The Hunting Tree

by Ike Hamill

  If he really didn’t want me to get in touch with the boy’s mom, he certainly couldn’t have made it any easier, Mike thought as he finally started to fall asleep. He woke himself up one more time to set his watch alarm for five-thirty. His plans for the morning didn’t involve breakfast with his old friend.

  * * * * *

  MIKE FOUND A QUIET PAY PHONE at the side of a convenience store.

  “Hello?” a woman’s voice asked.

  “Hi, I’m sorry to bother you at this hour. This is Doctor Stuart’s office, I need to confirm your address for the insurance information,” he said, making his voice more nasal and trying to adopt the monotone disinterest of a harried office worker.

  “There’s not a problem with my insurance, is there? I filled out the forms,” said Melanie.

  “No, it’s just that we have to get this out before eight, and Stephanie is out sick. I’m not sure where she put your son’s info,” said Mike. He covered the phone and spoke away from the receiver—“I think it’s on top of the desk there, can you wait for just a second, I’m on the phone with the mom now,” he said to nobody. “Sorry about that,” he said, as if returning to the call.

  “No problem, my address is three one two Maplewood, and that’s in Lisbon Falls, oh-four-two-five-two,” she said. “Don’t forget your lunch,” she said away from her receiver.

  “Thanks. Again, I’m so sorry to bother you this early,” said Mike. He hung up and wandered back to his car to consult the maps scattered across his back seat.

  * * * * *

  MIKE FOUND MELANIE’S HOUSE within an hour. The street looped around, but the orderly numbering made Melanie’s house easy to find. He parked his car out in front of her house and jogged up to the walk to raised the flag on her mailbox. Mike drove home to clean up and change his clothes. After lunch, he filled his tank, taxing his credit card yet again, and returned to her address and found the flag down—the mail had been delivered.

  This time, Mike found it more difficult to act. It had been easy to jump out and raise the flag on her mailbox. That would hardly be considered a crime. Now that he knew there was mail in the box, he figured he could simply steal a piece of junk mail to find out her name. Of all the details he remembered from the file that Ken had shown him, the name eluded him, and it was crucial to making credible contact.

  He put his car in gear and decided to drive off. Even minor theft, like a piece of junk mail, was beyond Mike. With a quick impulse he slammed his transmission back into park and jumped out. Before he knew it he was in front of her mail box, sifting through her mail. Amongst all the generic mail, two pieces bore the same name: Melanie Hunter. Mike closed the box and nearly ran back to his car, slowing his pace with an extreme act of will. Behind the wheel he panicked and though he would have to read the name again, but he took a deep breath, remembered her name, and wrote it on his pad next to her number.

  Mike drove around the small mill town and tried to imagine a giant killer stalking the streets, looking for Melanie’s little boy. He drove by a playground full of kids and wondered if one was the extinction vector he sought. The thought of being near someone so contagious didn’t bother Mike. Disease fascinated Mike, and he experienced no revulsion at the thought of it. Even so, he reminded himself to not get too close, just in case.

  When six o’clock rolled around, Mike found another pay phone, this one outside a tiny candlepin bowling alley on a quiet street.

  This time he lowered his voice, and tried to sound confident and trustworthy, like a newscaster. He tested the voice on himself as he dialed her number, this time adding star-six-seven before the number to block the caller ID. The phone rang four times before she answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Ms. Hunter?” he asked.

  “Yes?”

  “Hi, I’m Dr. Markey. Ken Stuart brought me in to consult on your son’s case. I’m a geneticist,” he explained.

  “Oh. Hello. Did you find something? I usually talk directly to Dr. Stuart,” said Melanie.

  “I know you do,” said Mike. “It’s just… There’s something I wanted to talk with you about directly, and he gave me your phone number. Is there a chance we could talk?”

  “Uh, sure. I tell you what, can I call you back in a few minutes, I’m just putting dinner on the table,” she offered.

