by Lisa Henry
Daniel shook his head. “Don’t think so. You prob’ly know better’n I do what happened.” He started to turn toward Belman, but thought better of it. “Sometimes the stuff I do to keep awake hurts a little.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I use some of that stuff from the bag to keep me awake. You want chili or not?”
Belman cleared his throat. “I wanna see what’s in the bag.”
No. Fuck no. Don’t do this.
“No, you don’t.”
“Why would I ask, then?”
“Ain’t it enough? What you’ve seen already? You know I’m nuts, so let me do that stuff in peace. You don’t have to see it.”
“I don’t want to see you do it. But I wanna know what you do.”
“No.” Daniel went to the kitchen and took two bowls out. Heaped chili into each one.
“And I don’t think you’re nuts.”
“’Course you do.”
“Damn it, Whitlock. I’m tryin’ to help you.”
“You can help me by locking me up at night and getting me out in the morning.”
“You let Marcus do a whole lot more.”
“Why’re you so interested in Marcus? He’s gone!”
“Well, you’re the one who talks to him in your sleep.”
“Why’s it matter what he did? Huh? Why’re you so interested? You like the shit you saw in my bag? You ever swing a paddle, Officer?”
“Bel. Call me Bel.”
“This ain’t an introduction. I’m yelling at you.”
“I can hear that. So what’s got you wound up?”
“You! Asking to know what I do. If I told you all I’d done, you’d never come back here.” Daniel slammed the lid back on the chili pot.
“Try me.”
Daniel faced him. “I drank my own piss. Few nights ago. Hid the spare key in it, thinking I wouldn’t dare fucking drink piss, even in my sleep. But I did. And I unlocked myself and went to Greenducks. I got a plug I shove up my ass—sometimes I put stuff on it that’ll make it burn while it’s up there. Hard to go to sleep with your ass on fire. Tonight it was clamps on my balls.”
Daniel realized he was still holding the ladle. He threw it in the sink. Went to the bathroom and grabbed the bag from the cabinet. He strode back into the main room, opened the bag, and started pulling out chains, locks, and cuffs, tossing them onto the floor. “This is all to keep me contained. I used to just put the locks on the doors, but my sleep brain always remembers where the key is.” A coil of rope. The straitjacket.
Belman—Bel—picked that up. Daniel stopped breathing. Wished he could look away. Wished he could fucking vanish. “You use this?” Bel asked.
“Not without help. Marcus used it.”
“Jesus.”
“I didn’t mind it,” Daniel said defensively. “Felt good, actually. Knowing I couldn’t move. Better’n the cuffs. The cuffs hurt.”
Bel stared at the straitjacket.
“So what do you think, Bel?” Daniel spat.
“I think you’re gonna be all right,” Bel said, looking up.
“Huh?”
Bel dropped the straitjacket on the floor. “I said I think you’re gonna be all right.”
“Fuck you.” Daniel tossed the bag at Bel’s feet. “There you go. I’m wide awake, so it ain’t rape or whatever you’re worried about. Pick some toys. I’ll show you what Marcus and I did.”
“How many more times are we gonna play this game?” Bel sounded annoyed, and for a second, Daniel’s bravado wavered. “You must really think I’m a piece of shit, huh? If you think I’m gonna like doing stuff to you that you hate.”
“Who says I hate it? Maybe the reason I stay awake with clamps on my balls is I’m just getting off over and over again!” Daniel wished he could stop himself from talking, but it felt good. It felt good to yell at someone who’d listen.
“So do you get off on it?”
Daniel glared. “Sometimes.”
“But not all the time?”
He could feel his anger dissipating, leaving fear in its place. An easy fear, familiar. “No.”
Bel took a step closer. Daniel tensed, but Bel only picked up the bag, glanced inside it, then set it aside. “So what does get you off?”
Daniel drew on his last reserves of anger. “Anything you did would probably get me there in two seconds. But you won’t fucking touch me.”
“Not while you’re asleep.”
“I’m not asleep now.”
“And while you’re awake . . . well, I guess I think we should know each other better first.”
Daniel laughed bitterly. “Why? I don’t improve with time.”
