by Brian Hodge
PART TWO
JUNE 20 THROUGH JUNE 23
"To him who is in fear, everything rustles." —Sophocles
CHAPTER FOUR
"Escape Plans"
1
Kip was beginning to feel he was doomed to spend most—maybe all—of his life sitting and staring out of windows at a freedom that would never be his.
Just last Friday, he had been lying on the couch in Dr. Fielding's office, staring at the trees and distant clouds that threatened rain. Today, he was leaning his elbows on his desk, his chin cupped in his hand, staring at the traffic passing by the school. Distance and a thin heat haze gave the moving cars and trucks a dreamy slowness. The faint hissing of tires on the pavement muted and blurred whatever Mrs. Fairfield was talking about.
Mrs. Fairfield was better known around school as "Shit-heels." She had earned her nickname during the first week of school last September by stepping into a dog turd in the schoolyard. She hadn't noticed it at the time, and a piece of the shit had stuck to her heel. By lunchtime, the small, flat clot of dirt-speckled dog shit had hardened, and all through the early afternoon, it had been there, plastered to the bottom of her shoe as she strode the aisles or stood in front of the class lecturing. Finally, sometime in the afternoon, it had dropped off beside her desk. It was gone the next morning, no doubt swept up by the janitor, but by then it was too late. The name—like the piece of shit—had stuck.
This was the last week of school before summer vacation. Only two days to go. And no matter how much was happening in the classroom—and it wasn't much; mostly just Shit-heels giving them a pep talk about how much harder they'd have to work in the eighth grade— Kip couldn't tear his gaze away from the transparent pane of glass that separated him from freedom.
In some ways, being in school had been a relief. His father had gone to work as usual, and Kip didn't have to cook up some half-baked excuse not to help him work out at the house site. Yesterday's clearing brush had been enough for now. He still didn't like the way he felt when he was out there. Once school was out for the day, the afternoon would be his until his dad got home around five-thirty. And then…?
Kip shivered, wondering if his father planned to go out to the house site again tonight. He probably... no, strike the probably, he definitely would. Before leaving for school this morning, Kip had heard him on the phone, talking with one of the men who was going to dig the foundation. Although it had sounded like they might not get to the job today, they might, and Kip knew his dad would want to go out there and check out the work if they did make it.
The bottom line was, Kip didn't know which was worse—waiting for two-thirty to come when Shit-heels would hand back their math tests, or waiting until later this afternoon when he'd have to decide whether or not he'd go out to the foundation with his dad.
Kip was suddenly aware of an awkward silence that had settled over the room. Blinking his eyes, he looked up at Shit-heels who was looking at him with a stern "if-you-don't-know-what-I'm-talking-about-would-you-please-pay-attention" expression.
A slow, wide smile spread across Kip's face when he realized she must have just asked him a question. He shifted nervously in his seat as a subdued ripple of laughter swept the room.
"Lost in the ozone again, hey, bucko?" Joey whispered, slouching in his seat and cupping his hand over his mouth.
"Kip? I asked what you are planning to do this summer," Shit-heels said. The question was friendly enough, but her look and tone spoke otherwise. She would always be a battle-ax no matter how much she tried to soften her approach.
"I... uh, I'm probably gonna help my dad build our new house," Kip blurted out before he could even consider his words.
Shit-heels' eyebrows shot up into two surprised O's. "Really?" she said. "How interesting."
She—like everyone in town—knew what had happened at the Howard's construction site five years ago. And, of course, she was one of the few people who knew why Kip had to be excused early every Friday during the school year.
"Umm... yeah," Kip said. His neck was burning, and he was wishing he had kept his mouth shut. Why hadn't he lied about going to summer camp or something?
"You can learn an awful lot doing something like that," Shit-heels said, scanning the rest of the classroom. "Has anyone here ever helped build a house before?"
The room filled with muttered remarks and soft groans. No one wanted to kill time like this, making small talk about building houses or anything else. They wanted out. Now!