  “No problem, but how about I call you—my office has a policy about patients and incoming calls,” he said.

  “Huh,” she said. “Okay, fine, call me in fifteen.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Hunter,” he said and hung up.

  * * * * *

  WHEN HE HAD HER on the phone again, he got right to the point—“Ms. Hunter, I’m afraid your son might be in danger.”

  “What? Shit, did you find something? Why didn’t Dr. Stuart say anything. He just said he thought everything was okay.”

  “He’s not immediately sick,” Mike said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to think that. Is your son paranoid, by any chance? Does he think someone is after him? A really big man, by any chance?”

  Mike heard nothing but a stretch of silence as Melanie considered the question. He almost interjected, but decided to wait to see how she would react.

  “Who is this again?” she asked, all business.

  “Dr. Markey. I’m a geneticist,” he said. “It’s really important that I talk to you about your son. I’m really afraid that something might…”

  Melanie cut him off - “And what exactly are you doing, calling me and asking if my son is paranoid?” she asked, raising her voice.

  “It’s part of his condition,” Mike said, attempting to sound calm and reassuring. “It’s part of what’s wrong with him. Your son, that is.”

  “I’m going to call Dr. Stuart, thank you,” she hung up the phone.

  Fuck, Mike thought, that couldn’t have gone much worse.

  He returned to his car and sat behind the wheel.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Davey

  MELANIE STOOD IN THE DOORWAY to the family room for a second before calling his name. After the uneasy phone call with Mike, she was glad to see him safe and unharmed, sitting in front of the television and eating his dessert.

  “Hey Davey, can you mute for a second?” she asked, sitting down in the chair next to the couch.

  “Sure Mom,” he said. He continued to stare at the silent TV while she talked.

  “Have you told anyone about your dreams?”

  His eyes bounced off of hers for a second and then closed slightly as they returned to the TV. “Yeah,” he said.

  “Oh? Who?” she asked.

  “John,” he said.

  “John? Is that someone at camp, or at the Center?” she asked, trying to remain casual.

  “No,” he said. She recognized the tone. “He’s my psychiatrist,” he said slowly. Melanie wondered for a second if Davey would turn into a sarcasm-machine like his sister.

  “Okay,” she said. “So you’ve told me and Dr. John. Anyone else?”

  “Nope,” he said, spooning more ice cream into his mouth.

  “And are you still having the same one? About the big man that’s chasing you?”

  “Nope,” he said again. This time he squinted a little as the word left his mouth, as if forming it hurt him a little.

  “Great,” she said, patting him on the shoulder as she stood. “Thank you.”

  At the phone, dialing Dr. Stuart’s cell phone, Melanie felt her annoyance rising to replace her earlier fear.

  “Melanie?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “I thought so. I don’t have your number recorded, but I thought I remembered it from…”

  She cut him off—“Who’s this Dr. Markey?”

  “I’m sorry?” he asked. She heard the phone shift and the ambient noise from his end of the call died away.

  “Dr. Markey? Who is he?” she repeated.

  “Damn, did he reach out to you?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said
, trying to channel her annoyance into the handset. “He called saying crazy stuff.”

  “I’m so sorry about that,” said Ken. “He’s a doctor that I had consult on your case. He’s been having a hard time recently with his personal life and I’m afraid he’s developed some really strange ideas.”

  “Well he’s got strange ideas about my son,” she said. “And did you put him in touch with Tooley?”

  “Pardon? Dr. Tooley? The psychiatrist?” asked Ken, dismayed.

  “That’s the one. How come this crazy guy is talking to my son’s psychiatrist?” she demanded.

  “He’s not, as far as I know. He couldn’t possibly know who Davey is seeing. All those records are confidential, I never showed anything like that to anyone who consulted on your son’s case,” said Ken.

  “Then would you mind telling me how Markey happens to know my son’s dreams?” asked Melanie.

