Mack: [Staring again at the photograph] Does he want to hurt me?
Faber: What makes you say that?
Mack: I don’t know. He looks cross. Like he wants to hit someone.
Faber: Does that bother you?
[Pause]
Mack: Of course.
Faber: Why?
Mack: Because I see something.
Faber: What do you see?
Mack: I think Dark Daddy might live inside him.
[Pause]
Faber: What makes you say that?
Mack: The spade. I used to hear it when he came. He dragged it behind him. I could always hear it scraping across the yard and I knew I must have done something bad.
Kincaid: Do you recognize the man?
Mack: No. Just the thing inside. It’s peering at me from behind the man’s eyes. [Throws the photograph across the table] Please. Take it away. I don’t want to see it anymore! It’ll make him come.
Faber: [Concealing photograph in pocket] It’s alright, Mack. It’s gone. Okay? I’ve put it away. You’ll be fine.
Mack: Don’t make me look at it, Daddy. I’ll be a good boy.
Kincaid: It’s okay, Mack. Nothing can hurt you in here. You’re perfectly safe.
Mack: Will you look after me?
[Pause]
Kincaid: Dr. Faber and I will both look after you. I promise.
Mack: [Frowning] I don’t like it when you make promises. Last time you forgot and it got broke.
Kincaid: I don’t remember that. What happened?
Mack: You made me and Mommy wait.
Kincaid: What for?
Mack: Don’t you remember? It was Mommy’s birthday.
Kincaid: And what were you waiting for?
Mack: You promised you’d take us to a restaurant. That place Mommy really liked that you’d taken us to before.
Kincaid: Can you remember the name of the restaurant?
Mack: You kidder. You know which one.
Kincaid: [Smiling] Then what?
Mack: You were late. Mommy made us sit in the dark and wait for you to come back. When you arrived, she started screaming.
Kincaid: What did you do?
Mack: I ran upstairs, but I could hear you shouting at one another. She ripped off her dress and threw it at you. Then she was crying. You slammed the door and left.
[Kincaid glances at Faber. A telling look is exchanged.]
Kincaid: That was a mistake, Mack. A terrible misunderstanding. I’m so sorry. If Mommy was here, I’d apologize to her too.
Mack: You broke your promise.
Kincaid: I know. Sometimes people break promises without meaning to.
Mack: Then they aren’t worth making, are they?
Kincaid: I suppose not.
Mack: Do you still promise to keep me safe from Dark Daddy?
[Pause]
Kincaid: I’ll do my best.
[Pause]
Mack: I don’t like this room. It makes me feel funny.
Kincaid: Then perhaps we should stop. We’ve covered some heavy ground this evening.
[Pause]
Mack: Like the man in the picture.
Faber: Excuse me?
Mack: Heavy ground. Maybe that’s why he needed the spade.
CHAPTER 7: OUR FATHER
There was a moment of disorienting realignment as Kate seemed to float out of her body and hang suspended in the air. She felt weightless, as though the ballast holding her down, grounding her, had been wrenched free. She glanced down at the bare room: the freshly laundered bed, the nightstand, the upside-down cross. It all seemed so clean, so ordinary. She looked again. Seated on the bed was a woman holding a photograph. She was barely breathing. It appeared as though she had been shut down, like a robot, her head tilting forward onto her chest.
A rush of rearranged air and Kate was back in her own body, the moment of dislocation passed, the enormity of what she held in her hands pressing her into the bed. She experienced a clamor of emotion as her senses reconnected, and then she was up and running from the room, clutching the photograph so tightly the veins in her left arm surfaced like a road map, each blue tributary leading to the image of the naked boy.
She ran down the short corridor, breathing heavily, her heart thudding in her chest. She wasn’t aware of a single thought entering her head. All she could see was Billy being carried into the rectory by Father Hedley and the naked boy in the Polaroid, staring at her with heavy, accusing eyes. She heard the priest’s voice saying That should be plenty of time, and felt the terror of her negligence as a deep chill that gnawed into the marrow of her bones.