"I helped my dad build a deck on the back of our house last summer," Krissy Coulter said.
Most of the boys called her "Kissy-ass" because she sat right up front near the teacher's desk and raised her hand every time Shit-heels asked a question. Some of them even suspected she and Shit-heels had a system worked out. Kissy-ass would raise her hand every time but would only put up her right hand if she really knew the answer and wanted Shit-heels to call on her. Everyone in the class suspected she did this to make the rest of them look bad.
"She probably pounded the nails in with her forehead," Aaron whispered, just loud enough for everyone to hear. A ripple of nervous laughter—much louder than necessary—filled the room.
Shit-heels glared at Aaron, who sat directly behind Kip, but Kip felt as though her anger was directed at him, at least partly, for raising the topic in the first place.
"I think it's admirable that Krissy would do some-thing like that," Shit-heels said, turning her angry stare into a beaming smile directed at Krissy. "That she would—"
The sudden clanging of the bell releasing them for the day drowned out the rest of what she said as the room exploded with the sound of opening and slamming desktops. There was the tearing sound of Velcro straps and the loud rustling of papers and books being jammed into nylon rucksacks. One or two brave souls ventured faint cheers.
"Please... please. Remain seated while I hand out these," Shit-heels shouted above the raucous sounds. She had a thick sheaf of papers in her hand and was slapping them against her open palm. The flab under her arms jiggled with the motion, like it did whenever she wrote on the chalkboard.
The sight of the math tests froze everyone in the room. A hush fell over the class like night as Shit-heels walked to the door and pushed it open. From the corridor, they could hear the excited chatter from other classrooms as their doors opened. A few kids were already streaming down the hallway.
"As I read your name, you may take your test and leave," Shit-heels said, standing to the right of the doorway. Kip glanced out the window and saw that traffic was still passing by in dreamy slow motion. The movement outside contrasted sharply with the frantic energy in the room.
Shit-heels began calling out names—in alphabetical order, as she always did—and gave each student his or her paper as they filed past her and out the door. Each student also received a muttered, "Have a nice afternoon," or some other meaningless farewell at the door.
Kip's name was close enough to the beginning of the alphabet so he didn't have to sweat it out for long. Right after Aaron's name was called; Kip gripped both straps of his rucksack with one hand and slid his feet out into the aisle. Before Shit-heels finished the last syllable of his name, he was halfway to her with his hand out.
"Some interesting answers, Kip," Shit-heels whispered to him as she handed him the test.
"Thanks... I guess," Kip replied, stepping out into the dimly lit corridor. His fingers were shaking as he glanced down at the paper. On the top, written in red pencil and circled just below his name, was a large D.
Drifting slowly down the hallway amid increasingly loud noise, Kip glanced up and saw Aaron leaning with one foot against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. "I suppose you aced it again," Kip said, registering Aaron's smug look.
Aaron nodded and said, "And I'm guessing you dogged it."
Kip grimaced and held his paper out for Aaron to see, then folded it roughly in half with one hand and stuffed it into his back pocket. He slung his bac
kpack over one shoulder and headed toward the front door. Mr. Hobson, the janitor, had recently buffed the floor, and everyone's sneakers made loud squeaking sounds like on a basket-ball court.
"Bummer," Aaron said as they made their way through the crowd that had bottlenecked at the door. "So what're you planning to do this after?"
"Once my dad sees this? Probably not much."
The doors didn't have a chance to slam shut behind them as students poured out into the hazy afternoon. The air was filled with excited chatter and laughter, shouted plans for the afternoon, and the scuffing of bicycle tires and skateboard wheels on the asphalt.
Kip made his way slowly over to the bike stand. When he knelt down, he automatically shielded the combination lock from Aaron as he spun the dial, clicking the numbers into place. His backpack was loaded with books and homework, and pressed heavily into the small of his back.
"So... what's bugging you?" Aaron asked. He had one foot raised on the bicycle stand and was leaning an elbow on his leg.
