by Terri Reid
He stood and walked over to Mike. “And what about Timmy and the rest of the boys?” Ian asked. “Do they get a say in the matter?”
“Ian, he’s my dad,” Mike pleaded.
“Aye, and if he really did this, he’s not the man you think he is,” Ian said. “You heard what those boys said; you heard what he did to them. Is that really your da?”
A flood of memories immediately came to mind; his dad on Christmas morning, he and his dad fishing at the break of dawn, his dad teaching him how to ride a bike, his dad embracing him when he graduated from college.
And then he thought about Ronny. About the small skeletal hands wrapped around the rope that tethered his body to the bottom of the lake.
“I don’t want to believe it, but I guess so,” Mike said sadly and faded away.
Chapter Forty-eight
A cold, pounding winter rain was falling on the ground outside the farmhouse. Snow was melting and puddles were forming. The lights in the house were glowing warm against the dark and cold of the night, but Mike hesitated to enter.
He had spent several hours that afternoon with Timmy and Ronny. He had tried to convince himself that it was just to see how they were doing. But, he knew, deep inside, that it was more to convince himself that they were fine where they were; caught between this life and the next. They had each other; they seemed to be having fun. What was the harm in letting them continue as ghosts?
But he knew they didn’t belong here. They belonged beyond this life, in a place where the horrors that had befallen them would be wiped away. A place where there was peace and safety and love. A place where they could be with loved ones who had already passed beyond and wait for loved ones who had yet to graduate from this life to the next.
So he stood, a phantom in the pouring rain, working up enough courage to confront his father and force him to turn himself in. He couldn’t make Mary do it; he had to do it himself.
Taking a deep breath, he floated across the barnyard and up the stairs of the back porch. His mother was at the sink, washing the dishes and his father was next to her, drying them.
How many times had he witnessed that scene? How many times had he thought his parents had the perfect marriage? How many more lies had his dad told?
He watched his dad put down the dish towel and walk to the coat rack near the door. He pulled on his chore coat and then added a slicker on top of it. Then he pulled on knee high rubber boots. He walked back across the kitchen and put his arms on Alice’s shoulders and turned her towards him, and kissed her tenderly on the lips.
She blushed and smiled, and turned back to the dishes.
Allen walked out the back door into the rain.
Mike stepped in front of him and Allen walked through him, pausing for a moment and looking around afterwards. Then Allen continued down the stairs, across the barnyard and to the barn. Mike followed him, recreating the same path he had followed just the night before. Once again his father went to the locker and pulled out the fishing pole.
“I can’t believe you killed those boys,” Mike said aloud.
His dad froze in place and slowly looked around the room.
“Hearing ghosts, dad?” Mike asked. “Well, you damn well ought to be hearing ghosts. You ought to be haunted by them every day of your life.”
Allen grasped the pole tighter and peered around the room.
“How could you do this?” Mike screamed. “How the hell could you kill those little boys? They were my age, dad! They were my friends! Were you thinking about killing me every time you were killing them?”
His dad stumbled backwards and nearly fell. With the fishing pole in his hand, he hurried through the darkened barn with Mike floating after him.
“No, you can’t run away from this,” Mike yelled. “You can’t pretend this didn’t happen.”
Allen was in a half-run now, anxious to get out of the barn.
Mike raced ahead of him and slammed the barn door closed. Allen froze in his steps and stared at the door for a moment.
“This is stupid,” he said. “It’s just the wind. I’m just spooking myself.”
“No, dad,” Mike said, from just behind him. “I’m spooking you.”
Allen felt the brush of cold air on his neck and shivers ran all the way through his body. This time, he didn’t pretend. This time he ran for the door, pushed it open and stumbled into the pouring rain. He splashed across the muddy farmyard to his pickup truck parked in the driveway.
Pulling open the door, he stashed the fishing pole in the compartment behind the seats. As he put the seat back in place, Mike knocked the seat back down. Allen paused and then pushed the seat back in place, but a moment later, Mike hit it again.
Allen walked backwards, a few steps away from the car and Mike slammed the door shut.
“Got to be the wind,” Allen said, staring at the door. “That’s all, it’s got to be the wind.”
“Yeah, Dad,” Mike shouted, “well things aren’t always what they seem. You just taught me that lesson.”
Mike yanked opened the truck door, flipped on the lights and then slammed the door shut. “Now, blame that on the wind.”
Allen just stood in the driveway, rain pouring down over him, soaking his face and pelting his slicker. He stared at the truck for a few moments. “I…I don’t understand,” he whispered.
Mike opened the truck door, flicked off the lights and closed it again. “Go inside, Dad,” he said.
And, as if he had heard him, Allen turned around and hurried into his home.
Chapter Forty-nine
“Do you think you’ll remember where the tree is?” Mary asked, as she and Ian drove from Freeport to Lake-Le-Aqua-Na on Sunday morning.
“Aye, I’ll remember,” he said. “I’ve done a bit of backpacking, so I know how to mark a trail and get back to a place.”
“I bet that’s handy in the Scottish Highlands,” Mary said.
