Chapter Thirty

Gerry had noticed the new cars coming down his street lately and he was getting nervous. He hadn’t seen Sam Chase in the cars yet. He had hoped she would be the one to come, but they were all men. Sitting in the bathtub, he thought about Whitney. He hadn’t seen her in almost two days. He’d tried, but the old lady downstairs had taken her car and hadn’t been back. The more he thought about prison, the less sure he was that he wanted to go back there. He was starting to like it out here. He at least needed to see Whitney again before he went.

Tonight, he needed to go get some groceries, but all the cars on the street made him nervous and he wanted to wait until it was dark. He found himself replaying the scene at the funeral the other day. He had been very bad, he told himself. But he hadn’t done any harm. He was there to protect the children, right? He was like Sam Chase. He would keep them from harm, from the terrible mothers who hurt them.

He just needed someone to talk to. He had a parole officer who was supposed to come by, but he hadn’t seen her since the picketers started. Maybe she couldn’t get through. Or maybe she got busy with other parolees. He thought about Wally in prison, and that made him smile. But then he wished he were still there.

If he went back to prison, Wally would be disappointed in him. Wally had told him to straighten up and survive on the outside, but he needed a job. And he needed to control himself better than he had at the cemetery. He could do that, couldn’t he? He thought about little Whitney and he grew hard again. Angry at his own reaction, he jabbed himself in the nuts and doubled over in pain. Stay in control.

When the pain stopped, he concentrated on what he needed from the store. Since the refrigerator didn’t work anymore, he had to buy things that didn’t spoil, but he longed for some milk. He longed for a lot of things—like a ham-and-cheese sandwich with American cheese and mustard and mayonnaise. But he didn’t have the money for that.

Seven dollars and twelve cents was it. It would last another week, if he stretched it. He hadn’t found any more money. He reminded himself to look through the old lady’s car next time. Or maybe he’d be able to get into her house and get to her purse.

Pulling himself up from the bathtub, he ran his hand across his scratchy beard and smoothed his hair down. He gave himself a quick glance in the mirror, thinking he’d never looked so bad. Who would want an employee who looked like him?

At least he’d be safe in jail. He wouldn’t do any more bad things there. How desperately he wanted to be in the library filing books with Wally. When he was feeling down, Wally would pull a book off the shelf and hand it to him. “You should read this one.” Then he’d add, “It’ll pick up your spirits.” Without another word, Wally would push his book cart on down the aisle and be on his way.

The last book Wally gave him was Hemingway’sA Farewell to Arms . When that Catherine Barkley died, Gerry went back to the beginning and read it again.

“She died,” he’d said to Wally the next day. “How come she died?”

“Didn’t matter she was dead,” Wally said, pressing his hand against the book. “True love is everlasting. She would live through Lieutenant Henry forever. Read it again.”

So he did. He read it three times. He didn’t understand it like Wally did. Still, he had cried each time he read about Catherine in the hospital, dying. And the weird thing was, Wally was right. The book did make him feel better.

Thinking about Wally, he wished he had a good book. He looked around the dark room. No books there. He thought about how expensive books were to buy. He could go to a library. Didn’t cost to join, either. His chin lifted a bit as he thought about it. Long as the library wasn’t at a school, of course. And he’d have to stay clear of the children’s sections. But that was okay. He could do that as long as he kept his eyes on the floor.

Tomorrow he’d go to the library during the day. Then, at night, he’d go see Whitney, his Cherry Princess, again. That old lady better bring that car back soon.

He looked around the room. He would have to pick up another candle at the grocery store tonight, so he could read. His was almost burned to the end.

He bundled up and headed out, surprised that the outdoors was almost warmer than the inside had been. He had his seven dollars tucked carefully in his shirt pocket beneath his sweater and coat as he started down the street toward the convenience store.

It was quiet and he breathed deeply, sucking in the clear night air. Night air was something he’d never experienced in prison and he enjoyed the sounds and smells of nighttime.

Turning the corner, he saw the old lady’s car. With a quick look around, he ran toward it and tested the door. It was unlocked. He opened the door and found the keys. He felt more excited than he had in days.

He started the car and drove toward Sam Chase’s house. It was too late to see Whitney, but maybe Sam was home. He loved to drive, and he stayed in the slow lane and followed the rules carefully. The longer he was out, the more he remembered all the things he couldn’t do in prison.

He drove past Sam’s house, but it looked dark. He looked at his watch. Maybe she was still at work. He checked the gas gauge—it was full. But he still had to pay two dollars for the bridge toll. He only had seven, so two seemed like an awful lot.

He turned down the next street and made a U-turn. He saw something slide across the floor and reached for it. It was thin and dark against the dark floor, and only when he had it in his hand did he realize it was a wallet. Checking for anyone watching him, Gerry made sure the coast was clear before tearing the wallet open and looking inside. He gasped at what he saw. He pulled the bills out and thought he’d gone to heaven. He counted twice, but got different numbers. Still, the wallet had more than eighty dollars plus two credit cards. He could definitely afford to go to Sam’s office now.

