Secret Hollows

by Terri Reid

  It took Mike a moment to realize what Timmy meant.

  “Timmy, I’m not my dad,” Mike said. “I’m me… Mikey.”

  Timmy walked over and looked him in the eye. “You can’t be Mikey, you’re too old.”

  “I grew up,” Mike said.

  “But you’re a ghost too,” Timmy replied.

  “So, I grew up and died,” he said. “Stuff like that happens to people.”

  “You’re really Mikey?” he asked.

  Mike nodded. “Yeah, I’m really Mikey.”

  Timmy’s eyes filled with tears. “I got killed, Mikey. I went to the lake. I was going to start fishing. I was waiting for you. But then, a man came and hurt me.”

  “No, Timmy,” Mike said. “You never made it to the lake. Emil picked you up on the road and brought you back to his place. You were killed at Emil’s.”

  Timmy wiped an arm across his eyes, mopping up most of the tears and shook his head. “No, Mikey, it was the lake,” he said. “Right by our secret spot. I remember. Emil didn’t kill me, Mikey.”

  “But, he did,” Mike insisted. “He killed you.”

  Timmy shook his head. “I just want to go home, Mikey, okay?” he said. “Will you help me find my way home?”

  Mike nodded. “Yeah, I promise,” he said. “We’ll get you home.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “So, what do we do next?” Mike asked as he hovered around the group seated at the dining room table.

  Rosie and Stanley had volunteered to walk Maggie and Andy home and they had all left about ten minutes earlier. Timmy was in front of Mary’s television watching the movie “Batman Returns,” which was the last movie he had seen when he was alive. He was totally engrossed in the action and was not paying attention to the adults sitting in the next room.

  “What do you remember about the murders?” Bradley asked.

  Mike paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “There were five of them. Five boys, all about the same age. They had all been molested and strangled. My parents really didn’t want me to know about the details, but sometimes people forgot I was in the room and sometimes, I stood just outside the room so I could hear the details.”

  He took a deep shaky breath that caused his form to shimmer for a moment.

  “He was brutal to them,” he continued. “They didn’t know if they were strangled first and then...”

  “Timmy said the man hurt him,” Mary said softly when Mike paused.

  Mike’s jaw tightened and he nodded. “Yeah, so then he strangled them and buried them in a shallow grave at the edge of his property. Someone happened by his place and found some of the boys’ belongings in a shed and they brought out the whole town to search his acreage. It didn’t take them long to find the bodies.”

  “Did you know him? Emil?” Mary asked.

  “Yeah, he was our school bus driver,” Mike said. “He was in his thirties and still lived with his mom. I don’t know if he was supporting her or if she was kind of helping him. He was a little slow.”

  He floated across the dining room and looked into the living room to check on Timmy. A half-smile flitted over his lips as he watched the young ghost mimic the actions of Batman as he sped through the sewers of Gotham City on the back of the BatSki-boat. Timmy, his hands in front of him holding on to an imaginary steering wheel, twisted and swayed to the action on the television.

  I guess you’re still the same whether you’re dead or alive, Mike thought.

  Ian walked over and stood next to him, watching the boy. “I loved that movie,” Ian said. “Actually, I loved Catwoman.”

  Mike turned to him and smiled. “Yeah, I put out extra food for our barn cats for months, hoping they’d pass the word and she’d show up at our place.”

  Laughing, Ian nodded. “Brilliant idea, that.”

  Reassured that Timmy was content, they both went back to the table.

  “How’s he doing?” Mary asked.

  “Better than me,” Mike responded.

  “Tell me about Emil,” Bradley said. “What did you think when you found out he was the killer?”

  Shaking his head, Mike shrugged slightly. “I couldn’t believe it was him. Emil was our friend. Emil had always worried about us – sometimes even driving the bus up our driveways in bad weather. He....”

  He sighed deeply. “I guess some people are better at fooling you.”

