Marcus Sakey - The Blade Itself

“That’s when I went to Nolan.”

“I mean the regular police.”

He sighed. “Because… you know why. I’m an ex-con. And I was in the pawnshop. They’d have started digging through all of that. At least with Nolan, I thought maybe he’d understand, help out. But I couldn’t tell him everything either.”

She looked at him appraisingly. “You couldn’t tell him why Evan was in our house?”

He shook his head.

“Why not?” She stopped as it began to click. “You couldn’t tell him because Evan wanted you to do something illegal.” She tapped her fingers on the table. “And you were thinking of doing it.”

He nodded, his expression neutral.

“Danny, what did he want you to do?”

He paused, looked away, and then back. “He wanted me to help kidnap Richard’s son.”

She laughed. The idea was so absurd, so beyond the pale. Danny was in construction. They had a regular life. They were talking about having children, for God’s sake. The whole thing was preposterous.

Except Danny just sat and looked at her.

Her laughter faded awkwardly. She stared at him, willing him to say something, to nudge her, to tell her it was a joke. But he didn’t. He just watched her, the bruise on his face swelling. “You mean…” She squinted. “You didn’t.” He said nothing. “Oh my God.” Her voice came out a whisper. She rose, jerked away from him. “Oh my God!” The room was spinning and she felt desperately ill. “You did it. You helped him.”

“Karen.” He stood, took a half step toward her, stopped when she moved farther away. “It’s not what it seems.”

“Did you do it?” She clutched her hands to her mouth. “Please tell me you didn’t do it.”

He sighed. “I can’t.”

She stared at him in horror. “Why? Why would you do that?” She felt hysteria beckoning, her voice coming out almost a shriek, the feel of it cutting her throat.

“I had no choice.” He was on his feet now, hands out and his eyes wide. “You have to understand-”

“Understand what?” Her words came fast, trying to keep him from telling any more terrible truths. She couldn’t hear more of them, couldn’t stand it. “You’re going to get caught.”

“Listen-” His voice growing heated.

“I can’t. I don’t want to.” How could there be any explanation? “Oh God, and that poor little boy. What did you do to that poor little boy?”

“Goddamn it-”

“You’re a monster.” The words slipped out, and the moment they did she wanted to grab them, to shove them back in her mouth, but it was too late.

“You’re not listening to me!” He turned, his hand balled in a fist, and lashed out at the mirror beside the couch. Their reflections shattered into a thousand fragments.

It was the most irrational, violent thing she’d seen him do in the eight years she’d loved him, and it stunned her into total silence.

He turned back to her, nostrils flaring. “I did it because I had to. Because I thought I could pull it off without anyone getting hurt. I did it because it was the only way I could see to make him leave us alone. But that’s all bullshit.” He paused, sighed. “It’s all true, but it’s not the reason I did it.”

His hand was bleeding badly, the knuckles vibrant red. Ruby drops of blood fell to the hardwood floor. They were strangely pretty.

“The truth is, I did it because he threatened you.”

The words jerked her gaze from the puddle on the floor. “What?”

“Last week.”

And suddenly it came clear, all of the horror lurking behind the facade of the last few weeks. The strands of web that led to the spider. “The guy in the alley.” She knew before he nodded. That had been Evan, sending a message. Telling Danny that he knew how to get to him. She remembered how spooked Danny had seemed, but how resolute, too. How he’d promised to do anything to protect her.

She stared at him. His mirror-smashing fury had drained away, and he looked like a soldier after a long campaign. His eyes were pleading, but not hopeful. She murdered half a dozen thoughts before they reached her lips. Finally, she pointed to his hand. “You’re bleeding.”

He looked down. “Oh.”

She stepped forward, took his hand gently in hers. The cut was in the meaty part beneath his little finger. There was a chunk of glass stuck there, and she used her nails, catching a reflection of herself in the mirror as she pulled it from his skin. Thick blood oozed. She looked around for a rag or a cloth, and seeing nothing, pulled off her shirt to wrap his hand. He gasped as the fabric touched the gash. “Come on.”

She led him up the hall to the bathroom. Spinning the faucet to cold, she held his hand under the water, the blood streaming thin and pink to spatter against the porcelain. “Keep it there.” She went to the kitchen pantry, found gauze and Neosporin. Back in the bathroom she used a paper towel to pat the wound dry. Clean now, it didn’t look so bad. Jagged, but not too deep. The lips of it already quivered red, so she moved fast, squeezing the ointment, placing the rectangle of gauze and then deftly affixing it, wrapping the white tape in a stripe across his palm. She didn’t meet his eyes, just worked on his hand, and throughout he stood silent and let her. It was calming, something she could handle. Just a cut, a perfectly normal cut. It was life-sized.

But eventually the bandage was in place, and she couldn’t distract herself from everything larger.

“Danny.” She held his hand by the fingers, her gaze darting around the room. “What are we going to do?”

He put his other hand on her cheek. It was so familiar, so safe, that she both feared and wanted to fall into it. She met his eyes, saw herself mirrored in them. She saw him weighing words, and realized she was praying he found the right ones. Whatever they were.

“I don’t know.” He paused. “But,” his hand caressing her cheek, “I’d like your help figuring it out.”

For a long moment she stared at him, tried to think dispassionately. She wanted to make proclamations, to hear him swear that there would be no more lies. She wanted him to feel what she’d been going through, and promise that he would never turn away from her again. But none of the phrases she auditioned sounded right. Maybe there was nothing to say.

In the end, she just put her arms around him and laid her head on the hollow of his chest. They stood together under the bright bathroom lights, holding on to keep from being swept away.

For a moment, it worked.

And then she realized something terrible.

Despite the impossible mess that had become his life, despite the soreness of his aching body and the steady throb of his cut hand, as Karen put her head on his chest Danny felt strangely safe. Spent, both physically and emotionally, but safe nonetheless, as though the confession had created some sort of karmic loophole, a time away from reality. He knew none of their problems had been solved. But he was so tired. Everything could wait, at least a little while. He just wanted to lose himself in their warmth.

Then she pulled away from him. “Baby?”

“Yeah?”

“What about Patrick?” She bit her lip. “Did he know about Evan threatening us?”

He’d been honest with Patrick, but not with her. That would cut. But he’d had enough of lies. “Yes.” He stepped away and leaned against the counter, his good hand holding the lip of the sink. “I told him when he came over for dinner.” She stared back at him with an intensity that scared him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I needed to talk to someone, and it should have been you.”

She shook her head. “It’s not that. It’s-” Her voice broke.