The Preston Six Collection: (Book 1, 2 and 3)

by Ryan, Matt

  Joey felt a large hand on the back of his neck. He turned and saw Hank’s arm extended to him. Hank sighed and shook his head.

  “Dad, I need to talk to Joey for a minute,” Hank said. “Let’s grab a drink in the kitchen.”

  Trip released him and lifted his glass as Hank pulled him away. Joey staggered toward the kitchen, looking back at Trip.

  The noise of the party diminished as they entered the kitchen. The smell of meatballs hung in the air. A birthday cake lay on the counter with each of their names written on it.

  Happy Birthday, Hank, Poly, Julie, Samantha, Joey, and Lucas.

  His mom always wrote the names on the cake; she probably didn’t want to explain it to the grocery store people. Last year’s party had not even made it to the cake before Trip’s mouth ran the parents out of the house.

  Joey sat on the kitchen island, his legs dangling. Hank grabbed two water bottles from the refrigerator, tossed one to him, and leaned on the kitchen island. He was never one to say very much, so Joey was interested in what the big man had to say.

  “How’d the present go?” Hank asked.

  He choked on the water, forgetting he told Hank about the present. He looked around the kitchen to make sure no one else heard.

  “Fine. Well . . . I don’t know.” Joey set his water bottle on the counter. When thinking about it, it sounded stupid and embarrassing. “I tried to kiss her, but she turned her head at the last second,” he whispered.

  Hank raised his eyebrows. “Wow. What’d she do after that?”

  “I don’t know. She said she didn’t think I was going to do that. Then Lucas interrupted us and she ran off.”

  “Hmm . . . pretty bold, going for a kiss.”

  Bold was one word for it . . . stupid was probably more accurate. Joey sighed and slid off the island.

  Lucas entered the kitchen, rushed to their side, wedging his way into the fray. With a wide grin, he bounced his attention back and forth between the two. He raised his hands dramatically and opened his mouth. “I just heard Trip mention Harris again,” he said. When they didn’t respond, he added, “Am I missing something here? We wait most of the year for the one time Trip spills beans, and you two ladies are gabbing it up in here.”

  “We go through this every year,” Hank said. “I think we should start accepting that they just died in that fire.”

  Lucas stared at Hank with a hurt expression. “Do you really believe our moms died in some bar fire? I want to find out what really happened.”

  “Sometimes the truth can be worse than the lie.” Hank scrunched up his empty water bottle.

  Lucas raised an eyebrow at Hank.

  “That’s crazy talk.”

  Joey sat in silence. He still had both of his parents. The others of the Preston Six never said anything directly, but he would get snippets of resentment here and there. None of the parents remarried or had other kids. They never even had a date, or a single romantic encounter, as far as he knew. For some reason, after Molly’s bar fire, they never looked for love again.

  Hank broke the silence. “Harris again, eh? Wonder who he is.”

  Trip mentioned Harris last year and Joey’s mom nearly choked on the bean dip. Later, when he had pressed his dad for answers, he got the usual vague responses about how unfortunate things happened and how he needed to leave it alone. He wasn’t going to leave it alone tonight.

  Joey pushed off the island and strode to the kitchen doorway. From there, he peered into the family room. The ice in Trip’s empty glass sloshed around as he talked with Karen. Trip took a flask from inside his jacket and poured himself another glass. Karen stared at the procedure, as if she was watching a surgery on the health channel.

  Trip was the only one to release a thread from the carpet of lies. This year, Joey was going to grab the thread and not let go until it completely unraveled.

  He stepped in the family room and bumped into birthday girl Poly Lampis. She smiled as usual and stepped back. She was the youngest of the Preston Six, born at 11:35 p.m.

  “Sorry,” Joey said. He consciously took a moment to behold her in a fitted yellow dress with black trim.

  “No problem. And, Joey. . . .” She leaned in closer to him. “Happy birthday.” Then she waved to Hank and Lucas. “Happy birthday, guys.”

  She beamed with her bright smile, staring at him. She held his attention and brought a smile to his own face.

