"Say, that's a good point," Chief Fresco said. He looked down at the assembled children, and folded his arms across his chest. "You all still have quite a bit of explaining to do, you know."
"What about Jasper?" Neil asked.
"Oh, I don't think I'll have much trouble finding him, when the time comes," Chief Fresco assured the Beans. "He tends to stand out in a crowd."
"You can come back to pick me up when you're done. Take your time. I won't be going anywhere," Mr. Murray said. He smiled sadly. "I'm ready to face the music."
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The Wind From My Sails
On the ride home, the police cruiser was painfully quiet. There was the sound of the powerful engine, purring smoothly, and the occasional crunch as the tires ran over a branch that had fallen into the road. Voices and static intermittently came from the police-band radio that was mounted to the dashboard.
Other than that, there was very little noise inside of the car, and zero conversation, despite the fact that it was full of people. Chief Fresco was behind the wheel, driving. Sara sat beside him, in the front of the car, with Nibbler sandwiched between the two of them. The other three Beans were crammed into the backseat. Jack sat in the middle, with Neil on his right, and Maria on his left.
Jack felt very strange. He felt exhausted, and yet, tingly with tension. His mind was muddled, and he felt as if he might be walking in a dream. It had been such a strange night, full of both wonders and disaster.
The heat was running in the car, but this did not change the fact that his shoes, his socks, and much of his clothes were soaked through. The excitement of the night's adventure had been more than enough to make him oblivious to these discomforts, but now he became painfully aware of them.
He was cold, and wet, and tired. And now, he realized with great sadness, he was also alone. Jack felt a knot forming in his throat, and he shivered.
And then, he felt Neil grasp his hand beside him. He looked to his friend, and smiled in gratitude. On his other side, Maria took his left hand, in a similar gesture of comfort.
Though still weighted with a terrible sadness, Jack suddenly felt much warmer. And not quite so alone. He saw Nibbler watching him in the rearview mirror, and he could hear the Labradoodle's tail thumping against the seat as he attempted to wag it in the tight quarters. He gave Jack his best doggy smile, as if to assure him that things would be okay.
Chief Fresco (who looked rather absurd, driving his police cruiser around in his slippers and pajamas in the middle of the night) was just as quiet as the children. He seemed lost in thought, his eyes staring straight at the road ahead. He drove with one hand on the steering wheel, while the other absentmindedly rubbed at his square jaw.
He was surely reflecting upon these unprecedented events that had occurred. It must have come as a terrible shock to him, considering how long he and Mr. Murray had been friends for.
"Chief?" asked Jack from the backseat.
"Mmm?" Chief Fresco answered. He shook his head sharply, to clear it. Nibbler sneezed into his ear, as if to help the chief focus. "Yes, Jack?"
"I was wondering? what's it feel like? All this, I mean."
Chief Fresco briefly met his eyes in the rearview mirror. "What's it feel like?" He considered this for a moment. "I guess? it feels like the wind's been taken from my sails."
"Yes," Jack agreed quietly. He felt Neil and Maria squeeze his hands. "I know what that's like."
He turned his head to the side, and looked out the window, watching the forest as the car passed through the winding, rural roads of Hollow Oak. Trees swayed in the night breeze, and leaves were stripped from the branches, dancing about in the air. He glanced up, above the tops of the oaks and maples, and he thought that he saw the dark silhouette of a falcon pass across the bright circle of the moon.
When Jack looked back at the forest, he saw a pair of bright, green orbs, deep within the brush, far back from the edge of the road. They looked like eyes, but he only saw them for the briefest of moments, and he knew that perhaps it was only his exhausted mind, playing tricks on him.
As he watched the woods pass outside the car window, listening to the quiet noises of the engine and the breathing of his friends, Jack thought of his father, and what might become of him. Don't be afraid, he had said to Jack.
