Pitch

by William Ollie

  “What’d you do, son, have a blow-out?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Why don’t you throw her in the back and I’ll run you on home.”

  “Hot dog!” Jimmy wheeled his disabled bike to the back of the truck, let down the tailgate and heaved it into the bed. Then he ran around to the passenger door, jumped inside and slammed the door shut. Something smelled funny inside that pickup truck, a sickly-sweet odor that overpowered him, as he said, “What’s that smell?”

  “Oh, that?” The sheriff smiled, pulling a wet rag from under the seat as he said, “That’s this.” Then he grabbed Jimmy around the neck and forced the rag over his face, and held it there until the struggling child finally lost consciousness.

  Newton Hayes sped away from the curb. He really had to hand it to Pitch, this time. The sheriff’s uniform and the four-wheel drive identical to Nathan’s had been a stroke of genius. The child hadn’t suspected a thing, and why should he? He was just taking a ride with the sheriff, wasn’t he? Newton knew he was taking a risk by driving around in broad daylight. Anyone could’ve seen him and mentioned to Nathan they’d seen him driving around somewhere Nathan hadn’t been. Would that set him off and pull him back together? Or would the shock of what that would mean send him deeper into the funk that Pitch had been so happy to hear about? Newton didn’t care one way or another as he looked down at the frail body lying crumpled upon the floorboard, because he knew his brother’s time was running out.

  * * *

  Harbus had no idea how much time had passed since he’d been led down the stairwell. He didn’t hear the footsteps approaching, did not notice the light beneath the door as he sat cross-legged on the floor. He sat there, thinking about his mom and his dad, how long it would be before they missed him and started wondering where he had gotten off to. Or would they miss him at all? Why would they? He pretty much did whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and if he stayed out all night, they probably wouldn’t even know it.

  He hung his head down and buried his face in his hands.

  And heard a noise on the other side of the door.

  Someone was out there.

  He tried to get up, but sitting so long had left him stiff, and one of his legs had gone to sleep. By the time he’d limped halfway across the room, the door opened, and in walked Nathan Hayes.

  “Sheriff Hayes!” Harbus cried out, and hobbled a couple of feet further.

  “You all right?”

  “They got me locked in down here! Mrs. Peters asked me to help bring a trunk up here and…” Harbus stopped short, because the sheriff was grinning at him like he did when he’d pulled one of his pranks on somebody. That’s when he noticed it.

  Sheriff Hayes was bigger than him.

  Sheriff Hayes’ hair wasn’t as long as his.

  Sheriff Hayes didn’t look like a crazy man.

  “You’re not Sheriff Hayes!” Harbus shouted, and then rushed for the door while the man laughing before him hurled Jimmy Pritchard into his chest, sending Harbus stumbling backwards, tripping and falling onto Norval Jenkins, where he pushed Jimmy off him and scrambled up and away, something slimy and wet soaking the back of his shirt as he moaned and struggled to his feet.

  He ran for the door, and the door slammed shut.

  And somewhere in the basement, the laughing imposter called out, “Welcome to Mickey’s Clubhouse!”

  Wednesday Evening

  Donnie answered the telephone.

  Seconds later, his jaw dropped and his eyes grew wide. He listened for a moment or two before giving his head a rueful shake. Then he said his goodbyes, hung up and turned to his companions. “Jimmy Pritchard went to the east end after school to play with some kids. Left there about four-fifteen and no one’s seen him since. Gerald’s been all over town looking for him.”

  While Johnny and Walt rode out to the north end of town to search for Jimmy Pritchard, Donnie and Nathan headed out to the east end to talk to the kids Jimmy had been playing with, but they learned nothing. Two hours later, after looking everywhere they could think to look, Donnie and Nathan headed back to the police station, where Donnie would call Gerald Pritchard, a man he had been friends with since both were young boys, and tell him he didn’t know what had happened to his seven-year-old son.

  As soon as he hung up from that conversation, the telephone rang again.

  Donnie stared at it while Johnny Porter picked it up. “Yes, sir,” he said. “What time did he leave... Okay…Yeah, we’ll get right on it.” Johnny hung up, and faced the others. “That was Horace Butler. His wife sent their little boy to the store for milk and bread… three hours ago.”

