Secret Circles yrj-2

by F. Paul Wilson

  Another yell, this time from the left. Another stop and wait as Tim planted another flag. After they were moving again, people passed word of the discovery down the line.

  “Someone found a child"s sneaker,” Weezy told him when the news reached her.

  “Just one?”

  Weezy shrugged. “" A" sneaker is what I heard.”

  “Boy"s or girl"s?”

  She rolled her eyes. “They didn"t say.”

  They kept moving, searching. By the time the group had finished combing its square of the grid, Jack had found nothing. At the end they came upon another group finishing a neighboring square. No sign of Cody there either.

  While people broke into chattering groups, Jack made his way back toward where the sneaker had been found. He spotted Tim squatting by a flag, speaking into a walkie-talkie as he studied a small sneaker half buried in sand. His back was turned but Jack could hear him loud and clear.

  “Look, it"s a red-on-white Keds and it"s a kid"s size five—just like the mother told us. Get a lab team out here. This could be it.”

  Jack"s stomach coiled. Aw, no.

  A faint garble crackled from the receiver, then Tim said, “Okay. Roger and out.”

  He rose and turned, then froze when he saw Jack.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Wanted to see the sneaker. Is it … is it Cody"s?”

  “Can"t say.”

  “But you said it fits the description.”

  Tim"s face gave nothing away. “You weren"t supposed to hear that. And even if it does, Keds sells a zillion sneakers like that.”

  “Yeah, but it"s the right size and color and not far from where Cody"s bike was found. What are the odds it"s not?”

  Tim sighed. “Don"t go blabbing about this, okay?”

  “You know I don"t blab.”

  “See that you don"t.”

  Jack squatted for a closer look at the soaked sneaker where it lay on its side, half-filled with wet sand.

  “How—?”

  “Don"t touch it!”

  Jack bit back a duh! —he"d seen enough cop shows to know you didn"t touch evidence—and instead said, “Wasn"t going to. How come there"s only one?”

  “Do I look like the Amazing Carnac?”

  Tim was sounding testy.

  “But where"s the rest of him?”

  “If I knew that, do you think I"d be here jawboning with you?”

  Something in Tim"s tone made Jack glance up at him. He realized he looked exhausted.

  “I was only asking.”

  Tim puffed out his cheeks. “Sorry, Jack. Not much sleep since he disappeared. Johnson"s on my circuit and I feel kind of responsible.”

  “You"ll find him.” Jack wished he could believe it.

  “I"ve got a feeling that if we do, it will be by accident. All this damn rain washes away trace evidence. And check out that sneak—looks like it"s been there for days. Chances of the lab boys getting something off it are slim to none.”

  “What about the circus?”

  Tim shook his head. “They"ve been as cooperative as can be. We"ve been all over the grounds, the tents, the trailers—nothing.”

  “Did you know that a kid disappeared at one of their stops in Michigan?” Tim stared at him.

  “What? Where did you hear that?”

  Jack told him what the canvas boss had said.

  “Well, he didn"t tell us anything about it. Damn. Tomorrow"s their last night. Then they pack up and head to their next stop. I"d better check into this.” He pulled out a notebook. “Did this guy happen to say where in Michigan?”

  Jack shook his head. “No. Just Michigan.”

  As he watched Tim write, he said, “What about the Klenke house?”

  Tim shook his head. “First place we looked. Been back twice. Nothing. But I gotta tell you, the second day I was in there, boy, did it stink. The first and third day, fine. But the second—awful.

  Could almost make you believe the stories about it being haunted.” When he finished jotting he looked up. “How"s med school treating your sister?”

  “She loves it.”

  “Smartest girl I ever knew.” He grinned. “I guess I should be calling her a „woman" these days.

  Tell her I was asking for her.”

  “Sure.”

  Jack realized Deputy Tim still had a thing for Kate. They"d dated for almost a year, then stopped. No big breakup. They were still friends and talked now and then. He wondered what happened to them.

