The Night Visitors(49)

I curl my fingers around the knife handle—and realize as I do that I’ve still got that button Alice handed me. I’ve been gripping it in my clenched fist so tightly that it sticks to my palm even as I grab the knife. There was a design on the button that had jarred some memory, but I can’t think what now and it isn’t important. Still, I keep the button in my hand as I slip the knife out of Jason’s pocket and slide both knife and button into my own.

I hold my breath for a moment, afraid to look at Davis, praying that he didn’t see me take the knife. But no, he’s too busy berating Alice.

“. . . and I should have known that a piece of foster-care ass would have no respect for blood. Did you think you could be Oren’s mommy? That it didn’t matter that he’s my son?” Out of the corner of my eye I see Davis thump his chest with the same hand that’s holding the gun. “My son,” he says again, pounding his chest. “Mine.”

I’ve heard this before too, abusive men storming Sanctuary, demanding to know what we’ve done with my children, my wife, my family. I’ve stood my ground while they spit in my face. I’ve even felt a sliver of sympathy for them. They may have once loved that woman, those children, but something twisted inside them—some thread that got tangled in their own childhood, usually—and turned that love into a need to control. Now it’s all unraveling.

When they’re done yelling Doreen will step in and offer the men a cup of coffee. If they’ll sit down with her she’ll tell them about our anger management group. She’ll talk about the steps that might lead them back to their families. Most of the men tell her to go fuck herself, but a few have sat down with her, and one or two have actually joined the group and recovered.

No one is irredeemable, Doreen likes to say. I wish she were here now. She’d know how to talk to Davis.

“Tell me where he is,” Davis is yelling.

“Alice doesn’t know where he is,” I say, interrupting him.

Davis snaps his head around to me. “What did you say, bitch?”

“Oren is hiding,” I say, trying to keep my voice even like Doreen would. “There are dozens of places in this house where a smart kid like Oren could hide. He won’t come out as long as you’re yelling. If he sees that you’re calm, that we’re all sitting around peaceably—say, in the kitchen—he might come out.”

Davis cocks his head to one side as if he’s considering what I’ve said. “Oh, really? What if I yell real loud like this: HEY, OREN!” He presses the barrel of the gun to my temple. “I’M GOING TO SHOOT THIS BITCH IF YOU DON’T COME OUT RIGHT NOW.”

“I don’t think that will work,” I say, praying it’s true. Hoping Oren doesn’t come out of hiding to keep Davis from shooting me. “That’s only likely to make him more scared. But if we go upstairs to the kitchen—”

“What’s in the kitchen you want so much?”

Nothing, I think, wishing I’d hidden the gun there. “Just a pot of chili, candles and oil lamps, a woodstove. This house will get pretty cold soon without the furnace working. We’re all stuck here tonight. We could make a fire in the woodstove, heat up that chili, show Oren that everything’s okay.”

“Why, you make it sound real cozy,” Davis croons.

The thought of sitting around the woodstove eating chili with this asshole turns my stomach, but I swallow my own bile. “The alternative is freezing to death,” I say as flatly as I can.

“Hmm.” Davis looks around the basement, taking in the cold furnace, the shelves, the boxes—his eyes go right past them, I’m relieved to see—and light on the still-open Bilco doors. “Well, that’s not going to help any. Hey, asshole.” He nudges Jason with the barrel of the gun. “Is that how you got in?”

Jason nods. “Yeah.”

Davis strolls over to the Bilco doors, the gun dangling loosely from his hand, and reaches to pull them closed. If I could hit him over the head . . . I try to sit up, but my head swims. Jason hisses, “Cut my hands loose and I’ll jump the sonofabitch.”

Alice clutches my arm, digging her nails into my flesh. “He’ll kill us,” she rasps in my ear.

Davis turns back to us and grins. “Don’t think I don’t hear you guys whispering.” He waves the gun at us. “Mattie, darling, are you telling me you just left these doors unlocked? That’s plain careless. That shows an utter disregard for your own life, which I wouldn’t mind so much except that you had my boy under your care. Now let’s see . . . there must be a way to secure this entry . . .” He looks around and plucks a short board from a shelf, then shoves it between the handles on the Bilco doors, effectively sealing them from the inside. Satisfied, he walks back to us and points the gun at Alice. “Help her up,” he barks, directing the gun toward me. “And don’t even think about trying anything, bitches, or I’ll put a bullet in both your brains. We’re going to do as our hostess suggests and have a cozy meal by the fire upstairs. Then we’re going to have a little talk.”

Alice helps me up. As I clutch her hand I press it against the knife in my pocket so she knows it’s there. I see her eyes widen. Davis has shifted his gaze to Jason, though, so he doesn’t notice.

“Should I help him up, too?” Alice asks.