  “Yes, and sometimes investigations are wrong,” Mary said. “Timmy told you it wasn’t Emil.”

  “Yeah, but it’s been a long time,” Mike replied. “He could have forgotten.”

  Ian shook his head. “Ghosts do forget things, but as odd as this may sound, they remember when they forget.”

  “Come again?” Mike asked.

  “Ghosts will be able to tell you when they forget something,” he explained. “They will know they don’t have the information. For Timmy to so adamantly state it wasn’t Emil leads me to believe Emil didn’t do it.”

  “Okay, but he could have been disguised,” Mike said. “He could have not looked like Emil.”

  Mary stood and walked over to the refrigerator, pulling out another round of Diet Pepsi. “That’s true,” she replied slowly. “But he didn’t say the man was masked or his face was hidden. He said he couldn’t remember the man’s face. But perhaps he’d be able to remember the man’s voice. Did Emil have a unique voice?”

  Nodding, Mike paused, considering her question. “Yeah, he was a little slow, so his speech was, you know, a little staggered.”

  “So, he’d know if it were Emil because of his voice,” Ian said.

  “Sounds to me that Emil might have been framed,” Bradley said.

  “I can’t believe this,” Mike said, shaking his head again. “All these years in prison and he’s innocent?”

  Bradley took a quick drink of his soda. “Well, we don’t know if he’s innocent yet,” he said. “But, it certainly seems that we should be looking into the details of the murders.”

  “It also means that there could be someone out there who has gotten away with murder for more than twenty years,” Mary said. “So, we need to be discreet until we can gather enough information to convict him.”

  “Yeah, we don’t want him to get wind of another investigation and decide to leave town,” Bradley agreed.

  Mike looked up suddenly. “Hey, no problem,” Mike said. “My uncle, Chuck, is now the Chief of Police in Lena.”

  “You’re kidding?” Mary said.

  “No, he joined the force right after the murders,” he explained, “said he wanted to protect the kids in the community. I just figured he was tired of working the farm with my dad. But, he said he was determined to keep kids safe.”

  “That’s good to know. When the time is right, I’ll give him a call,” Bradley said, “and see what kind of information he can share with me.”

  “I’ll go talk with Linda at the Courthouse tomorrow morning,” Mary added. “Since it was tried in Stephenson County, they should have some information about the case, too.”

  Mike nodded. “So, are we going to talk to Emil?” he asked. “Seems like he could shed some light on the circumstances.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got some contacts at the prison in Dixon,” Bradley agreed. “I’ll call them and set something up.”

  Ian leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “I’d like to interview Timmy,” he said. “See if I can get him to remember anything else about the murder.”

  “No!” Mike exclaimed as he quickly floated around the table to be next to Ian. “He shouldn’t have to remember what happened to him. He shouldn’t have to relive the pain.”

  “But if he doesn’t remember it, we can’t find the guy who did it,” Ian argued.

  “There are other ways we can find out the truth,” Mike insisted. “We’ve got to explore those other options first, Ian.”

  “Listen, Mike, I know he was your friend,” Ian said.

  “Damn it, he was more than my friend,” Mike s
aid. “He was like the brother I didn’t have. And I didn’t go with him that day.”

  Mike took a deep breath. “I wasn’t there,” he said, “and he died. I didn’t protect him then, but I sure as hell can protect him now.”

  He floated away from the table towards the front room.

  “Mike, wait,” Mary said, jumping up from the table. “Ian didn’t mean…”

  Mike turned back to her and nodded. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “But I just got to figure this out, okay?”

  She nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  He floated over to Timmy. “Hey, want to hang out?” he asked.

  Timmy looked up at him and smiled. “Sure!”

  Mike took his hand and they both faded away.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mary parked in front of the abandoned gym and looked up and down the street before she got out of her Roadster. The snow from the day before had been cleared from the streets and many of the sidewalks, but in front of the gym, the snowplow had left a foot and a half tall pile next to the curb and the walkway still had six inches of snow on it.