  “Same to you,” Joey replied. “Hey, Poly.” He looked past her to Trip. “I was going to hang around Trip and see if I can get some stories out of him tonight.”

  “Not if I beat you to it.” She smiled, winked at him, and sauntered into the family room. She started talking with his mom, a perfect hearing distance from Trip.

  “This summer’s been good to her,” Hank said.

  The way Hank gazed at Poly gave him the creeps; but she had changed. The yellow dress filled out in places he never noticed on her before.

  She turned back and made eye contact with him. He quickly found a nearby couch to inspect, making sure his eyes didn’t return to her figure. Grabbing his attention with a wave, she motioned him to come over.

  Taking a deep breath, he walked into the family room. He saw his mom and dad glaring at him with each approaching step.

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” Trip said. “If we didn’t succeed, these kids need to be prepared.” He pointed at Joey. Joey stepped just out of arm-grabbing range.

  “Trip, there’s nothing for them to be ready for,” Minter said from between his teeth, eyes narrowing as he focused on reaching for Trip’s glass. Trip deftly dodged the grab and scowled.

  “Oh come on, Minty,” Trip boomed. “They turned eighteen today.”

  The parents at the dining room table stopped their conversations and turned to the spectacle.

  “These kids should know about the dangers out there. Watchers Woods is in their backyard, and they could be tricked as we once were.”

  Joey hung on the words spilling from Trip’s mouth. Minter cringed and stepped in with a raised hand, trying to put a stop to it, but it was too late. Hank and Lucas stood at the kitchen doorway, gawking at the spectacle, waiting for more to splatter out.

  Parents stirred in their chairs at the dining room table. Karen’s mouth hung open. Joey leaned forward, wanting more.

  “Trip, let me drive you home,” Minter said. They were already trying to stop him from talking.

  “No, they need to know.” He stomped on the carpeted floor. His drink sloshed and spilled over his hand.

  Opal, Poly’s mom, stepped in. “Is this really the time for bringing up the past, Trip?”

  “Opy, you know as well as I do he won’t give up. It’s only a matter of time.” With glass in hand, he gestured to the other parents. “You all know it. He’s got all the time in the world and will never stop.”

  Another thread tossed out, but Joey couldn’t find a way to grab it.

  “We didn’t fail, Trip.” Opal tiptoed closer to Hank. “All you need to do is look at your son and you can see our success.” She pointed at Hank.

  Trip considered his boy, blinking as if trying to solve the puzzle Opal had laid out for him. He shook his head and shoved his glass on the coffee table. It fell over and rolled, landing on the carpet.

  He fidgeted with his jean jacket, smoothing it out with his hands, watching as Karen cleaned up his mess.

  “Come on, Trip. Let’s get you home.” Minter pulled on his arm.

  He seemed puzzled by the offer, pulled his arm free, and continued to stare at Karen. “Minter, you're the luckiest of us all. You—you got to keep yours,” gesturing to Karen. “While my Mary was taken from me, taken from our son. Why do you get to be lucky?”

  “I think you’ve said enough.” Minter took one large step, closing the distance between them. Trip met his gaze, stepped a few inches closer, and then stomped past him toward the front door.

  The front door opened and Samantha and Julie stepped into the house,
talking. Julie’s gaze swept over the room and she placed her hand on Samantha’s to stop her from talking.

  Trip turned to face the room. “Marcus will never stop looking for these kids. You all know it.”

  Karen gasped when she heard the name Marcus.

  Marcus? Who the heck is that? Joey’s heart raced and he felt dizzy.

  “I’ve been training my boy to defend himself and I suggest you all do the same.” Trip turned and walked past Julie and Samantha, leaving behind a birthday gift of silence and nervous glances from the remaining parents.

  Samantha’s hand covered her open mouth.

  “I’ll make sure he gets home safe,” Minter offered, grabbing his coat from the coat rack and the keys hanging next to the door.

  The front door slammed and Joey stared at the closed door to his answers.

  Nobody talked or moved. Parents began exchanging worried looks.

