Seven Kinds of Hell (7 page)

“But what about—?” He pulled the wallet out of his pocket. “You can find out more about them, maybe even your father now.”

I took the wallet, went through it: license, some cash, a couple of credit cards, all in a name I didn’t recognize. I shoved it into my bag.

“The more I see of those guys, the less I like.” I wasn’t about to stick around and let them tell Sean—or anyone else—about what I was. “It’s safer this way.”

“At least let me try and talk you out of it over a cup of coffee. I’m still soaked.”

I nodded. We hadn’t eaten and I was ravenous.

We went in, and I plugged in my phone to charge. There was a text from Danny waiting for me.

I’m back home now. Call me!!!

I could tell from the number of exclamation points just how anxious Danny was, but I hesitated, not wanting to draw danger to him, too.

It was just a phone call, I told myself as I hit speed dial.

“It’s me,” I said when he picked up.

“Zoe, I’m so sorry. I tried to get back early, for the funeral, but I got delayed and missed the connection. I’m so sorry.”

“Danny, it’s OK.” I had a lump in my throat. “Thank you for trying.”

“What are you going to do now?”

Danny was worried about me, but I couldn’t tell him about the tin and the photos, that Ma’s warnings had been about something even worse than violent in-laws.

On the other hand, if someone looking for me knew enough to look for Sean—or Will—they might find their way to Danny. I’d be damned if I’d let that happen. Sean could take care of himself, I knew.

I was never so sure about Danny. Danny had started out college in history, then went to anthropology, then ended up with a degree in linguistics, which I thought was even less practical than art history. But he found himself a nice job doing computational linguistics for a software startup, and actually had a job with benefits, which was more than I could currently say for myself.

Now that I thought of it, Danny was doing OK. Maybe I worried about him to keep from worrying about myself.

“I think it’s fair to say I discovered some of Ma’s concerns have some basis in reality,” I said finally. “In fact, you might want to keep an eye out. They’ve been…reaching out, looking for me.”

“Zoe, where are you? Please. We need to talk.”

“Look, I’ll send you an e-mail when I get…wherever I’m going.”

“Zoe.”

I don’t know how he did it, but he managed to freight the two syllables of my name with history, guilt, and obligation. He knew as much as anyone why we’d been on the run, or as much of the made-up story my mother told anyone about why we kept moving. Yes, there was the year we’d spent sleeping on the pull-out sofa in his mother’s tiny apartment, and there was a summer where Ma
and I would have missed any number of meals if his mother hadn’t invited us over regularly. I kind of thought the month he spent with us while his mother looked for a new job made up for it, but I know it didn’t, not really. Not when my father’s people might be on his trail.

“I’m not far,” I said. I’d realized there were no documents, like the lease at BU, to tie Danny and me together. Our lives had been in parallel for some time now. The risk was there, but it was low. And I missed him. “I could stop by. But I am leaving tonight.”

Where would I go besides…
away
?

“Stay with me, for just a few days.”

“I can’t.”

“Just come over to my place. Please? Just for a drink or something?”

I thought about it, trying to tell myself that I would tell him just enough to put him on guard. It was more likely the threat would evaporate as soon as I took off. “Sean’s with me—”

“All the more reason,” he said. “You need
Homo sapiens sapiens
advice, not Neanderthal advice. See you both soon.” He hung up.

I turned to Sean. “I’m going to stop by Danny’s before I leave. You don’t have to come.”

“Like hell I don’t. Who knows who else is waiting for you out there?”

“Sean, it’s Cambridge. A city dense with responsible do-gooders, as well as campus and local police. The best place to hide out from people is in a crowd.”

He shook his head. “Maybe Danny can talk you into forming a reasonable plan before you take off.”

I felt better as soon as I saw Danny framed in the doorway of his brick apartment building. I felt genuinely happy for the first time
in ages. Not much taller than me, maybe five-eight, and lighter than me by ten pounds, Danny’s is the picture you see in the dictionary under “geek,” “dweeb,” and “nerd.” Or maybe it would have been ten years ago; despite the glasses, the pale skin of the habitually nocturnal, and the curly dark hair perennially in need of a cut, once Danny had found his niche, he’d grown a confidence that was rare in anyone.

The bond Danny and I had was strong enough to last when I fell in love with Will and moved in with him and Sean. It had outlasted Will.

I knew I had to keep my distance, though, so the Beast and its kin wouldn’t jeopardize him.

But I settled into that hug, feeling a weight come off me for the first time in I don’t know when.

“What do you need?” he said.

Rather than argue with him, I said, “Strong drink, something to eat. In exactly that order.” I suddenly felt epically tired and wanted to crash. I could barely see straight and didn’t want to drive. I had no idea where I was going, anyway. “Um, and if you’ll still have me, a place to stay. Just for tonight.”

Danny knew me too well. He raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“Can Sean stay, too?”

“Oh.” He looked past me, into the night. “Where is he?”

“With my stuff. Just wanted to make sure you were fine with me bringing him along.”

“Love me, love my dog?”

“Danny.”

Danny sighed. “Fine, sure, whatever.”

I whistled sharply; Sean came around the corner with my backpack.

The two eyed each other before they extended their hands. Lines had been drawn when I split with Will and they hadn’t seen each other in some time.

“Sean.”

“Danny.”

“Can we get inside?” I said. I was still dripping wet. “I’m freezing.”

We climbed to the second floor. Inside, Danny dug out a beer, which he handed wordlessly to Sean, and a bottle of vodka, which he kept on hand for me. We ordered Chinese, and while we waited for the delivery, I brought him up to speed, stopping just shy of discovering the Beast’s new kin.

“So, yeah, they’re real,” I finished, trying not to think about the pictures in the tin. “I got a look at them a couple of times. At home, Boston, and the cemet—and more recently.”

