The Boys Who Danced With the Moon

by Mark Paul Oleksiw

  OVERTURE

  The fabric of the night sky is often thick and heavy, capable of burying any light that tries to emerge. Many horrors fester beneath this shadowy cloak only to be exposed by the morning sun. Such was the case this warm June night—at least that was Dr. Eva Garder’s fear as she parked her car on the grassy shore of a stampeding river. She knew when the sun came up that the tragedy of the night would be exposed. She wondered what awaited her in these pre-dawn hours, as she closed her car door. Her training taught her that true horror was not the sight of bloody or torn bodies. In her world, horror was measured in the number of tears in a teenage soul.

  “Dr. Garder! Sorry to trouble you at this hour.” Middle-of-the-night phone calls from the chief of police were as rare as they were unwelcome. Eva knew immediately from the tone of Chief Larval’s voice that the situation was grave.

  She looked past the broad shoulder of the chief to the activity behind him and up the hill that the led to the forest. She took in the surroundings while remaining focused on the chief. Somewhere along the way, the twenty-plus years of experience as a psychiatrist would assemble the pieces for her. “I’m here to help, as always. What happened? Did someone drown in the river? One of the local kids?”

  “Unfortunately, we think so.”

  “You think so?”

  “We haven’t found a body yet. The currents are pretty strong, and who knows if we’ll find anything before winter, to be honest.” He looked at her dejectedly, scratching his nose with each syllable.

  “What do you mean no body? Then how do you know someone drowned?”

  “There were two boys that came out of that river, but from what witnesses say, three went in. When my team arrived, we found the two lying by the riverbed, one unconscious.”

  “Good lord, where are they?” Just then, Eva remembered an image of an ambulance speeding by her in the opposite direction on the main road leading to the hospital as she drove here. Part of her question was answered.

  “One of the boys is barely alive. The paramedics did a helluva job just to get him to the hospital. We won’t know for sure for a while. He was unconscious and had a shitload of water in him.”

  “Oh, no! What about the others? I presume that’s why I’m here.”

  “One is very much alive, and, I suppose, doing as good as expected. He’s the one who saved the kid in the ambulance, or so we think.”

  “Where is he? I’m guessing there’s more to it.” Eva could tell by the hesitation in the chief’s words and his quicker-than-usual speech that he was trying to grasp the sequence of events himself.

  “He’s being uncooperative. He refused to tell us who he is, so we can’t even call his folks. But some boys witnessed the whole thing and called 911 from the grocery store nearby. They disappeared as soon as the paramedics and firefighters got here. They told the 911 operator three boys went into the river. The third one probably was swept away. They didn’t want anyone to know who they were. The callers, I mean.”

  “But you know, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, one of my guys saw a couple of local drug dealers lurking around, watching from a distance. Advantage of our small town, it’s hard to hide here.”

  “What are you thinking? Drugs were involved?”

  “Maybe. Might be a drug deal gone bad or some kids getting high and ending up in the river.”

  “Chief, with all due respect, we should not jump to such conclusions.” Eva’s tone sharpened. Teenage issues were not always drug-related, nor were teenagers always up to no good.

  “Sure, but I get paid the big bucks to jump to those conclusions.” Just as Chief Larval finished his statement, a plainclothes policeman came running up behind him.

  “Chief, excuse me, we found something you need to see in some shrubs near where we think these boys went in.”

  “A body?”

  “No, sir. We found this old haversack. We didn’t open it. We figured you’d want to see it first.”

  The chief eagerly ripped the bag out of the hands of the younger subordinate. “Thanks. I know what we’ll find in here.” A broad smile raced across his face while he fumbled for the opening of the bag. He brought the open bag to his face with his chin almost leaping forward. After a second or two, his smile retreated, and his left hand dove inside, feeling around the bag. His face became blank and expressionless.

  “Hmm, Chief, seems you found what you may not have been looking for.” Eva tried not to let sarcasm seep into her voice. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the young plainclothesman wink at her. Crap, she thought. He heard it.

  “Here. This situation may be up your alley.” Chief Larval handed her the bag while rolling his eyes.

  She took the haversack and gently opened it wide enough to see its contents. She raised her eyebrows quickly as she reached in and with great care pulled out a large notebook filled with page after page of loose paper trapped between the bound pages. She opened up the notebook and came upon a folded page at the front. Carefully unfurling the page, she read it, her eyes widening with each word. She quickly refolded the paper and tucked it back in before delicately placing the notebook back inside its keeper.

  “I need to see the boy right away.” She handed the bag back to the chief. “Take good care of this—someone will want it back.”

  “I honestly thought we would find drugs in there.”

  “No, Chief. This is not about drugs or alcohol.”

  Chief Larval shook his head dismissively. He knew better than to challenge her, though. “I’ll take care of it. The boy you’ll find over there.” He pointed about one hundred yards away to a clearing near the riverbank.