Bel smiled. That smile made Daniel ashamed of everything he’d said these last few minutes—it was soft and a little anxious. And real.
“Let’s just wait on it, Daniel. It ain’t that I don’t want to. But let’s just wait.”
Daniel looked at the floor. Nodded. “Sorry.”
“Me too. You forgive me enough to let me have a go at that chili?”
Daniel snorted. “I guess.”
They went into the kitchen.
“I brought cards.”
Daniel looked at him. “What cards?”
“Playing cards. You know Texas Hold’em?”
“It’s been a while.”
“I’ll refresh you.”
Daniel dropped spoons in the bowls and handed one to Bel. “I don’t have anywhere to sit, really.”
“How about the porch step?”
Daniel followed Bel outside, and they sat on the step. Played cards after they finished their dinner, Daniel finally relaxing into the idea of being here with Bel, of laughing at each other’s dumb jokes, of not feeling like he ought to be apologizing every few seconds for making Bel come here. He offered. Maybe for the town’s sake and not mine. But he offered. They went in once it got too dark and the mosquitoes got bad.
“How do you live without a TV?” Bel asked.
“How do you live with one? I don’t need all that noise. I got enough of my own.”
When it was time for bed, Bel fastened the leather cuffs around Daniel’s wrists. Daniel was quiet. Tried to think of what he liked about being bound. Safe. Couldn’t go anywhere. Safe to sleep.
Bel held on to his wrists for a moment after the cuffs were latched. Daniel squirmed. Mostly nerves, but maybe an invitation. He’d always thought some of the stuff Marcus and he had done could be sexy. If there hadn’t been that other side to it. The side where Daniel had to push Marcus further than felt good, but Daniel was always afraid it wasn’t going to be enough.
Bel waited until Daniel was looking at him. Then he squeezed Daniel’s wrists gently. “Good night, Whitlock.”
Daniel swallowed. “’Night, Bel.”
“Gonna be in that chair, okay? Keeping an eye on you.”
Daniel managed a grin. “That’s pretty creepy.”
Bel laughed. “You don’t want someone watching you sleep?”
“Whole town’s watched me sleep.”
Bel laughed again, and warmth spread through Daniel. “Sorry,” Bel said. “Maybe that ain’t funny.”
“No,” Daniel agreed. “Sometimes it ain’t. But right now it is.”
Bel ran a hand briefly over Daniel’s forehead. “Get some sleep.”
“You too,” Daniel said softly. “You look tired.”
“I’m all right.”
Yeah. I guess you are. More all right than most people I know.
Bel turned off the light, and Daniel closed his eyes.
Bel woke to screaming. At first he didn’t know where he was, but he was on his feet in seconds.
The armchair. He’d been dozing in Whitlock’s armchair, and now Whitlock was thrashing in the bed, screaming.
“Whitlock,” Bel said sharply. “Daniel.”
He went to the bed and turned on the light.
Daniel’s eyes were wide, and he was arching up in his bonds like he was poss
essed. He’d kicked the covers to the floor. He let out another scream. Didn’t seem to see Bel at all.
“Shhh,” Bel said. “Shhh, shhh.”
Daniel fell back, trembling. Opened his mouth, and shit, it was just like a possession, because nothing that came out made a lick of sense, just a few trembling syllables, and then another scream. The Devil and Daniel Whitlock, Bel thought. He finally caught one word: “Fire.”
“There’s no fire, Daniel,” he said.
Daniel shivered again. Closed his eyes and keened.
Jesus. Bel sat on the edge of the bed and placed a hand on Daniel’s chest. Daniel jerked. “No fire, Daniel. No fire. Come on now. Calm down.”
He sat there awhile, murmuring nonsense, assuring Daniel over and over that there wasn’t a fire, while Daniel struggled in his cuffs. Finally, Daniel lay still. Seemed to be listening to Bel’s voice.
Bel glanced at Daniel’s wrist. The tension in the chain made Bel wince. Daniel was gonna break his goddamn arm if he didn’t quit pulling.
“Can’t get out,” Daniel whispered. “Trapped here.”
He was, wasn’t he? Maybe there was no fire, but that didn’t change the fact that Daniel was a prisoner.