  Ken was silent for several seconds, trying to process this new information. “He can’t,” he said finally. “Maybe it was some weird guess? I certainly didn’t say anything, and I can’t imagine Dr. Tooley would ever betray that trust. It’s got to be coincidence.”

  Melanie considered this while squeezing her temples. “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “Yes, completely,” he said. “Okay?”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Good,” he said. “Look, I’m actually glad you called,” he lied. “I need to draw one more sample from Davey.”

  She sighed into the phone. “Why?” she asked.

  “It’s nothing, I promise. We’re still on the home stretch with this stuff, I just wanted that one last test, and I need a fresh sample for this one.”

  “Okay. When?”

  “As soon as you can?” he asked.

  “You’re open early, right? How about before work tomorrow?”

  “We’ll be there. Name the time,” he said.

  * * * * *

  KEN STUART LISTENED TO MELANIE hang up and then closed his phone while he walked back to his living room. He sat down in the chair next to the couch, the same one he had used when talking to Mike the day before.

  “Who was it?” his girlfriend, Sharon, asked.

  Ken looked up with squinted eyes and a furrowed brow. “I need to do some tests tomorrow. Can I come by around nine?”

  Sharon laughed. “You’re kidding, right? Have you started seeing four-legged patients now?”

  “No, no,” he said, not returning her smile. “I’ve got to look at some blood and it’s not something I can send it out for. I don’t have any scopes or centrifuges or anything like that at my office. I truck all that stuff out.”

  “For a human patient?” asked Sharon. “What are you looking for exactly?”

  “I can’t say,” said Ken, shaking his head. “I really don’t know. Hopefully nothing, but I’ll know if I can look under a scope.”

  “Yeah, okay,” said Sharon. “Just give me a little notice so I can clear my techs out of there. I wouldn’t want anyone thinking you’re using veterinary equipment for people stuff. That’s frowned upon, you know?”

  “Sure,” he said. “That makes sense. I’ll call you before I swing by.”

  - Stage of the Hunt -

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  Mike

  AROUND TWO IN THE MORNING, Mike realized he couldn’t stay up all night. Coffee cups littered the passenger well of his car, but the caffeine boost didn’t last. Staking out Melanie’s house would be easier, but he didn’t want to draw attention to himself after the phone call earlier that evening. Coupled with his trouble with the police over the murders, Mike knew that one more encounter with law enforcement might earn him some serious scrutiny.

  He settled for moving his car between various parking lots and cruising slowly by Melanie’s house every hour. As he rolled down the street each time he wondered what he would see in the cool June night that might alert him to the monster’s presence. Between trips he had plotted several courses from Sebago Lake to Lisbon Falls, trying to gauge which night the monster would arrive. He had too many variables and not enough information to make a reasonable guess.

  At three in the morning, he made one more pass by the house. His car had just cleared Melanie’s driveway when he saw a light come on upstairs. Two of the four windows lit up, one brighter than the other. He saw some ambient light through the small glass inset in the front door and guessed that the light upstairs originated from a hallway. The street rose slightly uphill, so Mike simply let his car roll to a stop while he watched the windows for any movement. A shadow dimmed the brightest of the center windows and then passed. After a minute, the light shut off and Mike nudged his car down the street.

  Stabbing at the controls, he put down the rest of his windows as he picked up speed. Mike shook his head from side to side to wake himself up. The clock told him that sunrise was on its way, so he continued past the last gas station and pointed his car towards the highway so he could head home.

  When the rumble strip, cut into the shoulder of 95, snapped him awake for the second time, Mike pulled to the shoulder and got out. After relieving himself in the bushes, he grabbed a water bottle and dumped half of it over his head. He got home just before dawn.

  It felt like seconds later when Mike woke to the ringing phone. The clock read eight. When he answered the phone, Mike barely recognized his own voice.

  “Hello?”

  “Can I speak to Mike Markey, please?” asked the caller.

  “This is…” Mike began, coughing. “This is him. He. This is Mike.”

