The Boy in the Woods

by Carter Wilson

  Tommy felt his stomach muscles clench. ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘None of them was ever found either. But that Alan Stykes, he keeps looking. Solid man, like I said.’

  Alan Stykes was tormenting Charles Baristow. Probably did the exact same thing with the parents of the other kids he had killed. Probably gave him some immense sense of power. This wasn’t an uncommon characteristic among serial killers, Tommy knew, but he’d never felt the all-encompassing sickness of it until now.

  ‘Does he …’ Tommy felt himself struggling to get the words out. ‘Does he have any theories?’

  ‘Like I said, I don’t listen to theories much. But once in a while – on his own free time, mind you – Alan will take a shovel, go out in them woods, and just start digging in a spot that doesn’t look right to him. I’ve seen him doing it with my own eyes. Never amounts to nothing, but he’s a damn fine man for trying.’

  Jesus Christ, Tommy thought. I can’t hear any more of this.

  ‘I don’t know what to say, Mr Baristow.’ Tommy reached out his right hand and felt the sweat on it. Charles took it and gave him a single, limp pump. ‘I didn’t mean to bother you today. Don’t … don’t give up hope that the truth will come out.’

  Charles’s gaze returned to the woods, and now Tommy understood why he fixated on them. That was where Alan Stykes searched for his little boy.

  ‘I just want my little boy to come home. That’s why I never moved away from here, much as I wanted to. This is the only house he knows.’

  Tommy didn’t know why he said it, but he did. ‘I guess he wouldn’t be so little now, though. Right? He’d be just a bit younger than I am.’

  Charles Baristow looked at Tommy as if he’d just declared himself the King of Prussia.

  ‘I’m just waiting for my little boy.’

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Tommy pulled away from the curb and watched Charles Baristow shimmer into a fading ghost in the rear-view mirror. The trees in the woods to his right slowly paraded by, their branches stripped bare by the October winds. Tommy stared straight out the dusty windshield and tried to think about anything other than the conversation he just had. He tried not to focus on the lifetime of pain he had helped cause that man, or the fact that, in a few simple sentences, he could make it all go away.

  It was time for Tommy to go home.

  He approached the lone stop sign in the old neighborhood and rolled through it, just as he had always done. As he did, he spied the police cruiser parked on the adjacent street. Waiting.

  Tommy turned his head and saw Alan Stykes staring directly at him. As Tommy passed by, he saw the cruiser’s overhead lights spring to life, exploding like fireworks against the pale, gray Oregon sky.

  ‘Damnit,’ Tommy muttered. He pulled over to the curb, wondering. Was Stykes just there fishing, or had he been trailing him?

  He watched in the mirror as Stykes heaved himself out of the cruiser and made his way up to Tommy’s car. Stykes was in no rush, his steps small, as if wanting Tommy to spend a little extra time wondering what was going to happen next.

  Tommy rolled down his window.

  ‘Hello, Tommy.’

  ‘Hello, Alan.’

  Stykes leaned down and Tommy saw himself reflected in his mirrored aviator sunglasses. He barely recognized himself.

  ‘That stop sign back there? I call it my cash cow,’ Stykes said. ‘I sit there every so often and, by God, someone always just rolls through it. Guess that person is you today.’

  ‘Guess so.’

  Then Tommy knew. He knew Alan Stykes had been trailing him. He could feel it in the man’s words. The tightness of his voice. Alan Stykes didn’t want things happening in his town without him knowing about it.

  ‘Shame you couldn’t stay for dinner last night,’ Stykes said. ‘Gets kinda old eating alone. How about tonight?’

  Tommy slowly shook his head, wondering how long they were just going to keep pretending. ‘I’m headed home today,’ he said.

  ‘Well, OK then. Rain check?’

  ‘Rain check.’

  Stykes turned his head back down from where Tommy had come. ‘Saw you talking to Charles Baristow back there.’

  ‘Did you.’

  ‘Yup. That I did. Mind me asking what you were discussing?’

  Tommy tensed. ‘I don’t see how that’s your business.’

