F. Wilson - Secret Circles

The longer he held her under, the more frantic her thrashing became. Jack overcame his shock and was reaching for the gate handle to run in there and shout at him to let her up when he finally released her.

As she straightened, gasping, choking, and gagging, he said, “Don‟t you ever, ever interfere when I‟m disciplining my daughter!” He turned and pointed a finger at Sally. “And you stop that crying!”

But Sally couldn‟t stop. All she could do was cry, “Mommeeeeee!”

Mr. Vivino climbed out of the pool and roughly dragged her by an arm toward the house.

“Stop it, goddamn it! Stop it now!”

But of course she didn‟t, and so he slapped her on her backside—Jack flinched at the sharp sound of the wet smack! —which only made her wail louder.

And as Mrs. V crouched in the pool with her hands over her face, dripping, coughing, sobbing, Jack noticed a dozen bruises on her arms.

Sickened, he forced back a surge of bile as he staggered away from the fence. His knees felt rubbery. He couldn‟t have seen what he‟d just seen. Tony‟s dad … treating Mrs. V and Sally like that. He felt as if he‟d just peeked in on someone‟s nightmare … It couldn‟t be.

But it was. He‟d seen what he‟d seen and it made him sick.

Made him angry too. Treating little Sally like that … the thought of it loosed a cold, raging darkness within him, urging him to hurt, destroy. He wished he were the Hulk—he was sure as hell furious enough to spark the transformation. He imagined himself smashing through the front door and giving Mr. Vivino a mega dose of his own medicine—bouncing him off a few walls and then playing Hacky Sack with him.

But he wasn‟t the Hulk. He was just a skinny kid and he needed to get away from here as quickly as possible so he could blow the whistle on this creep.

4

As Jack raced back toward the highway, he had two choices: turn south toward town or north to Mr. Rosen‟s. He chose the latter because it was right next door. The sooner he called the cops, the sooner he could put an end to the nightmare in the Vivino house.

He pulled into Mr. Rosen‟s yard. His trailer sat on a foundation so it looked more like a typical ranch house.

Nothing else about the house or the yard was typical, though. Half a dozen aerials of all different shapes and sizes jutted from his roof, and a huge satellite dish sat in a corner of his front yard, angled toward the sky. Weezy had jokingly said that he must be trying to receive messages from aliens. Well, being Weezy, maybe only half jokingly.

Mr. Rosen must have seen something in Jack‟s expression when he let him in.

“What‟s wrong? What happened?”

“Nothing,” Jack said as he stepped through the door.

He‟d never been inside Mr. Rosen‟s home. The front room was crammed with electronic

equipment. It could have been a Radio Shack.

“Nothing, shmo thing. You look like someone stepped on your grave.”

Jack felt he had to tell him something.

“I … I heard shouting at the Vivinos.”

“Oh, them,” Mr. Rosen said, waving a hand as he turned away. “Like cats and dogs they fight.”

“You mean it happens a lot?”

“All the time.”

“Does he beat her?”

He shrugged. “Who‟s to say? I can‟t see through walls.”

“Did you ever think of calling the police?”

He turned to face Jack. “If she‟s not calling, why should I? Maybe she thinks nothing‟s wrong.

Maybe she thinks shouting is the way marriage should be. So if I call the cops, and they come, and she tells them nothing‟s wrong, like a crazy old fool I look. No. I mind my business, just as you should mind yours.”

Probably good advice, but Mr. Rosen hadn‟t seen Sally get slapped, or her mother sobbing in the pool. No way Mrs. V thought nothing was wrong.

He remembered those summer days when she‟d always keep drinks and chips and pretzels out by the pool for them, how she‟d fix Jack lunch and tousle his hair as he bit into the thick ham-and-cheese sandwiches she made for him. He remembered how thin and hollow-eyed she became when Tony got sick, how she‟d never leave his side, how she‟d sobbed at his funeral.

Today‟s sobs mixed with the echoes of those from memory.

Maybe she was too scared to call. Maybe she needed someone to do it for her.

“Can I use your phone?”

Mr. Rosen gave him a long, appraising look, then nodded.

“I warned you, but if you must, don‟t give your name.”

“Don‟t worry.”

Jack had already decided to be invisible in this. He had a number of secrets he was keeping. He figured one more wouldn‟t hurt.

“And don‟t say where you‟re calling from. Just say you were passing by and heard screams, then hang up.”

“Won‟t they be able to trace it?”

He shook his head and pointed to an ultramodern, multiline phone on a nearby table.

“Not if you use that.”

Then he turned and walked toward the rear of the trailer.

Jack lifted the receiver and dialed 9-1-1.

“Emergency services.”

“I think a woman‟s getting beaten in Johnson. I was passing by and

heard her screaming.” He gave the Vivino address.

“May I have your name?”

Jack hung up and turned to find Mr. Rosen returning with a pay envelope in his hand.

“You made your call already?”

Jack nodded. “Short and to the point.”

“No names?”

“No names.”

He shook his head. “I applaud your willingness to do something, but it will not turn out as you hope.”

His cynicism surprised Jack. “How can you be so sure?”

He gave a sour smile. “Things rarely do.”

“Look. The deputies will come. They‟ll know someone reported a woman being beaten. They‟ll ask to speak to Mrs. Vivino. They‟ll see all those bruises and ask her about them. All she‟s got to do is point a finger.”

“And press charges.”

Jack blinked. “Charges?”

“Simply showing bruises isn‟t enough. She‟ll have to charge him with battery.”

“Well, this will be her chance.”

Mr. Rosen shook his head sadly. “You‟re a good kid, Jack, and you mean well, but you‟ve got a lot to learn about people and the way the world works.”

“I know plenty.”

But did he? When he thought about it, what did he really know? He was a small-town kid who listened to music instead of the news, and limited himself pretty much to the newspaper‟s funny pages. He watched sports and science fiction movies or shoot-‟em-ups, and read Stephen King or moldy old pulp magazines like The Spider and The Shadow

Maybe Mr. Rosen was right. Johnson, N.J., was like an island in a quiet pond. Maybe he needed to start tuning in to the world around him.

“Here‟s your week‟s pay,” Mr. Rosen said, handing him the tan envelope. “Not many hours last week, so not much money, I‟m afraid. Things wind down after Labor Day. We‟ll go into October, then I don‟t think I‟ll need you till spring. That is, if you want to come back.”

“Sure. I‟ll come back.”

He would have preferred to be independently wealthy, but if he had to work, USED was a great place, and Mr. Rosen was an easygoing boss. Plus he paid in cash, which saved Jack the hassle of applying for a Social Security number.

“Good. And as for this week …” He held out a set of keys. “Take these.”

Jack recognized the keys to the store.

“Didn‟t you say you‟ll be away?”

“That‟s right. I‟ll be visiting my nephew.” He pointed to the keys. “While I‟m out of town, I‟d like you to open the store for a few hours a day if you can. I left some change in the till in case you happen to sell anything. And if there‟s a day or two when you can‟t open up, just swing by and take a look inside.”