Under the Overtree

by James A. Moore

  He shook his head and finally said, “I’ve just been recovering from a bad trip. I think I’m gonna stay away from that shit from now on.” Tony looked puzzled and he knew his friend was asking politely for all of the juicy details.

  Patrick couldn’t get his mind to function, it just refused to work. Every time he thought he’d come up with something that would work as an answer to the look in his friend’s eyes, he found himself needing to tell somebody, anybody what he’d seen. Finally, unable to stand the silence anymore, he blurted out his story, pausing often and shaking at the memory. Tony asked few questions, but those he did ask were direct and to the point.

  After the story was told, they looked away from each other, lost in their separate thoughts.

  “Maybe,” Tony started, “maybe you saw Mark out in the woods and you saw somebody kill T-Tommy and you just fantasized the rest of it.” He started again, before Patrick could come up with a solid counter argument. “You said yourself you were tripping and you were over twenty feet away in a area that was dark. How could you have seen everything as clearly as all that?”

  Tony had a point, he had been a distance away and he had been tripping and it had been dark. Patrick lost himself in thought for a good span of time and finally Tony spoke one last time. “Look, Ty’s got a lot of people over here and I know that Mark’s here too.” Patrick must have looked as panicked as he was, because Tony immediately stood up and made calming motions with his hands. “Relax, there are a lot of people down there and I’ll be there too. Even if he is a monster and I don’t think that he is, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to do anything there.” He paused a moment, to let all of that sink in. “Come on down with me, talk to him and see if he says anything weird. If he does, I’ll take you to the sheriff myself.”

  Patrick thought about that and after ten strained minutes of silence, he nodded his agreement. Tony practically had to shield him with his body. When they got there, the party was still going strong and Tyler and Mark were engaged in a water-wrestling match. Patrick nodded to all of the people he recognized and stared at Mark in cold dread, trying not to let it show. It must’ve shown anyway, because Tony kept muttering reassuring words to him.

  When Ty and Mark finally stopped wrestling and swam over to the side, Mark was as nice and friendly as he’d ever been. Patrick stared at his eyes and face, trying to find any sign of duplicity, but to no avail. Finally he allowed himself to relax a bit and made a mental note to thank Tony later, when the crowds had all gone home.

  By the time that the girls had finished their walk through the shallowest part of the woods, Patrick was enjoying himself for the first time in over a month. He left only once, to run to his room, change into his swim suit and flush every last illegal substance that he had hidden in the house down the bathroom toilet.

  6

  They watched the two females walking and probed delicately at the edges of their minds. They talked and whispered to each other and one of the bolder ones made a suggestion. The rest listened intently and finally, They decided. Perhaps, the idea had merit. But They would have to wait. Tired as They were, They had all the time in the world.

  They looked at the two, recognizing them as the two They had seen The One with, would one of these, be the Chosen’s Mate?

  They watched. They waited. They whispered suggestions, there was much fun to be had, the females could ensure that fun.

  7

  It was early the next morning when Tyler and Mark finally had time to be alone, to talk as they seldom seemed to manage to anymore. The morning was a little chilly but neither bothered with coats; in another hour it would be warm enough to make the coats a hindrance.

  “How’d it go between you and Lisa?”

  “Mmmm. It was different. It was definitely different.” Tyler paused, momentarily ignoring Mark’s quizzical look and started kicking at a stray rock on the street. “She said she thinks she likes me, but not to take it the wrong way. When I asked her to clarify that statement, she said she hadn’t decided if she likes me and I shouldn’t get my hopes up or anything.” Tyler looked at his friend, with solid confusion in his eyes. “Mark, what the hell am I supposed to make of that kind of crap? Why can’t anyone ever tell you straight out how they feel?”

  Mark smiled gently and for just a second, Tyler saw a pudgy bespectacled boy no taller than he was, reflected in the eyes of the young, scar faced man that stood next to him; it was almost enough to break his heart. “I don’t think we’re supposed to have any easy answers; I guess God figures if we have to work harder for it, we’ll appreciate it more.” He too grew silent, reflective. They walked in silence for a long time, almost all the way into the town proper, before either of them spoke again.

  Mark said; “Do you love her?”

  Tyler thought hard on that one. “No, but I think I could love her See what I mean?”

  “Yeah.” He paused a while longer, trying to decide how to word the whole thing. “Maybe that’s the way she feels about you. Maybe it’s because you never let anyone see what’s going on inside of you, that she can’t really decide.”

  “How do you mean?” Tyler pushed his glasses back in place and wiped a sweaty hand across his sweaty forehead, irritated at the perspiration running down the inside of his lenses.

  Mark looked over with a puzzling smile on his face, a smirk that seemed to acknowledge Tyler’s having secrets that he didn’t want to reveal and, at the same time, seemed to forgive Tyler for those secrets. Mark’s friendship was one of the few things he truly treasured. Until he’d gone to P.J. Sanderson there had been no secrets between them, they’d been soul-mates. Now so much was changing, so very fast. He wished the world would slow down again, give him a chance to catch his breath; somehow he doubted he’d have that luxury.