  Stykes grinned, revealing ashen teeth. ‘No, I don’t suppose it is exactly, but then again I don’t think we’re bound to strict social protocols, you and me. I think we have a bond that lets us ignore such things from time to time.’

  Tommy lowered his gaze for an instant and considered the gun holstered on Stykes’s hip. He heard Elizabeth in his mind, assuring Tommy that Stykes wouldn’t kill him. You’re not his type, she had said. But they were beyond pleasure killing now, weren’t they? Wouldn’t Stykes kill just to keep from getting caught?

  ‘I just wanted to say hi,’ Tommy said. ‘I saw him on the porch and I wanted to say hi.’

  Stykes nodded. ‘You ask him about his boy?’

  ‘I did.’ Tommy paused and took in some of the outside air. ‘Said you still help him out from time to time. Looking.’

  Another nod. ‘That I do. That I do.’

  ‘Very noble of you.’

  Stykes removed his glasses and searched Tommy’s face. Tommy forced himself to return the gaze.

  ‘Well, now, not sure how noble it is. Just doing my job is all. Not a lot of mysteries around here ’cept those four missing kids, so when things are a bit slow, which is just about always, I need to keep looking for them. Like I said, it’s my job.’

  Tommy felt his fear becoming injected with anger. Anger at this man who had killed four little boys and continued to live his fantasies out around their disappearances.

  ‘Will there ever be a time you give up, Alan?’

  Stykes blinked. ‘Give up? You mean give up looking?’

  Tommy felt himself nod but didn’t answer, because he didn’t mean that at all.

  ‘No,’ Stykes said. ‘It wouldn’t be fair for me to give up looking now, would it? Too many families still live here with a lot of pain, and if I can help in any way, then I need to. Even if that means pointless looking.’ He turned his head and looked back at the stop sign Tommy had rolled through. ‘Well, now I guess I’m not gonna write you up, Tommy. Like to think I don’t show favoritism and all, but you are a celebrity around here. Hell, everywhere, I suppose. So I’m going to let you off with a warning.’

  Tommy stared into the eyes of a murderer. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ he said.

  ‘Just mind yourself a little better next time,’ Stykes said. ‘Mind yourself, and then we won’t need to have these little talks anymore.’

  ‘Understood, Alan.’

  Stykes stood, and the holstered gun was right next to Tommy’s face. Tommy pictured himself locked alone inside a small concrete prison cell, waiting for Stykes to come in and dispatch his own version of Lind Falls justice. Tommy pictured his own grave, larger and deeper but otherwise identical to four others in the woods. Tommy wondered how long it would take before someone found his bones. Probably a long time, he concluded. Maybe even thirty years.

  Alan Stykes turned around and walked back to his cruiser. Tommy didn’t want to leave first, so he sat there in his rental car waiting for Stykes to pull around him. As he drove by, Stykes turned toward Tommy and flicked him a little salute, a casual take ’er easy.

  Tommy exhaled, closed his eyes for a few seconds, and then pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

  He dialed Becky and she answered on the third ring.

  He knew immediately from the tone of her hello something wasn’t right.

  ‘I’m coming home,’ Tommy said.

  There was a long silence. Then she said one thing before hanging up.

  ‘Don’t expect us to be here when you arrive.’

  THIRTY-SIX

  Home.

  Tommy did a quick visual scan of th
e house as he pulled up the driveway. Becky’s car wasn’t in sight, but she usually parked in the garage anyway. He glanced up at the windows. No lights. No movement. Again, not unusual.

  What was unusual was Becky hadn’t answered any of the dozens of calls he’d made since leaving Oregon. Not one. Not a solitary text. Not even the courtesy of a fuck you. He’d called the security company he’d hired, hoping for some more information, but all he was told was that Mrs Devereaux had suddenly terminated the contract and had sent Stuart home. Then he’d called Sofia, but all she was able to tell him was that Becky wasn’t returning her calls either. He’d even called Becky’s best friend in Denver. Nothing.

  Tommy pulled into the garage and the smallest flame of hope he still possessed was snuffed. Her car wasn’t there. He walked from the garage into a dark kitchen. The granite countertop was empty. No note.

