The Fort

by Aric Davis

  “Fine,” said Ashley, her eyes already focused on the TV, her lipstick-stained cigarette dangling from her fingers. “Yeah,” seconded Alisha. “Of course you are. You’re never home unless it’s time to eat. You might be older than us, but you sure act like a kid. All you do is run around in the woods with your stupid friends. You’re totally wasting your summer.”

  “All you two do is watch TV,” said Luke. “And apparently now you smell bad doing it.”

  “Luke,” said Ashley. “You have no idea what we do when you’re not around.” She stubbed her cigarette in a foil ashtray and returned her focus to the television. “Yeah,” said Alisha, punching out her own butt. “We have big plans, and you don’t have a clue.”

  Luke turned from them, let the door slam shut, and began to walk to the fort. When he got there he dropped his Sprite cap on the ground and began to climb the ladder. Just like the cap on the ground, he was alone in the woods.

  Scott walked to the mailbox, one last thing to do before he could rejoin his friends. Lunch had been boring as usual, no one was home to talk to, and there was nothing good to watch on TV during the day. This summer sucks so far. The target was supposed to give them days of fun, but all it really did was show them that make-believe went only so far.

  He watched as a police cruiser rolled slowly down the street toward him, followed closely by a matching car that was missing police markings. The cruiser slipped past him, but the other car eased to a stop across the street, even with him. The cruiser stopped too. Scott gave a look behind him, but there was no one there. The driver’s window of the car without the markings rolled down, and a younger-looking guy hung out an arm holding a wallet and a piece of paper.

  “Come over here, son,” called the man in the car. “I need to ask you a couple of questions.”

  Wary of the stranger, but comforted by the presence of the definitely-a-police-car idling in front of him, Scott slowly walked into the street to the car. “What can I help you with?”

  The man in the car flipped open the wallet, and inside it was a picture of him, along with a silver badge. “I’m a detective with the Grand Rapids Police Department,” he said. “And right now, we’re looking for a missing girl. Seen anything odd out in the woods back there today?”

  “No,” said Scott. “How did you know I was in the woods?”

  The detective pointed at his shoes. They were dirty, and did sort of look like he’d been in the woods. “Oh, OK,” said Scott. “But no, I haven’t seen anything weird. I’m going back there to meet some friends, though. We can keep a lookout.”

  “What grade are you in, son?” asked the detective, who made the wallet disappear and then handed Scott a black-and-white photocopy of a picture of Molly Peterson. It looked like a school photo.

  “I’m going into seventh,” said Scott.

  “You’re tall for your age,” said the detective. “I would have figured freshman, maybe sophomore by your build. You were not at the drive-in last night, then?”

  “No,” said Scott, shaking his head. “Is Molly really missing?”

  “She is,” said the detective, who pulled the photo back into the car. The hand came back with a card, which the detective pressed into Scott’s hand. It said, “Detective Richard Van Endel” and had a phone number. “If you or your buddies come across anything in those woods, call this number. It’s my direct line.”

  “Do you think she’s back there?”

  “I think she’s somewhere, and there’s an old trail that leads from behind the screen of that movie theater.” Van Endel shrugged. “Just keep your eyes open.”

  “I will,” said Scott, as the window rolled up and the car started to move. He looked at the card in his cupped palm. Cool.

  12

  Detective Van Endel sat in Dr. Andrea Martinez’s office. Martinez was a leggy Hispanic woman with ample breasts and a beautiful caramel skin tone. She was also a lesbian, not currently dating, and took judo twice a week. Those who thought she was just an arm piece waiting for the right arm were sadly mistaken, and discovered as much quickly. Dr. Martinez had been working with the Grand Rapids Police Department off and on for the past few years, and Van Endel valued her counsel more than just about anyone else’s. This was not the first case he had asked for her thoughts on, and it was not going to be the last.

  “So give me your first impression,” said Dr. Martinez. “Is she gone?”