She opened the door to Father Hedley’s living quarters and her momentum carried her to the middle of the room. She stood looking through the glass partition at the sofa supporting her son. She could see that Billy was still asleep, but the blanket she had draped him in had been drawn back. His body looked frail and unattended. Perched on the edge of the sofa was Father Hedley. He was smiling. His large hand was softly stroking Billy’s cheek. The expression on his face was that of a child who has no awareness that he’s suddenly become dangerously lost.
Kate’s scream was reverberating around the rectory even before she was completely reconciled to having released it. She reached for the nearest object—a molded representation of Christ being crucified on the cross—and already had the statue raised above her head as she pulled open the glass partition and bore down on Father Hedley with a rage she had presumed fully spent after her confrontation with Jimmy earlier in the night.
As she approached, Father Hedley turned and pulled his hand from Billy’s cheek. The smile fell from his face; his eyes glazed over in shame and disgust, as though he had caught his own reflection in Kate’s advancing eyes. His hand instinctively rose to protect his face and Kate brought the base of the statue—bearing the mordant inscription For God so loved the world He gave His only begotten son—crashing down on the back of the flailing priest’s head.
Father Hedley fell to the floor, a rill of blood cutting a path from his crown to his temple. Kate watched, numb with shock, as the red line cut across Father Hedley’s shaven jowl, reminding her of the sickening route the man’s finger had traced against Billy’s skin. How with that one gesture—the gentle caressing of a cheek—he had confirmed her worst fear. Had articulated for her what she had known all along: that no one was to be trusted. Not while the compass of Billy’s safety continued to swing her way. She wouldn’t allow it.
As she stared down at the unmoving priest, she was vaguely aware that this was the second man she had felled in a matter of hours. The notion was ludicrous—almost amusing—and she was still shaking her head in disbelief when Jasper and Alison entered, their old eyes stretched wide with alarm.
“What the devil have you done?” Jasper said, staring through the glass at Father Hedley. He seemed barely able to decode the obvious; found himself struggling to express even a fraction of what he was holding inside.
Kate was breathing hard. She realized she was still holding the statue of Christ. There were some words on the base that she couldn’t read. They had been blotted out by Father Hedley’s blood. She let it drop to the floor and lifted Billy from the sofa. He looked confused, still half-asleep, and she was grateful that his exhaustion had held him in place for so long.
“Mommy?” he said, squinting his eyes and trying to make sense of the room. She buried his head in her chest.
“Go to sleep, sweetie. Just a little thunder, that’s all.”
Billy immediately closed his eyes and nestled into his mother’s warmth. Kate carried him from the study, walked past the glass partition and into the room occupied by Jasper and his wife.
“Here,” she said, handing Jasper the Polaroid and settling into an armchair with her son. “A little something from Father Hedley’s collection.”
* * *
As Maggie cleaned his eye, swabbing at the loose flesh and sterilizing the open wound, Jimmy found himself flipping in a
nd out of consciousness. His body lay cambered between Maggie’s sofa and the floor. His head throbbed with memories of Billy growing up. The way his face had assumed a distinction of its own while retaining elements of both Jimmy and Kate.
Another face kept flashing in his mind’s eye and it took him a moment to identify it as one of Billy’s friends. Was it Marvin? Garvin? He could never remember. The boy was troubled by a clutch of tics and had a face as round as a wheel of cheese. Jimmy liked him, though; there was something almost alien about the way he wrestled with words, as though he might one day release a flood of them, each one backed up in his brain like sludge. Jimmy had only heard him speak on about three different occasions, each time the words wrapping themselves around his tongue and tumbling out in such a random order it was as though the boy was inviting Jimmy to construct a sentence of his own. He had told Billy to look out for the boy, to keep watch over him in the school yard and the streets. Whenever the boy passed the house, he would drop a sweet or a bar of chocolate through the letterbox. Jimmy sometimes found them on the welcome mat. He passed them on to Billy and they would both smile and think of the boy. Jimmy felt a knot of sadness, a tightness in his throat, as he wondered how long such a friendship might last; knew that eventually the world would intrude and take one or the other of them away.
