The 8th Circle

by Sarah Cain

  “But I don’t understand. You had the girl as a witness. Why didn’t you go after him?”

  “You didn’t see her, kid.”

  But he did see her. For the first time, he finally saw Kate. He had let her walk away. He should have run with her when he had the chance.

  “You wouldn’t know she was a girl, except she had long hair. Hell, I seen a lot of awful things in my time, but this girl was bad. Your father carried her out and she held onto him like he was Jesus Christ. Her face all torn to hell. She’d been broke, Danny. She’d never have held up on a witness stand. She couldn’t even talk straight.

  “Even so, your father went to see Bartlett Scott. Told him he had a witness that could put his son in jail, and they made a deal.”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “I don’t know. The kind that put Mason Scott in the nut house for a while and let your father walk away with compensation for the girl.”

  Danny wanted to puke. “I can’t believe the old man would agree to put an innocent man in jail so Mason Scott could get off.”

  “It was the best your dad could do. Like I said, it ain’t so simple.”

  “And he believed Bartlett Scott would keep his word?”

  “He made a tape of the whole thing. Bartlett Scott had no choice, and don’t forget, he was always worried about his reputation.”

  “What did my dad do with the tape, Stan?”

  Stan shook his head. “I don’t know. I figure he hid it good. It was his insurance. No one ever found it.” He pushed away from the table and stood.

  “And the girl. What happened to her?”

  “She disappeared.” Stan looked away. “That girl. Your father felt like he had to save her. I always thought it was on account of he couldn’t save your mother. He never forgave himself for that, for her dyin’. And you. Jesus God, you look so much like her. It killed him. But this girl was like a second chance. I don’t think he touched the bottle again after he found her, and he was in a bad way. It changed him, Danny. He never was the same again.”

  Stan’s words soaked through Danny like bitter rain. It all sounded true, so why did it feel rehearsed? Stan had no reason to lie. Not after all these years. Christ, he needed to get out of this rotting house.

  “And what did you get out of it, Stan? Why did you go along?”

  “I didn’t have a choice. I had a family. Muriel. Lily Jean. When you got people you can’t bear to lose, you’ll do anything to keep them safe. You close your heart. Do things you never thought possible.”

  Stan gave a shrug, and Danny saw both resignation and defiance in the gesture.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t say I had lasting regrets about Paulie Ritter. He was a rapist and a thief and a low-life scum who shouldn’t have been on the streets. Your father knew that. He did what he had to do not just for that girl but for you and Kevin and Theresa. To keep them from going after you.”

  “Then what do you regret?” The words stuck in his throat, and he knew what bothered him. The old man and Stan were partners. They had each other’s backs, but the old man didn’t want to see Stan after he retired. At Junior’s funeral, he wouldn’t shake Stan’s hand.

  Kevin’s words. And Stan never mentioned Junior.

  Stan looked away. “It was a long time ago.”

  Why would the old man turn against his best friend?

  “What do you regret? You and Dad were partners for years. Why wouldn’t he shake your hand at Junior’s funeral?”

  Stan shuffled closer and took hold of Danny’s arm. “We all have to make hard choices. It damn near killed me.”

  Danny understood then. “Junior. It was Junior, wasn’t it?”

  “We’d been partners, friends for so long. But I didn’t have a choice, Danny. It was a test. If I didn’t do it, they’d have killed Lily Jean. You understand, don’t you, kiddo? It wasn’t personal. You had a wife, a kid. You gotta take care of your family.”

  Danny wanted to push Stan away. Hadn’t he always questioned how Paulie Ritter managed to kill Junior with a lead pencil? Andy hadn’t let him go down to the jail to write the story. “You’re too close,” he said. But Danny knew something was wrong. Deep down, he’d always known.

  Now he understood why Kevin kept steering him away from the Sandman case. Kevin knew. Somehow he knew the truth. Let me handle the police work. You go write a pretty story. He wasn’t condescending. He knew. Stan had killed Junior. At Junior’s funeral, the old man wouldn’t shake Stan’s hand. That was Kevin’s oblique way of warning him off. And now it was too late.