He felt the hands of his friends in his own. And he decided that he would try his best to do what his father had asked of him.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Back to Center
Neil was patrolling the outfield once more. He had been nervously pacing about centerfield, kicking at the turf with his cleats. It had been a tumultuous few days, that was for sure, and it was difficult for him to relax entirely? even here, in centerfield, the place where he usually felt most at peace.
Finally, he stopped in dead center, adjusting the hat on his head, and letting out a long, tired sigh. There was a slump to his shoulders that he had never before known, a weight that he had never before carried. As if to relieve this invisible weight, he bent his back somewhat, and leaned over, resting both of his hands (one gloved, and one bare) on his knees.
He looked down at the grass, lost in reflection. Once more, he was alone with his thoughts. Alone in the outfield.
Inevitably, his eyes fell upon his shoes, and this made him feel sad. Those shoes? those beautiful, awesome, incredible shoes. They were the source of all this heartache, all this sorrow. It was the cleats project at the sneaker factory that had caused this travesty.
No, Neil acknowledged, as he reflected further. He knew better than to think such a thing. To blame these hardships on an inanimate object was the lazy way out, to point the finger at an easy scapegoat. The truth was far more difficult.
Mr. Murray was a good person, but he had made a terrible mistake. This did not make him evil, but it did make him responsible for the consequences of his actions. He had bent to the pressures of the world and adulthood, and taken a shortcut. He had allowed Jasper to pollute the river, and the swamp, and he had allowed harm to come to those who lived in the wild. He had not done so out of malice, but because he had not known how else to solve his crisis? and he had forgotten that he could depend upon his friends.
Neil thought of these things, as he looked down at his shoes, his hands resting on his knees. Although the cleats were a terrible reminder of what had transpired, the Green Beans continued to wear them. They really had no choice in the matter? for the players had all thrown their old shoes away, once they had received the new ones.
Coach had vowed to halt all production of the cleats until the problems were sorted out. He remained confident that the new project would be a successful venture for the sneaker factory, but he pledged that it would not resume until they could guarantee a promise of commitment to the environment.
And if the factory went bankrupt, while production was halted, and they were desperately trying to balance the books and increase the profit margins? Well, that would be okay, Coach said. He didn't think it would come to that, but if it did, then so be it. Coach would much rather see his sneaker factory closed, than watch harm come to the town he had loved for his entire life.
True, there were a lot of people in Hollow Oak who depended on the jobs that the sneaker factory created. If it were to close, then it would mean financial hardship for many of the town's residents. And nobody depended on the factory more so than Neil's family, for they had invested everything they had into it.
There were the economic factors to consider, and there were also the needs of the environment. But Coach was confident that it did not have to be only one or the other. He was sure they could satisfy both needs, if the community united in its goals, and worked hard to achieve them.
It was true that there was money on the line? grownups became very concerned about financial issues, many of which Neil heard them speak of, but did not entirely understand. Things like mortgages, and insurance premiums, and property taxes.
Everybody needed mone
y. But what good would the money do? if they destroyed the world they lived within?
As Neil considered these things, he was interrupted from his thoughts when he saw a sleek shadow dart across the grass at his feet, quickly passing before his field of vision. He stood straight, and tilted his head to the sky. There, far above, a beautiful bird circled on the currents of wind. Even at the great distance, Neil recognized the creature at once.
"Arturo," he whispered.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I Got Your Back
The falcon loosed a striking call, as he continued to circle above. Arturo's wings were locked at full extension for the most part, as he glided on the currents of the sky. Occasionally, he would flap his powerful wings to gain altitude, before returning to his easy coast.
As Neil watched, something attracted his eyes, slowly drifting closer to his position, floating through the air. It was nearly invisible in the approaching twilight. He reflexively reached out with his glove, and the small item was ensnared within.
Slowly opening his glove, Neil saw that it was empty. Had he imagined the falling object, he wondered? No, he realized upon further inspection. There, almost hidden in the heel of the glove, there rested a blue-gray feather, shimmering with a unique iridescence.