Putting the car in gear, he headed for the city.

It was quiet when he reached her building. He found a place to park and took the cash from the lady’s wallet, then tucked the wallet, with the credit cards in it, deep under the seat. He wished he could call up to Sam’s office and see if she was there, but he knew that was a bad idea. It took almost a half hour before someone came out of the parking garage. As the gate was closing, Gerry snuck under it like he had before.

He was beginning to really like Sam’s office. He walked slowly around the garage until he saw the right license plate. He moved closer to the car, then halted. Someone was inside.

Gerry ducked down, his heart pounding. That wasn’t Sam. He hid behind a big cement pillar and tried to watch, but there was another car in the way. From what he could see, the man appeared to be looking for something. Maybe he was cleaning out the car. Gerry wondered where Sam was.

He sat down behind the pillar and waited for what felt like at least ten minutes. He didn’t have a watch, so all he could do was guess. The garage had gotten very quiet, and suddenly he was tired and very hungry. Maybe he didn’t need to see Sam tonight.

He stood up and peered around the pillar, but he didn’t see the man anymore. He decided to come back another day. He checked again for any sign of anyone in the garage and then headed up the short ramp for the side door.

He hadn’t gotten more than ten steps when he heard a man call out. Gerry didn’t look back and he didn’t stop. He reached the exit and pushed it open from the inside, running to the street.

He had almost gotten to the corner when he felt a hand grab the back of his shirt. He tried to twist free, but the man was stronger and pulled him down.

“Who the hell are you?”

Gerry struggled but didn’t answer.

The man yanked him up and pulled him down the street toward a dark alley. “No,” Gerry cried.

The man threw him to the ground.

Gerry rolled over and got to his knees, but the man kicked him in his gut. He moaned and fought to catch his breath.

Tossed onto his back, he rolled again and felt another kick to the ribs. Then there was another, and another.

“Fucking pervert,” the man hissed, and he felt a kick to his head. “I saw you at the funeral, whacking off on the fucking tombstones. You sick son of a bitch. I’m going to kill you.”

“The police will find you,” Gerry yelled at his attacker, trying to throw him off guard. He could hear his own voice shaking.

The next kick was harder. “Bullshit, asshole. You can’t get closer to the police than I am. You call them, I’ll probably answer the goddamn phone.”

He tried to get a look at his attacker, but the blows were coming too hard and he did his best just to protect his face. “Sam Chase will find you. She’ll catch you.”

“Sam Chase isn’t going to be able to save your sorry ass,” the man said, landing another kick to his chest.

Gerry didn’t have an answer to that. Attacked by a police officer. He remembered the man who had come when the picketers were hurling rocks through his window. That man had looked at Gerry like he wanted to kill him himself. Gerry curled up and held his head in his hands, trying to cushion himself against the blows. He could feel the warmth of blood on his forehead and hands. The hits grew faster, harder, the names and curses more angry. A quick snap sounded in his chest and he felt a wave of red nausea in his belly. He kept himself from touching the broken ribs, knowing from experience that it would drive the guy to kick that spot harder.

Suddenly his attacker was pulling on him, dragging him to his feet. “Stand up, faggot.”

He played dead, too afraid to face the guy’s anger. Go away, he thought. Go away. He let out a long, slow breath and prayed the man didn’t see it.

The guy dropped him back to the ground and gave him another kick. Gerry knew the man was going to kill him. Panicked, he squeezed his eyes shut, praying for it to be quick, wishing he’d never gotten out of prison.

Just then, a bright light shone on them and for a second he thought he was dying.

“Shit.” His attacker froze.

Gerry looked up, though only one eye opened.

He saw the silhouette of the man’s face and remembered where he’d seen him before.

Then the sound of his attacker’s feet grew distant, and Gerry let out a little sigh of relief despite the pain. But he worried he might still die.

He wondered if this was what death would feel like. Lifting his head, he tried to open his eyes again. The pain in his head made the movement excruciating. He let his chin fall to the ground and threw up, tasting the metallic flavor of blood.

Lying with his eyes closed, he heard the click of a car door and the crunch of loose gravel as someone came toward him.

“You okay?”

He couldn’t open his eyes. He needed his brother, Bobby. He couldn’t take it anymore. He felt like throwing up again, but it was too painful.

The voice disappeared, and he felt like he was on a rocking ship. He tried to keep his eyes on one spot, but the ground was swaying. His thoughts were foggy and sounds swirled around him like angry waves.

He heard a siren and more doors open. He cringed, waiting.

Someone opened his eyes and shone a bright light into each one of them.

“I need to call Bobby,” he said. “Bobby.”

“Who’s Bobby?” the man asked.

He moaned.

“Don’t know. He’s been saying that since I got here,” someone else answered.

He was lifted off the ground. Fighting to open his eyes, he felt his body tense so hard it hurt, and then everything went black.