by Hamill, Ike
**********
They awoke late, and very hungry. Ben looked at his watched and announced that it was Sunday, July 8th—9:30 am.
“Nine days,” said Stephen.
“What’s nine days?” asked Jack.
“I go back on Tuesday the seventeenth,” replied Stephen.
“That sucks,” said Jack. He surprised himself, realizing that he meant it. Just a few days before he would have relished the realization that half of Stephen’s time had passed.
“Ah, don’t think about it,” said Ben. “Time only passes quickly if you think about it.”
“Isn’t that like the opposite of true?” posed Stephen. “You know, like, a watched pot never boils.”
“Whatever. Let’s get something to eat,” said Jack.
They were greeted with a gray day outside the tent. And, rummaging through their supplies, realized they had neglected to keep their larder well stocked. Desperate for a warm meal, they headed into the house. In the the kitchen, they began noisily producing a breakfast. Jack’s mom appeared from upstairs.
“Jack—your dad wants to see you. His office,” she said.
Jack handed his spatula to Ben, who took over on the pancake duty. He followed his mom through the living room to the addition where his dad had an office. His dad was sitting at the computer.
“Jack—what are these?” his dad pointed at four shell casings sitting atop a file folder on the desk.
“Bullets? Or casings, I mean. We found them at the pits,” said Jack.
“Which pits?” his dad asked.
Jack looked back over his shoulder. His mom was standing in the doorway with her eyebrows raised. “The quarry, past the power lines,” he paused. “We hiked over there the other day.”
“Are you allowed to go that far?” his father asked.
“Yeah, you guys said yes—remember?” asked Jack.
“We talked about you guys going as far as the power lines,” his mom corrected. “That’s what I remember.”
“But the pit and power lines are the same thing. I mean, they’re connected,” said Jack. He was confused. He knew his parents must have realized their all-day hikes were taking them at least that far. He decided to push back—“Mom, we check with you before every hike. You know when we’re going and when we’re coming back.”
“Yes, that’s true,” she replied. “But it’s more than that, Jack. There’s a difference between walking on trails in the woods and getting into some old quarry where people are shooting.”
“That’s right, Jack,” his father continued. “We talked about the things you would do this summer if we let you and your friends set the agenda, and I don’t remember guns being on the list.”
“We weren’t shooting or anything,” countered Jack. “We just found those. We never did anything.”
“Jack,” began his mom, “you’re going to face a lot of decisions in life, and more often than not, what happens to you will be the result of those decisions.”
Jack looked down.
“If you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time,” she continued, “it doesn’t much matter if you were doing the right thing. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he answered too quickly. He knew instantly that he should have waited.
“I don’t think you do,” she reprimanded. “If you’re out walking and you see something that you know is dangerous, you turn around and come home. Then, you immediately tell me or your father.”
Jack nodded.
“Go get your friends, we want to talk to all of you,” said his mom.
Jack opened his mouth to protest and then closed it. He looked to his dad and back to his mom, they were not going to bend. He dragged himself back to the kitchen where Stephen and Ben were making breakfast.
“We started to make you eggs, but then we had to throw them away,” laughed Ben.
“Hey, come on, my parents want to talk to all of us,” said Jack.
“About what?” asked Stephen through a bite of toast.
“My mom found the shell casings, and they’re pissed,” said Jack.
“Oh shit—where were they?” hissed Ben.
“My pocket,” said Stephen. “God, what is she a psychic?”
“Just come on,” said Jack.
The three boys trudged back to the office. Jack’s mom and dad were standing together at the far end of the room. His dad waved them closer.
“Boys, listen up,” Jack’s dad began. “You’ve been pretty responsible this summer, but we’re afraid that you’re not displaying the best judgement. Most kids your age are having a very structured summer—camps, sports, volunteer work. We were skeptical that you could keep yourselves occupied all summer, but we were willing to let you try.”
Jack’s mom broke in—“We won’t—we can’t — have you wandering into trouble without even knowing it. We just heard yesterday that some older boys were shooting animals over in that quarry and today we found out that you boys were over there too. I know you weren’t a part of that, but you still could have been hurt.”
She paused to composer herself. “So, no more wandering around. You can play in our yard, and sleep in the house at night.”
Jack couldn’t contain himself anymore—“Mom, you can’t be serious. We didn’t even do anything.”
“Jack,” she said, “you’re not hearing. You don’t have to do anything wrong to be hurt. All you have to do is not do something right. I have a whole book of summer activities upstairs if you’d rather I sign you up for something.”
“No,” Jack pleaded. “But why do we have to stay in yard? Can’t we just not go to the pits anymore?”
“This is not a debate, Jack,” said his father. “Our job is to keep you safe so that one day you can make your own informed decisions. This is not yet that time.”
“Where will we even sleep—we can’t fit three in my room,” asked Jack.
“You can have the basement rec-room,” answered his mom. “Get your sleeping bags set up down there.”
The room was quiet for several moments. Jack didn’t want to look to see how Stephen and Ben were taking the news so he looked at the floor. His shoulders slumped, weighed down with the punishment.
