Bosco took a few silent steps forward, his attention now completely locked in on the direction of the pit. Clifton stayed
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right behind him, his heart fluttering, his right hand now on the butt of the gun tucked in his shorts. Then he heard a voice again, slightly louder than before. He remembered back to when he'd first passed the Killing Pit on his own, well before any of the recent craziness had even taken place, and he'd been so scared that he had convinced himself he'd heard voices. Maybe even his father's voice. But this was real. He was sure of it. Even if he wasn't sure, watching Bosco's reaction convinced him. Somebody was in the Killing Pit. And then all of the pieces began to fit together as he and the dog slowly marched forward.
That's why the guy was on the trail that morning. Why else would he have been there? Maybe I can save her after all.
Bosco picked up his pace as they got closer, and Clifton stayed right behind him. He thought about pulling the gun from his waistband, but with every step he took, he was convinced that he wouldn't need it. Bosco reached the edge of the pit first. His hair still stood on end, but his tail dropped between his legs. Instead of barking, he began whining. It was a pitiful whine that told Clifton something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
Clifton slowly made his way to the edge. He cautiously peered over, scared that something might jump out at him from the depths. Like a jack-in-the-box or a can of snakes. A sharp stench from the bottom instantly slid into his nostrils.
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It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the deep blackness filling the hole, but then he saw something. There was a figure lying in the murky water. He couldn't see a face. Only shadows. Only vague forms. And then a voice rattled weakly as if gargling sand. But it wasn't a girl's voice as he had expected. It was a man's. A voice that was hollow as it echoed and bounced off the old stone and rose from the bowels of the pit. The voice was frail. Almost sickly. "You gotta go get help. I think I'm bleeding internally. I don't have much time. Both my legs are busted for sure. Don't get too close or you might slip too."
As Clifton's eyes slowly adjusted, he suddenly realized that there was a second person at the bottom of the pit. The first man's body, the man who had spoken, was twisted and lay unnaturally like the branches of a weathered, windblown tree. But underneath those gnarled legs was a second body. A much smaller one. A body without life or color. Clifton could see a set of naked legs and naked arms. The torso seemed to be submerged, but it was too dark to make out a head or face. "Is that the missing girl? Is that Maria?"
The voice returned. "Yeah, it's her."
"Is she ... is she alive?"
The man immediately replied, his voice a little louder now, but the answer seemed to come to Clifton in slow motion. He heard what he said, but he had trouble comprehending it. Or
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maybe he didn't want to comprehend it. "Hell no. She's dead as a doornail. And stinks like shit. Go get me some help before I end up the same way."
Clifton stared into the darkness in disbelief at what he'd just heard.
As the man continued, his voice grew stronger, the same way a candle burns brighter just before it goes out. "We got a tip that the kidnapper had been seen in this area yesterday. This morning I had an idea after his car was found. Sure enough, I was right. He dumped her in here. But as I was looking down, my shoe slipped on one of those goddamned mossy rocks. My feet shot out from underneath me. It's a wonder I didn't break my neck. Busted my radio all to hell. I've been down here for probably six hours or more. Now go get me some help. My squad car's parked down on the road by the trailhead. Use the CB and tell dispatch what happened."
Clifton now understood. But he hated what he was understanding. "Your squad car?"
"Yeah, I'm a cop. What the hell you think this uniform's for?"
Clifton suddenly felt terrified as memories rushed back to him. His voice was meek and unsure as he replied, "I can't really see."
"Well do me a fucking favor, if it's not too much to ask,
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and go get some help. Before I drown in my own stinking blood."
Clifton felt sure he knew the answer to the next question, but he asked it anyway. "What's your name--so I can tell them at the station?"
"Brader. Sergeant Randall Brader. Now get your ass in gear, boy."
Clifton bent over and tried to force his eyes to cut through the darkness. He felt the cold of the gun barrel dig into his stomach. He stared as hard as he could into the abyss, trying to make out the features on the man's face, but all he saw was a blank grayness. Gray legs, gray arms, a gray face. A gray man with no identifiable marks. With no scars. But Clifton knew the scars were there. Pocked all over. Even though he couldn't see the man's face, he still knew exactly what it looked like.
"And you're sure she's dead?"
"Goddamn, son, can't you smell her? It's like being stuck at the bottom of a cesspool. She's been dead for at least a day. Probably more. Now go on. What're you waiting on?"
Clifton pulled back from the opening of the pit with a faraway look in his eyes. He mumbled to himself in a voice that was almost confident, like a chess player saying check but knowing that mate was only a move away. "I was just making sure."
As he stood up, the boa of velvet around his neck slid off
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his shoulders. He made a hurried grab for it, but it was too late. The velvet dropped into the hole, floating like a leaf separated from its branch. Clifton heard frantic splashing as Scarface slapped at it. "Goddamn, what the hell's that?"
Clifton didn't bother to respond. Instead he took off down the trail. When he got to the road, the squad car was parked in the exact same spot as the Lincoln had been, the tall weeds brushing against the quarter panel and passenger door. He stopped in the road, looked at the car, and saw that the driver's side window was down. Muffled squawks came from the radio, but he didn't bother to go toward it. Bosco, however, walked over and investigated. His first order of business was to raise his leg and pee on the rubber of both rear tires.