  ‘Becky?’ he shouted.

  Silence.

  ‘Evie? Chance?’

  He waited for the sound of running feet. Nothing.

  The knot in Tommy’s stomach tightened, and the worry that had been consuming him began morphing into anger. How dare you take my kids, he thought. Think what you want about me, but don’t just take my kids. You’re just going to decide that they can’t be around me? No way.

  His breathing quickened as he ran upstairs and searched room by room. Clothing and toys were strewn throughout the kids’ rooms. It didn’t necessarily mean anything, but it sure as hell looked like someone had gone through and packed their stuff in a hurry. Next he went to the master bedroom, where he finally had his answer. They kept their suitcases in the master closet, a cavernous space mostly containing Becky’s clothes. Three suitcases were gone. Three. That was enough to hold at least two weeks’ worth of things for Becky and the kids.

  Tommy slammed his fist against the hollow closet door. ‘Goddamnit!’

  It was all unraveling. For thirty years, Tommy had worked to protect his greatest secret and heal his soul. And now, in less than a week, everything was being destroyed.

  ‘No, no, no,’ he muttered. He dialed Becky’s number again and waited, squeezing his eyes shut as he hoped for her live voice and not a recording. He was disappointed again.

  ‘Becky, I’m home. I’m home, OK? I’m here right now, and it’s obvious you’ve left. Trust me, OK? I know that’s asking a lot considering what I’ve done in the past, but I am not having an affair. And even if you don’t believe me, you can’t just take the kids. That’s not the best thing for them. Even if …’ Even if what, Tommy? He squeezed the phone until his fingers hurt. ‘I would never do that to you, no matter what I think you did. I would never just snatch the kids and take them from you.’

  He disconnected the call and sat on the bed, squeezing his hair with his fingers.

  The phone rang five minutes later. Tommy stared at the screen, hoping against hope.

  It was her.

  ‘Becky,’ he said.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said. Her voice was hollow. ‘I can’t just keep the kids from you. I’m sorry.’

  Tommy let himself breathe.

  ‘But we’ll have to figure something out, because I don’t want to see you.’

  ‘Becky, what’s going on? Just tell me.’

  ‘You tell me, Tommy. You tell me why you said you were in Charleston but were really staying at some motel in Oregon. You tell me why I call you and I hear a woman laughing in the background. All the suspicious phone calls? The death threats? You’re full of shit, Tommy. But I have to hand it to you, I’m impressed at your creativity and the effort you’ve put into hiding your affair. Must be nice being a writer, huh? All those great ideas running through your head all day? Must be goddamn nice.’

  How the hell had she known about Oregon?

  The answer leaped at him. He had to use the credit card for the rental car. Becky never looked at their charges online, though he had shown her several times how to. But she had gotten suspicious and decided to check for the first time when he was away.

  He couldn’t let her continue to think what she was already thinking. He had thought he’d let her believe anything but the actual truth, but now, facing the actual moment, he couldn’t.

  ‘Becky, whether you choose to believe this or not, I am swearing to you, right now, that I’m not having an affair.’

  She was silent for a moment.

  ‘You’re lying about something, Tommy. What am I supposed to think it is?’

  His mind raced back to when this all began. God, had it actually only been five days ago? And it all began with a lie. The note Elizabeth had left for him in the bar at the Hyatt. He had lied about who had called him on the phone. He had lied ever since Elizabeth had come back into his life.

  He knew if he lied any more, it was over. She never would believe him again. She would be gone.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, I have lied.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Becky …’

  ‘Was it the note? Did you lie about the note?’

  He sighed. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I knew it. So, the note I read. About threatening us … our kids. You made that up?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh, you asshole. You fucking asshole. And Stuart, hiring that wanna-be Secret Service prick, that was all for nothing? That was just some kind of added layer to your bullshit? All the fear that you put us through. For nothing?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘He was hired for a real reason. I was worried about the safety of the family.’

  ‘Why, Tommy? What the hell is really going on?’