  * * *

  Timmy Butler woke up in Mickey’s Clubhouse with Jimmy Pritchard, Gary Harbus, and thirteen dead bodies. He didn’t know where he was, or how he had gotten there. The last thing he remembered was getting a ride from the sheriff. He hadn’t thought twice about climbing in the truck. Like Jimmy, he’d been glad he wouldn’t have to walk all the way home. Overwhelmed by the smell of death and decay, Timmy looked up to see Harbus leaning over him. Oh God, Daddy’s gonna whup me now, he thought, and that was the first thing he said when he sat up.

  For the first time in what seemed like forever, Harbus laughed. “If you’re lucky your daddy’ll be whippin’ your ass tonight, huh Jimmy.”

  Jimmy didn’t reply.

  Harbus turned to see the frightened youngster staring at Norval Jenkins like he was back at the movie theater watching Blood Feast. Harbus crawled over, grabbed Jimmy by his shoulders and gently shook him. “Don’t look at him, Jimmy. And quit starin’ at those dead guys, would ya? You’re makin’ me nervous.”

  “What’re we gonna do?”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll get out of this shit. I promise.”

  “How?” Jimmy asked him, his eyes still riveted on the bodies.

  “First things first, Jimbo. First, let’s get away from them.”

  The three boys made a triangle in the middle of the floor. Legs crossed before them, their backs to Norval, Jimmy and Timmy looked to Harbus for help.

  “Where are we?” Timmy asked him. “What’re we doing here?”

  “We’ve been snatched,” Jimmy said, and went on to explain how he’d gotten a flat tire, how the sheriff happened along just in the nick of time to offer him a ride home. “I got in his truck and smelled somethin’ funny. That’s the last thing I remember.”

  “Me too,” Timmy told them. “I was comin’ back from the store, and the sheriff pulled up and asked me if I wanted a ride home.” Timmy looked at Jimmy, and then turned to Harbus. “But why would the sheriff snatch us?”

  “That wasn’t the sheriff,” Harbus said, and then proceeded to tell his story. First, he told them where they were, causing both boys to gasp.

  “How do you know that?” Jimmy asked him.

  He explained how Vonda Peters had pulled into the alley, asking him to help with the trunk. How he’d followed the old man down the long stairwell, the lights that had gone out halfway across the basement. “It must’ve been halfway, at least,” he said. “’Cause we was a long damn way from them stairs.”

  He told them how Hastie had shoved him into the room, slammed the door shut and locked it. How dark it was, and what he saw when the lights suddenly came on: Norval Jenkins and the little dead bodies. Harbus reached into his pocket and pulled out the note he’d found on the dresser.

  “Read this shit,” he said.

  While Jimmy read the note, Harbus told them about the man who had carried Jimmy into the room, how he thought he was being rescued, how the man in the uniform had tossed Jimmy onto his chest. “He looked just like the sheriff. I thought I was saved, but then I saw the look on his face, the way his eyes looked. Like he was crazy or something. That’s when I knew he wasn’t the sheriff. I don’t know who he was, but he sure as shit wasn’t the sheriff.”

  “Newton Hayes,” Jimmy whispered, and let the note drop to the floor.

  “What?”

>   “Newton Hayes, it’s got to be him, unless the sheriff’s gone crazy or something.”

  “Who the fuck’s Newton Hayes?” Harbus asked.

  “You don’t know about Newton Hayes? I thought everybody knew about that.”

  “Jesus, Jimmy, if I knew, what do you think I’d be askin’ you for?”

  “Sheriff Hayes had a twin brother named Newton. When they was both twelve, Newton got hisself snatched, just like us. And nobody ever saw him again.”

  Harbus sighed.

  In a squeaking voice, barely audible, Timmy said, “What’re we gonna do?”

  “What’re we gonna do? We’re gonna get the fuck outa here!” Harbus looked at Norval Jenkins and the little dead bodies, and knew they couldn’t just sit around waiting for someone to rescue them. Maybe it was the hopeful way Jimmy and Timmy were staring at him. Maybe the gravity of their situation was starting to sink in. Whatever it was, Harbus could feel himself coming out of it, his mind kicking into gear.

