Andrew Vachss - Sacrifice

"Yeah. They're brothers…"

I dragged deep on my cigarette, watching the dog pack. "You got any doubts?" I asked him.

"No. Neither do you. So what am I doing here?"

"Diagnosis."

"Bullshit. You do diagnosis as well as I do. Probably better. Never met anyone who could spot a freak like you— you got a built-in detector. And I can't treat him in one session."

"There's a piece missing, between diagnosis and treatment. We know what he is— we don't know why."

"You don't mean why, hoss…you mean who."

"Yeah. That's your piece."

"And then…"

"That's mine."

68

Simba came out of the bunker first, Luke right behind him. Then Terry.

"Burke, it's great down there!" Luke greeted me.

"Yeah? What'd you see?"

"A laser. A real laser! It cuts right through steel. And an earthquake machine…wow!"

I didn't ask him whether he was talking about the Mole's seismograph or the panel of buttons that would launch big pieces of the junkyard like NASA.

"You ready to go to work now, kid? In the cave?"

"Sure! Can Simba come too?"

I caught Terry's eye. He stepped in next to Luke. "Simba can't come, pal. He's got to go on patrol. Make sure everything's safe. But I'll come with you," his eyes daring me to refuse.

"Okay," Luke said.

Simba trotted off. I led the way downstairs. I sat down on a stool next to the Mole's workbench. Doc pulled up the ottoman to the old leather chair, made himself comfortable. Luke took the armchair, Terry standing next to him, his hand on the smaller boy's shoulder.

Underground. Diffused, natural-sunlight quartz lighting. The industrial ionizer gave the air a fresh, just-after-the-rain smell. Faint hum of machinery. A panel of LEDs blinked a message only Terry and the Mole could understand. Luke gripped the arms of the chair.

Doc started talking, low, soft tones. Just about anything, engaging, drawing Luke along. The kid grew less and less guarded…flashing, showing his brilliance, giggling happily when he solved math problems in his head. "You know what this is?" Doc asked, taking a vitreous stone out of his pocket. It was attached to a thin platinum chain.

"A gem?"

"It's a girasol, Luke. A fire opal. Look closely, see the fire, see all the colors?"

The girasol moved in a gentle arc, back and forth. A liquid light show, soft, infinity-depthed. Fire in a teardrop.

The boy's eyes tracked the gem, like he knew what was coming. I breathed through my nose, shallow, measured breaths. Luke slumped in his chair, eyelids fluttering. Doc talked him to it, no pressure, telling the boy how sleepy he was getting.

"Sleepy…" Luke agreed, baby-voiced.

"Can I talk to the others?" Doc asked. "Can you let them come out for a minute?"

Luke's eyes rolled straight up into his head, only the whites showing. He blinked rapidly. "Baby, baby, baby." A toddler's voice, maybe two years old. Happy-babble. "Baby, baby, baby."

"What's the baby's name?" Doc.

"Baby. Baby Doll. Doll Baby. Sweet Baby." The boy's features softened, bloblike, drool in one corner of his mouth.

"Hello, Doll Baby. My name is Doc. Want to be friends?"

"Baby, baby, baby…"

"Yes, you're a good baby. A handsome little boy…"

"She's a girl, stupid." My eyes flicked up to Terry, but he hadn't spoken— standing there, mouth wide open, the color leached from his face.

"What's your name?" Doc asked Luke.

"Toby. Don't you recognize me? What's wrong with you?" Smartass kid's voice, maybe eleven, twelve years old.

"Hello, Toby."

"Yeah, hello. What do you want?"

"I want to talk to you…to talk to the others."

"One at a time, pal. That's the way it works. It's my time now."

"Do you come out often?"

"Whenever he's getting tricked. Luke's school-smart, but he don't know people. Not like me."

"And the baby?"

"That's Susie— she's a runaway. When they hurt us, she comes. Runaway. You can't hurt the baby— she doesn't feel things."

"Does that make you mad? When they hurt you?"

"I don't feel it. But when they do things, we remember. We remember. And…"

I was ready for it this time, saw the eye movement. The boy's face hardened, bone structure prominent, stretching the skin. "Blood," the skull said. It wasn't a human voice.

Doc didn't miss a beat. "Blood?" he asked.

"Baby blood. Clean new blood. Mine. I need it."

"Who are you?"

"Satan's Child. I am Satan's Child."

"What do you do?"

"I kill," the voice coming from Luke said.

"Who do you kill?"

"I kill babies. Little stupid babies."

"Why do you kill babies?"

"For their hearts. To eat their hearts."

"Why do…?"

Luke launched himself at Doc, humming a baby tune, his eyes screaming. One little hand in a fist, the other pushing against Doc's chest, steadying the target. Stabbing motions, the blows so powerful Doc grunted in pain. I grabbed Luke from behind, pulling— his muscles coiled like steel snakes. I twisted his left hand behind his back. It took all my strength to bend it up toward his neck, right to the breaking point. He kept humming his baby tune, stabbing. Doc fell to the floor, Luke still on top. Terry yelled something. Luke went rigid in my hands, a piece of iron. I put him back in the easy chair. He lay like a board, spine not touching the chair back.

We watched. Luke was drenched in sweat, red and white splattering his face from inside. He went limp. More time passed. Luke squirmed, shrugged his shoulders. Rubbed his eyes like he just woke up.

"Hello, Luke," Doc said.

"Hi. It's a great cave, isn't it? Terry was showing me just before you came down."

"Yes, it's a great cave. How do you feel?"

"I feel good. Can we go to the zoo again someday?"

Doc didn't answer him, watching.

"Can we, Burke?"

"Sure," I told him. Hands in my pocket so he wouldn't see them shake.

69

Outside, in the air. Luke had gone off with Terry Happy kid, fascinated with the secrets the older boy was going to show him. I handed Doc my pack of smokes without him asking.

"You ever see it before?" I asked him.

"Multiple Personality Disorder? Sure. I did a stint in a mental hospital while I was interning. You see it in women much more than men. Never saw a kid before, but it's supposed to always start in childhood…we're just not around to pick it up."

"You're sure?"

"The personalities have names. Different voices. The last one…you felt his strength?"

"Yeah. I could barely hold him."

"The big thing…he's amnesic. He loses time. You ask him what happened down there, he won't know. Push him hard enough, and he'll make it up…fill in the gaps."

"Lily says he does that. Fakes it."

"He's not faking, Burke. What he does, it's called confabulation. He can't account for the lost time, doesn't know what happened. But he knows something did. He's not ready to let anybody see his secret."

"Does he know we know?"

"No…I don't think so. Maybe some small part of him, some observer-personality. Sometimes, one of the personalities can listen in on what the others are doing. I don't know how distinct the splits are…there may be more of them inside."

A dog howled in the distance.

"He killed those babies," I said.

"Luke didn't…it was the other one. They're as separate and distinct as you and me."

"Tell it to the judge."

"I know."

"How'd he…?"

"Get like that? Take a highly intelligent, sensitive child, subject him to intense, inescapable trauma …and he learns to dissociate. Escape inside his head. Splitting, it starts as. Some kids, it gets real. Child abuse, especially sexual abuse, that's the key predisposing factor."

"It's not genetic?"