Drown in my own stinking blood reverberated through Clifton's head. Yeah, well maybe that would be the best thing for you.
"Come on Bosco. Let's go." Clifton dropped off the road and on to the trail. A second later, Bosco caught up and whipped past his legs, disappearing into the ferns.
***
"It's your decision , is all I'm saying. Whatever you do is between me and you and nobody else. I ain't gonna blame you, no matter what you decide." As Swamper spoke, he patiently
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sprinkled a fine line of dry tobacco down the folds of a rolling paper, licked the gummy edge, and twisted it up. He brushed the remnants off his pants and onto the porch. The lighter shuffled through his fingers a few times after he lit the cigarette, and then he set it on the fiat arm of the rocker.
Clifton bounced his leg nervously as he sat in the other chair, shaking the planks of the porch just enough to jostle Bosco's head ever so slightly. The dog kept his chin resting on the floor between his front paws and didn't seem to notice. "I don't know what to do, Swamper. I swear to God, I can't take much more of this. I think I'm going crazy. What do I do?"
"I already told you--you're the one's gotta make that decision. But I understand no matter which way you go. Can't blame you either way."
Clifton continued to bounce his leg. He nervously turned his head behind him every so often, as if he expected to see the cop coming down the trail at any minute. The longer you wait, the longer he suffers. Yeah, but the longer I wait, the longer Julie and her family suffer. That's true, but what's another hour or two in the whole scheme of things? It's another hour or two of their family not knowing, that's what. It's another hour or two that could be the difference between that cop living or dying. Exactly right. He didn't care about your father's life, why should you care about his?
Suddenly Clifton stopped bouncing and stood up. He was
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tired of arguing with hims
elf. "Guess I'll take the skiff if that's okay."
"You know it is. You want me to come along?"
"I guess I can do it."
"What about just walking up to the squad car and using the CB like he said?"
Clifton shook his head as he looked up through the woods. "I think I'd rather use the phone."
Swamper nodded in understanding. He carelessly ashed his cigarette over the arm of the chair, and a few stray flakes snowed down on Bosco's head. "For what it's worth, I think you're doing the right thing. Not because I give a damn about that son of a bitch up there. He can rot in his own stink for all I care. I just think you'll live easier. It's the right thing for you!''
"Yes, sir. I guess so."
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***
Chapter 14
The day after Clifton found Scarface , he walked into town and through the doors of the police station. He identified himself and was immediately ushered to a back office where he sat down with a detective. The detective spread a handful of mug shots over the table, and Clifton picked out the man in less than a minute. As it turned out, the people of Crocket's Mill had been right: He was the same guy who'd been released from the penitentiary in Samford. Clifton then told the detective everything he knew, everything that had happened, and then he walked out. He didn't know how much good it would do, but at least he'd cleared his conscience. It was too late to save Charlie. Too late for Maria. But maybe it would save someone else.
By early April of the following year, the man still hadn't been caught. There were rumors that he'd been spotted in
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Virginia, as well as other states across the country, but nothing ever materialized. He'd gotten away with murder, plain and simple. As for Sergeant Brader, he survived his injuries but was laid up in the hospital for weeks. The newspaper said he probably wouldn't have survived if his fellow officers hadn't found him when they did. He was praised for his excellent police work, won several awards and honors for locating Maria, and was overall regarded as a local hero.
Although Clifton hadn't expected to see Julie back at school when classes began a few weeks after her sister's death, she was there. He never said a word to her about how he'd seen Maria that day in the ice cream truck, nor did he say anything about being the one to find her and Sergeant Brader at the bottom of the Killing Pit. What would the point have been in that? He didn't see how it would do anything but upset her unnecessarily. So he'd kept his mouth shut.
But as the school year went on, their friendship grew stronger. Mostly because he still acted the same way toward her as he always had. He'd noticed that even though most of the kids at school had shared their condolences and shown sympathy for Julie, they also treated her like a bit of a pariah. It was almost like she was contagious. As if they believed that since her sister had been abducted and murdered, if they got too close to her then they might be next.
He also noticed how a lot of the kids snuck glances at her
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in the hallways and then whispered to one another as they passed. Even though it didn't seem to bother her, it certainly bothered Clifton. Because of it, he made an even more concerted effort to act normally around her. In fact, it was similar to the way she'd acted toward him so many years before when Mr. Carlson had been killed. The connections, the ironies, the odd coincidences that now bound the two of them together didn't go unrecognized by Clifton. In a way, he thought that maybe it was a sign. Maybe it's fate or something. Twisted fate, to be sure, but still, maybe it's fate.
At least that's what he thought as he stood on the football field on a cold, blustery April afternoon. The winter had been extra long, and spring still hadn't really arrived yet. In fact, patches of snow still clung to life on the north faces of the surrounding mountains. He stood next to Julie, his coat zipped up to his neck, shivering as he held the strings of his two balloons. She was also shivering, and strands of her hair flew over her face like blond tassels. He had decided the night before that today was the day that he'd talk with her.