  “Those people killed my family, Stan.”

  “You should have let them rest in peace.” Stan squeezed his arm and glanced around. “Go. Get out now, and don’t come back. Please, Danny, I—”

  There was a sharp knock on the back door, and Danny saw two huge men in dark-blue windbreakers. Stan shrank closer. His fingers dug into Danny’s arm when the back door swung open.

  “Hey, Stan,” the larger of the two said. He had a square head that sat on his shoulders like a box. “You got a pick-up today?” When he smiled, he bared a set of crooked, yellow teeth.

  “Sure, Lyle.” Stan’s voice trembled, and he seemed to diminish in the presence of these giants. Danny stood.

  The second man walked around the room until he hovered behind Danny. His mouth turned dry. Run. The thought jumped into Danny’s head and clung on like a mosquito sucking at an open vein. But he couldn’t. No matter what, he couldn’t leave Stan.

  “Hey, I know you.” Lyle walked toward Danny. “You’re that big-shot reporter that lost his marbles when his wife and kid died. A real tragedy.”

  Stan’s fingers tightened on his arm. Tears ran down his sunken cheeks. “You shouldn’t have come, Danny. I still got a daughter. I got no choice.”

  Danny didn’t care about Stan and his choices. Something dark and evil twisted his insides. “What do you know about my wife and son?”

  A pair of arms locked around him from behind, and he tried to pull free.

  “What do you know about my family? Tell me, you son of a bitch!”

  Lyle shoved Stan to the floor and then landed a punch on Danny’s gut that doubled him over. He grabbed Danny’s hair and jerked up his head. Lyle leaned into Danny’s face, and his breath stunk of whisky and cigarettes. “I know you’re gonna join ’em, asshole.”

  63

  Kevin stood by Danny’s back door. No lights. Danny never came home. It wasn’t a surprise, but Kevin had to start somewhere.

  He held his brother’s life in his hands. He’d failed him before.

  Kevin had gone along with Junior pissing into the toilet and holding Danny’s head in it because it had always been easier to pick on Danny than to have his older brother call him a pussy. They just hadn’t counted on Danny putting up such a fight or breaking that goddamn rose bowl or the old man coming in drunk and in such a rotten mood.

  That night, Kevin had scrubbed up the blood from where Danny hit his head on the radiator. It had soaked into the sleeve of his shirt, and for a long time, he’d sat and watched his brother’s blood turn from bright red to brown.

  When Danny had gotten back from the hospital, Kevin had made him promise to come get him if the old man came in drunk.

  “Why should I?” Danny had said.

  “Because you could get hurt, dumbass.”

  When Danny’s eyes had shifted past him the way they always did, Kevin had put his hand under his chin to force his head up. “Look at me, so I know you’re listening.”

  He’d recognized it then. The animal fear in Danny’s eyes. He’d remember it later on the job when he walked into the homes of other kids who’d been beaten, kids who learned to keep their heads down and their mouths shut, and every time he did, he saw his brother.

  “You won’t come.” At the age of ten, Danny’s voice had a cynical edge, hoarse and low for a kid so young.

  “I’ll come. I’m your brother.”

  Danny had just given hi
m that half smile, and Kevin had known he part wanted to believe and part thought Kevin was full of shit. He had never come to him, and Kevin had always resented it.

  Now after all that time, Danny needed him, and Kevin didn’t know where the hell to begin.

  He was about to try the door when a car pulled into the driveway, and he spun around to see a woman get out of a Volvo station wagon. She tugged at her pink scarf, gave him a nervous smile, and tucked a strand of blondish hair behind her ear.

  “Oh, I was—you aren’t . . . I’m Carrie, Mrs. Norton’s granddaughter from next door.”

  “My brother’s not home.”

  She seemed to crumple from disappointment. Her thin shoulders slumped, and her chin quivered as if she were about to cry.

  Kevin glanced at the red gift bag and bakery tin she clutched to her chest. “Is that for Danny? Do you want me to pass it along?”