“Well, it’s handier when you’re tracking…,” he paused, “let’s just say, unusual creatures, and need to remember where you’ve been and how you got there.”
They pulled into the front entrance of the park and took the lake road to the left. The parking lot next to the Sweet Gum Trail already had a Stephenson County Sheriff’s vehicle parked in it. Ian pulled in next to them and both he and Mary got out of the car.
“Hope you haven’t been waiting long,” Mary said, as the two men got out of the car to greet them.
“No, ma’am, we just got here,” said the first deputy. “My name’s Dave Thorne and my partner is Nate Graham. Alex Boettcher called us on Friday and asked if we’d do this.”
“Well, that was nice of you, both of you,” Mary said, shaking their hands. “I’m Mary O’Reilly and this is Ian MacDougal.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Ian said.
“We were told that you could show us the place where there might be additional evidence,” Nate said.
Ian nodded. “Aye, it’s just a short walk from here,” he said. “It’s in a tree hollow that’s grown over a wee bit. We brought a shovel, in case we needed to chip away some of the bark.”
They hiked across the muddy ground towards the lake.
“Alex didn’t tell us much about the case,” Dave said. “What are we looking for?”
“The case is actually about twenty years old,” Mary said, holding on to small trees trunks as she made her way down the slick path. “Six boys were murdered in the Lena area. Five of their bodies were buried in a shallow grave in town. The sixth body was thrown in the lake.”
“We’ve just recently found the sixth body,” Ian added, leading them to the lake. “This sixth body and the timing of his disappearance clears the man who was originally convicted of this crime.”
Nate whistled. “Twenty years in prison for a crime you didn’t commit,” he said. “What the hell happened?”
“A really good set-up,” Mary said.
“So, what are we trying to find today?” Dave asked.
“One of the boys who was found in the shallow grave was on his way to the lake on the day he was murdered,” Mary said. “The police assumed he never made it to the lake. They thought the man convicted picked him up in his car and drove him back to his home.”
“The place they found the shallow grave,” Dave inserted.
“Exactly,” Mary said. “We’ve determined that his backpack was hidden in a tree, a hiding place the boys used to use. If we can find the backpack, somewhat intact after twenty years, we can prove Timmy made it to the lake and this is where the crime occurred.”
A moment later they were at the tree. Dave used the shovel to lift some of the bark away from the hollow in the tree and Nate shone his flashlight into the hole. “Looks like we have a winner,” he said.
He pulled out a large plastic evidence bag and slipped on latex gloves. “Okay, Dave, you hold the bag and I’ll retrieve the backpack,” he said.
“Good,” Dave quipped, “because I sure don’t want to fight any momma squirrel over her winter bedding.”
Nate stepped back. “You think there’s a squirrel down there?”
“We’ve probably made enough noise with the shovel to make her run away,” Mary said.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Nate started to insert his arm into the tree.
“Unless she feels like she’s cornered and ready to attack,” Dave said calmly.
Mary bit her lip, trying not to laugh.
“Do your squirrels carry rabies here?” Ian asked casually.
Dave grinned. “Only the ones that hide in trees near lakes.”
Nate pulled his arm out and retrieved his flashlight. He meticulously shone it across every interior section of the tree. Then he turned to Dave. “No squirrels,” he said.
Shrugging, Dave adjusted the bag, as Nate stuck his arm back into the tree. “Well, of course not,” Dave agreed, “The hornet’s nest scared them off.”
Chuckling when Nate flinched, Dave relented. “Naw, those hornets are still hibernating. No worries.”
At long last, Nate retrieved the rotted remnants of the backpack. Holes had been chewed through the material, but the plastic laminated tag was still clear and legible. “Timmy Beck.”
“Guess you got yourself a good piece of evidence,” Nate said. “We’ll deliver it to Alex’s office.”
“Thanks,” Mary said. “You were both very helpful.”
“No problem,” Dave said. “So, do you know who the real killer is?”
Chapter Fifty
His bedroom hadn’t really changed from since he’d graduated high school, Mike decided as he floated around the room. Except, it was clean, he thought with a wry smile. Mom must dust in here twice a week.
He walked over to the shelf that held his awards. Everything from Pinewood Derby winner to fourth place in a local pie eating contest was displayed as if they were Medals of Honor. She even framed some articles from the local paper of him fighting fires. Sometimes you don’t know how much you’re loved until your dead, the errant thought flashed through his mind, but he shook his head. That’s a bunch of crap; I knew mom loved me every day of my life.
The bedroom door opened and startled him. He turned to see his mom, dressed in her favorite flannel robe, coming into the room and sitting on the edge of the bed. “Mike, a friend of yours came to see us today,” she said, and it took Mike a moment to realize she wasn’t talking to him; she was talking to his memory. “His name was…oh, something Scottish. Colin…Evan…no, it was Ian, that’s it, it was Ian. He said he met you at Boy Scout Camp, but he wasn’t the young man who had…how did you put it…awesome projectile capabilities.”
She smiled at the shelf. “He seemed very nice,” she said. “Although he seemed to upset your father when he mentioned that time when all of your friends were murdered. I remember how much that upset your father back then. He just wasn’t himself for the longest time. I’m sure it was because he must have imagined it could have been you. That’s what kept going through my mind.”