  He’d had a strange talk, not long ago with his father, a man who never seemed to have any problems that were too big and he’d expressed that sentiment. His father had laughed lightly and at the same time, managed to look heartbroken. His mouth had smiled and his eyes had looked ready to shed a thousand tears of sorrow, presumably because his youngest son was in the process of growing up.

  The man had stepped away from his chair for a moment and come back with two small glasses of brandy. He knew his father always saved the liquid for special occasions and had been touched when he had handed one to him. Like an obedient son, he sipped at the warm glass of furnace flames and forced himself not to hack out a cough as it scalded his insides. His father smiled again and he saw a great deal of pride in that smile. Then the man held up his glass in salute.

  “Son, I want to congratulate you on getting this far. Lord knows your mother and I had our doubts, what with that mouth of yours.” He gentled the words, with the affectionate tone in his rich deep voice. “I know you can’t help it, but that mouth can be lethal. And now, my son comes to me talking about how fast the world is moving, which is to me at least, a sign that you are growing up. Not all the height in the world could be a better convincer.” The man chuckled throatily and pushed his glasses back up on his round and crinkly face, but they were the good crinkles, the kind you get from having paused many times to laugh, or enjoy the sunset. “I want to give you one little bit of advice, Tyler and I don’t suppose you’re going to like it very much, but it’s a fact and you’d do well to remember it.” He paused once more, trying to look serious and failing and Tyler loved him more then, than at any time he could clearly recall; he suspected that if his father died tomorrow, he’d choose to remember him in that one moment of time. “Son, you just said that the world is going too fast for your liking and I reckon that that’s the truth, it does speed up something fierce.” His father’s face grew mischievous and a certain light glowed in his eyes. “This is my advice to you; find a grip and hold on tight, the sonuvabitch never slows, it just keeps getting faster and faster.” Having said his piece, he touched the tip of his brandy snifter to Tyler’s and tossed back the remaining brandy. Tyler thought his father’s
face was going to catch fire in that moment, it turned red enough to glow. Taking his father’s lead, he tossed his own back and proceeded to cough hard enough to send his glasses sailing towards the floor.

  Mark’s voice brought him back to the present. “I mean, that you hide behind your mouth, just like Tony hides behind his fists. People get a little scared to talk to you, Tyler, they’re afraid you’ll tear ’em a new asshole.”

  Tyler hated it when someone, anyone, pointed out a flaw in his personality; not because he didn’t want to know about them, but because someone had learned to know him too well for comfort. He realized that Mark was right, but how could he change from being what he was? He asked the question to Mark, who smiled sadly and shook his head. “You have to trust someone, like I trust you and Cassie; believe me, I know it’s not easy, but you have to trust them if you want them to trust you.”

  The conversation ended then, they had reached their destination. The cinema was playing a new sequel to an old horror movie. Typical Hollywood fare about a mad man who just wouldn’t die. It was a serial movie, same plot, new faces and new death scenes. For a change, the movie was better than they had expected.

  Mark treated, which was damn decent of him considering that they were joined by Cassie and Lisa—Cassie had spent the night at Lisa’s and they had spent a great deal of time talking about boys and getting to know each other better. Tony hadn’t slept a wink, he spent the entire night in his workout room.

  It would always be one of Tyler’s fondest memories, the way that Mark laughed on that day, with all of the enthusiasm of a five year old, able to relax and trust in the world, that all would turn okay in the long run.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  1

  It was almost three weeks to the day after Alan Fisk disappeared that his mortal remains were found. His Mustang had been located easily enough, it was right where he’d left it, on the other side of the town from where Mark Howell lived. Jeremy and Joshua Grunewald were the unfortunate boys who found what was left of him. They had been playing in the woods against their mother’s strict rules and ran across the ant covered remains while playing cops and robbers—Jeremy always got to be the robber, but he was older so it was okay—at the ages of seven and six respectively, they didn’t bother to look too closely before running home with their screams carrying before them. It was the last time they ever went into the woods without permission.

  Chuck Hanson was nearly blinded by his grief; as annoying as Alan could be, he’d loved him like a brother. Donna was inconsolable; she’d cried on Chuck’s shoulder for well over an hour and he had to admit that he’d joined her for a good portion of that time. She would be taken care of, the extremely large life insurance policy that the town provided for its law enforcers would see to that. If she didn’t go crazy buying new things that she didn’t need, Donna would never have to work. But, to tell the truth, he hoped she would, because it was too easy to picture her turning into a couch potato of epic proportions.

  Rick Lewis was shocked by the state of the body and spent almost seventeen hours in intense examination of the deputy’s corpse before he came to Hanson, bleary eyed from lack of sleep and made his report. “Alan Fisk died as a result of over thirty blows to the chest and genitals, from a dull and over-sized bladed weapon. The type of weapon is unidentifiable, as there are no traces of any foreign substance that could conceivably have cleaved him open in that way, the wounds would appear to be similar to those made by very big hatchet. There are indications of extreme shock, brought on by fear. He never removed his revolver; it was never fired. Approximate time of death was between three and five p.m. on Saturday three weeks ago. Variable for time of death could be one day in either direction.”