  She gripped her packages tighter, as if she wasn’t sure he was trustworthy, and Kevin tried to give her a reassuring smile.

  “I’m a policeman. Here’s my ID.” He flipped it out and held up his shield. Jesus, she stared at him like he was about to rape her, and he wondered where Danny found these kooks.

  She flushed. “This happens every year when Gram goes to Florida. Danny’s mail gets left in her box. I only get over every few weeks or so. I made cookies, too.” She swallowed a few times and held out the bag and the tin, offering them to Kevin as if they were Holy Communion.

  “Thanks,” he said, keeping as much space between them as possible when he took the bag and the tin. The bag was heavy. What kind of mail did Danny get? More than letters.

  “Danny’s feeling better then? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  This was all he needed: a chat with the president of Danny’s fan club. “He’s fine.”

  “If he needs anything . . . I mean, the holidays are so hard and all.” She looked at Kevin like she wanted him to say something, but Kevin didn’t know what to say. He wanted the earth to open up and swallow her.

  “There’s a Christian singles group at my church. I left a flyer in the bag. We’re having a get together on Saturday. It’s a big step, but it’s that first step that’s the hardest, right?” She bobbed her head.

  Kevin smiled at the thought of Danny at a Christian singles group. “Thanks. I’m sure he’d enjoy it.”

  “If he doesn’t want to go alone, he can call me. I left my number. Okay? Well, okay. Merry Christmas.” She turned away then paused. “Oh, I didn’t get your name.”

  “Kevin,” he said. “Kevin Ryan.”

  “I’m Carrie. Carrie Norton. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kevin. I’m sure Danny is grateful to have a brother who cares about him,” she said. “You can come too, if you’d like. It’s a wonderful chance to meet new people.”

  “What?” Kevin’s jaw flopped open.

  “You can come to the singles night if you want. Well, I have to go now. Have a blessed Christmas.”

  “Yeah. Likewise.”

  She got back in her car, and Kevin watched her roll out of the driveway. Danny sure did attract some odd ducks. Kevin opened the car, got in, and dropped the bag and tin in the back of the Navigator.

  A blessed Christmas. That would be a fucking miracle. Why the hell couldn’t Danny have listened to him just once? He banged the steering wheel. “I won’t let you die.”

  He started the engine and threw the car into reverse.

  64

  Danny’s arms and shoulders burned. He hung by his wrists. Naked. He struggled to breathe.

  Overhead, muffled music pounded, despite the thick foam insulation that packed the ceiling. The dank room had stone walls and a massive wooden door. A cot stood in one corner and, next to it, a sink and a small, covered table. The concrete floor had a drain in the middle of it. He hung over a fucking drain. That couldn’t be good.

  If only he could figure out some way to loosen the chain that held him up, but he couldn’t bend his neck. A metal collar prevented him from tipping his head. His left eye was swollen shut.

  The door opened, and a man entered. Small, thin, and unnaturally blond, the man wore the tightest green leather pants Danny ever saw. They were tucked into green leather booties, and over them he wore an unbuttoned green silk shirt. His eyes were lined in black; his face was pale and smooth.

  “Hello, Danny,” he said as if they were meeting at a business lunch. “I’d shake hands, but you don’t seem to be in the position.” He chuckled, a sort of high-pitched little cackle. “I’m Mason.” He came closer and nodded toward someone Danny couldn’t see. The chains loosened, and Danny slumped to his knees.

  Though his hands were still above his head, the ripping agony in his shoulders eased.

  “That’s better, isn’t it?” Mason ran his fingers down Danny’s cheeks. A caress. “Such a nice face.”

  Don’t fucking touch me. Danny recognized those hands. The long, white fingers all adorned with heavy gold rings. Fingers so smooth that they seemed not to have knuckles. The blonde at the Four Seasons. The photographer at the police station. Mason. Kate’s Mason.

  Mason pulled Andy’s black card from a pocket in his shirt. “Where did you get this, Danny?”

  What the hell happened to that other card? But he knew what happened. Kate had stolen it. For whatever reasons.