  Grabbing her workout duffel, she climbed over the mound on the curb and slushed through the snow on the walk. The door opened for her and she entered the dimly lit space once again. “You know, you could have shoveled,” she called out.

  “Yeah, sister, my snow shoveling days are over,” Ernie said, as he appeared next to her. “Besides, you’re the one in training. You wanna get a little warm-up time with a shovel?”

  Shaking her head, she dropped her duffel on a bench and sat down next to it, removing her boots and putting on her gym shoes. “Thanks, but no thanks,” she said. “I already did that warm up this morning on my driveway.”

  “You mean Scotty didn’t get his butt out of bed and help you out?” he asked.

  Mary chuckled. “Well, actually, he shoveled most of the snow from yesterday,” she admitted. “I just had to do the little bit that blew onto the drive overnight. Besides, he was up late doing some research.”

  “You got a case?” Ernie asked, walking over to the punching bags.

  Following him over, Mary nodded. “Yeah, back about twenty years ago there was a series of murders, little boys,” she said. “Looks like they might have caught the wrong guy.”

  He stopped suddenly and turned, anger flaming in his eyes. “Guys like that ought to be handed over to the kids’ parents,” he said. “Let them get a little revenge for what he did to their kid.”

  Mary shrugged. “Still wouldn’t bring their child back.”

  “Yeah, but it might make them feel a hell of a lot better.”

  “I don’t know,” Mary said. “I don’t know if it would make them feel better or make them feel they lowered themselves to the murderer’s level.”

  “See, that there’s your problem, sister,” Ernie said. “Ya got too much conscience. Sometimes, ya just gotta let loose and give people what they deserve.”

  “Yeah, well they frown on that kind of thing at the Chicago Police Department,” Mary replied. “They have this silly little thing called due process they would really prefer we follow.”

  “Well, there’s no use talking to you,” he said. “So we might as well start training. Stand over there by the punching bag.”

  “Great!” Mary said, jogging over next to the bag. “This guy and me, we’ve got some history and I’m going to take him down.”

  “Oh, yeah, trash-talking a punching bag,” he said, shaking his head. “What did I get myself into?”

  Mary grinned. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

  “Yeah, okay, champ, let’s get you geared up,” Ernie said, rolling his eyes and chuckling.

  A grey metal cabinet near the punching bag area opened up and a roll of cotton elastic athletic wrap floated over to Mary. She grabbed it and started to wrap it around her wrist.

  “Hey, don’t forget to wrap your knuckles,” Ernie said. “They get pretty beat up if they’re not protected.”

  After wrapping both hands and wrists, Ernie led Mary over to another cabinet that held an assortment of boxing gloves. He carefully perused the brown leather gloves.

  “We don’t want too much weight to start with,” he said, as he carefully lifted up a set of gloves and put them back down in favor of another pair. “Yeah, these ought to do the trick.”

  Mary slipped her hands into the gloves and Ernie tied them on. “Now, let’s see your stance,” Ernie said.

  Mary placed herself in a position she was sure she had seen in a boxing movie; body slightly crouched, gloves in front of her face, elbows wide, knees bent and feet close together. She bounced a little in place, moving her gloves forward and backward, just like the professionals.

  Ernie’s laughter was loud and, quite frankly, irritating.

  “Sister, you look like a goose trying to take off for the winter,” he wheezed, as he laughed harder. “I ain’t seen nothing like it in all my days of training.”

  Mary lowered her gloves and glared at him. “Keep it up, Ernie,” she grumbled. “and this goose will really fly the coop.”

  He wiped a translucent hand across translucent tears and took a deep breath. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed. But you were damn funny-looking.”

  “That’s two,” Mary warned.

  Ernie lifted his hands. “Okay, okay. Now first what you got to know is your elbows are in, close to your body and your hands are up.”

  Mary followed his instructions.

  “Good. Good,” he said. “Now your fighting stance has got to do two things, sister. It’s got to give you the chance to land a punch, without leaving you too exposed.”