  “Look, y’all,” he said. “This is what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna get that door open, and we’re gonna see if we can’t find a way out of here.”

  “How’re you gonna do that? Jimmy asked him. “That door’s made of steel.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Yeah, right. If you can get that door open, why haven’t you already done it?”

  “You don’t think I can?”

  “No.”

  “What do you think, we’re just gonna sit here and wait for some old asshole to come get us, and maybe kill us?”

  Jimmy shrugged his shoulders, and wiped at his eyes, and Harbus looked at the two small children. “If I can get that door open, then we got us a chance, don’t we?”

  Jimmy sniffed a couple of times, nodded his head.

  “Huh?” Harbus prodded, trying to instill some hope into all of them—himself included. “Huh? What do you say, Timmy, we got us a chance?”

  “Yeah, if you shut the hell up and get it open.”

  Harbus, grinning, stood up and crossed the room. “All I need is a knife or something I can slip between the lock and the hole the bolt fits into.”

  “Bolt?” Jimmy said. “What bolt?”

  “Trust me,” Harbus said. Then, getting down on his knees and feeling the fallen policeman’s pockets: “All right!”

  “You find a knife?” Timmy said.

  Harbus grinned. “Not exactly,” he said, and then pulled a roll of bills out of Norval’s pocket.

  “Harbus, put that back!” Jimmy snapped. “It ain’t right stealing from a dead man!”

  “He can’t use it,” Harbus said, but put it back anyway, thinking he would get it later. Then he ran his hand into Norval’s other pocket and pulled out a knife.

  Harbus fumbled with the lock, turning the doorknob one way and then turning it another, analyzing the hardware, as if what kind it was made some kind of a difference.

  Harbus the locksmith, Jimmy thought. He’s gonna get us outa this?

  “You know what you’re doing, Harbus?”

  “Hell yeah, I know what I’m doin’.” Harbus grinned. “Don’t I look like I know what I’m doin’?”

  Jimmy stared at the awkward-looking seventh grader, the chicken-lipped goofus, the self-proclaimed king of the class clowns whose pranks had him teetering on the edge of his own mortality. A kid who could easily be voted most likely to get the shit kicked out of him.

  Then, turning, he grabbed the younger child’s hand, and said, “Let’s start praying.”

  * * *

  At the top of the stairs, Pitch watched his guests file into the dining room, smiling when he saw Charles Hadley, the weakest of his group. Everything seemed to be in order. The children were here, all three of them, plus the boy Vonda had lured there. As for Nathan Hayes and his so-called police force; he’d reduced them to nothing, not even a nuisance. All were here, ready to fall down at his feet, to do anything he demanded. But something was bothering him. He should be feeling excited and euphoric, like he had thirteen years ago. But he didn’t. Instead, he felt strangely unsettled and… yes, fearful.

  After finding out he didn’t have Earl anymore, he’d worried over how things might go. But he had worried for nothing, and now the hard part was over. Of course, he would’ve enjoyed putting Big Earl in his place, but with Billy Dillon, Barney Linton and Uncle Lester, he’d still had his fun. Tonight began the ritual that would culminate on Halloween, All Saints Eve, The Night of Our Master. The night that would see him receiving untold riches and power. Each time he’d come back from the cave, he had felt more powerful than the time before. Now he could sense what was just beyond his fingertips, could feel its incredible surge rushing directly at him, or was it coming for him? And if it was coming for him, what did it matter? He’d taken his turn at the wheel of fortune, now he would just have to tighten his grip and hang on for the ride. Hand resting on the railing, Pitch watched his guests move along—like cattle to the slaughter.

  This was his night.

  His time.

  He held all the cards.

  Still, try as he would, he didn’t seem to be able shake the feeling that something might still go wrong.

  * * *

  Moments after their newfound hero started working the lock, Jimmy and Timmy stopped praying. Harbus squeezed the knife in and out of the doorjamb while Timmy wiped at a steady stream of tears running down his face, and Jimmy stared straight ahead.