  “She’s gone,” said Van Endel. “But there’s more to it than that. The kids I talked to are all telling the same story, but it feels rehearsed. Not to mention, I know the shit kids get into at that drive-in. Nothing like this has ever made anyone turn tail, from what I’ve heard. I mean, a little making out goes a little too far, girl’s friends help her get away from the guy, end of story.”

  “I wouldn’t treat attempted rape quite so flippantly, Dick,” said Dr. Martinez. “The number of unreported rapes in this country—in this county—is growing astronomically. There is no use debating that.” She smiled. “Especially with me.”

  “I’m not treating anything flippantly,” said Van Endel. “My point is that there’s probably something illegal happening at that drive-in almost every day involving teenagers, and I just don’t see this big of a group of them freaking out over one girl getting groped and then leaving without a friend. I know they said they went back for her, but I don’t think they did. I just don’t think we’re getting even half the real story.”

  “What do the drive-in employees say?”

  “I talked to the crew from last night. Pretty much worst-case scenario there. Gus Lembowski was sick, and he had a couple deadbeats running the projector and the food. I’m sure they barely accomplished either one. By the time I got there, the marijuana smoke had cleared out and they were out picking up garbage from last night.”

  “Details?”

  “They saw a bunch of teens come in like they do every night that they work. I asked if a large group left early, they said that they did. I asked if they could identify any of the vehicles or people in them, they said they couldn’t, not even the make of one single car. I asked if there were any fights, or other disturbances that stuck out to them, they said no.” He rolled his eyes. “Godzilla would have to have shown up to watch a movie for those two to take notice of it.”

  “So there’s no proof the kids were there or not, right?”

  “None. Which means I have to follow the drive-in as a lead, even though my gut tells me it’s a load of crap.”

  “What does your gut say?” Dr. Martinez asked. “To go sit at Riverside and wait for him to drop her off? Not to be a bother, but aside from there being a possible female victim, this doesn’t fit with our ideas about that guy, nor does it fit the MO of those crimes. You may just have to accept that you’re not going to get the whole story from the kids. Kids’ first response is to clam up when they’re lying, and they do the same thing when they’re nervous.”

  Van Endel stood, walked to the coffee carafe on a table near the window, and poured himself a cup. He took it black, so the absence of cream wasn’t a problem. He nodded to the coffee, and she shook her head.

  “They’re lying, not nervous,” said Van Endel, still standing. “I absolutely believe there were some beers and maybe even some grass tied in with what they were up to. That could even be the reason their story smells like rotten fish. God, if she really just did run off and I’m getting the runaround because a few suburban princes and princesses don’t want Mommy and Daddy to find out they kifed a few beers from somebody’s garage…” He shook his head. “No. You know, the hell with that. I wouldn’t even be upset. Just let the girl go home, and I’m good. They can have the secrets.”

  “But what if they’re lying for another reason?”

  “Well, that, Doc, is what I keep coming back to. Like you said, my gut says to go wait in the park with a bunch of unis and see what happens.” He sat again, heavily, then set the coffee on a coaster that she placed in front of him. “Here’s wher
e I’m at. The kids are lying about something, I know it. What I don’t know is why they’re lying, or if it actually matters to the case or not. I also know that the guys who work at that fucking drive-in are idiots, and that they could have seen everything, and it wouldn’t matter. What’s your take?”

  “I think your girl was taken by someone at the drive-in,” said Dr. Martinez. “The kids all insisted that’s where they were, from what you’ve told me, and until it’s proven otherwise, that’s what you need to work with, isn’t it? Seems you’d have to stick with the drive-in angle and hope for the best. Unfortunately, it’s about all you’ve got, isn’t it?”

  “That’s about what I figured you’d say. Until someone comes forward, she walks home, or, God forbid, we find her somewhere, I’m up the river, sans paddle.” Van Endel finished the coffee and dropped the Styrofoam cup into the trash. “One more thing, Doc. I need help. Phil’s on leave…”

  “Say no more,” said Martinez, smiling. “I’ll do my best to clear my schedule, and, God willing, we’ll find your girl.”

