Page 185 of King of Pain
On the counter, my phone starts ringing from an unknown number.
I frown, mute it, and let it go to voicemail. Probably a telemarketer.
It rings again, same unknown number. Persistent.
I silence it again with a sigh and pick it up to take it with me to the bedroom to change. It starts ringing a third time.
“Seriously?” I mutter, hitting answer. “Is there something I can help you with?”
There’s a pause, then a voice—calm, professional, male. “Yes, hi. Sorry to bother you on the weekend. Is this Anthony Pacini?”
I tighten my grip on the phone, already annoyed. “Yes, it is. What can I do for you?”
“My name is Mark Bittner. I’m an attorney with Smith, Jackson and Associates. Apologies for my persistence, but this is a pressing matter.”
My body tenses, and my mind immediately races to the worst possible conclusion.
Shoulders slumping, I sigh. “Okay, which athlete was it and what did they do?”
Mark chuckles lightly, though it’s more awkward than amused. “Ah, yes. I see in your file that you represent professional athletes. But no, this isn’t about any of your clients.”
I frown. “My file?”
He clears his throat. “Yes. Look, there’s no easy way to discuss this, so I’m just going to dive right in. Our firm is representing a group of victims of abuse from Catholic priests in the Detroit Diocese.”
The air leaves my lungs in a rush. My knees wobble and I sit down heavily on the edge of the bed.
Mark keeps talking. “The accusations span multiple parishes dating back several decades.”
I can barely whisper. “O-okay.”
“One of the victims attended Holy Cross Catholic School. Same time you were there. They identified you as a potential victim or witness based on their observations—said they noticed you received similar special treatment as they did.”
My hand clenches into a fist in my lap. “Who… who is saying this, exactly?”
“They wish to remain anonymous for now. You would have that same option, if you are, indeed, a victim and choose topursue it. And if not, you may still be able to offer valuable witness testimony. Only if you’re willing.”
I wipe my palm against my shorts, already slick with sweat. My voice is a broken scrape when I say, “I’m not ready. For any part of this.”
Mark exhales gently. “That’s completely understandable. Will you at least take down my number? Sorry about the blocked caller ID—I’m on my cell phone. It’s a precaution.”
I scoff, bitter. “Pretty sad you need precautions with the church.”
A laugh lacking humor comes from the other end. “Which is exactly why it was urgent I spoke with you today. It’s important you know this is on their radar. The news is breaking this morning.”
I drag a hand down my face. “Fuck.”
“Look, whether you help us or not, we’re here for you. If you need to talk, or ask questions, call me. Day or night.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Okay. I’ll call if I need to.”
“Please do. And let me know if you change your mind.”
I end the call without taking his number.
I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it. My life just fell into place.
I fall back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as my hands curl into my hair.