Bel reached over and undid the cuffs from the bed. Stupid? Definitely. But Bel wasn’t exactly specializing in good decisions lately.
Daniel immediately rolled onto his stomach, drew his legs under him, and covered his head with his arms. He stayed huddled in a ball on the center of the bed, and Bel cautiously put his hand on Daniel’s back and rubbed through his T-shirt, feeling the knots of bone, the heat and dampness beneath the fabric. “Easy, now,” Bel said. “Whatever you think’s happening, it ain’t real.” He paused. Wasn’t sure what Whitlock thought was happening. “It’s just me. I’m real. We’re in your cabin and there ain’t no fire, Whitlock. Come on, sit up and see.”
He tried to urge Daniel up, watching Daniel’s body closely for signs he might lash out. Daniel curled tighter as Bel ran a hand down his right arm, removed the cuff, and set it aside. Did the same with the left cuff. He stared at the bruises. Slowly worked his thumb around one of the worst spots. Daniel’s hands were still clasped behind his head, his fingers laced tight. As Bel rubbed the raw skin of his wrist, he slowly moved up to pry apart Daniel’s white fingers. “Daniel,” he said softly. “Let go now.”
Daniel let Bel unlace his fingers. Let Bel uncurl him. He sat up, still shaking, and tried to scream again as his gaze fell on the far wall. But his voice was gone. All he managed was a gulp and a slight whimper.
“Don’t look,” Bel suggested, pulling Daniel close to him. He shifted so Daniel was half in his lap, and pressed Daniel’s head against his chest. “There you go. Just don’t look at it.”
Daniel’s breath came in short, sharp gasps. Heat poured from his body even though he continued to shiver. He fisted Bel’s shirt. Murmured something Bel didn’t understand.
“We’ll just stay here until things get better, okay?”
Bel didn’t know what the fuck he was saying. They could stay here until Daniel’s nightmare or whatever passed, sure. But things were never gonna get better for Daniel. Was Bel gonna hang around forever like a fool, hoping they would?
Maybe.
He rubbed Daniel’s back.
Couldn’t imagine letting him go right now.
Daniel woke to something tight around him. The straitjacket?
No. Bel. Bel was holding him. Bel was sitting on the bed, his back against the wall, Daniel’s head pillowed on his chest. One of his hands was around Daniel’s left wrist, not restraining, but rubbing the bruises softly with his thumb.
Fuck. For once in his life, Daniel wished he could stay under. Because this should have been a hallucination, but it wasn’t; Bel really was holding him. And Daniel didn’t want to find out why. Just wanted to stay like this.
The doctors he saw before his trial said he wasn’t crazy, but Daniel didn’t know if he believed that. They were paid to be on his side, weren’t they? They said the confusion, the mood swings, the depression, even the lack of libido when he was awake, that all came from the fact that he didn’t get enough proper sleep. The kind where his body rested, and not the kind where it went out and burned down houses with people inside. He was transferred to the hospital ward in the jail—wasn’t crazy, but it was the safest place for him.
He’d been looking for another safe place ever since.
Waking up with Belman holding him felt like he’d found it. He remembered waking with Marcus’s arms around him, years ago. Marcus climbing into bed with him after a scene. A hand on his back or in his hair. His lips against Daniel’s. The pain almost worth it.
Bel’s arms loosened. “Daniel?”
The jig was up.
“Hey,” Daniel said. He shifted, sitting. Bel let go easily. Daniel didn’t know what he’d expected—that Bel would try to hold on to him? “Sorry. What’d I— Did I get out?”
“You were having a nightmare or something. I undid the cuffs ’cause you were—”
Daniel nodded. “I get those sometimes. You just gotta ignore them.”
“Pretty hard to ignore.”
Daniel looked away. “Sorry.”
Guilt swept through him, souring everything. What had it been this time? Kenny Cooper? His cabin burning? Hell? His shoulder was still brushing Bel’s. He scooted away. “Don’t even remember what I dream about, most times.”
“The fire,” Bel said. “You talk about the fire when you sleepwalk. And just now, when you were havin’ the bad dream.”