Neil smiled up at Arturo, and plucked the feather from his glove with his bare hand. He held it before his eyes, enjoying its color and vibrancy, and then tucked it into the side of his hat. "Thanks," he murmured.
And then, there came another noise, one that had clearly not been generated by the falcon. It was a sound that caused Neil's heart to leap in his chest. Would you care to guess what that noise was, my astute reader?
Yes, you most surely know what it was. For just as Neil had heard it before, so too, have you.
Rustle-rustle-rush-crush.
The past few days had been so overwhelming and exhausting, Neil had actually begun to question some of the things that had occurred. Sure, his friends had discussed their encounter with the swamp beast, but still? it seemed such a strange thing to have happened. Was it all a dream, he had wondered? Had it been a sort of collective hallucination, caused from fatigue, and staying up for far too long past their bedtimes?
None of the Beans could find the feathers that Titus had given to them as a gift of friendship. It seemed that the only physical evidence they had of their encounter with the swamp beast had been lost, most likely when they had been lying in the brush and the water, hiding from Jasper.
Rustle-rustle-rush-crush.
Glancing toward home plate, Neil saw the batter digging into the box, and Sara winding up for the pitch. There was a game on, but this was too important to ignore. Neil sprinted back to the outfield fence and leaned over it, peering into the thick woods beyond.
The sound of heavy brush being pushed aside came again, and Neil trained his eyes on that location. Between the trees and the foliage, he saw a pair of green eyes blinking in the shadows. And just barely, he could make out the outline of an enormous silhouette.
"Titus!" Neil gasped.
He felt the urge to shout, but restrained himself at the last moment, for fear of drawing the attention of the other two outfielders, who were currently locked onto the action between pitcher and batter.
"Yes, little one," the swamp beast said quietly. Although he was practically whispering, his voice was still filled with a resonating bass that made the hairs on Neil's arms stand up. "I am here. You were beginning to doubt my existence, weren't you? But you are not an adult, so you could not so easily forget what you saw. You could not so easily forget? me. "
"I was beginning to wonder?" Neil admitted. "It's all been so strange. But I think you're right? in the end, I knew what I had seen and heard. And my friends were there with me. We believe in you, Titus."
The swamp beast sighed, and Neil felt his warm, mossy breath wash over him. "It is good? to not be forgotten. I do appreciate that. And how are you holding up, little one?"
Neil paused before answering, biting his lip in hesitation. It was a difficult question. Finally, he said, "It's hard. You know?"
"Yes. I know, little one. You have all been through a tremendous challenge, and your hardships are not yet over. But rest assured, you made the right choice. It was the difficult choice, but also the moral one. You had the opportunity to turn a blind eye to the harm inflicted upon the forest and the creatures that live within it, and to forget my request for help. But your hearts were true, your courage unwavering. You faced great adversity, and you prevailed. The forest thanks you for that, little one. And so, too, do I."
"You're welcome, Titus," Neil said. He glanced over his shoulder once more, looking back toward the infield. So far, nobody had noticed that he had drifted all the way back to the fence. "I know we did the right thing. But it's still so hard? Do things get any better, you think?"
"Yes? I believe they will, if you hold true to your virtues, and you remember to treasure the gift of friendship with those you hold dear. Your friend will need your support, now more than ever. You must help him to remember that he is not alone. And you must remember it yourself, too. You were there for me, and for the forest. So we shall be here for you, when you find yourself in need of our aid."
Neil smiled. "Thanks, Titus."
"You are right, little one? it is hard. But remember? you are not alone."
Ting! Neil heard a bat smack the ball, far behind him. He quickly turned from the fence, and back toward the action, where his attention was supposed to be focused. His head was already tilting back, seeking out the baseball. He spotted it, high in the air, arcing toward the outfield.
And though it pained him to leave Titus behind, for fear that he might have trouble finding him once more (or worse yet, never see him again), he sprinted away, chasing down the ball. It was, after all, what he did best.
"Go on, little one."
