Bad Men

Jesus, Pat, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I was so scared of him. I thought I had no other choice. He hurt me, and he was starting to hurt Danny. I should have killed him, but I’d have gone to jail and I’d never have seen Danny grow up. But now, if I could go back, I would murder him. I would take a knife to him in his sleep and stab him until the blood dripped through the mattress to the floor beneath. I would cut him again and again for all that he had done to us. I would tear him apart with the blade until his face was unrecognizable. I would do all of this to protect Danny, except-

Except that sometimes when she awoke in their bed during those final months, the room rich with darkness or the first dawn light seeping through the drapes, she would turn to him and find him awake, staring lazily at her, as if daring her to take him on, as though guessing the thoughts that were in her head and inviting her to test her strength against him. Then, when she did not respond, he would draw her to him and, without tenderness, work himself inside her, his hands pinning her arms to the bed. No words would be exchanged, no intimacies spoken. It was simply his way of letting her know that he could do with her as he wished, that she was alive by his grace alone, and that such grace was not without its limits.

Had she stayed with him she would have been dead within the year, of that she was certain. He might have let Danny live, but what life would he have had with such a man? So they ran, and in doing so contaminated every life that they touched, and now Patricia and Bill were dead because of them.

Then there was Karen. They had stayed in touch and Marianne had recently sent her a photo of Danny on his last birthday, a smear of chocolate cake across his face and a cardboard crown on his head, his name spelled out on it in colored letters. She had sent the photograph from Boston during a shopping trip, her first foray out of Maine since they’d arrived there, sunglasses permanently perched on her nose to hide her eyes, her hair tied up tight in a bun, her face unadorned by makeup and therefore, she thought, unremarkable. She had called Karen a little later that evening from a telephone at South Station before catching her bus back north. The number that Karen had given her was a private, unlisted second line. Only a handful of people, family and friends mostly, had the number. If she was away from the phone, the call was automatically redirected to her private cell. Day or night, Karen would answer a call that came through on one of those phones.

But when Marianne had called earlier, there had been no reply. Did Karen tell, she wondered? Probably, but not willingly. Marianne felt no bitterness, no anger, that Karen had revealed their location to Moloch. Instead, there was only the same terrible guilt that she felt over her sister and Bill. Her stupidity and her selfishness had exposed them to terrible harm, and they had paid the ultimate price for their affection for her. She hoped only that Karen had told all that she knew early on and had spared herself some pain at the end.

Now Bonnie’s house was coming into view. Marianne braked and killed the lights, but the house was quiet as she approached, only her friend’s rust-bucket Plymouth in the drive. Through the living room window she could see Bonnie snoozing in front of the television. She pulled up hard outside the window, the gravel beneath the wheels making a sound like the breaking of waves, then she ran to the door and knocked hard. It took Bonnie a couple of seconds to get to the door.

“Where’s Danny?” she said when she was facing the older woman.

Bonnie stepped back to let her in. “He’s in bed. You can leave him there if you like. Hey, honey-” She reached for Marianne, but Marianne pulled away from her and headed for the stairs. “What’s the matter?”

She took the steps two at a time, Bonnie close behind. Marianne pushed the bedroom door hard and saw one empty bed in the twinbed room. In the other, Danny lay sleeping. She sagged back against the wall, put her hands on her knees, and lowered her head in relief.

“Aw, hell,” said Bonnie. “Richie must have sneaked out. I don’t believe that boy. I’ll have to call Joe and get him to keep an eye out for him.”

Marianne laid a hand on her wrist.

“I need to get Danny out of here before you call anyone, Bonnie.”

“But Richie is out there.”