Sean nodded. “I beat the shit out of three of them after Zoe jumped out my window.”

Danny thought about that, and nodded back. “Good. Zoe, what’s next?”

“I’m not sure. I’m going to head out of here, try and lose them. I’ve got a choice between New York and Providence, thanks to Ian, so I can get a job someplace crowded.” I shook my head. “I’ll decide which tomorrow.”

I had a plan in place as soon as Ma got really sick. But somehow making that last choice seemed like too much to ask before the funeral, and now I hated that I finally had to decide.

The food arrived; we ate and talked. Tension eased somewhat, and it was almost like the three of us were back to normal. Danny and Sean covered the familiar territory of
Star Trek: The Next Generation
versus the movie reboot of
Star Trek,
and I relaxed only when Danny offered to agree to disagree.

Sleep settled in on me as they argued. It had been a long day, and I still had something left to explore. Danny showed me to the guest room. That’s how far Danny had come in life: he had a real guest room with a bed, not just a futon.

“We can talk more tomorrow, after you get some sleep,” he said, handing me clean towels. “I’ll work at home.”

“You don’t have to.”

He shrugged. “’Course I do. Don’t worry about it.” He hugged me briefly. “G’night, Zoe. I’m glad you came.”

“Me, too.”

Revived and calmer, I closed the door, then pulled out the smaller envelope from the tin. I stared at Ma’s handwriting for what seemed a long time. Then I sat on the bed, opened it, and began to read.

Dear Zoe,

I love you. That’s probably not enough for what you’re about to learn, but if you’re reading this, I’m gone. That’s my last wish, that you know that you were the most important thing in my life. You didn’t have the childhood I would have chosen, but you grew into the adult I always wanted to know, so I can leave believing I did my best. That’s a lot. The only other thing I have is the truth, as best I know it, about my early life and what I learned about your father.

I ran away from the home when I was fifteen. I was raised in an asylum that was probably for orphans, but seemed like it was at least half lunatics as well. Some kids raved and hollered, some just sat in the corner and stared, harmless enough, most of them. But no matter how bad they were, they were always worse—mute and a little dead behind the eyes—after they received the treatment. That was what decided me; when I found myself hearing whispers when there was no one there, I decided I could live with voices better than electroshock therapy, or drugs, or whatever they did to those other kids. I took off in the middle of the night, hitchhiked to the first bus station, and chose a destination based on the amount of money I stole from the petty cash behind the desk.

I’d asked the teachers about my parents a couple of times and got variations on “car crash” and “somewhere up north.” New England or New York, maybe? Vague, but possibly true, so I don’t know who my people really were. The lady I called your grandmother—I
left this at her grave. She was a good friend to me, but no relation. I thought you could do with a grandmother, even if it was only for a few years. I’m sorry; I hope the slight lie of blood is outweighed by the kindness she showed you and me both.

So that’s me.

Your father, I thought he was it. I thought we were
forever
. He seemed to understand me, didn’t push me or rush me. We met when I was waitressing, and he kept coming back for coffee, which I later realized he hated. For a few years, we were a couple, and it was bliss for me.

You probably get that I might have had problems with trusting folks, but when he told me he worked as an insurance claims adjuster, I believed him. But I knew he wasn’t telling me the whole truth: claims adjusters don’t get calls in the middle of the night and come home covered in blood.

It’s kind of like Bluebeard’s wives. Maybe if I hadn’t peeked, we would still be happy. But when I saw the clothes he washed, with bloodstains that wouldn’t come out, I had to find out what he was doing.

I followed him one night. He joined up with some men, none of who I recognized, but he called them “brother” and “cousin.” Somehow I was able to avoid them seeing me, and I’m glad. I lost them for a few hours, but when I saw them later, it was horrible.

The last couple of times, I followed him with a camera. The pictures I left you? That’s their handiwork. Best I can figure, they were some kind of mob enforcers. My thought was I could use the photos as evidence against them if I had to, but all I wanted was to get away from this man I loved who seemed to have two lives and monstrous habits.

Why didn’t I just go as soon as I knew? I was confused. I hate to admit it, but I got a kind of rush the first time I saw the mess that your father and his friends made. It took me a while to figure out it was just seeing the forbidden, or shock or something, but I knew I couldn’t have a baby and let those feelings lead me to places I knew
were wrong. I might have occasionally heard voices, but I knew right from wrong. Murder wasn’t right.

So I chose you. And I left.

You need to know, he’s gone now, but he was always good to me. Whatever else he was, he never raised a hand or even his voice to me. I trusted him as long as I did for good reasons. Doesn’t mean I ever want you to run into his family.

That’s why we were always on the run. I didn’t want them to find out about you, and I didn’t want them to find us. Hard, to keep dragging you around, but better than the alternative, I think.

Zoe, I hope you’ll understand a little, as far as I’ve been able to tell you, why I did the things we did. You don’t want to burden a child with too much, but you’re grown, and maybe you can settle someplace and do a little better by your own kids. I don’t think they’ll be able to find you. I was careful, and you’ve probably guessed by now, Miller’s not really your last name either. It’s a nice name, though, one I took from good folks I met along my way. You should know that much, anyway; there’s not much more I can tell you.

Remember what I said at the beginning of this? It’s the same now, and always: I love you, Zoe.

Your Ma

I put the letter down carefully. It sounded like “Ma-at-home,” not “Ma-at-the-university,” when she’d finally been able to start taking college classes herself; it was comforting, and the professional analyst in me speculated that the intimacy of the language implied truth as well. The contents explained a lot, but opened up more mysteries. All I’d ever wanted was to have a normal life, in one place, for more than a year or two. Now I understood what drove Ma, and it helped, maybe just a little, to know she worried about being nuts, too.