Under the Overtree

by James A. Moore

  “She’ll tell me herself, I know how to ask questions, but I wanted to do it without hurting her.” The boy’s voice was tight, barely a whisper. “Please answer me, I don’t want to have to ask her.”

  Crowley shook his head. “You never take no for an answer, do you Tyler?”

  “Not as a general rule, no.”

  Crowley looked at the boy for a very short time and the turned away again. “Learn to accept no, Tyler. Sometimes it’s the only answer someone is willing to give.” He turned back to Tyler’s petulant face, his smile back in full force. “And don’t bother asking Ms. Scarrabelli. I made sure she wouldn’t remember. It’s best that way.”

  Tyler turned crimson, his whole body shaking with barely contained rage. “You son of a bitch. I’ll find out with or without you. You just watch, asshole.”

  Jonathan Crowley rocked back on his heels as if someone had slapped him. In a heartbeat his hand was back to deliver a punishing slap to Tyler’s face. Tyler’s eyes grew wide, but he held his ground. Crowley’s hand went back to his side. “All right. You win, Tyler, I’ll tell you what she said.” Tyler did not look victorious, he looked afraid. “She told me it was Mark Howell that raped her. She told me he raped her in every way possible. She told me it felt like it went on for hours. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  Tyler fell to his knees, all color drained from his face.

  Crowley knelt beside him and placed a hand on Tyler’s shoulder. Tyler tried to shake the hand away, but it maintained its grip just the same. Finally he was forced to look Crowley in the face. “Tyler, I’ve looked at the sheriff’s report on the rape. Lisa was found by Mark Howell and Cassandra Monroe. They had been together all night. They had been in Denver until twenty minutes before they found her. They even had four adult witnesses to confirm where they were. Your sheriff was very thorough in his questioning. It couldn’t have been your friend Mark. It was either someone who looked like him, or she doesn’t remember it properly.”

  Crowley helped Tyler to his feet. The boy’s face had lit up with a vague sense of renewed hope. His eyes begged for further reassurance. Crowley could give him none. “I didn’t think the girl would want to remember what she had done to her. I know I wouldn’t if I was in her place. Don’t tell her who it was. Just be there if she needs someone to talk to.”

  Crowley turned away and Tyler let him. Tyler wanted to say something, almost anything at that moment. The words refused to come. He watched as Crowley walked away. He didn’t know whether to hate the man for telling him, or to love the man for letting Lisa have her life back. In the end, he went back in to be with Lisa.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  1

  Jennifer Howell pulled her Volkswagen Rabbit into the small parking lot on Main Street’s right hand side and parked. It was too late in the day to go into Denver and still be home by the time Joe arrived, so Marty’s would have to do. Marty’s Art Mart didn’t have a very large supply of quality art products that she could use, but Marty had the sense to at least fully stock his place with the charcoals and paper that she needed to complete the rough drafts for The Bunny’s Big Day. From her own point of view, the story was a waste of paper, but the money for her work was just as spendable as it would be on a good tale and it was just a children’s book after all.

  Jenny gave contemplation to maybe writing a few children’s books of her own as she walked into Marty’s. Marty waved and smiled from where he sat behind the counter, Jenny waved back as she headed for the pencil selections. Normally Marty flirted incessantly, but today he was stuck on the phone, making an order apparently. Jenny was glad of that, the man was a pig. The bell above Marty’s door jangled as another customer walked in. Jenny paid no attention. Like most newcomers to Summitville, she had learned quickly that the average citizen in town had no desire to speak with someone who had not been born there. She plucked several pencils from their neat little containers and headed towards the art paper in the next aisle.

  Jenny almost walked into the man standing in front of the Bristol board. “Sorry,” she mumbled as she reached for the largest size Marty kept in stock.

  A hand landed on the paper even as she touched its edge. She looked up, startled by the sudden appearance of the obstacle. Jonathan Crowley smiled in her face. “No problem. Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want this pad?” The voice was pleasant and apologetic. Jonathan Crowley held the pad of paper out to her, she took it quickly.