  Emboldened by the task at hand, Eva made her way to the figure sitting alone. Her eyes studied him while she committed to memory any movement or gesture made by the teenager as she approached. There was minimal activity to observe. The boy had a maroon-colored blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He sat on the grass with his knees bent and his legs spread apart. His eyes stared into the distance. Were they hypnotized by the moon, water, or trees along the riverbank? It was impossible to tell. Even when she was within a few feet of him, he didn’t budge, not even to acknowledge her entering his space. She paused and stood a few feet from him, her eyes intensely focused, like a student studying minutes before a final exam.

  She could see his face trembling and lips quivering. The river odor settled under her nose. Droplets of water occasionally trickled down his cheek. His brown hair, almost the color of night, remained wet and matted. His shoulders were broad and the blanket barely covered him. He wore a curious-looking jacket, faded blue jeans, and a cross around his neck. Even from his profile, she could see the blank stare, looking at everything but finding nothing. In her world, this was pure horror. No blood, no severed limbs; everything missing and nothing left. She pursed her lips to stifle a sigh. The task ahead would be daunting. It was not often that she couldn’t find the right words, but this was one of those times. The boy then shivered slightly and his first movements were to adjust the blanket on his back, pulling it tighter against his body.

  A maxim that came less from formal training and more from her fundamental beliefs formed the words that tumbled out of her mouth. “The moonlight accents the beauty of the flowing water. It reminds me of how timeless this planet is. The water searching for an even bigger body to merge…” she paused, waiting for the words to be fully absorbed. “I can’t imagine how you must feel. Sitting here with an infinite sky above you and a lonely river at your feet, only to be here by yourself, with a blanket not large enough to keep you w
arm, and a friend in an ambulance and another in the river.” She waited again, this time extending the seconds between words. “Yes, with a bigger blanket you would be at least warm. You deserve better for saving your friend.” Her hands slid around her waist, and her fingers entangled themselves behind her in hope.

  The words drifted out of the young man’s mouth as a ballet dancer flutters across a room. He didn’t move or twitch as he spoke. His eyes remaining fixed and searching directly ahead.

  “All he wanted was to dance. You know. He kept hearing this music and thought it sucked for no one to be dancing to it.”

  Eva smiled meekly. “Your friend, he liked to dance? He wanted to dance?”

  In a voice lacking any hint of emotion, he replied, “It was under a moon, like tonight, that he got us to dance with him.” There was a discernible sigh. “We didn’t dance very long or very well.”

  Eva moved closer and crouched down until she was next to him, staring out at the stars, in the same manner as he. “Your friend, the dancer, is he the one they took to the hospital?”

  “Well, not really. Not better than me anyways. The dancer is gone. We tried to save him. My friend did his best to save him.”

  “I’m sure you did, too. These waters are very dangerous this time of year.”

  “Will he survive, my friend who they took? I need to know. He tried so hard in the water. He almost gave his life and would have, too. I had to pull him up with all my might.” He turned now to face her. His eyes, bleary and tired, glared at her intensely.

  “The doctors and nurses will do everything in their power to make sure he survives. Equally important, how are you? I imagine your parents are worried.”

  “I don’t think you understand. My friend has to make it. He has to.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what happened tonight? How you saved your friend from the river—I am sure that’s quite a story. Maybe you’ll tell me after we call your parents.”

  The boy grew silent. His fingers slid along the grass, pulling out blades and squeezing them in his hands. “I’m not good at telling stories, at least ones with any truth to them.” He chuckled ever so slightly. “He’s the storyteller. Yes, he can put the words around it for you to understand what happened tonight. I could never do it.”

  “I’m sure you can tell me in your words. I have no doubt you could.” She leaned over and gently placed her hand on his shoulder.

  The boy sprang up quickly and took two strides toward the river before stopping and turning back to her. “I will make a promise to you. If you can make a promise to me.”

  “I’m not too good with promises. I do have a Ph.D. in listening.”

  “Well, if you save him, he’ll tell you the story. He’s the only person I want telling the story of what happened. You have to save him, though. My friend has to live.”

  “If he tells me the story, is he the type who likes his stories with happy endings? Is that why he should tell it?”

  He threw his head back and seemed to search the sky. His hands dug into his front pockets, and he shrugged. “Yesterday that answer was clear. Tonight and tomorrow, I don’t think so. What I do know for sure, more surely than anything in my heart, is that I would give anything to hear him tell that story.”

  Eva smiled at him. “I’m sure the story will include dancing, too.”

  “My friend would reach for the moon. Shit, I believed he could. The night sky is just charcoal, and if you reach too high, it smears your hands, your lungs, and everything until all you are is stained.”

  The blanket slipped off his shoulder, but he seemed to pay it no mind as he said, “Or even dead.”

  PART 1: A SILENT MOON

  CHAPTER 1

  My Hometown, June 2006

  When I opened my eyes, pure terror took over. I searched my memory for a picture or image resembling my current surroundings and came up empty. I was on a soft brown fabric couch in what appeared to be an old, dingy living room. There was a hint of cigar smoke from years past seeking escape from the furniture. The banisters and moldings consisted of burgundy-colored oak last stained decades ago. The floors were hardwood and bore the signs of thousands of footsteps. The smell of sweet but subtle perfume—the scent of a freshly peeled apple— briefly put my mind at ease and was the only touch of the present in the air.

