The 8th Circle (23 page)

“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.”

K
evin 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 him 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.

D
anny’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 4
^th
, 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.”

“Feisty, aren’t we?” Mason picked up a filleting knife. A glitter of light danced off the thin blade as he motioned to someone. “Secure his legs.”

Metal clamped around Danny’s ankles. He wasn’t feisty. He was lost.

Mason gave him a feral smile and gestured to the table. “So many shiny instruments. I wonder what they all do.”

N
ovell lived in a puke-green wood condo that backed up to the 202 Expressway in Malvern. When he got to the door, Kevin heard the blaring television from inside and hoped Novell wasn’t drunk.

The door cracked open, and Novell peered out. He didn’t look too far gone, but he didn’t look good either. He needed a shave, and his bloodshot eyes sunk into sagging purple flesh. He put up his hand like he was fending Kevin off and then dropped it. His head bowed as if he were resigned.

In that moment, Kevin thought of Danny cringing away from Junior and him like a whipped dog because they’d smacked him one too many times, and he felt ashamed.

“What do you want?” Novell said.

“I need your help.”

“My help?” Novell gave him a bitter smile. “My help isn’t good for much. I’m on suspension, Ryan.”

“Danny’s disappeared, Novell. I think they grabbed him today. I told him to go home and wait for me, but he wasn’t at home.”

“Doesn’t mean he was grabbed.”

“I can’t raise him on his phone, and Stan Witkowski’s dead.”

Novell blinked and wiped his mouth. “I thought you had him.”

“I did, but I sent him home. I need your help.”

Novell’s face was working, and Kevin knew he was fighting something inside himself.

“Novell, you know what they’ll do to him.” Kevin almost choked on his desperation. Every minute he stood here, he was wasting time. “You’ve got to have some idea where they’d take him. Please.”

“You’ll probably get suspended yourself, Ryan.”

“He’s my brother.”

Novell nodded. “I know where we have to start.”