  “Thanks.” The man made her nervous. Jenny found herself looking towards Marty for comfort, his back was turned towards her as he looked over the papers in his hand, mumbling into the phone.

  “Is it just a hobby, or are you a professional artist?”

  “A little of both, really. I make some side money doing illustrations for children’s books and the occasional science fiction or horror magazine.”

  “Which do you prefer, the kiddie books or the horror stuff?”

  Jenny felt herself relax, the man was just making pleasant conversation. Christ, she thought, I’m acting as bad as the town folk around here. The poor guy was obviously a stranger in town and she was damned if she’d simply give him the brush off like so many people had done to her when she first got here. “Actually, I think I prefer the horror and sci-fi. More interesting than drawing bunnies and ducks all day long.”

  Jonathan Crowley laughed pleasantly and was rewarded with a smile from Jenny. “I can certainly understand that. You can only draw so many cutesy animals before you want to start drawing them as road kill.”

  “Are you an artist Mister…?”

  “Oh, sorry. I’m Jonathan Crowley and you are?”

  “Jenny Howell. Nice to meet you. Are you an artist, Jonathan?”

  Jonathan Crowley smiled bashfully and shook his head. “No, I am just an admirer of the ones who actually have talent. Say, did I ever see any of your work in Phantasma?”

  Jenny brightened immediately, she had worked on several issues of that little magazine before it went under. “You might have, any particular issue come to mind?”

  “Yeah, there was this one issue with P.J. Sanderson, had a really nice double page spread that went with the title of his novella. What was the name of that…? Oh yeah, The Stained Window. That’s what it was called.”

  Jenny smiled even wider and the man reciprocated as she spoke. “Yes! I did that one a long time ago! I’m flattered that you remembered.”

  “Oh, It couldn’t have been that long ago, I mean how old are you, twenty-four, maybe twenty six?” That brought a flush of pleasure to her face. “Oh, I’m being rude, I always forget you’re not supposed to ask a lady her age.”

  “I’m a little older than I look, flatterer. But thanks for the compliment.” She felt fifteen again, it had been a long time since anyone had flirted with her so well, instead of just leering like Marty behind the counter. It was nice to be flirted with; she was only thirty-one, but sometimes she felt worlds older with only Joe and Mark around to talk to. “So, what do you do for a living Mister Crowley?”

  “Please, keep it to Jonathan, Mister Crowley was my father. I do freelance reviews for a couple of literary magazines and sometimes even for the Syndicated Press. That’s actually one of the reasons I’m here, I met Phil Sanderson at a convention a few years ago and I thought I might try my luck with an interview.”

  Jenny’s pulse raced a little quicker, as she thought of her son’s upcoming book. “Really? You know we have another writer here in town. Mark Howell. His first novel is due out at the end of September. I bet he’d love to meet you.”

  “Mark Howell? Don’t tell me a pretty young woman like you is already married?” The wink he threw took the dangers of this becoming an actual pass instead of just harmless flirtation out of the air. Jenny smiled and tapped him on the arm.

  “Yes I am married, but Mark’s my son, not my husband.”

  Crowley’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “Your son? What is he, a child prodigy in literature?”

  “No,”
Jenny laughed, “actually you might say he’s the protégé of your friend Mr. Sanderson. I saw the original draft of what he wrote and I can say in all honesty the book would never have had a chance if it hadn’t been for P.J.. The man is practically a saint with the amount of time that he spends with Mark.”

  Somehow the art supplies got left behind as the couple walked out of Marty’s Art Mart. Inside of twenty minutes they were chatting pleasantly about where they had grown up and what it was like where they were now. Inside of an hour, Jonathan Crowley had been invited to dinner at the Howell residence.

  2

  Rick Lewis hated William DeSilva the moment he laid eyes on him, but he hid it as well as he could. The man positively screamed “academic snob” in the way he acted and dressed. His hair was swept back in a swirling mass that looked like a lion’s mane and his clothes looked like they were fresh out of the most recent issue of GQ magazine.