  13

  Hooper had Amy tied to a chair in the living room, the late-morning sun falling in bands across her through the drawn blinds. She was sitting still and shaking slightly, but was otherwise unable to move. In her mouth was a gag—rags and a belt, which had proven quite effective. She was bound to the chair with a mixture of nautical rope and ratcheting straps, the straps around her chest binding her tightly to the chair. Looking at her, he couldn’t help but smile. He had his colt, now he just needed to break her.

  Hooper still smelled like smoke from the fire behind the back fence of the closed drive-in late the night before. It was in his clothes and in his hair, dirt still under his fingernails from digging. He needed a shower desperately, not to mention some sleep, but he was scared to let her out of his sight for even a moment, lest Amy try and leave again, like she’d done when he went to Southeast Asia. Having her here was as much a burden as it was a pleasure, but the risks of the situation needed to be respected. There has to be a better way to bind her up that won’t allow her to escape or hurt herself, but will also allow me to touch her.

  The thought of fucking her was not a new one for Hooper. He had been with his sister several times before he left for the war, getting to her before she was spoiled goods, the leavings of another man. The same might not be true with this Amy, but he needed to find out for himself, so that he could pleasure them both. It was going to be wonderful. He just needed to be sure of how to keep her captive before he broke down to his baser desires and took her.

  Finally deciding that she wasn’t going anywhere, Hooper began to strip off his clothing in front of her. Amy’s eyes were shut tightly, but he didn’t care. She was going to see him eventually one way or the other.

  Hooper walked to the shower and turned the water on as hot as it would go. He stepped into the still-cold stream and felt his muscles twitch reflexively. There is such peace in the shower. In the shower Hooper could be himself. He wasn’t some broken-down Vietnam vet between jobs. Under the water, he felt impossibly alive and full of hope. The finally hot water gave him clarity as it all but scalded his skin, and he realized that what he needed most, more even than a better restraint system, was a plan.

  When Hooper had taken women against their will before, it had been a temporary thing, short-term. He had initially been thinking of the same fate for Amy, but in a twist of whimsy, he’d decided to keep her for a while. That posed other risks. Carl, another vet and friend, had mentioned a week or so ago that he needed help working on his wife’s car, and Hooper had agreed to help. But how could he leave Amy alone in the house? There were a million things that could go wrong.

  Hooper hadn’t been watching the news, but if the girl really had just been playing at prostitution, it was likely that people everywhere were looking for her. There was hardly any media coverage when the other bodies were found, but a regular girl was sure to garner much more public interest than a prostitute. Though he loathed doing so, Hooper was going to have to keep up with the news. With the other whores, there had been no connection to him, nothing left on the body for some supercop to link back to him. With Amy in the house, though, there was plenty of evidence that could be used to destroy his life, and Hooper was not going to let that happen.

  So, to keep myself safe, I need for Amy to be safe. Safe would mean no possibility of escape, a perfect place and way for her to be kept and yet still be accessible to him. The basement seemed to make the most sense, but there were two windows down there, and if she escaped her restraints at night, she could possibly make her way out of the house until it was far too late for him to do something about it. If only he had planned, had considered even for a moment that he might someday want to keep one of them. It was no wonder that he hadn’t, though. They were so expendable, like the girl he’d killed the night before.

  Hooper had taken her just to cover his tracks, in case Amy was telling the truth and her friends gave up to the police what they’d been up to and where she’d really been. If they did, someone was going to have seen his car, maybe even remember the license plate number if he was really unlucky. The burned body by the drive-in could change all that, slow down the investigation as the sands of truth fell to the bottom bell of the hourglass. If the friends she claimed to have been with kept up the lie for even a few days, the discovery of the body would make it unnecessary for them to tell the truth—as far as they knew, their friend would be dead, so why get themselves in trouble? Hooper still wasn’t sure exactly what game had been afoot, he just knew that it had allowed him to take Amy, and for that he was grateful.