As they waited for Mr. Longsworth to give the word over the bullhorn, Clifton suddenly felt someone smack the back of his head. Before he even turned around, he knew who it was.
"Hey, Skunk, what're you doing here?" asked Colt as he looked over at Julie and smiled.
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"I'm just standing here, freezing my ass off. Minding my own business. I'm not in the mood today, Colt. It's too damn cold."
"Hey, you know what I heard?" he said, apparently sensing weakness. "I heard a while back that your mom got busted and went to jail. Heard she was a booze hound. A complete wino. Heard she likes to get drunk as a Skunk" He laughed and flashed another smile.
Despite the cold, a warm heat prickled Clifton's skin. He had no idea where Colt had gotten his information, but he was suddenly very angry. And embarrassed. His mother's arrest was something he didn't want anybody to know about. Especially not Julie. But he refused to be beaten, so he quickly dug deep into his archives.
"Yeah, well, I heard something about your mom too. Heard she got fired. That's too bad. I'm really sorry."
Just like a slow, dim-witted cow who still hasn't figured out an electric fence, Colt didn't seem to realize he was being set up once again. "What're you talking about? She didn't get fired."
"That's not what I heard. Rumor has it she doesn't work at the sperm bank anymore. Got fired for drinking on the job."
The punch hit his shoulder so hard that he nearly let go of his balloons. Before he even had a chance to retaliate, Colt scurried away like an overweight rat, disappearing into the
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thick crowd. But as usual, it had been worth it because Julie was laughing.
"Where do you come up with that stuff?"
Clifton had his hands tucked into fists in the pockets of his coat. He shrugged and said, "I don't know. It's a gift. What can I say?"
"You okay?" she asked.
"Of course. The jacket gives some extra padding." He didn't even bother to rub his shoulder. "I almost feel guilty. Like I'm picking on the mentally challenged or something. God, he's an idiot."
A few minutes later, after Principal Longsworth's voice rattled through the bullhorn, the blue and gold balloons shot toward the sky like a flock of spooked doves. They didn't soar peacefully as they had the year before, but instead whipped horizontally across the field on a strong draft before rising skyward. But despite their rapid departure, Clifton had managed to keep watch of both his and Julie's balloons. At least for the first twenty seconds or so. He wondered if she'd noticed that as soon as they had released them, the string of his blue balloon had wrapped itself around her gold one like the tendrils of an aggressive vine.
As the crowd began to disperse after Principal Longsworth made the announcement--much to the dismay of the
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students--that classes would resume in ten minutes, Clifton walked back to the building with Julie at his side. He was nervous and thought of a hundred different reasons why he shouldn't say anything. But finally he just stopped dead in his tracks and said, "Could I ask you something?"
Julie halted and turned to face him, almost as if she'd been expecting it. She smiled and said, "Sure. What's up?" She used several of her fingers to pull the hair back from her face, but the wind was so unrelenting that she finally gave up.
Clifton stared at the ruddiness of her cheeks as he began to talk. Each side of her face looked like the bright skin of a ripened tomato. Because of her hair flying around, he couldn't make eye contact, which he was actually thankful for. He swallowed and said, "I was wondering if maybe you'd ... maybe ... want to go to the junior prom with me. If you're going with somebody else, that's cool. I understand. I just thought I'd ask."
Julie pulled the hair away from her face once more. This time the strands managed to stay tucked behind her ears long enough for Clifton to see her green eyes. The tomatoes of her cheeks seemed to ripen slightly. She smiled. "That's really sweet of you, Cliffy. But
I'm afraid somebody just asked me yesterday."
Clifton felt his heart drop, but he did his best not to let her
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notice. "That's cool. I kind of figured somebody probably had. Just thought I'd ask." He paused for a moment and looked over the top of her shoulder. Far away and barely noticeable, a spattering of balloons floated in front of the backdrop of the snowcapped mountains. "Who're you going with?"
Julie glanced away for a moment, toward the front doors of the school, and then back at him. She almost looked embarrassed. "You're not going to like it."
"What do you mean? Who is it?"
"Colt asked me."
Clifton's eyes widened despite his best efforts to prevent them from doing so. A high-pitched ringing buzzed in his ears. "Colt Jenkins? Are you serious? You're going with Colt?"
"Well, nobody else had asked me. It's only three weeks away you know."
"Yeah, but Colt? I mean, I thought you couldn't stand him."
Julie glanced down at her feet and then looked up with a catlike grin. "Oh, yeah, you're right. I can't stand him. He's an asshole. I was just kidding, Cliffy. I'd love to go with you."
Clifton felt his heart stop. He wasn't sure if he'd heard her correctly. "What?"
"I was just messing with you," she said, and laughed. She playfully slapped him in the shoulder with her gloved hand. "What took you so long? I've been waiting for a month. I was starting to think I really might have to go with Colt."
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Clifton still stared at her, nearly dumbstruck. "So you'll go with me?"
Julie made a fist and knocked it in the air as if tapping on an invisible door. "Hello? Clifton? You there? Yes, I'll go with you. I'd love to."
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