  Timmy’s sniffing and sobbing was distracting Harbus, and Jimmy’s silent stare on his back irritated him. But he pressed on, knowing if he gave up now they were as good as dead. He worked the knife into the doorjamb, caught the bolt but couldn’t hold it. Caught it again and said, “There it is. Eaaasy… eaaasy… aw, fuck!”

  “Gee, Harbus, you oughta be a cat burglar or somethin’,” Jimmy said.

  Harbus wondered if his dad ever had this much trouble, remembering the day the old drunk had shown him how to open a locked door using nothing but a knife. Of course, having broken into damn near every house in town, his father’d had plenty enough practice to get it right.

  “All right, you son of a bitch!” Harbus cried out, and the door swung open. “Hey Jimmy, the fuck you got to say now? Huh?”

  Jimmy and Timmy jumped up and ran for the door, but Harbus, stepping into their path, said, “Wait a minute.”

  “What do you mean, wait a minute?” Timmy shouted. “We gotta get outa here!”

  “Look, we can’t just haul ass out the door, runnin’ around and makin’ noise and shit. Y’all was knocked out when that asshole dumped you in here, but I wasn’t. That basement is huge, and dark. We’re gonna have to go slow and easy, and watch out in case somebody comes down them steps. Okay? All right?”

  “Yeah, all right.” Jimmy said, and then fell in behind Harbus.

  The basement was dark, and Harbus didn’t have a clue as to which way they should be going. He knelt down and examined the doorknob, and found there was no hole for a key. Just an ordinary door with the doorknob installed backwards. It simply locked from the outside instead of the inside.

  “Wait,” Harbus said. He turned to Mickey’s smiling caricature, turned back and pointed to his right. “We came from that direction… I think.”

  “You think?” Jimmy said.

  “Yeah, I think… I hope. C’mon, let’s go.”

  He left the door open, barely, so the light would show them the way back.

  “Jimmy,” he said. “Hold on to the back of my shirt. Timmy, you hold on to Jimmy.”

  Across the basement they walked, slowly, as if their next step might be their last. Every sound they made, everything they said, echoed through a huge cavern-like hall, so dark they couldn’t even see their feet in front of them. Every once in a while they would look back at the room to see how far they had gone.

  “Wow, I can’t believe how big this place is,” Timmy said, as they continued toward what they hoped would be the stairs.

  “It’s deep, too,” H
arbus whispered. “It took forever to get down here.”

  They forged headlong into the darkness, Jimmy wishing aloud that he had a flashlight, giggling when Timmy told him to make it a good one and get them the heck out of there.

  “Hey, y’all, whisper,” Harbus said, reminding them of how dangerous their situation was, that just because they were out of the room didn’t mean they would automatically get away. “That shit only happens in the movies, and this ain’t no mov—Ow, shit!” Harbus had walked straight into a wall.

  “Whisper, Harbus.” Jimmy laughed, and Timmy giggled.

  Sighing, Harbus said, “Damn.” He wondered where the stairs were, where they were in the basement, and if they actually did have a chance of getting away. “C’mon, let’s go.”

  “Which way?” Jimmy said.

  Harbus, shrugging his shoulders, pointed to the right. “Let’s try that way.”

  “It’s dark as a cave in here,” Jimmy said, as he and Timmy followed.

  “There’s got to be more than one way out,” Harbus said. “They’ve got to have an easier way to bring stuff down without havin’ to worry about those stairs.”

  Harbus bumped into something that struck the floor, and a loud clanging noise echoed throughout the basement. “Damn it,” he whispered. “The fuck was that?”

  “Who cares?” Timmy said. “Let’s just get on out of here.”

  “Wait a minute,” Harbus said. “We’ve gotta pick it back up. If we can’t find a way out before somebody comes to check on us, we don’t want ‘em finding anything knocked over. They’ll know we got out, and they’ll tie us up or something.”

  They felt around. A minute or two later, Jimmy found an old metal stand. “Here it is,” he said, and stood it back up.

  “The fuck is it?” Harbus whispered.