arrived, Daniel had left the clamps on his balls and dick way too long. He was in the bathroom removing them when the knock came. It was fucking hard to walk even the few steps across the cabin to the door.
Belman nodded at him. “Daniel.”
Daniel liked hearing Belman say his name. “Hey.” He stepped back so Belman could come in. “I made chili. You’re welcome to some.” He started toward the kitchen. Stopped. The pain in his balls was awful. “I haven’t ate yet. Eaten.”
“You all right?”
“Sure.”
“Walkin’ kind of funny.”
“Stubbed my toe.”
Belman grumbled. “Daniel?”
“Yeah?”
“Well . . . you wouldn’t remember I guess. But if you . . . I mean, did you do anything with those guys last night? They do anything to you, besides push you around?”