The boy’s face shimmered and disappeared, taking the recollection with it. Jimmy lost himself for a moment in the loop of his own memories and then haltingly regained consciousness, his right eye flickering open and panning round the room.
“You back with us, then?” Maggie said, sitting on the floor beside him and rubbing his hand. “You missed some of the action for a while.”
Jimmy’s mouth felt dry and his empty socket itched. He reached a hand up and felt padding taped across his left eye.
“What’s this?” he said.
Maggie looked at him, her face tired and drawn. “It needed dressing, Jimmy. I did the best I could.”
He started prising the surgical tape from his face and ripped the bandage from his eye.
“If you cover it,” he said, “it won’t be able to see where she is.”
Maggie watched him for a moment, felt a mild sense of revulsion as he slowly closed his right eye. It was like watching a lizard basking in the sun.
“If that comment had any logic to it at all, I’m afraid it escaped me,” she said. “Seriously, Jimmy, you need to keep it covered up. It could become infected.”
“No dressing,” Jimmy said, throwing the bandage to the floor. “I want him to see.”
“Want who to see?”
“Billy. I want him to see what his mother did to me. When I find them, I want that bitch to see the look on Billy’s face when he sees his daddy for the first time. I want her to realize that she’s scarred us both.”
“Then what?”
Jimmy smiled. “Then it’s an eye for an eye,” he said. “Isn’t that how the story goes?”
* * *
Jasper looked at the Polaroid and his face paled in the washed-out light. Alison reached out to take a look and he handed it across. Her shoulders slumped. Kate thought she saw a look of disappointment pass before her eyes as she returned it to Jasper, already regretting having had the misfortune to look upon it at all.
“Where did you find this?” Jasper said. His voice was controlled, but his eyes were dark, concentrating hard on Kate as she rocked her son back to sleep.
“It was under the mattress,” she said softly. “When I came in, he was…” She suddenly found it hard to focus. Her anger was spent and she could feel her body shaking. She felt drained. “He was stroking Billy’s face,” she said, trying hard to repress what little emotion she had left. “He was…touching him.” Her throat clenched and she fought back whatever impulse was trying to escape. This wasn’t the place. She had to protect Billy. That was her first obligation; her second was to remain as detached as she could. That was all she needed to consider right now: staying calm, staying strong.
“Jesus, Kate,” Jasper said. “I’m so sorry…” He looked at the Polaroid again and she realized how frail he was. He seemed unsure of himself and threw the picture on a nearby table in disgust.
Kate shook her head. “Don’t do that,” she said. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
Jasper glanced towards Father Hedley, still lying motionless on the floor of the study. “Alison, would you be kind enough to fetch me a glass of water?” Alison shuffled out of the room and there was a moment’s silence. Neither Jasper nor Kate could think of anything acceptable to say. They heard a tap gush in the kitchen; the musical flute of water cascading into glass.
When Alison returned, she handed the drink to her husband and moved towards Kate. She placed a hand on her shoulder. Kate could see the bones moving in the woman’s hand.
Jasper walked through the glass partition and knelt beside Father Hedley. He turned him over and reached for his hand. He checked for a pulse.
“Didn’t hit the bastard hard enough,” he said. “He’s still breathing.”
He threw the glass of water directly into the priest’s face and slapped his cheek. It sounded like a gunshot. The noise and the sudden violence made Kate instinctively tighten her grip on her son.
Jasper struck the priest again. Harder this time. Father Hedley muttered something from deep within whatever darkness Kate had consigned him to and slowly began to come round. Jasper lifted him by the neck and looked into his eyes.
“Dear God, Mike,” he said, “we need to talk.”