Kip dialed the last number of his combination and pulled, but the lock stayed locked. Cursing softly under his breath, he started moving the tumblers again.
"What d'yah mean?" he asked. He didn't quite dare to look directly at his friend, but he could feel Aaron staring at the back of his neck.
"I mean what's up your ass?" Aaron sounded exasperated. "All day you've been a space case. I was beginning to think even if you crapped your pants, you wouldn't know it and would just sit there, stinking."
"Cut the crap, will yah?" Kip snapped as he clicked the last number of his combination and pulled. This time the shackle snapped open. He reached behind, dropping the lock into the side pocket of his backpack, and stood up.
"Just don't think you can keep a secret from me, okay?" Aaron said. "I mean, com'on, even Shit-heels noticed how much you were spacing out." He paused while Kip backed his bike out of the rack and spun it around toward the road. "And if you can't tell your best friend, who can you tell?"
Running his lower lip beneath his teeth, Kip studied Aaron for a moment and then sighed deeply. "What do you know about Old Man Watson?" he finally asked, his voice sounding high and strangely like a Disney cartoon character.
"That old Indian? Why would you think I know anything about him?" Aaron huffed. "I ain't heard anything you haven't 'bout how crazy he is. Really Looney Tunes, my brother says."
Kip swung one leg over the crossbar and straddled the bike. He wished he could dismiss the wave of uneasiness that filled him just talking about Watson. Yesterday out at the construction site had given him quite a scare, but it hadn't been just Watson. It had been what he had said... and what he had meant.
The fringes of Kip's mind began to swirl with a misty blackness, and an icy rush ran through his veins.
"I know sometimes in winter he drives a snowplow for the town, 'n in summer he's sometimes out at the town dump, drivin' one of the bulldozers and burying garbage. My brother says he doesn't do that much 'cause he's drunk most of the time."
"Who's drunk? Your brother or Watson?"
"Screw you," Aaron said, giving Kip a quick punch on the shoulder.
"But seriously," Kip said softly, "what about—you know, some of the things the guys say about him. You know…"
Aaron shrugged. "When we were kids I might have believed some of what people said about him—like that he's queer and if he talks to someone, especially a kid, he's just trying to get them to come into his house so he can... you know, fool around with 'em. My brother used to tell me when someone in town lost a dog or cat or something, it was 'cause Watson caught 'em and cooked him. Supposedly that's what Indians used to eat back whenever and even now they can't help themselves from doing it now and again. 'Course, I don't really believe that any more."
Kip couldn't repress a shiver as he listened to his friend. "You think he's dangerous? I mean really dangerous, or is he just—you know, weird or something?"
"Who gives a crap?" Aaron said with another shrug. "How should I know? But I sure as heck ain't going to run over to his house 'n ask him. Why're you so interested in him all of a sudden, anyway?"
The schoolyard was rapidly clearing of kids while Kip and Aaron talked, and the silence that descended—now that Kip noticed it—unnerved him. Aaron was lucky; he lived just a couple of streets from school and could walk home. Kip had to ride his bike down Tannery Loop Road to River Road and over to Main Street. That would take him right past Watson's house. Although Kip rode home that way every day he took his bike to school, after what happened yesterday, the thought of going anywhere near Watson's house set his nerves on edge.
"I—uh, I saw him yesterday," Kip said, lowering his voice as if Watson was standing nearby and was listening. "That's all."
Aaron tossed his hands up into the air. "What's the big deal?" he said, almost shouting. "I see him downtown all the time, usually at the liquor store. For cryin' out loud, Kip, the guy's just some crazy old geek. Seeing him ain't gonna hurt you."
Kip was rocking his bike back and forth beneath him, preparing to take off. His hands on the handgrips were slippery with sweat, and sweat was running down his the back of his neck. Once again, he shivered.
"He came out to where my dad and me were working on the house." Kip didn't like the way his voice was constricted. "And he… he talked to us."
"Just be grateful you don't have a dog," Aaron said between snorts of laughter, "'cause it might end up in the old Indian's soup kettle."