“Mom, do you think dad could have done it?” he asked.
She sat up, took a quick shallow breath and looked around the room. “Mike,” she whispered. “Are you here?”
Mike went over to the bed and sat down next to her. “I love you Mom,” he said, a placed a kiss on her cheek.
She slowly lifted her hand to her cheek as a tear left a single track down her face. “I love you too, Mike,” she said.
“Alice, what are you doing?” Allen asked, standing at the doorway. “Who are you talking to?”
“I’m just chatting with Mike,” she said. “Telling him about his friend.”
“Some friend,” Allen spat. “More like a trouble maker, an instigator.”
She stood and went to him. “I still don’t understand what he did to make you so upset. If Emil didn’t kill those boys, then whoever did it should be punished.”
He stared at her for a moment and nodded his head. “You’re right, Alice,” he finally said. “It’s not his fault. I just…I just thought this was something we would never have to worry about again.”
Shaking her head, confused by his statement, she put her hand on his arm. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing you need to worry about right now. I have to go out for a while and when I get back, I’ll explain everything.”
“Allen, there’s something wrong,” she said. “Tell me.”
He moved past her into the room. “Do you really think Mike is in here with us?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes, I feel him more now than I ever have.”
He walked across the room and picked up the framed photo of Mike and him winning the Pinewood Derby. “Mike,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I let you down.”
Alice came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “You never let him down,” she said. “You were the best father any boy could ask for.”
Mike could see the flash of pain in his father’s eyes just before he closed them and shook his head with regret. He turned in her arms and hugged her. “I’ll be back in a little while, Alice,” he said. “And I’ll explain everything.”
He walked out of the room and Mike followed him through the house and across the driveway to the pickup. Allen hesitated for a moment before he opened the door and then he clenched his jaw and pulled the door open. Mike was already waiting inside.
Allen turned the truck on and pulled out of the drive, heading towards town. As they traveled down the familiar roads, Mike knew exactly where they were going. His dad was going to Uncle Chuck’s house. His dad was going to turn himself in.
Chapter Fifty-one
“Are my parents really coming?” Ronny asked for the fourth time, as they stood by the edge of the lake and watched the divers get ready.
She looked down at him and smiled. “Yes, they are really going to be here,” she said. “But you have to remember, they are going to look older than you remember.”
“Yeah, I remember,” he said. “They’re gonna look kinda like my grandma and grandpa, right?”
“Well, I guess we’ll wait and see,” she said.
Ian was with the divers, about 50 yards from where Mary was standing, giving the divers precise instructions on where they could locate the body.
“So, if you can line up with that ridge on the east,” he said, pointing to the spot he’d mentioned, “and this one on the west, then your corresponding coordinates will be that large oak tree at the edge of the lake and the small creek over there.”
The lead diver nodded, fixing the coordinates in his mind.
“How far down?” he asked Ian.
“No more than twenty-five feet,” he said, and then he glanced around to be sure Ronny’s parents weren’t around. “I understand there’s a rope attached to a heavy stone used to weigh the lad down. At this point, I don’t know if there are any identifying materials left, but it would be great if you could take a look.”
“Wei
ghed him down with a rock?” the diver asked. “What kind of sick bastard does that?”
“The kind we are going to catch,” Ian replied.
An older model brown mini-van screeched to a halt alongside the road, nearly running into the ditch as they tried to quickly park.
“I’m guessing that’s the parents,” the diver said.
“I’ll go check,” Ian volunteered.
A middle-aged couple hurried out of the van and nearly slipped on the muddy ground. The man was tall, with short brown hair and his wife was blonde and petite. “Hold there,” Ian called out. “I’m coming up to you.”
Ronny looked over and his face blazed with delight. “I see them,” he said in awe. “They’re here.”
He floated away from Mary and quickly glided over the ground in order to stand next to them. Mary hurried down the road to meet them.
“I’m Professor Ian MacDougal,” Ian was saying as Mary approached. “You must be Ronny’s parents.”
“Yes, I’m Wade Goodridge and this is my wife, Elizabeth,” Ronny’s father said, shaking Ian’s hand.
“Hello, Wade and Elizabeth,” he replied, holding out his hand towards Mary and motioning her over. “This is Mary O’Reilly; she’s the private investigator who initiated the new inquiry.”
Wade enclosed her hand in both of his large ones. “Thank you so much for finding our Ronny,” he said.
Elizabeth threw her arms around Mary and hugged her. “Thank you,” she cried and she stepped back, wiping tears from her eyes. “Are you sure it’s Ronny?”
“Well, we don’t have practical evidence yet,” Ian said. “But we, both Mary and I, are sure it’s your son.”
Turning to Ian, Wade shook his head. “I’m not sure I understand. How can you be sure?”
“Perhaps Mary would be better at explaining this to you,” Ian said.
Both parents looked to Mary expectantly and she said a quick prayer for help. “It’ll be a few minutes before the divers are in position,” she said. “So why don’t we all sit at this picnic bench and I can tell you about finding Ronny.”
