Andrew Vachss - Sacrifice

"I got to talk to these ladies, Luke, okay? How about if you go next door, play with Simsa?"

"Can I show her to Teresa first?"

"Okay, go get her. But just for a minute, all right?"

"Yes!" He took off like a shot

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He came running back in, the puppy in his arms. "Look!" he said, thrusting the dog almost in Teresa's face. She patted the dog dutifully.

"Can I hold her?" Wolfe asked him.

Luke turned slowly, cradling his pup, watchful. "You be careful," he said, walking to her.

Wolfe took the pup on her lap, patting the dog's large head, stroking its ears. She lifted the pup right into her face. The puppy licked her. She licked it back. "Oh, ugh!" Luke laughed. "You licked her!"

"Well, she licked me first. Probably smells my dog on me. Do you smell Bruiser, Simsa? You smell my big boy?"

The puppy yapped like she was answering.

"You're a real beauty, aren't you? A lovely dog. Look at those paws…you're gonna be a big girl, yes? A big, tough girl," nuzzling the pup.

"You have a dog?" Luke asked, stepping close.

"Yes, I have a Rottweiler. You know what that is?"

"No."

"Want to see a picture?" she asked, playing the kid like a fighting fish— setting the hook before she jerked the line.

"Sure!"

She handed Simsa back to Luke, took a bunch of photos out of her purse. Handed them to the boy. He put Simsa on the floor, stood next to Wolfe, leafed through the pictures.

"Is that him?"

"Yes. That's Bruiser. When he was a pup."

I looked over her shoulder. Wolfe holding a fat black puppy, one hand under its rump, the other around its chest. The little beast's paws draped over her arm, tiny tip of his tongue showing. Wolfe was wearing an old flannel shirt, her hair loose and free. Looked like a college girl.

Another photo: Wolfe all dressed up, wearing a black leather coat and heels. Bruiser at her side, his head at the top of her thigh.

Another: Bruiser bursting through the open gate at her house in full cry, ears flapping, mouth a snarl.

"He got real big, didn't he?"

"Yes, he did, Luke. He's my true friend. Bruiser will always protect me…like Simsa will you."

"He was a puppy?" Luke setting a hook of his own.

"All dogs are puppies, once. He was a wonderful pup. Just like Simsa."

"I love Simsa. Do you love your Bruiser?"

"Yes. I love my true friends. And I would do anything for them."

"Anything?" The kid tugged at the line.

"Yes. Anything."

"Is he your friend?" Pointing at me.

"We are…professional friends, do you understand?"

"No."

"Well, it means we are on the same side. So we're friends. We don't do things together, the way some friends do. But we're close…in a way."

"If he's your friend, what's his name?"

"Burke." Wolfe smiled. "He's the one who brought me here. To see you."

"You don't like me," the boy accused, remembering.

"That's not true, Luke. I didn't like you so much when I first met you. But that was my mistake. I see that now. Now I really like you."

"Is that true?"

"Look in my eyes, Luke. Come here. Look in my eyes. See for yourself."

The boy studied her. "You like my puppy. Burke is your friend. And…you do like me."

"Yes."

"Am I going to be your friend?"

"Yes, we're going to be friends."

"Then you could love me…like you love your friends?"

"Yes, sort of like that."

"Okay," Luke said, wandering over to me, done with his testing.

Wolfe reached for a cigarette. "Burke has matches," Luke volunteered, watching me under his long lashes. I handed the little box to Luke. He went back over to Wolfe, lit one for her.

She leaned forward, cupping her hands around his.

"Thank you, Luke."

"You're welcome. I have lots of friends. They love me. Like you said. Burke is my friend." A sly grin flashed across his poker face. "Do you love Burke?"

Wolfe dragged on her smoke. "Uh…sure!"

"Are you going to get married?"

"I don't think so, Luke. People who love each other don't always get married. You understand?"

"Sure." Moving close to her, looking at the photos in her hand. "What's this one?" he asked.

I looked to see what he was holding. Picture of a racehorse, a winner's circle photo of a trotter, still hooked to its sulky, a groom holding the bridle, the driver in blue-and-white silks holding the reins, smiling. Small print at the bottom: Jasper County Fair, Illinois. July 4, 1990, Second Race, 3 y.o. ECS Trot, First Filly Elimination winner: The Flame. Owner: The Syndicate, Inc. Time: 2:07:01, single heat.

"Is that your horse?" the boy asked.

"She sure is. Isn't she beautiful?"

"Yes! Could I go see her someday?"

"Yes. But now, go take Simsa in the other room. So I can talk with your friends, okay?"

"Okay," he said, gathering up his puppy.

He started out of the room. Hesitated, watching me. Gave Wolfe a quick kiss on the cheek and walked out. Hiding behind cute.

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"Did you understand what you saw?" Teresa asked Wolfe.

"I think so," she said, voice flat, not playing a role for the kid anymore.

"He's much better now."

"Better?"

"Oh yes. Did you see the way he asked Burke to help him? When he lost time? He knows he does it now. Knows we know too. I can't talk to the baby, Susie. And Luke, when he's on the spot, he's just himself. He's not ready to talk about what he knows."

"On the spot?"

"When one of the personalities takes center stage, so to speak. The others stand off in the darkness. Watching. Luke uses Toby to tell us…tell us what happened to him. We get closer every day."

"And what happened was…Luke was tortured? Sodomized? And they filmed it?"

"Yes. He's got an incredible IQ. When the pain got too much, he split off. It's all a nest of twisted snakes in his mind. It was his parents who did this to him. His mother and his father. They kept telling him to be good. Good! To hold still for the torture so they could film it. Luke became the baby, Susie. He knew…that rational part of him knew…they wanted a baby girl. He didn't understand that they wanted a girl to make more torture films."

"There's a market for both," I said. "Boys and girls, so long as it's kids."

Wolfe nodded, her pale eyes on Teresa.

"Toby's the street-wise one. All he knew was that the baby didn't feel the pain. He could go away. Be safe. But children have so much love, it's incredible. Their love doesn't die of natural causes— you have to kill it. No matter what parents do to them, they try to find an excuse for it. So Luke, he blamed the baby. His baby brother. In Luke's mind, the torture didn't start until his baby brother came. It all merged, overwhelmed him. The Satanic rituals, cutting out the puppy's heart. He needed strength. Power. And he had so much rage. The nightmares intruded. He wasn't safe even when he slept. And so the other personality came. The Satan-monster."

"He killed those babies?"

"The other one did. Satan's Child, he calls it sometimes. Sometimes, he just says Satan. All that blood, the chanting, the pain…it was a tidal wave in his mind."

"His…parents. They're devil-worshipers? The puppy was a sacrifice?"

My turn. "They're not devil worshipers," I said to Wolfe. "They're terrorists. All child molesters are, you know that. Fear's always stronger than force— it stays with you even when you're alone. Even when you try to sleep, night terrors come. It's happening all over now. They frighten the child into silence, make the kid believe they have magical powers. Life and death. That's why they killed the puppy. It wasn't some bullshit sacrifice to Satan, it was them proving to the kid that they held all the cards. Telling him they could do anything they want. Anytime they want. Those maggots're no more Satanists than you are. There's real ones— I mean, people who fucking worship the devil, okay? Some true believers, some charlatans. Just like Christians. Or Jews, or Muslims, or whatever. Sodomizing kids, making kiddie-porn films, it's got nothing to do with religion. Any religion. A priest molests an altar boy, you call it Catholic child abuse?"