by Hamill, Ike
“Meet me near salamander rock. Come right now,” said the display. Stephen shut off the alarm and thought about the message. His clock read seven AM.
The salamander rock part was easy, he remembered that rock. A few weeks earlier, before the hotel adventure, the boys spent an hour trying to catch a salamander in the creek. Ben caught it on a rock which became known as “salamander rock.”
Stephen couldn't guess why Jack wanted to meet him at seven in the morning, or why Jack put the appointment on his phone instead of just asking.
He had to make a quick decision, and thought about the fourth of July. Jack stood up for Stephen, even though they didn’t like each other then and he had no reason to risk his neck. Stephen decided to return the favor and settle up with Jack. He pulled on his pants and got ready to meet Jack in the woods.
**********
Heading down the path, Stephen felt like a bundle of nerves. He felt like he was waiting to take a test and he had forgotten to study. Breath shallow and heartbeat fast he tried not to rush—he wanted to be ready for whatever Jack was calling him towards. Despite his resolve, he accelerated until he heard voices up ahead. He stopped and listened.
“Listen kid,” a raised voice said and then trailed off.
Stephen darted off the path and followed a thicket of pine trees closer to the creek. Hunched over, he could make it under the dry branches. The pine needle carpet let him approach silently. He stopped when he heard the voices coming from the other side of a burm.
“Do you want the deal or not?” someone asked. The voice sounded firm and forceful, but young. It took Stephen several moments to realize that the voice belonged to Jack.
“First you gotta tell us how you got my phone number,” answered a deeper voice.
“I got it from Vigue,” said Jack.
“Vigue doesn’t have my phone number,” said the voice.
“I guess you don’t know what Vigue has,” answered Jack.
“Well, we got half the money already anyway. You don’t want to tell me where you got my number? Maybe we’ll just keep your cash and you can get fucked,” said the voice.
“That’s funny you should say that, Danny,” said Jack. “Because it suggests that you’ve got the upper hand here, and that’s really not the case.”
The conversation stopped, and Stephen wondered if something had happened. He wanted to move forward to get a better look, but he couldn’t judge how far away Jack and the other man stood.
“Yeah?” asked the voice—Stephen guessed it belonged to Danny. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Well, two things: one is that I wrote a letter to Sheriff Kurtwood and told him how he could prove it was you two who killed those dogs and cats.”
Stephen held his breath.
“The second is that one of my friends is over there in the woods, and he runs fast,” said Jack. “You can screw me over, but as soon as you do, he’s going to run back to the house and give my dad the letter and tell him that you guys snatched me from the back yard.”
Stephen could now picture the conversation. Jack was facing off against Smoker and Bag Man and was threatening them. He wondered what Jack could possibly want from these two and why he had revealed that he knew about the shootings.
“See, I told you it was this fucking kid,” said Danny. Stephen heard another gap in the conversation and figured it might be Bag Man talking low to Danny. “Yeah, you don’t have anyone in the woods kid, so you can stop fucking pretending.”
“Hey, make some noise,” yelled Jack.
It took Stephen a second to realize that Jack was talking to him. He wondered how Jack could be sure that he was listening. He thought for a second more and then yelled, “Hey.”
“What the fuck?” said Danny. “That’s it, kid. You’re done.”
“Get ready to run,” yelled Jack. He continued in a softer tone and Stephen had to strain to hear Jack above his own beating heart. “Just wait a second. I didn’t tell the sheriff shit, or else I’d have nothing to tell him now. It was that target-shooting guy that ratted you out. Let’s just do this deal and go our separate ways. I’ll even throw in an extra hundred.”
There was silence after Jack’s proposal and Stephen got ready to run. He knew that Smoker and Bag Man would come for him any second. He started to slip back from his position when he heard Danny’s voice again.
“Okay,” said Danny. “It’s in here. Where’s the cash?”
After a pause, Jack said, “Under that rock, there’s an envelope.”
“What about the extra hundred?” asked Danny.
“It’s in there. Check,” said Jack.
“Alright kid, just remember, we’ve got friends too. If you fuck us over, we can find out where you live and one of our friends might pay a visit to your mom one day when she’s alone,” replied Danny.
“As far as I’m concerned, I’m just a happy customer,” said Jack.
Stephen heard footsteps moving through the leaves. He let out his breath slowly, trying not to make any noise, and slumped to the ground. Danny’s voice receded to his left. Moving right, Stephen wanted to put extra distance between himself and the animal-killers. As the drama faded, Stephen wondered what Jack had purchased.
He looped around through the woods to the west of the trail and made his way back to Jack’s house. He rejoined the trail right where he thought. Around the next bend, Jack waited for him, holding a plastic grocery bag.
“What the hell was that about?” asked Stephen.
“I had to get this,” said Jack, holding up the bag.
“What is it?”
“What do you think?” asked Jack.
He guessed that Jack had purchased a handgun. “I can’t believe you did that. That could have gone really badly,” said Stephen.
“I had the whole situation under control, and we won’t have to worry about those guys anymore,” said Jack.
“What are you going to do with it?” Stephen pointed at the bag.