  My shoes were neatly placed near the couch. Thankfully, I was fully clothed. My mind was overrun with clouds, my thoughts gasping for air and troubling me to no end. I studied my clothes and determined I was wearing what I had on when I left my starkly furnished apartment the previous evening. But where was I—and how did I get here? What happened?

  I sat upright on the edge of the couch and cupped my hands to support my head. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes, pumped by my fear. Memory loss and lost time were not strangers to me. This wasn’t the first time that I couldn’t recall what happened to me, but the feeling of not having any control of myself still frightened me. I was startled when a feminine voice bellowed from behind me, almost from another world.

  “How are you doing this morning?” A long silence followed before the voice continued. No doubt my bewilderment was evident to her. “Do you remember what happened? I brought you here. You don’t need to be scared,” she said in a steady but tender voice.

  For some reason, I did feel reassured. It was a fresh voice to me. I slowly turned to see who brought me here. The young woman could not have been more than five foot three or four with wavy, reddish hair and green, sparkling eyes. She looked like she was in her early twenties. There was something odd about her—I felt a familiarity that I couldn’t pinpoint to any place or moment. Obviously, my being in her house without a plausible explanation was bizarre.

  “Sorry. I’m really confused. Who are you, and how did I get here? I guess I blacked out?” My tone was blunt, and I regretted it immediately.

  “Well, you do have a curious way about getting a girl to take you back to her place. I can tell you that much.”

  I took her comment quite seriously. Not wanting her to think I orchestrated something I didn’t, I quickly shook my head. “Honestly, this isn’t some come on. I mean, I’m quite a bit older than you and . . .” She was attractive in a curious, though awkward, way. Her eyes seemed to change color as she spoke. I couldn’t look into them because I felt like if I did, they’d devour me whole.

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes. I can tell you’re getting on in years . . .” My fear must’ve been obvious because her playfulness came to a halt as if on cue. “You got sick last night and passed out at the pub. You were lucky I happened to be there. The manager threatened to call the police.”

  “Shit! I didn’t drink anything potent at all. Did I? How did it happen?”

  “You weren’t drinking anything stronger than an iced tea, but you just fell over. They checked you for identification. I was sitting nearby so I told them I knew you and would get you home. A couple of other customers helped you into my car. The California driver’s license threw the manager off a bit. You’re quite a way off the grid.”

  “You didn’t have to go to all that trouble. Look, let me know how I can repay you and I’ll get out of your hair.”

  “No worries at all. You seemed like a nice enough guy.” She crouched down and studied me carefully. A tight smile stretching across her lips.

  Uncomfortable under the scrutiny, I looked around for some exit.

  “Sorry, I’m a psych major at the university. I like to observe. Maybe I take my training too seriously. I know it’s a little unnerving. Half the time I don’t even realize I’m doing it.”

  “No problem. I get a lot of people trying to understand me. Hell, not even I understand me sometimes.” Realizing I said way too much, I pulled myself up off the couch and as I did, two surprisingly strong arms pushed me back down. This stranger seemed to know how to probe and the art of gen
tle interrogation was one skill she appeared to have mastered.

  “Slow down! People do not black out like you did for no reason. Like I said, you barely drank anything. At least come to the kitchen and have breakfast with me.”

  “You’ve done too much already . . .”

  “I don’t think you get it. You have two choices. Either at least settle in for breakfast so I know you’re fine, or I’m calling an ambulance for you right now.”

  My natural inclination was to flee. Embarrassed by my weaknesses and in the house of stranger, running was the logical option. Yet when I looked at her, I recognized something in her smile and eyes that calmed me. It would be days before I understood why. “Easy choice,” I declared sheepishly.

  She walked away, giving me an opportunity to study her. I noticed she dressed very conservatively. She wore a red sweater and black jeans with a barely noticeable amount of makeup. There was an undeniable mystery surrounding her. I did remember going to the pub, and I recalled a redhead sitting nearby. Trying with complete focus, I visualized getting into a car, but that’s where the memory ended.

  As I got up to walk to the kitchen table, I glanced around the room. It featured relatively few modern surroundings interspersed with more antique features, including quite a few books on a shelf. In the corner of the room was a small desk with a computer. It was the kind of place you would expect from a student, which eased my cynical mind. I had enough on my plate, both literally and figuratively, without fearing this woman.

  The smell of eggs, bacon, and coffee was a welcomed treat. It seemed like ages since I’d had a hearty breakfast and I was famished. Back in California, Avery was a decent cook, but by the time I got anything, reheating was often required. Rob and Avery’s leftovers were nevertheless appreciated, if sparse. I sat down at the kitchen table, the stranger across from me with a grapefruit on her plate. She noticed my eyes shifting as I grew fascinated as to why she was eating something different and far healthier.

  “I don’t really eat breakfast. I just guessed it was what you would like. I suppose I was right,” she said with her eyebrows raised as I finally lifted my gaze up from my dish. The breakfast was beyond appetizing.