  Jackie was obviously infatuated with him and although he had no delusions of their accidental one night stand becoming a long term relationship, the way she swooned when the man approached made Rick want to scream. His ego was small enough in this little town without the one woman he’d had sex with in the last two years stepping towards another man as if he was chopped liver.

  Just to add to Rick’s discomfort, the son of a bitch was incredibly nice. He was all too eager to help and all too eager to meet Jonathan Crowley. “If he is my old teacher, I’d like to see him again. If he isn’t, at least it was worth the effort. The man simply seemed to drop off the face of the earth a few years ago.”

  “Well, I don’t even know how to contact him, but hopefully he’ll show up. He was here just yesterday and I imagine he’ll pop back around to see Lisa Scarrabelli or maybe her brother.” Jackie had explained about the unfortunate accident that Tony’s face had experienced on their way over to the clinic.

  “Well, frankly from what I’ve heard about the man, I’d have to guess that he isn’t my old teacher.” William DeSilva frowned as he pulled his Meerschaum pipe from inside his jacket. Sheer willpower allowed Rick not to fall to the ground laughing. Of course, naturally he’d have a Meerschaum! God help me, I bet he drinks only cognac! With an effort, Rick managed to ask him why he believed this couldn’t be the man. “Well, it’s not the sort of thing I usually think about when it comes to John, but he always walked with a cane.”

  Rick looked over quizzically and finally asked the question that silence demanded. “Why was that?”

  “The old boy had a false right leg. Lost it in Korea I believe.”

  “Yeah, I’d say that eliminates his being you’re professor from college, Will. I’m sorry to have bothered you with all of this.”

  “Nonsense. No bother at all. Gets me out of that stuffy old classroom for the day and I get to spend a little time with one of my favorite students.” He smiled at Jackie and Jackie smiled back. Rick gave serious contemplation to throwing up.

  Well, wouldn’t Chuck be glad to hear about this. The man wasn’t a renowned specialist in the occult after all. Rick frowned at the thought, he hadn’t heard from Chuck Hanson in over fifteen hours and lately that was something of a record. He made a mental note to call Chuck later, right after he lost the good professor.

  3

  Jonathan Crowley beamed across the dinner table at Mark Howell. Mark smiled back and then quickly looked back at his spaghetti dinner. The man was making him nervous. Just as quickly, Crowley looked over at Joe Howell and winked slyly. “Handsome lad you have there, Joe. Must make you proud to be a father, what with him already having sold a novel.”

  Joe smiled back, always eager to entertain a well known or even little known book reviewer to whom he could send copies of the books he published. “Well, I really can’t take much of the credit, Jenny here did all of the raising. I normally didn’t have a chance to spend too much time with Mark while he was doing most of his growing.”

  Joe looked over at Mark, hating himself for the truth in those words. Mark busily played with his food, pushing piles of pasta from one spot to another. Apparently Jenny’s prize catch of the day noticed, because he broke in just before the moment could become awkward. Joe thanked him silently. “Mark, why don’t you tell me a little bit about your novel? Who knows, I might even be able to give it a good review in Fangoria.”

  That got the boy’s attention. Mark lit up like a bonfire and started talking about the novel. Jonathan Crowley listened and even asked questions in all the right places. Joe looked over at Jenny and smiled. She smiled back and the two of them did that parental conversation without words trick that so many long time couples seemed able to do. He told her what a wonderful thing she had done for building their son’s morale and she told him that she knew she had done a wonderful thing while suggesting that he get the man’s address so he could send him advance copies of the books that were published in his department.

  The night went on until, before anyone really knew it, it was just before midnight and Jonathan said he had to leave. Mark ran upstairs to get a Xerox copy of his novel in its proposal form for Crowley. Joe took that moment to thank him for his time and trouble. “Mark really needed the morale boost, he’s been in a daze for the last couple of weeks.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Joe. Besides, I may just be reviewing the first in the next wave of new authors. Who can tell?” After getting the copy from Mark, Jonathan said his goodbyes. He shook hands with Mark and Joe both and received a hug and a kiss on the cheek from Jenny.