* * *
They sat in Jimmy’s Land Rover and watched the horizon turn gray. Maggie had tried to convince Jimmy to rest, to begin his search once he’d had time to assess the matter from a more rational perspective. To consider all his options before launching into a fruitless cross-country pursuit. She might have been speaking into the wind, her words whipped into nonsense, for all Jimmy cared. His mind was set. He needed to find his family tonight, while the memory of their departure was still raw.
Maggie looked over the steering wheel as dawn’s gray light settled over the city. She had meant what she said about helping Jimmy recover his kid, but, the truth was, Billy could be anywhere. Several hours had passed since Kate had secured passage in the McCrays’ truck. Trying to pick up their scent would be almost impossible.
She glanced at Jimmy, who seemed deep in thought. “Unless you have something to go on,” she said, “this could take a while.”
Jimmy said nothing. He stared through the windshield at the morning light gently dislodging the dark. The filament of his left eye, the one that Kate had taken, had begun to throb and Jimmy was patiently waiting for its current to carry back to him a whisper of the trail she’d left. He could feel the sunken fibers cross-hatched in the depths of the socket, unpracticed, improvising. He was being invited into its darkness, the bottomless center soft as pulp, like being dragged across the bed of a canal. He waited, overcoming his own revulsion, as the matrix trailed an afterimage in the rut of his damaged eye. It coalesced, mashed into something familiar, and then came at him in a tidal rush of unfiltered definition: Billy and Kate in McCray’s truck; an empty motorway; a road sign, wordlessly declared.
Jimmy leaned towards Maggie; he looked exhausted.
“I’ve seen enough,” he said. “They’re headed south. You sure you still want to help?”
Maggie started the car. “Just tell me when to turn.”
* * *
The rectory had fallen silent, waiting for Father Hedley to confess his sins. Jasper had eased the man’s large frame onto the battered sofa in the study and now waited for the priest to look him in the eye. Alison and Kate had quietly entered the room.
“Where’s the boy?” Jasper asked Kate.
She pointed over her shoulder to a large armchair in the adjoining room. Billy was draped across it. One of his hands hung over the armrest and grazed the floor.
Jasper nodded his approval and turned back to Father Hedley. He plac
ed the Polaroid in the priest’s hand.
“I’m going to need an explanation, Mike,” he said. “A bloody good one.”
Father Hedley looked down at the picture. He held it with trembling hands. In his eyes Kate could see the ragged fault line, pale and veined with dirt, that lay deep within him.
“Where did you find this?” he said. His voice was thin, barely audible for such a big man.
“Under the bed,” Kate said. “Where you left it.”
Father Hedley raised his head; Kate felt sure he had never looked so lost or in need of salvation.
“I’ve never seen this─” he began, but Jasper cut him off.
“Don’t try that shit, Mike or, God help me, I’ll hit you so hard you won’t wake up for a month.”
The priest rubbed the back of his head, where Kate had hit him with the statue. His fingers came away red.
“How many more do you have?” Jasper asked.
“Just that one,” Father Hedley said. “It’s not even mine. It was left here.”
“I don’t believe you, Mike.” Jasper said. He glanced at Kate. “You were touching the boy’s face.”
Father Hedley looked desperate, like a misunderstood child. “He was crying in his sleep,” he said. “Having nightmares. I was trying to soothe him, that’s all.”
“You had no right to touch him,” Kate said, feeling her anger bubble to the surface. If the statue of Christ had been to hand, she might well have struck him again. Just the thought of him laying his hand across Billy’s cheek sent a chill down her spine.
Jasper held up his hand to placate her. He stared at the forlorn figure before him and wondered at what point his old friend had chosen to forfeit his Christian life. When had he felt so disillusioned by his faith, forsaken by the one certainty on which he had come to depend, that he had turned his back on God? Had he preached of the forbidden for so long that he had felt compelled to seek it out? Was it that simple? That depressing?
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