“Okay? Go finish your breakfast,” directed his mom.
They turned and shuffled out. Back in the kitchen they cooked and ate in silence.
**********
They laid out their gear in the basement. Trouble settled on the three boys.
Stephen tried to lighten the mood—“Hey, only nine more days for me.”
“Very funny,” replied Ben.
“Don’t blame me, they were looking for an excuse to take away our privileges,” said Stephen. “That was not based on those shell casings.”
“I wonder how they found out about the kids shooting those animals?” pondered Jack.
“Probably that target guy,” said Ben.
“Yeah, but he wasn’t even there when they shot the cat,” reminded Stephen.
“Maybe Smoker threatened him and then the cops staked it out,” said Ben.
They sat down and turned on the television. Outside the gray morning had turned into a drizzly afternoon.
“What if we told your dad about the dog. Maybe he would realize we were doing the right thing,” said Ben.
“That’s dumb,” said Jack. “He would just be more pissed that we were there and didn’t tell anyone. Plus, it’s my mom we have to worry about.”
“That’s true,” said Stephen. “She’s definitely calling the shots there.”
“Hey, shut up, dumb-ass,” said Jack.
“Douche-ism,” said Ben. “It’s contagious.”
“Who are you talking to?” Jack turned to Ben.
“Both of you,” replied Ben.
“What the hell?” asked Stephen. “What did I do?”
Ben raised his hands—“Who are you guys pissed at?” He turned to Jack. “Your parents? Big deal. So we find stuff to do inside for a while. They’ll calm down.”
/>
“But there’s still tons of stuff we should do,” said Jack. “I just got my sling off.”
“And what about that red light?” asked Stephen. “We should be out there right now, finding out what was going on with that.”
“Yeah,” said Jack. “Besides, we didn’t do anything.”
“Wait, wait,” said Ben. He lowered his voice and leaned towards Jack and Stephen. “Why don’t we just wait until night and we’ll look for the light again.”
“We’ll never find it,” said Jack.
“No way—it’s easier to find it at night,” said Ben. “Besides, isn’t the moon going to be full soon? There will be plenty of light.”
“That’s true,” said Stephen.
“Oh, man. You guys are insane. My mom will kill us,” said Jack.
“We’ll be careful,” said Ben. “How did she catch us before? Laundry? All we have to do is check our clothes really carefully when we come in. If they’re wet from dew, we’ll just hide them until they’re dry.”
“And we’re in the basement, and they’re all the way upstairs,” continued Stephen. “We can sneak out this door and they’ll never know.”
“What if she checks on us?” asked Jack.
They were silent as they considered this possibility.
“Fort. We’ll build a pillow-fort with these two couches,” said Ben. “We take all the cushions and put them parallel, like this,” he demonstrated. “Then all we have to do is stay in one night and the second night she’ll just figure we’re in there. If she comes down tonight, we’ll all be in back and when she looks to see where we are we just make a big deal about it.”
“Yeah,” said Stephen, “you just go ‘What’s wrong? Mom? Is that you?’ and then we’ll all be up and she’ll feel bad.”
“I don’t know,” said Jack, furrowing his brow. “Maybe we should just play it cool.”
“Give it a day,” said Stephen. “You’ll change your mind.”
The Boy
This time, searing pain woke the boy. His eyes opened on a world of shiny metal instruments, bright lights, and wisps of smoke. The pain came from his right thigh and coursed through his body, making him pull at his restraints.
The crazy man with the bull’s head hunched over the boy’s thigh, concentrating fiercely. The man was dressed like a surgeon—covered in blue cotton garb, with a cap, mask, and surgical gloves. His left hand held extra-long tweezers and in his right something that looked like a pen on the end of a mechanical arm.
The man wore glasses with magnifying lenses so that when he looked up at the boy, the boy was startled by the giant eyes set into the bull’s head. That hallucination gave way, and the boy saw him with a man’s head once again.
“If you jerk around like that, I’m going to put you under,” said the man.
The boy looked at his thigh, trying to discover the source of his pain. The man had cut away a portion of his skin and was holding it back with his tweezers while he operated on the muscle below.
The boy gathered his nerve and spoke—“Please stop.” he said.
“Oh, that’s unfortunate,” said the man. “You had been so good until now. But I despise anything illogical, and you’ve just said something remarkably stupid. Do you know why it was stupid?”
The boy was afraid to speak. He was desperate to not compound his mistake.
“I asked a question,” said the man. He stared into the boy’s eyes.
The boy struggled for the right answer, but he was beginning to panic and couldn’t form a complete thought.
The man, now frustrated, held up the device in his right hand—“This is a medical laser. It’s meant to cut and cauterize to reduce scarring. I’m using it because I like the smell. That,” he pointed a finger towards the boy’s crotch, “is one of the most sensitive parts of your body. Would you like to experience a laser burning your privates?”
“No!” said the boy.
“Then answer—do you know why it was stupid to say ‘Please stop’?” he asked again.
“Yes,” the boy stalled.
“Why?”