  Tim started walking back toward the group. “Gotta go play mother hen. I know you three can find your way back, but I don"t know about the rest. Don"t want someone else turning up lost.

  Remember: Mum"s the word.”

  Jack was turning to follow him when he saw a figure lurking in the trees, staring at him.

  3

  Jack froze, remembering the incident in the Vivinos" yard last night, but no stink stung his nose and this looked like a kid.

  Then he recognized him … that tall, skinny piney kid who"d got in Jake Shuett"s face. Had a weird name.

  Coffin … Levi Coffin.

  “Levi!” Jack called as the kid turned away.

  The kid kept going so Jack started after him.

  “Levi, wait up!”

  Levi stopped and turned to face him. His expression was flat, his mismatched eyes cold.

  “What you want?”

  “Just wanted to talk. I"m—”

  “I know who you are.” His accent sounded almost Southern. “What you wanna talk to an

  „inbred" for?”

  “Hey, no fair.” Jack stopped before him. “That wasn"t me. Never was, never will be.”

  “You sit with him. You get your laughs on us?”

  “Come on. Lighten up. Can"t always choose who sits at your table. You know that.”

  “Yeah, truth in that. What you want?”

  “Just wondering if you were in the search. I didn"t see you.”

  “Been doin" our own search.”

  That was heartening. No one knew these woods better than a piney.

  “And?”

  “He ain"t around.”

  That shook Jack. “He"s not in the Pines at all?”

  “Not in this end. Least not as far as we can tell. Someone or something might"ve got him and carried him off, but he ain"t here now.”

  “Some thing? You mean, like a big stinky bear or—”

  “Stink.” Levi"s eyes widened and he leaned closer. “What you know about stink?”

  Jack told him about the hulking silhouette Weezy, Eddie, and he had seen in the Pines last month.

  “You know what it is?”

  Levi shook his head. “No one does, but when we smell it, we run. You smell it again, you do the same—like the hounds of hell "re after you.”

  Jack thought about the odor in the Vivinos" yard. Had something come after Sally?

  Taking a shot in the dark, Jack pointed toward the east and said, “Is it connected to that pyramid out there?”

  Levi followed his point, then smiled. “Figured it"d be only a matter of time before you and your girlfriend tumbled onto that.”

  “She"s not my girlfriend, and how do you know—?”

  “We spot you two now and again. Saw you and her messin" with Jed Jameson"s traps. You might wanna be careful about that. He"s real mean.”

  Jack already knew that.

  “But what about the pyramid? What is it—or what was it?”

  Levi shrugged. “No one knows. But Saree says stay away, so we do. You might wanna do the same.”

  “Who"s Saree?”

  “One of us.”

  By the way Levi said “us,” Jack had a feeling he wasn"t talking about pineys in general, or family. More like something much closer even than family.

  “I don"t understand.”

  Levi smiled and turned away. “And you never will. Stay in your town and leave the Pines to us.

  You"ve got your place and we"ve got ours. B
est to keep it that way. Especially to night.”

  “But—”

  He waved a hand without looking back. Jack got the message: conversation over.

  He watched him disappear into the trees.

  Especially tonight… The equinox. He and Weezy had plans for a little trip into the Pines to night. Maybe the smart thing to do would be to call it off.

  Fat chance.

  4

  “Hey, Walt!”

  On his way down Quakerton Road toward USED, Jack spotted Walt

  rolling a mower over the lawn of the VFW post on the other side of the street. He veered his bike in that direction.

  He skidded to a stop before the post—really a converted ranch house. The sign over the door read: VETERANS OF FOREIGN WARS—JOHNSON MEMORIAL POST. He stood his

  bike on the sidewalk and walked over.

  Walt looked up from the mower. His eyes held their usual glassy look from his applejack.

  The neck of a pint bottle poked up from one of the pockets of his fatigue jacket.

  “Hey, Jack. Saw you at the search.” He scratched his beard with leather-gloved fingers and shook his shaggy head. “Shame we didn"t find that poor kid. People found a lot of stuff, but most of it was junk. Maybe something will give them a clue, but it doesn"t look good.”

