It Burns a Lovely Light (25 page)

"Your husband needs you," she lied.

Turning, she collided with an oversized bumblebee as he spun
a fashionable sunflower.

"Honey, look who it is!" cried the bee.

Veda Marie disappeared into an embrace of petals and wings.

"Billie, this is Tami and Timothy England," she
said. "We go back for more years than I care to mention. I'm ashamed of how long it's been since we've seen each other."

"We met at Patty's birthday party," said Tami,
beaming at Billie. "That Eileen of yours is adorable."

"She is a treasure," gushed Billie. Turning to Mr. England, she tilted her head flirtatiously. "But I have not had the pleasure of meeting the famous Mr. England."

"It has been a while, Billie." Timothy's antennae bobbed in all directions. "But I can't believe you don't remember me."

She batted her eyelashes and tried to control her glee.
"I hate when this happens, don't you? I am so embarrassed; I don't recall our exact meeting."

"Patty's birthday party. I was the clown."

William sat upright and clutched his happiness cloak. His
candy bag fell to the ground. Across the square in the gloom of Saint Xavier's shadow stood Peter Gaglio, giving William a great big jack-o-lantern, Peter-Peter-pumpkin-eater grin.

"Let's dance."

"I don't want to, Joe." Seeing the hurt in his eyes she softened her tone. "I'm going the ladies room."

Hurt, he watched as Sylvia disappeared into the crowd. He
barely registered the harsh tug on his shirt.

"Joe," said William, a higher-than-usual-panic-pitch to his voice. "We need to go home now."

"Not now, Pal. Go ask Farley."

Billie teetered on the edge of the dance floor, eyes closed, hips grinding to the music. As the song ended, she opened her eyes and tried to focus. Ham was walking toward. No, two Hams. A double whammy-Hammy-jam-jam. Ha!
She giggled. Both Hams wore her mother's fur with two dead foxes on the collar. Both of Ham's jaws were tight.

She wobbled. "That has to hurt, all that clenching."

He replied, but she couldn't make out what he was saying.
"...had
enough...need to get Eileen...to go home."

Billie stared at her husband in his pitiable getup. What was he supposed to be, anyway? Just as the music ended she let out a frightening
cackle. The crowd grew quiet.

"You used to be somebody." She waved her arms, sloshing her drink. "A big partner in a big firm...country club...money flying in...now you want to chuck it all away for a bunch of
lowlifes
!"

"Claire," said Ham, never taking his eyes off his wife. "Please get Eileen out of here."

Billie steadied herself. "That's right; ask your
not-so-secret infatuation to help you protect the little princess."

Ham took hold of her arm. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's go home."

"Come on, sweetheart," she mimicked, yanking her
arm away. "What a pathetic loser you turned out to be.
A fucking loser
!"

Ham opened his mouth to say something and then decided against it. He stared at his wife.

"Goodbye, Billie."

As he turned away, she lobbed her half-empty cocktail glass at the back of his head. It was a direct hit.

"You need to get this looked at," said Dion. "You might have a concussion."

"I'll be all right." Ham flinched as Henry applied a makeshift ice pack to his head. "Where's Eileen?"

"Claire took her home," said Farley, having seen
Claire hurrying Eileen across the square while Billie was still getting ramped up. She scanned the almost empty square. Claire must have grabbed William, too.

"At least let us give you a lift." Henry fished his keys out of his pocket. "Joe, do you mind bringing my van up? It's parked
out back of the restaurant."

"No problem," said Joe. "Tell Sylvia I'll be right back."

Unlocking the door to Henry's van, Joe heard muffled
laughter. He scanned the empty lot. Almost hidden by the shadows, a man leaned against the brick side wall of Freeman's. A woman pressed against him, pelvis to pelvis. Joe chuckled. As he turned the van around, his headlights flashed on
the couple. Sylvia held up a hand to shield her eyes from the glare.

Neither spoke on the drive to Sylvia's apartment. Joe stopped in front of her building and let the engine idle. The two of them
stared straight ahead.

