'Who you looking at, turd? You want your f**king nose broke off?'
Jack closed the door, looked around, and saw Wolf asleep in his wet bunk with all his clothes on. Wolf's beard was coming back, but still his face looked pale, the skin stretched and shiny. It was an invalid's face.
Leave him alone, then, Jack thought wearily. If he's that tired, let him sleep in it.
No. You will not leave him alone to sleep in that fouled bed. You will not!
Tiredly, Jack went to Wolf, shook him half-awake, got him off the wet, stinking mattress, and out of his biballs. They slept curled up together on the floor.
At four in the morning, the door opened and Sonny and Heck marched in. They yanked Jack up and half-carried him down to Sunlight Gardener's basement office.
Gardener was sitting with his feet up on the corner of his desk. He was fully dressed in spite of the hour. Behind him was a picture of Jesus walking on the Sea of Galilee while his disciples gawped in wonder. To his right was a glass window looking into the darkened studio where Casey worked his idiot-savant wonders. There was a heavy keychain attached to one of Gardener's belt-loops. The keys, a heavy bunch of them, lay in the palm of his hand. He played with them while he spoke.
'You haven't given us a single confession since you got here, Jack,' Sunlight Gardener said, his tone one of mild reproof. 'Confession is good for the soul. Without confession we cannot be saved. Oh, I don't mean the idolatrous, heathenish confession of the Catholics. I mean confession before your brothers and your Saviour.'
'I'll keep it between me and my Saviour, if it's all the same to you,' Jack said evenly, and in spite of his fear and disorientation, he could not help relishing the expression of fury which overspread Gardener's face.
'It's not all the same to me!' Gardener screamed. Pain exploded in Jack's kidneys. He fell to his knees.
'Watch what you say to Reverend Gardener, snotface,' Sonny said. 'Some of us around here stand up for him.'
'God bless you for your trust and your love, Sonny,' Gardener said gravely, and turned his attention to Jack again.
'Get up, son.'
Jack managed to get up, holding on to the edge of Sunlight Gardener's expensive blondewood desk.
'What's your real name?'
'Jack Parker.'
He saw Gardener nod imperceptibly, and tried to turn, but it was a moment too late. Fresh pain exploded in his kidneys. He screamed and went down again, knocking the fading bruise on his forehead against the edge of Gardener's desk.
'Where are you from, you lying, impudent, devil's spawn of a boy?'
'Pennsylvania.'
Pain exploded in the meaty upper part of his left thigh. He rolled into a fetal position on the white Karastan carpet, huddled with his knees against his chest.
'Get him up.'
Sonny and Heck got him up.
Gardener reached into the pocket of his white jacket and took out a Zippo lighter. He flicked the wheel, produced a big yellow flame, and brought the flame slowly toward Jack's face. Nine inches. He could smell the sweet, pungent reek of lighter fluid. Six inches. Now he could feel heat. Three inches. Another inch - maybe just half that - and discomfort would turn to pain. Sunlight Gardener's eyes were hazy-happy. His lips trembled on the edge of a smile.
'Yeah!' Heck's breath was hot, and it smelled like mouldy pepperoni. 'Yeah, do it!'
'Where do I know you from?'
'I never met you before!' Jack gasped.
The flame moved closer. Jack's eyes began to water, and he could feel his skin beginning to sear. He tried to pull his head back. Sonny Singer pushed it forward.
'Where have I met you?' Gardener rasped. The lighter's flame danced deep in his black pupils, each deep spark a twinner of the other. 'Last chance!'
Tell him, for God's sake tell him!
'If we ever met I don't remember it,' Jack gasped. 'Maybe California - '
The Zippo clicked closed. Jack sobbed with relief.
'Take him back,' Gardener said.
They yanked Jack toward the door.
'It won't do you any good, you know,' Sunlight Gardener said. He had turned around and appeared to be meditating on the picture of Christ walking on water. 'I'll get it out of you. If not tonight, then tomorrow night. If not tomorrow night, then the night after. Why not make it easy on yourself, Jack?'
Jack said nothing. A moment later he felt his arm twisted up to his shoulder blades. He moaned.
'Tell him!' Sonny whispered.
And part of Jack wanted to, not because he was hurt but because
- because confession was good for the soul.
He remembered the muddy courtyard, he remembered this same man in a different envelope of skin asking who he was, he remembered thinking: I'll tell you anything you want to know if only you'll stop looking at me with those freaked-out eyes of yours, sure, because I'm only a kid, and that's what kids do, they tell, they tell everything -
Then he remembered his mother's voice, that tough voice, asking him if he was going to spill his guts to this guy.
'I can't tell you what I don't know,' he said.