  He stood next to her. “Look at me, look how I’m standing.”

  He stood with one foot in front of the other, his body angled and his weight on his back foot. “Now, my stance ain’t going to exactly work for you, cause, sister, we ain’t built the same,” he explained. “What you want is balance, stability and speed. You want to be angled, so your opponent can’t hit you square on. But you want to be able to move quickly and land a punch. Got it?”

  Mary nodded and looked down at the ground, trying to copy Ernie’s foot placement. She set her stance and looked up. Ernie pushed against her and she fell over.

  “Too straight,” Ernie said. “You got to think about a line, see, between your front foot and your back foot. You want the toe of your front foot and the heel of your back foot to be on the same line. Got it?”

  Mary tried it again and this time when Ernie pushed, she kept her balance.

  “Good job,” he said with a satisfied smile. “You’re getting it, sister. Now, I want to see a little footwork.”

  They worked on footwork for thirty minutes, until Mary’s clothes were covered with sweat and her face was dripping. Ernie threw her a towel. “Ya done good, sister,” he said. “Real good. Tomorrow I’ll let you take a couple swipes at the bag.”

  Mary collapsed onto the bench and mopped her face. She pulled out a water bottle, twisted it open and drank the entire twelve ounces without stopping. “Yeah,” she breathed heavily. “Tomorrow. That will be great.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  An hour later Mary was showered and sitting at her office desk. She was on her second can of Diet Pepsi, wondering how many cans she could drink in a morning without considering herself addicted, when she glanced at the clock and saw that it was after nine.

  She put the can down and grabbed her coat and purse. Slipping on her coat, she left the office and headed the two blocks to the County Courthouse to have a conversation with her friend, Linda Lincoln.

  “Mary, it’s so good to see you,” Linda said, when Mary walked through the County Clerk’s doorway. “I was going to call you.”

  “What’s up?” Mary asked.

  Linda shook her head. “No, you first,” she said. “What do you need?”

  “I’m looking into a case that involved the murder of five little boys about twenty years ago,” she said
.

  “The one in Lena?” Linda asked. “Where the school bus driver was the killer?”

  Mary nodded. “Yeah, that’s the one,” she said. “I need to see whatever you have from the trial and anything else you think might be helpful.”

  “Okay, well I’m going to have to order it from storage,” Linda said. “But I can have it here tomorrow. I’ll just make a copy of the file and see if we have anything else that might be interesting.”

  “Perfect, thanks,” Mary replied. “Now, it’s your turn.”

  “Well, it’s about …,” she paused and blushed.

  “Yes?” Mary asked, intrigued.

  “Bob and I are getting married,” she blurted out.

  “Oh, Linda, that is so wonderful,” Mary said. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “Well, we’re not doing anything big,” she explained, “actually, just a few family members and friends are invited. But, we’d really like you and Bradley to be there.”

  “Oh, of course,” Mary said. “When?”

  Linda bit her lower lip. “Well, it’s kind of short notice,” she said. “Saturday after next.”

  Mary shrugged. “Perfect,” she said. “We’re both free that day.”

  “Since you can make it, I have another favor to ask,” she said.

  “Anything,” Mary replied.

  “Will you be my maid-of-honor?”

  Mary was speechless for a moment. She placed her hand over her heart. “Really?” she asked, her voice thick with emotion.

  Nodding, Linda wiped a few tears from her eyes. “We couldn’t think of anyone we wanted more than the person who brought us together.”

  “I would be honored,” Mary said. “More than honored. I’d be thrilled.”

  She hugged Linda tightly. “So, what should I wear?” she asked, stepping back.

  “Oh,” Linda replied. “I hadn’t really thought of that. You’re the only attendant, so I guess whatever you’d like to wear.”

  “What are you wearing?” Mary asked.

  “I have no idea,” she admitted. “We just decided over the weekend and I have to admit, planning a wedding, even a small one, is harder than I thought.”