"Who was he?" asked Joe.

"Someone I went out with a few times before I met you." She fumbled with the clasp of her purse. "I'm sorry, Joe. I don't blame you for hating me."

Joe put his head on the steering wheel. He waited until a large truck rumbled by before speaking. "I could never hate you."

"Fine. I hate myself enough for both of us,
anyway."

He reached across the seat and found her hand.

"I can't do this anymore," she said, choking back a sob. "Every time I break up with you, you end up talking me into trying again. I don't want to try anymore. I can't even look at you without
remembering..."

He continued holding her hand, almost hypnotized by the brief, brutal rain that washed over them as she cried.

"Trust me," said Ryan. He spoke with the deliberate annunciation of a drunk who thinks he's hiding it well. "She's not worth it. There are so many...
better
girls out there. Good
clean
ones. We need to find you a
clean
woman."

"Kissing someone else doesn't make her dirty," said Joe, leaning away from Ryan's red wine breath. "It just makes her someone else's girl."

"We both know what kind of girl she is."

"Don't talk about her like that." Joe's voice was flat as he tried to control his temper. "Sylvia is a nice girl."

"She's a nice alright," sneered Ryan. "She
showed you such a
nice
time, you two had to take a
nice
drive downtown for a
nice
abortion."

Instinctively, Joe raised his fist.

Ryan defiantly lifted his chin. "Go ahead; hit
me."

Farley met him at the kitchen door. "Is William with you?"

"No," said Joe. "He's not here?"

Claire hung up the phone. "I've contacted everyone on the list except Ryan. His phone is busy."

"Thank God." Farley put her hands to her heart. "If his phone is busy at this hour, he's trying to call
us
. He must
have William."

"I just came from Ryan's," said Joe. "He was alone."

Farley grabbed her sweatshirt. "He probably
just
found William, sleeping on the couch...or something. I'm going down there."

Poor Joe, thought Ryan. The kid was probably already castigating himself...dialing Ryan's number over and over to apologize. Well,
let him sweat. The first thing Ryan had done after Joe left was take the telephone receiver off the hook.

He poured himself a whiskey. He knew he was drinking too much. Pickling himself seemed to be the only way to quiet the voices - make
that
the
voice - in his head. He raised his glass. "I will only accept a face-to-face apology. As my God-given right." Looking up, he stretched out a wet grin. "Right, God?"

And there it was - a pounding on the door. Uncouth, but at
least Joe had the good sense to come back.

"Ryan? Open up, it's Farley!"

What the hell was Joe thinking, sending her? Ryan grabbed the bottle and slipped out the back door. He'd wait in the rectory until she
was gone.

Farley opened the door. "Ryan? William?"

She checked Ryan's small house from corner to corner.
Putting the phone receiver back on the hook, she dialed Bridge Manor. Henry picked up on the first ring.

"Hello."

"Henry, he's not here. Ryan's car is out front, so he and William must be walking up..."

"Farley..."

"I'll bet they took the steps," she continued, her voice shrill, "which is why I missed them..."

"We woke up Eileen."

She nodded into the phone, her heart in her throat.

"She saw William leave with a small man with hair on his face. We think it was Peter Gaglio."

Farley choked back a sob. "No, please..."

"The police are on the way. We're gathering people to help search. Bring Ryan's car."

The car was locked. Frantic, Farley tried all the usual
places: the kitchen counter, the top of his dresser, and the pockets of all the coats in the hall closet. She pulled opened his top desk drawer and reached inside, cutting her finger on the sharp corner of a book covered with thick plastic. She tried all the drawers. No keys, just more old books.

"Think," she whispered, breathing heavily.

Ryan was organized. He would hide a spare. She opened the front door and lifted the flowerpot. A shiny silver key glinted in the
moonlight.

"Thank God!" she screamed.

Sobbing, she started the car. The tires screeched as she turned around in the square and drove up the hill.

Watching from the rectory window, Ryan polished off the last
of his whiskey.

"Poor Farley," he said. "Always with the drama."

