Marcus Sakey - The Blade Itself

Her wounds would heal in time, he knew. But he also knew they’d leave scars. Wounds always did.

“I do have to. I…” Danny almost said “owe it to him,” caught himself. “I need to finish it. What’s that word you like,” he asked, “the Men-Are-from-Wherever word?”

She smiled. “Closure.”

“Closure. That’s what I need.”

She didn’t nod, but she didn’t disagree, either. Just flipped on the blinker and eased into the turn lane. Threadbare snowflakes drifted halfheartedly past the windshield. A voice on the radio said they should expect a couple of inches. Warned them Valentine’s Day was only a week away, and told them nothing said love like Russell Stover chocolates. He snapped it off.

Was he doing this for closure? Seemed like part of the equation, certainly. The opportunity to put everything to bed, to face the last of the consequences. Clear the slate and focus on the future. But it felt like there was more to it.

He stared out the window and wondered what he would say. The tangled web of brotherhood and betrayal was too complicated to be undone, or even encapsulated, by mere words. Words weren’t big enough.

The Blue Line El rattled past, filled with everyday people, and he wondered if their histories seemed as complicated to them; wondered how many saw their past as a confluence of uncontrollable events shaping their present. Did any of them?

Did they all?

He reached over and put a hand on Karen’s belly, feeling the warmth and life beneath her thin sweater. She put a hand over his, smiling with the newfound bloom, the one she’d had since Christmas, when three separate tests turned blue.

The new Cook County Hospital squatted a mile west of the Loop. Though possessed of all the poetry of an office park, it had shouldered its predecessor’s 150-year legacy of offering medical care to even the poorest of patients. Karen waited for traffic to ease, and then turned into the driveway, the Explorer’s tires humming softly on the blacktop. She parked just short of the covered walkway and turned to face him. In the way she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear he recognized a prepared speech.

“I can’t come with you.” The words tumbled out. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

He shook his head. “I know. I’ll handle this part alone.”

She glanced out the window, and then back again. Danny wanted to scoop her up and carry her back to their apartment, to wrap her in quilts and love and tell her she would never have to face another monster. Instead he kissed her, breathed her in, reveling in her. Every time they touched he felt blessed. Different, better, than before. No more living on borrowed time.

He stepped out, pulling his jacket around him. A family walked into the hospital, the automatic entrance swishing open. To the east, he could see the skyline against gray clouds. He reached for the car door, started to slam it.

“Danny!”

He turned. “What?”

“Promise me…” She hesitated, like she wasn’t sure what to say. “Promise you’ll come back to me.”

He stared at her, feeling like his heart might soar out of his chest. “I’ll do you one better. I’ll never leave again.” He reached across the empty seat, and she seized his hand.

“You better not.” Her eyes had the old playful sparkle in them. “Or I’ll find a hunky Lamaze teacher to run away with.”

He laughed, and leaned in to kiss her again, and again.

He got directions at the information desk. The comfortable lobby quickly gave way to antiseptic corridors. Fluorescents shone bright and hollow off linoleum floors. He took the elevator up. A uniformed cop lounged in a chair outside the door.

“I’m Danny Carter. Detective Nolan cleared me to visit today.”

The cop matched his driver’s license to a list on a clipboard, and asked him to sign in. “You want me to come in with you?”

Danny shook his head. “Thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” The cop gestured to the door, then flopped back into his chair.

The room looked like any of a million other hospital rooms, clean, sterile, and cold. A whiff of ammonia lingered in the air. The television was tuned to a Hispanic network, soccer players racing up and down some warm field. A wheelchair sat in one corner.

Evan looked up from the bed as he walked in. His stare grew hard. “What the fuck do you want?”

“I’m not sure.” Danny closed the door behind him.

In the months since Halloween, Evan had aged ten years. His bulk looked out of place in the adjustable bed, but forced rest had cost him that coiled edge of fitness. Several days of stubble darkened his chin.

“Sure you are. You want to gloat.” Evan flipped off the TV, planted his hands on either side, and dragged himself to a sitting position. He pulled the sheet aside and pointed at his useless legs. “Take a look. This what you came to see?”

Danny shook his head, spun a chair around, and sat down beside Evan. “Nope.”

“What, you want to play cards?” His voice rang with bitterness. “You candy-striping now?”

“Maybe I thought I owed something to you.” Danny kept his eyes level on Evan’s, forcing himself not to reveal the storm of emotions within him. Half of him saw a broken monster, a predator ironically rendered prey. The other half saw a tough little bastard of a kid with a floating smile.

Evan snorted, looked at his hands. “That don’t even begin to touch on what you owe me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

“I saved your life in the pawnshop. I did seven years for you.”

Danny shook his head. “Maybe you saved my life. I don’t think so. But the years, those are all on you. And so is Patrick. And Debbie.”

“Oh, fuck that,” Evan said. “They were in the life. They knew the risks.”

“J. A. Pinianski wasn’t.”

“Who?”

“The man you killed outside the diner. He was a civilian.” Danny leaned forward. “Never so much as a shoplifting arrest.”

Evan shrugged. “You want me to get all teary? Besides,” his voice fell and he glared at Danny, “the high school kid they assigned me as a lawyer, he says they found the body. Problem is, only Debbie and I knew where I stowed fat boy. So she told you about our ride out to O’Hare, and you Judased me. Right?”

The night rose before Danny with Kodak clarity. The cold wind whipping the sheeting. The throbbing of every limb, and the deeper ache within him. He’d felt a hand on his shoulder, opened his eyes to see Nolan. The detective dropped glinting handcuffs in his lap. Danny had looked up at him, and Sean had nodded, just barely, and Danny had fixed the cuffs on his own wrists.

The next days had been a blur of holding cells and interview rooms. An assistant state’s attorney, a small man in a trim brown suit, pacing back and forth. Detectives questioning him again and again. Richard’s lawyer talking to cops in the hallway, all of them casting furtive looks his way.

Danny kept it simple. Told the cops he could help close another case. Their eyes had lit up when he mentioned it was the murder of a civilian outside a diner on Ashland. He told them he knew where the body was, along with the physical evidence that made it open and shut. On every other subject he kept his mouth shut and let the cops and the bureaucrats fight it out.

He’d given himself five-to-two that he’d end up doing time, maybe serious time. But he didn’t count on the wild cards.

The first was Sean Nolan. Danny still didn’t know exactly what story Sean had told. Whether he’d acknowledged Danny had saved his life, or admitted that Danny had come to him earlier for help. All he knew was what Detective Matthews told him: From a hospital bed, Sean had fought for him. Hard.

The second was Richard O’Donnell. He’d refused to testify against Danny. Refused to identify him as having been part of the kidnapping. Sent his lawyer down to make sure the message was clear.