  “Our group found a kid"s sneaker, but who knows …” Jack let the subject drift off as he checked out the post"s ragged grass, badly in need of cutting. “That still looks pretty wet.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I gotta get it done today because they"re talking about more rain tomorrow, and tomorrow night"s the smoker.”

  Right. The fourth Thursday of every month was smoker night. Boys’ night out Dad liked to call it, with emphasis on the first word. He never went. He"d tried it and didn"t like it. Not his cup of tea, as he liked to say.

  Jack knew what went on: cigars and cards and drinking and porno films. He didn"t think it would be his cup of tea—especially the cigar part—but he"d sure like to try it once. He"d heard about porno films, talked to some kids who"d seen some, but had never seen one himself. He was curious.

  The smoker … a whole bunch of the area"s vets, from up Tabernacle way down to Shamong, would be here tomorrow night.

  And then Mr. Bainbridge"s voice from the other night echoed through his head.

  …we finally got rid of those old eight-millimeters .We’ve got a VCR now…

  Yes! Show a tape of Freeholder-wannabe Al Vivino in action to a whole roomful of his VFW

  buddies. He"d never live that down.

  But first Jack needed a tape.

  Last night"s close call at the Vivinos" had left him sort of uncertain about going back for another try. It seemed risky and kind of stupid without a plan of what to do with the video if and when he got it.

  But this changed everything.

  “Hey, you know, Walt,” he said, nodding toward the post, “I"ve never been inside. What"s it look like?”

  “Not much to see. Ground floor here"s got the meeting room and the office. Downstairs is the rec room with the bar. Want me to show you around sometime?”

  “Hey, that"d be great. I—”

  “Good day, gentlemen.”

  Jack looked around and saw Mrs. Clevenger and her dog standing a few feet behind them.

  How had she got there? When he"d walked up to Walt she"d been nowhere in sight. Now she and her mutt were practically on top of him.

  “Oh, um, hi, Mrs. Clevenger.”

  As usual she wore her long black dress and scarf.

  “Did Walter speak to you about staying out of the Pines?”

  “I told him,” Walt said. “Weezy too.”

  It seemed lots of people wanted them away from the Pines to night. Didn"t they know it was like waving a red flag before a bull?

  Jack said, “Because of the equinox? What"s so special about the equinox?”

  She pursed her lips. “It"s a time when a delicate balance is temporarily upset … things flux, and then a new balance is achieved. You do not want to be in the wrong place at the wrong time during the autumnal equinox.”

  Did she call that an answer?

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Clevenger, but I have no idea what you just said.”

  She smiled. “I"m afraid that"s as specific as I can get. Suffice it to say in this hemi sphere the autumnal equinox is when the dark supersedes the light, and dominates it to varying degrees for the next six months. Odd phenomena occur during the changeover.”

  “Like what?”

  She smiled again. “I"m afraid „odd" will have to do. But consider it a gross understatement.”

  Why couldn"t she give him a straight answer? Then again, he couldn"t remember her ever giving him a straight answer.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I guess.”

  She and her dog stared at him. “Heed me and stay close to home. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yeah. Sure. Very.”

  He was about to ask her more but she turned to Walt and gripped his arm.

  “I must speak to you, Walter.” She looked at Jack. “It"s a private matter, if you don"t mind, Jack.”

  He backed away a step. “Oh, sure. That"s okay. I"ve got to get over to the store anyway. Later for the tour, Walt?”

  “Sure, Jack, catch you later.”

  I seem to be into tours lately, he thought as he moved back toward his bike—slowly … as slowly as he could, straining to hear what Mrs. Clevenger had to say. She"d lowered her voice but he was still able to capture most of her words.

  “I need you to stop this for a while.”

  A quick glance back showed her tapping the cap of the bottle in his pocket.

  “What for?” he said at higher volume. “You know what can happen if I do.”

  “That"s exactly why I"m asking you to stop.”

  “It"s gonna wake up.” A hint of a whine crept into his voice. “I don"t want to wake it up.”