Claire stayed behind to stay near the phone and to wait for
the police. Neighbors and friends gathered out in front of Bridge Manor to help with the search. Veda Marie and Resa ran from car to car distributing hastily drawn maps. Joe handed out hockey sticks and baseball bats.

"Stick to the streets on your map," yelled Henry.
"We're concentrating on the South Side for now. Keep your bats and sticks close. Drive slow. Ask everyone you see. If you run into trouble, lean on the horn and don't stop until help shows..."

"GET IN THE FUCKING CAR!" screamed Farley.

Henry threw the car in reverse.

"It's going to be all right," he said. "We'll find him."

Farley nodded, her head wildly bobbing up and down.

"We'll find him," she repeated. She felt as if she might suffocate from fear.

The Gaglio boys took turns shoving and kicking William
around the dark alley. They taunted and ridiculed him, laughing as he crab-crawled backwards, struggling and whimpering like a cornered kitten. As the beating changed from something to avoid to something to survive, William
curled himself into a ball and tried to cover his head.

Tony and Rocco began to lose interest. This was so easy, it was almost embarrassing.

"Where's the sport?" said Tony, flipping his lighter open. He took a long drag on his Camel, unfiltered. "Come on,
Rocco. Let's go."

Rocco called over his shoulder as they sauntered down the alley. "Let it go, Pete. We're outta here, man."

But Peter couldn't hear a thing over the escalating roar of
the crowd in his head.
Holy Moly, would you look at him go! Gaglio scores again! Another hat trick by Gaglio! And the girls go wild...Peter! Peter! He's our man!

As the cheers escalated to a final earsplitting symphony of
applause and adulation, Peter Gaglio went to town on the little piggy, teaching him a thing or two about what happens to little fairies who prance around in capes.

Mercifully, the agony quickly became too much for William to
bear and he stopped struggling. His mind grew calm and unafraid and he began to lose consciousness. The distant squeal of a car on the wet road was like a warm, comforting whisper of death.

Mom and Dad, please don't be watching over this.

William Justus James closed his eyes to the flickering headlights shining on the street that made everything look so pure.

"We've gone too far, Henry. They're within walking
distance, I'm sure of it."

Henry slowed, preparing to make a U-turn. Farley was right; not even a monster like Peter Gaglio could get William into a car without one
hell of a fight. Someone would have heard something. As he turned, the car's headlights flashed on a small dark spot in the shadows between two abandoned buildings.

"Stop!" screamed Farley.

She opened the door and jumped before the car came to a
stop. Tripping, she tumbled face first onto the pavement. Henry threw his door open and ran around the front of the car. Farley, stunned by the fall, was having trouble getting to her feet.

"Stay here!" He tore the flashlight from her hand
and ran down the alley. Crouching next to the body, he gently lifted what was left of William's bloody cloak. Hot bile rose in the back of his throat.

"Oh, Christ," he choked.

Farley felt her way along the dark alley. "William?"

Henry heard the escalating hysteria in her voice. There was no time to wait for help; they had to get to a hospital. In the span of a few
seconds he considered what would be worse: having Farley drive or having her hold her possibly dead brother.

"I need your help," he said, purposely shining the flashlight away from William.

The light landed on a pair of bloodied superhero underpants.

"Farley."

Henry met her eyes as she glanced in the rearview mirror. He spoke slowly, his voice firm.

"You have to
slow down
."

She nodded, her teeth chattering. "Slow down. I have to slow down."

William's warm blood seeped through Henry's jeans as the car
sped across the Liberty Street Bridge.

Gripping each other's hands, Claire and Veda Marie tore through the hospital corridor. They stopped at the elevators, each trying to remember if they were to take a left or right.

Veda Marie grabbed a passing orderly. "Can you tell us where..."

"Veda Marie?" Henry appeared from a room down the hall.

Moaning, she covered her mouth. His shirt and jeans covered
with blood.

Farley and Claire leaned against each other and tried to absorb what the surgeon was saying.
"...coma...ventilator...blunt injuries...head and torso... shattered femur ... severely traumatized."