  Mason took Andy’s card and pressed the edge of it against Danny’s neck and then drew it across like a knife. “Did you get it from Andy?”

  Mason made a tsk-tsk sound and backhanded him with surprising strength. “When I ask you a question, I expect a reply. Did you get the card from Andy?”

  Danny tasted blood in his mouth. It dripped down from his nose. “You look like the porno pixie,” he said. What was it the old man used to say? Never show fear or you’re dead.

  Mason caught a drop of blood on his finger and examined it. “Oh, Danny, I do like you. You have that Irish pugnaciousness. I’ve always liked the Irish, but you know that, don’t you?” He slid his finger into his mouth. “Yummy.”

  Mason walked in slow circles around him, and Danny could sense his pent-up excitement. It lay over him like a fine, glistening oil.

  Blood and bile almost choked him, but Danny forced it back. “I thought you liked girls, Mason.”

  “I did make my reputation with girls, but I was never exclusive. No, never exclusive. I’m touched. You’ve been curious about me.”

  “Yeah. I like freak shows.”

  Mason slid his fingers through Danny’s hair with gentle, almost loving strokes. Then he pressed the metal collar against his throat until Danny struggled for air. Mason released him, and he sagged down.

  “A little respect, please. Especially when we have so much in common.” Mason leaned close and pushed Danny’s face against his crotch. “We both hated our fathers, for instance. Did you know my father placed me in a hospital? They called it a sanitarium. Quaint term, don’t you think?”

  Danny couldn’t move. He was suffocating, the leather sticking to his skin, Mason’s thick scent overwhelming him. He tried to pull back, but Mason clasped him tight, grinding his face against his dick.

  “Really, I had your father to thank for that, Danny. Who’d have thought an ignorant Irish cop would be so clever? He was much smarter than you, but you’re much prettier.”

  Mason shoved him away and moved behind him. “And now you’re mine.” He ran his hands over Danny’s shoulders.

  “Yes, your father was quite a man. The scars on your back. Did he use a belt? Did it bring you closer to God when he beat you? I’ve always believed that pain brings us closer to God. The mortification of the flesh.”

  Maybe all he could do was let go. Let Mason wash him down the drain. When Mason was done, he probably wouldn’t want to live.

  “Have you ever played Hinky Dinky Corny Cup?” Mason walked his fingers up Danny’s back. “How many fingers have I got up?” He leaned close to Danny’s ear, his tongue flicking out to touch the rim.

  “
You belong in a goddamn hamster cage, Mason.” Danny’s voice cracked. He couldn’t get enough saliva into his mouth. How long would it take to die? A day? A week? But I won’t die. Mason won’t kill me. Not yet.

  “Oh, Danny, Danny. I expected something more original from you. Maybe it’s this place. So depressing. Too much concrete.” Mason walked to the table and pulled back the covering. Danny could see a row of metal instruments.

  “My old man should’ve killed you.”

  Mason turned and studied him for a moment. “Silly, he tried. I had to set fire to my pretty toys to get away. Such a big fire. The flames were so roasty toasty. Can you imagine, he tried to save all those lovelies. For nothing.”

  Not for nothing. He saved Kate. For a moment, she felt so close, her scent curled out to Danny, and then she was gone.

  “But he couldn’t kill me because we have a destiny together. You need to understand that.”

  “We don’t have anything.”

  “Do you know we were born on the same day? June 4th, 1974. A little after midnight at Pennsylvania Hospital. We lay together in the nursery. We share a destiny. And very soon, you will hear the voice of God. But first we need to talk about boring things. The package.”

  Danny knew he wouldn’t be hearing anything but his own screams soon. He didn’t have a clue where the package was. But that didn’t matter. After a few hours with Mason, he’d say anything.

  “This can be easy or difficult. Talk to me, darling. Tell me about the package,” Mason said.

  Danny tried to get to his feet, but as soon as he did, Mason snapped his fingers. The chain jerked tight, and pain shot up his arms when it wrenched his body off the floor.

  “I don’t know about any fucking package.”

  “Truth is beauty, Danny.”

  “Here’s a truth. You’re a maggot.”