Daniel didn’t answer. Didn’t know what kind of answer Bel wanted. Yeah, he was freaked out by fire. Didn’t know what to do about it except nut up.
“It ain’t real. It’s over.”
“I know that,” Daniel said quickly.
“I know you do. And I’m telling you now, while you’re awake. You don’t have to worry about it anymore.”
Daniel tilted his head. Bel’s tone was interesting—almost bossy, but not quite. Low, mostly calm, but with a slight edge Daniel wondered about. Was he pissed at Daniel for not getting it through his subconscious that his cabin wasn’t burning down? Maybe that wasn’t it. There was a feeling behind the words, but it wasn’t anger.
“Well, I’ll try to remember that,” Daniel said. He stared at his wrists. They hurt.
Good. He hoped they would hurt worse when Bel put the cuffs back on.
“I’ll get off your bed,” Bel said, scooting forward. “You wanna go back to sleep?”
Fuck no. But what choice did he have but to try? “Rather not.” Daniel tried to smile. “But reckon I oughta.”
“We could take a walk,” Bel said.
That startled Daniel.
“You got a nice big property,” Bel added. He stood and stretched. “Bet it’s pretty at night.”
A moonlit fucking walk?
Daniel wasn’t sure he liked pretending-to-be-nice Bel. Or maybe he liked him way too much, and he had to remember that pretending-to-be-nice Bel wasn’t any more real than Daniel’s dreams about the fire.
Maybe he likes you okay. Maybe he likes you okay enough to look after you a little. But he sure as hell doesn’t want to take a walk with you in the middle of the night.
Daniel thought about how soothing the fresh air would be. How nice it would be to get out of this prison. But he couldn’t. Bel needed sleep. Daniel needed sleep.
“No, thanks.” He found the cuffs and started putting them on. “I’ll be quiet now, I hope.” He lay on his side and held his arms out for Bel to lock the cuffs.
Bel leaned over and picked up the combination padlock. Daniel swallowed. A part of him wished Bel wouldn’t do this. That he’d insist on the walk. That he’d sit up with Daniel all night, playing cards or whatever, and Daniel wouldn’t have to risk another night terror.
But Daniel appreciated Bel as much for his ability to be practical as for his kindness. He needed someone like Bel, someone who could see how much slee
p hurt him, who could hear him screaming, see the bruises on his wrist—and would lock him up anyway.
Bel kept his gaze on Daniel’s as he clicked the padlock shut. “Sorry,” Bel whispered.
“Don’t be.”
“I am, though.”
And that was all Bel said. He went back to the chair.
“Dad good?” Bel asked, the screen door clanging shut behind him.
His mama led the way through to the kitchen. “Not bad.”
Strange how families talked in code like that. Bel’s dad had a problem with gambling, but nobody came out and said it. Just asked if he was good, and checked that there was enough money for groceries that week. Bel could remember a few times when he was a kid, eating cereal for dinner or missing out on a school trip because even though his permission note was signed the money had vanished. And he could remember Billy and his dad coming to blows one night back when Billy was in high school, and Uncle Joe coming around and sorting them out.
“Uncle Joe,” he’d asked when he was little, “do you put bad people in jail?”
“Well, I put people who’ve done bad things in jail.”
“Ain’t that the same thing?”
“Not exactly.”
Uncle Joe and Aunt Marcy didn’t have kids of their own, but they’d always kept beds made up for their nephews in case they needed them. Bel had bolted down to their place a few times when he was growing up, and barreled right in without knocking. Whenever that happened, Aunt Marcy would make him hot chocolate and open a bag of cookies, and Uncle Joe would head over to his house to see what was going on.
Families talked around things like that. Sometimes, so did whole towns. Everyone knew everyone’s business in Logan. Mostly it didn’t matter, since every family had a drunk or a gambler or a loon of their own. Sometimes you got into fights with other kids who talked shit about your folks, because you knew theirs were no better. But sometimes a family had a Daniel Whitlock in it, and nobody knew what to make of that.
“You dating Casey Whitlock?” their mom had asked Jim way back when.
“Yeah. So?”
“That family’s trouble.”
“That’s bullshit, Mama,” Jim had said. “Her brother’s weird, but she and her folks are okay.”