"You're a laugh riot, you know that?" Kip said. He cast one nervous glance along the road he would have to pedal down, wishing there was some way he could avoid it. But unless he cut through the woods, which would be a real hassle with his bike, he would have to take the Loop Road all the way around Eagle Hill, and that would add a good five miles or more to his ride home. The prospect of doing that on a hot day like this was enough to overcome whatever discomfort he felt about riding down River Road past Watson's house. Besides, it was almost all downhill, so he'd have plenty of time to get up his speed.
"Give me a buzz when you get home, 'kay?" Aaron said as he started toward home.
"Sure thing," Kip called after him. "We can hang out… if I don't get grounded."
He watched Aaron walk down the road, backpack on his back and his arms swinging at his sides. The school door at the far end of the building suddenly slammed shut, startling Kip. Looking over, he saw Shit-heels walking toward her car in the parking lot. He watched her as she got into the car and started it up. She backed out of her parking slot and then took off down the road. By the time he turned back around, Aaron was out of sight.
"Damn it," he muttered. He knew Shit-heels would drive through town. He should have left his bike locked to the bike stand and asked her for a ride home. He could have concocted some story about not feeling well—which wouldn't have been far from the truth after seeing his math grade. That would have helped explain why he was so out of it in class today. He watched wistfully as Shit-heels' car rounded the corner and disappeared.
For a minute or two, Kip just stood straddling his bike and gazing down the road he knew he would have to travel eventually. Someone, probably the janitor Mr. Hobson, shut a window in the first grade classroom. A handful of other teachers left the building, got into their cars and drove off. At this rate, Kip thought, he'd be standing here in the morning. Finally, he took a deep breath, placed his foot on the pedal, and pushed off.
His hands were so sweaty, the handgrips felt as though someone had oiled them. A knot of tension twisted between his shoulders as Kip hunched over the handlebars, pumping the pedals faster and faster to get his speed up.
He whizzed along the road, glorying in the whistling of the wind in his ears only because it meant he would have plenty of speed to go tearing right past Watson's house. The air was so heavy with humidity that even moving this fast did little to cool him down, but he didn't care. All he was focused on was getting past Watson's house. He had already decided he would say there wa
s something wrong with his bike so his father would have to give him a ride to school tomorrow.
As fast as he could, Kip sped down Loop Road. His tires made high hissing sounds on the pavement. At the stop sign, he slowed just enough to make a safe turn onto River Road. Then he leaned into his pedaling to get back the fraction of speed he had lost on the turn.
Watson's house was on the left side of the road, so Kip veered over to the right, on the river side, figuring every bit of distance between him and the house counted. His stomach tightened like a fist. A burning ache throbbed in his thighs, but then he cleared a gentle bend in the road, and Watson's house came into view.
The tension inside him suddenly flared into pure panic when he glanced at the house and saw the old man standing outside in his yard. He seemed to have taken notice of Kip, and—yes, the Indian was moving across the lawn toward the road. He started waving one arm above his head, and he shouted something, but Kip couldn't make it out. He didn't want to.
What happened next happened so fast only later—when he was safely home—did Kip even try to piece it all together.
Just as he was pulling out of the curve, Kip caught a flicker of motion in the woods off to his right. On his left, Watson was a black, menacing shape moving swiftly toward the road. He didn't know how much trouble he was in until he heard a low, rumbling growl. Glancing to the right, he saw a dog, a small German shepherd, break from the cover of the woods and run toward him, angling to cut him off like it was stalking him.
The dog quickly overtook Kip and then raced along beside him. Its teeth were bared, and its eyes gleamed with the thrill of the chase. The growl that issued from the dog's throat was low and gravelly.
"Get away!" Kip shouted as he kicked at the dog, trying to scare it away. He didn't recognize the animal, and later that night, he figured it must have belonged to whoever owned the yellow car parked on the side of the road—probably someone who had stopped to cool off by taking a swim in the river.