  Samantha stared at him, but Joey couldn’t talk to her. He felt as if he was going to pass out. The smell of beer, booze, bean dip, and tension overloaded his senses. He rushed to the back door.

  “Who the hell is Marcus?” Lucas asked the room.

  Joey opened the back door and stumbled onto the porch.

  The cold air entered his lungs and slapped his face. Laying his hands on the worn, painted rail, he tried to pull Trip’s thread, but it kept knotting up. Another name, but no answers.

  The back door opened and the planks creaked as Hank and Lucas stepped across them.

  He braced himself for one of Lucas’s wild recaps.

  “What do you think he meant about your dad being the lucky one?” Lucas asked. “He seemed to be accusing your dad of something.”

  “I don’t know,” Joey said. And he didn’t. His parents had told him they’d decided at the last minute not to go to the bar. When he’d pushed them for answers, they got angry with him and shut the conversation down.

  “What danger are we in?” Hank said.

  “I don’t know.” Joey rubbed his temples in frustration.

  The door creaked. He peered back over his shoulder and saw Samantha standing in the doorway. He spun around to face her, waiting for her to speak.

  “Looks like I missed it this year,” Samantha said. “Party seems to be over. Hey, Joey. Can we talk?”

  He nodded, unable to move his mouth.

  Samantha walked onto the porch and glanced at Hank and Lucas.

  They took the cue and said their goodbyes, heading back into the house.

  “Later, guys,” Joey said, heading back to the railing. He was unable to keep his eyes on Samantha, expecting her to give him the ‘friend’ rejection.

  “Joey?”

  He turned to face her. His oversized jacket draped over her shoulders.

  Taking a step closer, she removed the space between them. Then Samantha rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him. He got lost in her warm lips and moved his hands up to her hair. He felt a chill run down his neck and the moment seemed frozen in time. The sounds dulled until a loud car horn honked.

  She pulled away and smiled.

  “My mom’s waiting for me out front.” She kissed him quickly one more time. “I expect full details about what Trip said tomorrow.”

  “Yeah.” He licked his lip, tasting Samantha’s lip-gloss.

  Taking off the jacket, she flung it over him. “See you tomorrow, Joey.”

  He watched her leave the porch and then turned back to the rail. Putting his hands in his jacket pockets, he felt the velvet box. Looking back at the door, Samantha was gone. Joey took the black box out, opened it, and watched the earrings jostle as he moved. Snapping the lid shut, he rolled the velvet box in his hands and stared into the darkness.

  See you tomorrow, Joey . . . The way his name rolled off her tongue, gave him chills.

  He spent a while longer on the porch, not wanting to lose the feeling, or the taste. Smiling like an idiot, he kept thinking about Samantha. She liked him.

  The music shut off inside the house. The party was over. Another birthday without making it to the cake.

  Joey stuffed the box back into his jacket and went to his room. Sitting on the side of his bed, he pulled the folder from under his blankets and jotted down the few snippets revealed tonight, before stuffing the folder back under his bed. He wanted to write that Samantha kissed him in the book, but thought against it in the end.

  Laying on his blankets, he heard a light tap on his door.

  “May I come in?” Minter peeked in, holding a wooden box.

  “Sure.” Joey stared at the box as he sat up and moved to the edge of his bed.

  Minter sat next to him and put the mysterious item on Joey’s lap. “A birthday gift.”

  Joey gripped the side of the box, feeling its high-polished finish.

  His dad never got him gifts. That was his mom’s job. At best, his dad signed a card or helped him build whatever it was he got. It wasn’t that he was a bad dad; just, shopping wasn’t his thing.

  “What’s this?” Joey held the box to his face. It had weight to it and felt expensive.

  “Open it.”

  Feeling the edges, he found the lid and cracked it open. Smells of metal and oil rose from it. He couldn’t believe what he was staring at . . . two handguns, neatly nestled in the box. He absentmindedly slid his fingers across the metal barrels.

  Did these have something to do with Trip’s warning? His dad had taught him how to shoot and said Joey was a natural, but never hinted he should own a gun.