  Chuck looked at his friend and told him to sit down, the man did. “Now what aren’t you telling me? What else did you find?”

  Rick rubbed at the bridge of his nose, groaning at the thoughts that ran through him. “I found more of that crap in his chest and at the genitals and on his hands.” He looked at the sheriff with genuine fear in his eyes, he looked to the sheriff like a man on the edge. “Chuck, this shit is really starting to scare me. It’s bad when the only death in a town this size that isn’t involved comes from a ninety year old man keeling over at the top of his stairs.”

  “Still can’t figure this stuff out? What makes it tick?”

  Rick’s face contorted in frustration and he slapped his hand against the desk with a sound like a kettle drum; Chuck flinched. “It doesn’t make any goddamn sense!” he roared, his face turning red as his blood pressure skyrocketed. “Nothing seems to hurt this shit! It doesn’t dry up and blow away, it doesn’t decompose, it doesn’t even smell like anything, for God’s sake! Chuck, this stuff defies every damn rule of nature.”

  Chuck Hanson sat in silence, waiting patiently until Rick had calmed down enough for him to speak rationally. “I want you to send a sample of to the labs in Denver.”

  Rick looked at him, with shock and outrage warring on his face and he was ready to tell his college room-mate to go to hell, until he realized that Chuck had given him a considerable amount of time based on their friendship alone.

  His expression softened and sadly he nodded. “Yeah, maybe they can figure out what it is, maybe I should send it to the fucking Parapsychology departments, too.”

  Hanson smiled thinly and nodded his head. “Maybe you should at that.”

  “You’re not serious.” It wasn’t a question.

  Chuck Hanson’s face reddened and Rick remembered the one other time he’d seen his roomie’s face change to that particular shade and the resulting four hospital beds that had ended up occupied. He held his hands up, signaling his understanding and made it clear that he didn’t necessarily agree. “You don’t have to agree, Rick, but you said yourself that this stuff defies nature, what the hell can it hurt.”

  “No argument there, Chief. You win.”

  Hanson stood and from his standing position, Rick was reminded that the sheriff was a monster of a man. Then the man walked over to a framed picture that showed he and one of the previous Mayors and Alan Fisk standing together at a Christmas party. He gently touched the face of Alan in the photograph and turned slowly back towards Rick. “I want this person, Rick. I want this person in a bad way. The longer I have to wait, the worse it’s going to be.” He then pulled his old battered hat from the hat-rack near the door and walked away without a word. Rick would stay for awhile, answer the phones should there be a call; it was after three in the morning and he didn’t expect any, but he knew that Chuck needed to walk, to think and to plan. He would wait. That’s what friends were for and it would start their friendship on the way to what it had been before the murders had started.

  Maybe, just maybe, he could reaffirm the bond that they had shared since college. Maybe he could make up for the lack of forethought when it came to being a coroner. He should have sent the samples off a long time ago, it was what his job required. He wondered if any lives would have been saved if he had followed the proper procedures.

  2

  The dreams ran through his slumbering skull, like a freight train rampaging through its station never having applied its brakes. P.J. Sanderson didn’t moan in his sleep, he howled.

  In his dreams, nightmares really, P.J. saw Alex Harris, his best friend in the whole world and he saw the little boy that was with Alex; the boy who looked so very much like his friend, if his friend was only three years old. What was his little brother’s name? Why couldn’t he remember and why was it so important? In the dreams, they walked through the woods and he heard the voices of the girls; knew who they were, even though he couldn’t see them.

  Susan and Annie were beautiful and they drew his eyes like moths to a flame. He stared at them as if they were all that mattered. They talked animatedly, laughing and shuddering, as the six of them walked through the woods.

  Susan was glorious, like a delicate flower kissed by the dawn’s first light; in her he coul
d see the features that would be changed, diluted, in her offspring. How sad, he thought through the murky depths of his dream, that she never had any daughters. His dream self was confused on many levels, it was almost as if he was seeing the future; how could he know that she wouldn’t have daughters? Susan’s eyes were as dark as the night and her hair was the color of honey in the moonlight and he loved her with all of his young heart, as only a man-child of fifteen could love. Her eyes glittered with affection, hungry to make the world a better place, eager to bring a smile to anyone’s face no matter how forlorn. Perhaps that was why they went so well together; for he was a sad and lonely old man, even at the age of fifteen. Oh, how often he’d longed to hold her, to feel the enthusiasm for life that seemed to flow from her as if it were the sweetest and purest of waters. He tried so hard to put her on a pedestal and she always managed to step away from that notion, to make him realize that she was only human, too. Without Alex to encourage him, he’d never of had the courage to even speak to her; he thanked God above for his friendship with Alex.

  Anita looked so much like her daughter that seeing the younger girl always brought back the bittersweet memories of Anita and Alex together. Here his dream self wondered again: how could he possibly know of a young girl named Cassie? He shook the puzzling thought away and looked over at his sister, her proximity almost enough to ruin the day, but not quite. She was beautiful in her own right, but to acknowledge that was taboo. Antoinette was his sister, she was never to be beautiful to him.