“I think I may need it by the end of the week,” said Jack. “The kidnapper is going to come back and find that I’ve rescued the Vigue kid, and then he’s going to come looking for me.”
“Oh man, you’re nuts,” Stephen tried to reason with Jack as they walked down the path. “Just time-out on all this crazy talk for a minute. For one, if you think you know the kid is alive, and you think the kidnapper isn’t going to be back until the end of the week, then why not get the police involved right now. You’re smart, I’m sure you can think of some excuse to get the police to search that place.”
“Yeah, I thought that through,” said Jack. “But a couple of things to consider—he might have a way of knowing if the police go into the hotel and he could blow the place up, or escape. I want the kid alive, and I want the guy to go to jail. Getting the police involved now could risk both of those things.”
“No offense, Jack,” countered Stephen. “But we’re just kids. We don’t have any business screwing around with this stuff.”
“I think that’s the whole point,” said Jack, stopping and turning to Stephen. “He’s only letting us get in there because we’re kids. It’s his game to see if kids can rescue another kid. If we get adults involved he’s just going to kill the Vigue kid and move on. I read about these types of guys, they have a code that they stick to, like rules of a game. If you stick to those, they’ll give you a way to win.”
Stephen thought about that; he wanted to save the kid if they could—he wanted to be a hero and help outwit a killer, but knew he shouldn’t be involved and that it was wrong. Stephen considered Jack either overconfident or just wrong about the situation.
“I can’t be a part of this, Jack,” said Stephen. “I don’t think you should be either.”
“It’s okay,” said Jack. “I figured it would be too much for you, and I think I can do it alone anyway.”
“If you’re trying to psych me out, it’s not going to work,” warned Stephen.
That ma
de Jack chuckle. Stephen noted that Jack’s mannerisms and laugh made him seem much older than just a few weeks before.
“I’m not trying to trick you,” said Jack. “But I am going to ask you to do one more thing with me, and then perhaps you should head back south a little early.”
Stephen was greatly relieved. He waited to hear the request.
“I’m going to show you evidence that our kidnapper is out of town for a few days, and I want you to help in the hotel one more time.”
Stephen ignored the request for a moment—fixated on the idea of being safe at home. “What excuse am I going to use to leave early? I’ve already got plane tickets for the thirty-first, and today is only the twenty-third. Those tickets are expensive to change.”
“Don’t worry,” said Jack. “We’ll think of something, I’m sure. But, will you help me?”
“I don’t know—what’s your evidence?” asked Stephen.
“I’ll tell you back at the house,” said Jack.
**********
Back at the house they removed their shoes in the garage and snuck up the stairs to avoid Jack’s parents. As they passed down the hall to the safety of Jack’s room, Stephen noted that lying and sneaking around had become second nature to him.
Jack waved him into the seat in front of the computer.
“First,” said Jack, “look at this.” He leaned past Stephen and pressed a key, waking up the computer.
A CNN webpage appeared on the screen. Stephen scanned the article. It regarded a missing child in Albuquerque, New Mexico. The details of the case included a kid snatched from his pre-school; no witnesses. Then, the article discussed the similarities to the Gabe Vigue case. The police investigated a possible connection between the two. Stephen scrolled back up to the top of the article and saw what he was looking for—the article had been posted just four hours before.
“What if it’s not the same guy?” asked Stephen.
“I found this,” said Jack. He held out a piece of paper folded in quarters and quite wrinkled. Stephen unfolded it and saw the logo of United Airlines at the top of the page. Reading down, he saw that it was an itinerary showing a round-trip schedule from Manchester, New Hampshire, to Albuquerque. The name listed was Patrick Bateman.
“The name is fake,” said Jack. “It’s the name of a serial killer from a movie.”
“So, you’ve got another kidnapping and a plane ticket to the same place,” stated Stephen.
“Yeah—I think it’s pretty clear,” said Jack.
“What if he’s got a partner?” asked Stephen.
“I don’t think so,” said Jack. “These guys always work alone.”
“Okay, so he gets back,” Stephen scanned down the sheet, “on Friday then?”
“Yeah,” said Jack. “And I want to make sure I’ve got everything in place by Wednesday.”
“What do you need me to do?” asked Stephen.
“I need you to go back there one more time,” said Jack. “I need some help moving something heavy, and I want you to watch on the video while I try something.”
“That’s great, so you need help while you do stuff and things? Real clear there, Jack,” said Stephen.
“It’s no big deal, it’s just hard to describe,” said Jack. “Easier to show you.”
The Boy
The boy stepped down the stairs and paused at a landing. He wished he could find a window or door, but the stairs continued down and he had spent enough time in the basement of this building to know that he didn’t want to ever go back there again.
Struck with indecision, he looked back up the stairs towards the room with the dead cat. Before the spikes had impaled it, the cat had been eating, so somebody must come to this part of the building. The man might be very close to him right now, and anyone close could have heard the awful noise the cat had made while dying.
He shook his head and tried to get that sound out of his head. Back in the chair, he had learned to control his panic. Now, he found himself fighting for control again. It wasn’t a battle you could win forever; panic would always come back stronger.