  “I think you should have these for protection,” his dad said. “This can be a—a dangerous world.” He looked past Joey and toward the bedroom window. “There are no bullets in them, but tomorrow after school, we’ll go shooting.”

  “Thanks,” Joey said, struggling to find the questions he wanted to ask. “Dad, are we in danger?”

  “No, but better safe than sorry.” He glanced out his window again.

  “Trip mentioned Watchers Woods . . . that you had been tricked. Is there something in there?”

  Minter ran his hand through his hair and looked out Joey’s window. “I know you kids are searching for the answers, the librarian told me about your excursions there.” He paused and struggled to get the words out. “When we were young, Karen and I went to the woods with your friends’ parents.”

  Joey’s mouth hung open. He couldn’t believe his dad was talking about the past.

  Minter sighed. “I wish I could just explain things to you, but even if I tried, you’d think it was a lie.”

  “Please?”

  He breathed out a quick laugh. “I have as many questions as you do about that night.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “The fact is, a lot of my dear friends ended up dead.” He took a deep breath. “Listen son, I see the look in your eyes. You have to promise me you will never go into those woods. You’re a special kid—”

  “Dad, I’m eighteen now.”

  “You are a man, I know, but you’ll always be my kid. What I’m trying to say is you and your friends shouldn’t go there.”

  “Okay,” Joey said, thinking of the path that led to the woods from their house.

  “Good night, Joey.” He placed a hand on Joey’s shoulder, got up, and left the room.

  JOEY LAY IN HIS BED for an hour, spinning the empty cylinders and feeling the rosewood grips and cold metal. He got out of his bed and went to his window. Under the moonlight, he saw the treetops of the Watchers Woods. Every morning he took his dog, Bull, for a walk. Maybe tomorrow would be the day he entered the forest.

  AN ALARM CLOCK WENT OFF and Joey slammed the snooze button quickly. He rolled over and watched as the sun peeked over the distant trees of the forest, illuminating the golden grass in the field below. Sitting up, he thought about his father’s warning.

  Watchers Woods had always been a forbidden place. Through the years, the stories about why it was dangerous changed. When he was young, it was simple boogey man stuff, progressing over the yea
rs to kidnappers, murderers, and pedophiles.

  Getting up, he jumped in the shower and got dressed for school. Before leaving, he turned to his nightstand, and glanced at his new gift. After staring at the box for a while, he took a deep breath and opened it. Two 586 Smith & Wesson .357 magnum revolvers sat in the box.

  He pulled the guns out, one in each hand. He pushed the cylinder over then flicked his wrist, locking it back in. He held them tight in his hand and thought about what kind of recoil they might have.

  Then, he noticed a black bag at the bottom of the box and pulled it out. Inside the bag were several black straps with Velcro weaved in and around two holsters.

  He stood, put his arms through the straps, and clipped the front straps together over his chest. The holsters fit high on his sides, just below his ribs. He grabbed the guns, slid them into the holsters, and looked at his closet door mirror.

  He frowned at the reflection, pushed the mirrored slider across, and pulled his jacket out from the closet. Putting the jacket on, he closed the closet and looked at his reflection again. He moved from side to side, happy to see the jacket almost completely hid the bumps his guns created.

  Tiptoeing down the stairs, he listened for his parents—silence. He looked at their bedroom door. It was early, but he and his parents were early risers. When he was younger, he always thought his dad battled the sun to see who could get up first. Maybe last night got the better of him. Joey skipped down the rest of the stairs.

  He passed through the living room, still reeking of the beer and dips from the party, and left out the front door.

  The smell of oil and soil hit his nose as he stepped onto the dirt driveway. Patches of weeds collected around his dad’s two project vehicles. The grass field beyond the broken down vehicles swayed in the morning wind, kicking up bits of dust and seeds that floated into the Watchers Woods beyond.

  Eyeing the gloomy trees, he strained to make out the details. It looked like any other forest he and his friends had been in . . . but it wasn’t. This was the forbidden forest. The Preston Six had played games around the woods; running in and out of the forest’s edge before hearing a cricket or bird chirp, spooking them away. He stared at the distant, dark tree line, summoning courage from within.