And then, as Neil was running across the grass of the outfield, he heard one more thing from his newest friend, the swamp beast of Hollow Oak.
"I got your back."
Chapter Forty
My Heart Is Heavy
It was the bottom of the final inning, and Jack was at the plate. He stood in the batter's box, trying his best to focus on the task at hand, but it seemed a lost cause.
He was having a terrible game. He was 0-3 (pronounced Oh-For-Three), meaning he had no hits in three at-bats. Furthermore, he had committed two big errors in the field, which had cost his team dearly. As if he didn't already have enough to feel bad about.
Jack was having a great deal of difficulty focusing on baseball, for his mind was elsewhere. He didn't understand why Coach wouldn't pull him from the game and sit him on the bench. It seemed clear to Jack that he was a detriment to his own team. He was only hurting them. Why wouldn't Coach take him out?
Not only was he having a terrible game, but a terrible day as well. In fact, he had been having a series of rather bad days, ever since he and his friends had embarked on their nighttime adventure, and the discoveries they had made as a consequence.
Given what he had been put through, was it any wonder that he could not concentrate?
Without the slightest hint that such a thing might be in the future, Jack had found himself on his own. He was without a family, and without a home. For the past few days, he had been staying at Neil's house. This, as he had been told, was a temporary solution, until the state could figure out what to do with him.
Neil's family had made it clear that Jack should stay with them for as long as he needed a place to live. But there were other forces at work, which Jack did not entirely understand. There had been visitors to the Bandernath house? strange men dressed in uncomfortable-looking clothes, carrying briefcases, and forms, and clipboards.
Coach called these men bureaucrats and pencil-pushers, and occasionally referred to them as empty suits. None of these terms were particularly flattering, and as far as Jack could tell, they were paid to make simple matters complicated.
Consequently, the future for Jack was uncertain. And undoubtedly bleak.
To make matters infinitely worse, he had become the talk of the town. School was unbearable. The other students pointed and gawked at him, whispering loudly of his father, who they called a criminal, among other unpleasant things. Some of the schoolchildren were even bolder about it, like the Cragglemeister Brothers, who had taken it upon themselves to ridicule Jack at every available opportunity? of which they seemed to find many.
Although their own father, Jasper, was also under investigation for his role in the scandal, he had thus far escaped any serious repercussions for his deeds. Much to the surprise of the town, Jasper had produced a remarkably capable (and expensive) team of lawyers to rise to his defense. As to how the janitor had been able to manage such a feat, the answer remained unknown. It appeared that Jasper had a few secrets of his own, and a few tricks that remained, as of yet, hidden up his sleeve.
It seemed terribly unfair to Jack. His own father had received the full brunt of the fallout, but Jasper remained untouched, even though he had been the one who had actually dumped the barrels of waste into the river.
Trying his best to smother these thoughts, Jack dug his spikes into the batter's box. But this did nothing to make him feel better, for such an action instantly returned his attention to the cleats themselves, which were a painful reminder of all that had occurred.
Jack felt his eyes growing wet, and he rapidly blinked his eyelids to clear them. He did not want a tear to escape, not with everybody staring at him. And not with the boy who now faced him on the pitcher's mound. He turned every ounce of effort toward suppressing the building tears, and fighting the knot that was growing in his throat.
The opposing pitcher glared from the mound. It was Jack's arch-nemesis, and the leader of the rival Summer Squashes? Jebediah Cragglemeister.
The tall, powerful hayseed sneered at Jack, while silently mouthing insults. Jebediah knew that Jack was particularly bad off at the moment, and he was relishing the opportunity to kick him while he was down.
The Green Beans were trailing the Summer Squashes by a large margin. It seemed hopeless that the Beans would close the gap in this, the sixth and final inning. Jebediah might not have been terribly bright, but he was a great baseball player. On the mound, he dominated with his powerful arm. His control was not quite as refined as Sara's, but he had no shortage of raw power, slinging the baseball at velocities that were seldom seen in the league.
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