He sat down. He glanced back and forth—upstairs, then down. He pointed his flickering otoscope upstairs, then down. After about ten minutes of overload, he rallied. He remembered the feeling of being caught and he desperately didn’t want to experience that again. Back on his feet, he took a deep breath and headed down.
Five steps down, he discovered another landing and had to take a right. A couple more turns, through a door, and he found himself back on a cold, tile floor.
The boy took a few tentative steps down the hall. Up ahead he could see a thin strip of light on the floor along the right-hand wall. As he approached, the boy realized the light was coming from beneath a door. An electronic beep sounded above him. The red light of another camera turned on.
Despair flooded through the boy, and he felt helpless to shake it off. After everything, he stood right back in the same situation. He considered his options—he could run upstairs and try to find one of the third-floor windows he had spotted earlier. He could press further down this hall, or he could try the door.
The boy couldn't make a decision; too much weighed on his choice. He felt sleepy, and gave into the feeling. He just wanted to sit down for a minute, to think it all through. The boy leaned heavily on the wall as his legs weakened. He slid down the wall and dropped his head to his chest. His left hand flicked off the wavering otoscope and his only light was leaking from under the door next him.
A loud bang startled him. He raised his eyes, but his head didn’t move. A second later, blinding overhead lights came on, forcing him to squint. He didn’t move. Another noise down the hall drew his gaze. He saw a large form approaching. He didn’t try to run.
Jack
On Monday night the boys sat in front of the television. Jack didn't pay attention to the program—something about a club of people who investigated haunted houses. He was too busy reviewing his plans.
Jack attacked problems with fierce concentration, but few things occupied his full attention for long. He relished the small number of challenges that had really taxed him. The first he remembered was a set of IQ tests his parents had arranged when he was still in grade-school.
Jack had really enjoyed the tests, but despised the idea of skipping grades. At that time, being in school with his best friend Ben was the only thing that made class bearable. When Ben transferred to a private school for fourth grade, Jack’s parents had asked him again to advance. At that point he didn't want to be the small kid in fifth grade. That extra year meant a lot at that age, and the fifth-graders intimidated Jack. So, he had stayed back and found his own ways to challenge himself.
A really good puzzle could also inspire Jack, especially if it was one posed by his dad.
The previous weeks, the puzzles of the hotel had thrilled Jack. He didn’t see danger, only opportunity. The man who had set up this whole situation, the one they referred to as “The Management,” had left specific clues for Jack, and Jack knew he could defeat The Management at his own game. Stephen remained the weakest part of Jack's plan. He needed Stephen to come along, and it seemed that he had accomplished that with his story about Albuquerque.
Tricking Stephen had been easy. Jack had produced the fake United Airlines itinerary in about five minutes—taking the logo from their website, and making up the rest. The CNN site had required more work, but not much. Jack had copied one of their headline pages to his computer and then written his own story. He took much of the text directly from the report about Gabe Vigue and then told his computer to redirect any requests for CNN back to his version of the page. He had worried that Stephen might click on one of the links on the page, exposing the facade, but by stepping in with the itinerary as soon as Stephen had started to question the details, Jack had thwarted Stephen’s curiosity.
He only needed Stephen to return to the hotel one more time.
“This is creeping me out,” said Stephen, comme
nting on the television show. “Reminds me of the hotel.”
“Let’s change it then,” said Jack, reaching for the remote.
“No, leave it,” said Stephen. “It creeps me out, but I like it—they don’t give up even though they’re spooked.”
To get to The Management, Jack needed Stephen.
The Management had painted the first clue into the portraits in the red room. They featured an older man and a boy facing each other. Jack was the boy, he reasoned, and he was facing The Management. When Jack studied the eyes of the boy in the portrait, he saw an image reflected in the painted pupils. The boy held out a child as a gift to The Management.
Jack had found the next clue in the bathroom of the second hotel room they had entered. In that room, he found recent signs of activity: a toothbrush, comb, wet towel, and a very odd painting on the mirror. When Jack stood in front of the mirror he saw his own body capped with a bull’s head. An angry bovine face looked back from atop his shoulders. Written on the lower left-hand corner of the drawing, like a signature, was the name “Baal.”
Hours of careful research had revealed Baal to be an ancient god who required child sacrifice. The ritual was brutal: his worshippers would heat up a statue of Baal until the arms glowed red and then place a child in his arms. The child would die of the burns from Baal’s embrace.
Jack read quote after quote of Baal, and started to think that he had seen that name somewhere before. In a bright flash, the answer came to him. A little over a week before, Jack had stayed up most of the night decoding the letter from The Management. One of the details he could never decipher was the pattern of the sentences. The letter contained seven sentences per paragraph, and in each, the first letters of sentences spelled out “IAMBAAL.” Jack added spaces to that phrase to make it “I am Baal.”
Stephen wasn’t quite as young as Baal would prefer, but Jack figured it would be close enough to get him into The Management’s presence. Jack thought through his itinerary one more time and decided he had planned enough. Now he needed to turn off his brain and just relax—tomorrow would be a tough day, and he would need his rest.