  Wake up what? What was he talking about?

  “You may be needed in the next day or so.”

  “Aw, no. You know it hurts me.”

  “I do know. And I would not ask you if I did not think it very important.”

  “But—”

  “Would I ever try to hurt you?”

  “No.”

  “Then do this for me.”

  A sigh. “Okay, okay. Who?”

  “Someone you"ll want to help.”

  Jack reached his bike. To stall further, he squatted and pretended to fiddle with the pedals.

  “Can you at least tell me when?”

  “I don"t know yet. Tomorrow, I think. I"ll know more as the time nears. Right now it"s all a tangle of intersecting possibilities. You might not be needed at all.”

  “Wouldn"t that be great.”

  “Yes. That would be best for all concerned.”

  Unable to delay any longer, Jack kicked back the stand and hopped on his bike. As he rode away, Mrs. Clevenger"s words stayed in his head, tickling his brain. Why was she telling Walt to stop drinking? Because he might need to help someone in the next day or so? What did that mean? What kind of help? Really, Walt was a lovable guy, but he wasn"t good for much but drinking.

  Or was it simply a loony conversation between the town"s two looniest characters?

  5

  Jack"s resolve to see this through, so strong this afternoon outside the VFW post, had begun to slip with the fading of the daylight. Only Tony"s dream words pushed him out the door and up 206 to the Vivino house.

  Just as he had last night, Jack left his bike on the far side of Mr. Rosen"s trailer, stole across his backyard, and squeezed through the hedge onto the Vivino property. He was about to settle behind the same bush when he heard Mr. Vivino"s voice from inside. He was shouting.

  Jack froze and squeezed his eyes shut. He didn"t want to see this. He wanted to be back home in his room reading Stephen King or H. P. Lovecraft or The Spider, lost in a book where the horrors and dangers could be stopped in their tracks simply by closing t
he covers. Not here where real people were feeling real pain and real fear and he was powerless to help.

  He felt the weight of the camcorder in his hand and realized he wasn"t powerless.

  Clenching his teeth and ignoring the crawling in his gut, Jack turned on the camcorder as he edged forward and peeked in the window where the voices seemed the loudest. He gasped when he saw Mr. Vivino behind his wife, holding her in an arm lock again and pressing her against a wall.

  “I"m sick of it, god dammit! Sick of it!”

  Jack"s hands shook as he raised the camcorder, sighted through the viewfinder, and hit the record button. A little red REC lit in the upper left-hand corner of the image just as Mr. Vivino pulled her back and then slammed her against the wall. She had her eyes squeezed shut as pain distorted her features.

  “How many times do I have to tell you not to—”

  “Stop-it-stop-it-stop-it!” Sally screamed as she rushed into the room and clung to her father"s arm. “Stop-it, Daddy!”

  A flick of his arm shoved her away. She tripped over her feet as she stumbled back and hit the floor.

  Mrs. V screamed, “Sally!” and twisted like a tigress in her husband"s grasp, elbowing him in the gut.

  He oomph ed, but instead of letting go, he threw her to the floor and kicked her, screaming,

  “Don"t you ever hit me!”

  Jack was so shaken by the violence he lost his grip on the camcorder, allowing it to slip from his grasp and clunk against the windowsill.

  Mr. Vivino whirled toward the window. “Wha—? God dammit, someone"s at the window!”

  Didn"t have to think, didn"t have to decide—Jack spun and raced toward the hedge and dove headfirst through the branches into Mr. Rosen"s yard. They scratched his face and caught on his clothes but he landed on the far side before Mr. Vivino saw him.

  He hoped.

  Over his shoulder and through the branches he saw Mr. Vivino lunge into view at the window.

  “He went next door! I"ll get the son of a—!”

  He disappeared and Jack jumped to his feet. The crazy madman was coming for him!

  He looked around. What to do? His first instinct was to run around to the other side of the trailer, grab his bike, and race like mad out of here. But if he tried that he risked Mr. Vivino spotting him.