  ‘Becky, everything I’ve done … I’ve done for us. All of us. I’ve done it to preserve all we have.’

  ‘Tommy, just tell me. Right now. This is your chance. You have me on the phone. If you ever want me to come home, this is the moment. This is the one, single chance you have not to throw everything all away. Right now.’

  Tommy took himself away, in his mind, to his childhood place of safety and comfort, the place he escaped to after his panic attack in the Oregon motel room. To the soft sloping hill with a towering tree surrounded by long, wild grass, a place he remembered at some age before he started remembering specific ages, where all he could remember was feeling, and the feeling at the tree was happiness and peace, the kind you could only know when you were too young even to understand what that meant.

  It was time.

  Tommy took a deep breath and then he began to speak. From the beginning. From the day Rade bled out in the woods until when Tommy left Oregon for home. Every detail. Elizabeth’s ID, on which she used the same name of Tommy’s old girlfriend. The murder of the homeless man in Charleston. Elizabeth’s truths. The killer cop in Lind Falls, who buried little boys like garbage. He went through every lie he’d told, and every desperate thing he’d done, just to keep from being caught. Finally, he told her what Elizabeth had asked him to do. He told her the only way out of everything was to kill a man.

  He didn’t even pause, because if he did he knew he would be tempted to create some kind of story to excuse his behavior. Maybe come up with a small lie here and there to soften things. But he didn’t stop. He just spoke as the words formed in his head, and what came out of his mouth was as honest and raw as the revised manuscript he’d been writing. And as he spoke, the world slowly lifted off him, a millimeter at a time, and he found himself breathing again. The relief of pressure was so great it made him nearly euphoric. And then he knew he should have been honest with her all along, because she was his partner and she deserved to know. Most of all, he was madly in love with her and telling her was the right thing to do. She was a forgiving person, and he knew she loved him. She would help him. Instead of running from her, he should have been asking her to stand with him. She was the reason for it all, and he was wrong not to have believed that from the beginning.

  The more he spoke, the happier he became, despite the horrific things he was saying. Finally he had someone to help him. To confide in. To tell him he
wasn’t a horrible person. Becky would tell him the right thing to do. She would be strong. She would save them.

  And then he finished. When he did, he paused a few seconds, waiting for her to speak. But all he heard was his own breathing, still quickened from his excitement.

  Then, without a word, Becky hung up the phone.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Tommy woke to the sound of his phone. Bright sunlight streamed through the linen drapes of the master bedroom. The other half of the bed was still made, underscoring Becky’s absence. Tommy pawed out from the sheets for the phone. Please, he thought. Please let it be Becky.

  He saw Sofia’s photo on the screen.

  ‘Hey,’ he muttered.

  ‘Tommy, I just heard the news.’

  ‘What news?’ he asked.

  ‘About your friend. Mark.’

  ‘Mark? Singletary?’

  ‘Yeah, the one you had me research.’

  Tommy froze, imagining a number of things that Mark could have done or said. The worst possibility was he spoke publicly about Rade Baristow. But Tommy couldn’t imagine that. Mark would never do it.

  ‘What did he do?’

  A pause. ‘So you haven’t heard?’

  ‘No, damnit. Just tell me what he did.’

  ‘He … he’s dead, Tommy.’

  ‘What?’ Tommy swung his legs out of bed and pressed the phone hard into his ear.

  ‘Friday night.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Car accident.’

  Tommy stumbled toward his laptop that he’d left in a bedside chair and flipped it open. He Googled Mark Singletary.

  ‘Hang on,’ he told Sofia. ‘I’m looking it up.’ He clicked on the first story that appeared.

  NC State Senator Killed in Car Accident

  (Reuters) South Carolina State Senator Mark Singletary was killed late Friday night in a car accident in his home city of Lantham. Singletary was driving alone after a fundraising event in advance of next month’s election when his car swerved off State Road 35 and into an embankment. A witness driving behind Singletary’s car described no unusual or erratic driving prior to the accident, and road conditions were dry. Investigators on scene said the Senator was not wearing a seat belt and was ejected from his car, and he was believed to have died instantly.