  The shower ran cold, and Hooper bent to turn it off. They never seemed to last long enough, and he could feel the clarity from the solitude of the running water falling swiftly away. He dried himself quickly and hung the towel on a hook next to the shower. He considered going to the bedroom to get clothes, but instead walked back to Amy. I can shop for what I need tomorrow. Now I want to be with her. Her eyes widened as he entered the room, and he could see her struggling with the chair. He smiled to himself as he circled behind her bound form.

  “You need to learn to calm down,” said Hooper. Not for the first time, he wished he’d learned something of medicine in Southeast Asia, but he hadn’t. NyQuil might do the trick. If it didn’t, booze would. “I can get something to help you relax,” said Hooper. “But for right now, how about something to eat?” He ran his fingers through her hair, and she jerked away from him. “You’ve got to be hungry,” he said, cupping her chin and looking into her eyes. She was tearing up, no longer feeling tough. For Hooper, seeing her already beginning to crack was like receiving a gift from God. “Good girl. I’ll make you some toast, and if you can eat it and don’t try and scream, maybe we’ll talk about what I need from you.” She nodded her head slowly, tears streaking her cheeks. Perfect.

  14

  “I still don’t think it means anything,” said Luke. “So some detective is driving around and asking questions, so what? That’s just his job. I say she turns up in a day or so, tired and maybe still a little hungover.”

  “It’s not like all we want to do is go rummaging around the woods,” said Tim. “But we would be, like, the coolest if she were lost back there, or hurt or something, and we found her.”

  “Or dead,” said Luke. “Or say we do play cops, like you guys want, and we find her with her guts torn out? Have either of you thought about that? You know, considered the actual bad parts of this, and not just thought, Oh, cool, cops are at my house? Where I live, the cops’ being at your house is really uncool. The reality is that if she is out there, she’s probably dead, and I’m not going to lie, I don’t need to see that.”

  “What crawled up your ass?” Scott asked. “So what if we think it’s cool that we got to talk to the cops or whatever? It is pretty cool.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Look,” said Tim, trying to bring reasonableness back to a normally very reasonable Luk
e. “We don’t need to do anything. If we decide we want to go look for clues or whatever, we’ll do it as a group. Just like everything else that we do, and you know that,” he said, pointing at Luke. “But what is it with you lately?”

  “What do you mean?” Luke asked, but he kept his eyes on the floor.

  “I don’t know what I mean, but you’re, like, all…I don’t know, lately. Something’s going on with you. It’s obvious. If you want to tell us what’s really going on, I wish you’d just go for it.”

  “It’s everything, OK?” Luke said hoarsely, his friends thinking that he might actually cry, and how scary that might be. Crying was for skinned knees, not emotional breakdowns. “Everything in my life is getting so fucked up. You want to know something crazy? I made my sisters’ lunch like an hour ago, and you know what they were doing? Smoking. They’re eleven years old and they smoke cigarettes, and apparently my mom is totally fine with it. They don’t have to do anything but sit around and watch TV, and I have to do everything. Plus, my mom doesn’t work, and she’s never home. Even when she’s there, she’s on the phone all the time, just totally forgetting the fact that she has these three kids she’s supposed to take care of. Plus, she’s fucked up all the time. And not like when one of you guys’ dads has too many beers or whatever. I mean she gets really fucked up, like, pisses her pants or throws up on herself.”

  There was a long moment when none of them talked or looked at each other. The sounds of the forest trickled into the fort, and then a lawn mower started up somewhere.

  Finally Scott said, “That sucks, man. Seriously. But if it helps at all, no one has a perfect life. At least you see your dad a few times a year. I never see mine. And don’t tell me how that doesn’t count because Carl’s cool. Carl isn’t my dad, and he never will be—he’s just Carl. So yeah, if I went through all the rotten stuff in my life, I bet I could feel pretty bad for myself too, but I don’t. Not everybody has it easy like Tim.”