  After he had left, Mark chatted excitedly with both of his parents about how great it would be, if he could just get a good review in Fangoria. P.J. had told him how important it was to get good reviews in magazines, especially genre magazines if you were working in a specific genre. Joe and Jenny both gave him congratulations and warnings not to get too excited, but the warnings bounced off of him like bullets off of Superman. Nothing could bring him down now. Nothing in this world.

  4

  P.J. wasn’t really surprised to see Jonathan Crowley sitting next to his bed. Scared, but not surprised. As he sat up and turned on the light, Crowley handed him a cup of coffee, just the way he liked it with lots of cream and sugar.

  “What the hell do you want?”

  Crowley’s upper lip creased in a bloodless smile. “Oh, I thought you and I could have a talk about your little friend Mark.”

  P.J. Frowned, little wrinkles that had just been added to his face in the last few months growing more prominent with the gesture. “What about him, Jonathan? Just once in your life, get to the point.”

  His late night guest frowned down from where he stood, as P.J. wiped the sleep from his eyes. “Really, Philly, you’ve lost a great deal of your manners lately. You were a lot easier to get along with when you were still in college.”

  P.J. threw his coffee mug at Crowley. Crowley ducked to one side and watched as it shattered against the wall bleeding tan fluids. P.J. pointed one finger in his face as he got off of the bed. “You bastard! You can go ahead and threaten me all you goddamn well please, you can beat me and you can terrify me and you can harass me, but don’t you ever lay a hand on a member of my family again!”

  Crowley held up a warding hand as the author stormed across the room in his boxer shorts. Phil Sanderson glowered at his nemesis and his nemesis smiled kindly in return. “Phil, I can tell you’re upset with me. Would this have to do with your ‘nephew?’”

  “You’re damn right it does! Where the hell do you get off doing that to a sixteen year old boy?”

  Crowley grinned a challenge and despite himself, P.J. Sanderson felt like running. “The little shit deserved it. Besides, he hit me first. I’ve still got the right to defend myself, don’t I Philly?”

  “You and I both know you could have taken him down without all the added punishments, Crowley. It wasn’t necessary for you to hurt him that badly.” The writer looked sullen now, not angry.

  Crowley flopped down on the bed, his legs crossed at the ankle and
sipped from his own mug of coffee. “You’re absolutely right, but then I figured the little shit deserved something for what he did to Mark Howell’s face.” He flashed another quick smile and looked his host in the eye. “Which brings me back to my original reason for calling on you so late at night.”

  P.J. started picking the shards of his coffee mug off of the carpeted floor, waiting for his guest to continue. After watching him finish the cleanup job by mopping the floor and wall with a dirty shirt, Crowley did. “Mark’s the one. Whatever you and your friends did when you were kids, he’s the one that’s paying for it now. Nice of you to help him with the book, but I don’t think that’s quite going to make up for what’s likely to happen to him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, if I’m too late to stop the changes going on in his body, I’m going to have to kill him.” The tone was the same he would use to discuss the weather and P.J. resented it.

  “Where do you get off making those kinds of judgments, Crowley? The boy hasn’t harmed anyone.” P.J. hated the whine that had started in his voice, but he hated the idea of this man hurting Mark even more.

  “Everyone has their calling in life, Phil. You have your writing and I have my own job. I don’t always like it, but there it is.” Crowley looked at him as with a dawning realization: “Oh, come on, Phillip. You don’t really think I want to hurt the boy, do you?”

  P.J. stared back in absolute silence.

  “I didn’t play with the wrong books, Philly, you did. I didn’t let my ‘nephew’ run around beating on the new kid in school, you did.

  “Tell me, whatever happened to Alex Harris, Philly? I know you had the time and money to look for him. What did you find? Is he alive? Did he die of a drug overdose?” The pleasant tone completely left Crowley at that moment. His voice dropped two octaves and he stood up. “What did you find out, Phil? Did you find out that his little brother arranged an accident at the age of five? Did you, maybe, find out that a few years later, his brother and his mom moved to the East Coast?”