“Because you don’t want to?” the boy asked.
The man paused, considering, “You know, that’s pretty close. You’ve redeemed yourself a little. The real answer is a little more complex.” The man sat back and lectured. “It was stupid because I have the power, and I clearly don’t have your interests in mind. You would like me to stop, but I’ve demonstrated no concern for what you want. And, because I’ve shown you that I endeavor to maintain control, the idea that your request would succeed suggests you feel you have some ability to direct my actions.”
The boy was trying to follow the speech, but was captivated and horrified by the device in the man’s right hand.
“So,” the man continued, “your request had no chance of eliciting a positive result for you, and had a significant chance of ending disastrously. That’s why it was stupid and offensive.”
All the boy could think to say was—“Thank you, sir.”
“Ah,” said the man, “definitely a smarter thing to say, but I found it a little patronizing. Let’s see how well you understand this—if you move again, or feel the need to say anything more coherent than a primal scream, I will cut off your entire leg and feed it to you. Do you understand?”
The boy began to nod and then stopped himself, fearing that it would violate his orders. Instead, he closed his eyes and braced himself for the next wave of pain.
The Hotel
The next day, Stephen’s prediction came true. The boys could hardly focus on anything except waiting for the night. They bounced between activities, nervous and killing time. After dinner, they put on a boring movie and attempted to fall asleep early. Ben set his watch’s alarm for three a.m., and by ten p.m. they thought they would never get to sleep. Eventually, they dropped off and Ben’s alarm woke them up.
They were alert instantly, and none wanted to call off the trip. They crawled carefully out of their pillow-fort and uncovered the hidden stash of dark clothing.
Jack felt his heart was about to burst as he tried to silently open the back door. He could hear his breath and held it to control his twitching hands. Once outside, they crept between the bushes until they were out of sight. On the path they nearly hovered with excitement.
“This is the best,” said Jack.
“Yeah,” said Ben. “Where’s the mark?”
“Almost there,” said Jack.
They moved through the woods without lights. The moon was bright and the clouds had mostly disappeared. They were right to worry about wet clothing. By the time they made it to the tree, they were wet from rain hanging on the leaves.
“Do you see it?” asked Jack.
Stephen bent down—“Nope. Let’s wait for a second and see if maybe a leaf is in the way.”
They backed away from the path a bit and hunkered down behind some brush. Each stared at the spot on the tree until they could almost hallucinate anything there in the bark. After almost ten minutes in silence, they were rewarded by the red spot flickering back into existence.
“There it is!” said Stephen.
“Are you sure that’s not just my eyes?” joked Ben.
“Then it’s my eyes too,” said Jack.
“Come on,” ordered Stephen.
Stephen rushed over to the light and thrust his hand in its path. He strode confidently into the woods, following it. Jack and Ben trailed close behind. They made it farther than the previous night, but the light flicked out when Stephen’s hand was almost shoulder-height.
“Let’s just keep going,” said Stephen. “It’s got to be coming from this direction.”
“What’s through these woods again?” asked Ben.
Jack replied—“As far as I could tell, it’s Route 203. There are houses and a couple of businesses.”
“We’re about to find out,” said Stephen. “Look.” He pointed up to a small sapling. On a leaf, at about eye-level, the dot of light shone
. “See, if it turns just a tiny bit, the leaf doesn’t block it.” He reached out and tore the leaf from the tree.
“There’s a clearing,” Jack was looking back in the direction they had been traveling.
“Let’s go carefully,” said Ben.
The three spread out and crouched down into the brush. They made their way with all the stealth they could muster. On the edge of an over-grown field, they stopped. The grass was about a foot high.
“What is it?” asked Stephen.
Across the field they saw the back of a long building—three stories high. Immediately ahead of them, the gabled roof was adorned with three small windows, but to the left there were many windows on each floor. A swing-set off the to right looked half-collapsed in the moonlight.
“Must be a business or something,” said Jack. “Too big to be a house.”
“Could be the back of an apartment,” offered Ben. “I’ve seen an apartment building almost like that.”
“Whatever it is, it’s deserted,” said Stephen. “Look, those windows are boarded up.”
Straining to see across the field, Jack and Ben could barely make out that the windows indeed looked boarded up. They also noticed a couple of bare spots on the roof where the shingles had blown away.
“Let’s go check it out,” said Ben.
“When did you grow a pair?” asked Stephen.
“We should skirt the field over to that ditch,” said Jack. “That way we won’t leave any footprints in the tall grass.”
Jack led the way. They circled the clearing until they came to a drainage ditch lined with big rocks. Only a small amount of water trickled down the rocks, and the boys made it to the corner of the building without getting more wet.
“How are we going to figure out where that beam is coming from?” asked Jack.
“I already know,” said Stephen.
“What? How?”
“Right after I tore down that leaf I turned around and saw this building. The light hit my eye a little bit,” said Stephen. “Anyway, it’s coming from right over that porch.” He pointed to the side of the building.
About ten feet up, a small back porch roof protruded from the building. They approached and saw the porch covered a cracked concrete pad.