  “Hey Mike,” said the caller, “this is Bill.”

  “Bill?” asked Mike, pushing himself upright on top of his covers. He looked down to see that he was still fully clothed.

  “Bill Carson? My insurance company is suing you,” said Bill.

  “Oh,” said Mike. “Bill. I’m not supposed to talk to you. Call my lawyer.”

  Mike pulled the phone away from his ear, and tried to turn it off, but only succeeded in pressing the button marked “1.” He was about to try again, but he could hear Bill imploring him from the distance.

  “Wait, Mike? Mike? I want to talk to you.”

  He put the phone next to his ear and answered—“What?”

  “I want to offer you a deal,” said Bill.

  “What kind of deal?” Mike asked.

  “I’ll drop my claim, and my company will stop bugging you. I never thought they would go after you anyway. I figured you must have some kind of insurance.”

  “Yeah,” said Mike. He once again considered hanging up.

  “Yeah,” Bill agreed. “Anyway, I think we can work something out.”

  “For what?” asked Mike. “I don’t have anything left.”

  “You’ve got knowledge,” said Bill. “Irreplaceable knowledge. Can we meet somewhere? I want to talk to you in person.”

  Mike didn’t blame Bill for all his problems, but he associated Bill with his own failures. His instinct told him to hang up on the man, but he was intrigued and flattered by the concept of his knowledge being irreplaceable.

  “Okay,” said Mike. “You can buy me breakfast.”

  * * * * *

  MIKE NURSED HIS DECAF and chased it with plenty of water. The overdose of coffee from the night before left him feeling dehydrated and achy. He wanted to order breakfast, but didn’t want to commit to spending the money in case Bill decided not to show. When the thin engineer walked through the door, Mike called the waiter over so he could order immediately.

  “Can you give us a minute?” Bill asked the waiter as he sat down.

  “I’m ready,” Mike said, and ordered his breakfast.

  “Sorry,” said Bill. “I didn’t know you were that hungry.”

  “No problem,” said Mike. He took another sip of water and looked at his watch. “So what do you want?”

  “Well,” Bill held up his hands over the table and then laced his fingers together. He tilted his head slightly before continuing. “
I’m interested in your machine.”

  “Which?” asked Mike, pursing his lips against a fresh sip of decaf.

  “Not the amplifier, but the detector. The thing that detects paranormal?” he asked.

  Mike sat his cup down on the table and looked down at his own hands.

  “The one that burned up in your yard?” Mike asked. “That one?”

  “Yeah, kinda,” said Bill. “Really interesting design. Took me a while to figure out exactly what it was doing with that phase-locked loop, but it’s really quite an interesting combination of ideas.”

  “I don’t know the specifics,” said Mike. “I only worked on the theory. That information all died with Gary.”

  “Yeah,” said Bill, lowering his head for a second. “I pretty much figured that. I got most of my information from the notes he gave me before…” he trailed off. “You know.”

  “Funny time to bring it up,” said Mike. “I didn’t know you had notes about our invention. That would have been an interesting thing to let everyone know about during your deposition. You know, when you were under oath?”

  “I know, I know,” said Bill. “You’ve got to understand, I had just lost my house and my insurance company was investigating everything, so I didn’t have a house and I didn’t have any money from the settlement either. Hell, I still don’t have a dime from that place.”

  “So what changed?” asked Mike. “Why are you coming to me now?”

  “Oh,” said Bill. He took a deep breath. “I built one. I built one of your detector things, and I need some help figuring some stuff out.”

  Mike’s mouth hung open for several seconds before he thought to shut it.

  “It’s your invention, so I wanted to come and talk to you about what we could do together,” said Bill.

  Mike cut him off—“Why don’t you just take it? That seems to be your standard procedure.”

  “I’m trying to do the right thing here,” said Bill.

  “Wait,” started Mike. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to do, but I’ll bet it’s the right thing for you.”