by Greg Walker
It was folded over, no food beneath thank God, and on opening it, he found a hand-written note in letters not so far off from his fear. It said:
ERIC - STOP BY TOMORROW, WE NEED TO TALK.
I'LL BE IN ALL DAY SO COME WHENEVER.
JUST YOU. I'M SURE YOU KNOW WHERE
I LIVE - JT
Eric breathed a sigh of relief, read the note over, and then shut off the lights. He locked the door, double-checked it, and then went to bed, too tired to guess what JT wanted to discuss with him.
Eric slept until ten the next morning, and by the time he'd showered, drank a pot of coffee, and ate a brunch of pop-tarts and a ham sandwich, it was nearly one o'clock. He picked up JT's note again, decided that now was whenever, and started driving down to his house despite the easy walking distance, didn’t want anyone to guess where he was going. He called Mary before he left and got her voicemail, leaving a message telling her his destination. Only half-joking, he said he wanted someone to know in case he didn't come back, feeling again the shotgun barrels pushed into his neck.
He pulled into the driveway a few minutes later and parked next to the gate of a tall wooden fence that surrounded the house and yard. Eric got out of the car and called out, "JT! It's Eric!" and heard nothing but his own voice. Shouting once more with the same result, Eric tried the latch on the gate and it lifted easily. He swung it open slowly and stepped onto the property into a small but well kept front yard. The grass was cut short, weeds whacked, and several flowerbeds lined with mulch supported a surprising array of flowers. The house was, as Mary had said, something of a dump. White paint peeled from the entire two-story structure. The window below the peak of the roof in the front had been boarded up. Several four by fours assisted in holding up the sagging porch.
Eric's inspection ended when a pair of silent and sleek Doberman Pinschers appeared at the side of the house on the run. He stumbled backwards as they came on, a combined low rumble emanating from their throats. Trying to keep his balance but failing, Eric fell down hard on his backside in time to see the pair only several yards away, understood the deadly intent in their rush and cursed John Thomas Groves while covering his head with his arms in what he knew was a futile attempt to protect himself.
"Hey!"
The shout came from the porch, and when the ripping and tearing he anticipated didn't happen, he peeked through his arms at two muzzles inches from his face, could feel and smell their hot breath. They stood still as statues, eyes locked on him, waiting to see if the command to kill would follow.
"John! Lee! Get over here!" The dogs instantly obeyed, running to their master, sitting down on either side of him with the precision of a drill team, motionless again and staring at Eric, daring him to come attack their master.
"Figures, Eric, you'd come by the one time I had to use the restroom. Good thing I didn't take a magazine."
"John and Lee? Interesting names. I would have thought Spike and Killer would be more appropriate," he said, trying to make light of his second near death experience with this man in as many meetings and wondering with trepidation what the future held. He got up slowly with whatever dignity he could muster, brushing the grass from his clothing.
"It's John Wilkes and Lee Harvey, actually. Kind of a joke, after the whole John Thomas thing sounding like an assassin's name. Thought I'd give the boys, the real assassins around here, their due. Sorry about that. Just glad I got out here in time." His face took on a look of dismay as he appeared to consider which of Eric's arms the boys would be playing tug of war with right now.
"Come up here and let me introduce you. Once they know I accept you they're like puppies."
Eric approached warily. John or Lee growled and JT smacked him on the snout. The dog cowed, then licked the same hand as it stroked his head.
"Put out your hand and let them smell you." Eric did as he was told, ready to snatch it back if either interpreted the gesture as the offering of a snack.
"This is Eric. He's good people." he said. The dogs sniffed him carefully to see if it were so, and having the endorsement of the master, one of them acquiesced and gave a quick lick to his fingers. Eric still didn't trust them, felt that the lick might just be a hasty sampling to see how he would taste if he lost the favored "good people" status.
"You're all right now. Of course, if you tried to hurt me they'd rip your throat out in a heartbeat," he said and laughed.
Eric smiled humorlessly.
"So let's go inside. Too early for a beer?"
"No, beer sounds good right about now."
The inside of the house was much nicer than outside, and not only because the dogs stayed on the porch. A very large flat screen TV took up one end of the living room, with leather furniture arranged to view it. Eric saw a massive stereo system in one corner with speakers strategically placed throughout the room. He followed JT to the kitchen and watched him pluck two beer bottles from a giant stainless steel refrigerator taller than his considerable height. The other appliances looked new and state-of-the art as well, right down to the toaster. The counter-tops were a red granite.
JT wore another version of his jeans and t-shirt ensemble from the woods, this time his shirt displaying a “Kill Them All and Let God Sort Them Out” message.
They went back into the living room, but not before Eric saw a garage in the back with the door open. Inside, a car, clearly a muscle car from its bulk and blocky shape, was covered with a tarp. Next to it were several Harley Davidson motorcycles.
JT sat on the leather couch, or sort of dropped down, bending as far as his leg would take him and then falling the rest of the way. Eric sat in a recliner, breathing in the aroma of the leather and looking at the enigma of John Thomas Groves.
"So. Eric Kane back in Lincoln Corners. I can't believe it. Like I said before, love the books. You're an excellent writer, man. And sorry again about the woods. I look out my window and see some strange dude sneaking around, I need to find out what that's all about, you know?"
Eric knew. Deciding to let the most recent woods incident go, and not ready to discuss Adam right now, Eric steered the conversation away. "So, I heard from Mary that you were a heck of a football player. Almost played for the Steelers?"
"Yeah, almost. She probably told you why I'm not playing, I take it?"
"She did. Tough break, I'm sorry man."
"Wasn't your fault. I'm not dead and won't have to work another day in my life, so
it's not all that bad, right?" He lifted up his bottle in a toast, and said, "To bad brakes and deep pockets." They clinked bottles, but Eric saw a surface glimmer on a deep well of disappointment.
"Did you ever see me play?"
"No, I didn't. Sort of lost interest in football."
"Yeah? I thought you might have heard about me and watched just to see your old buddy bust some heads." Eric heard the injury in his voice, and felt small, especially after learning that JT had paid attention to his career. But it wasn't like they parted on happy terms.
"You know, you're the first person from this shithole town I've ever invited here. Arnie Fisk invited himself once, not long after mom died. This was before I had the fence and the boys, but he got to know the boundaries pretty quick anyway."
"How so?" Eric asked.
"You might know that he thinks I killed your brother?" JT paused, hatred and hurt simultaneously flashing across his features.
Eric nodded.
"He walks up here and bangs on the door, starts yelling at me like I'm squatting on his property or something. So I opened the door and popped him in the mouth. Not as hard as I could, but hard enough that he fell off the porch." JT grinned in remembrance and Eric smiled as well, found the image of Fisk sailing off the porch flailing and sputtering irresistible.
"Now he's screaming at me about how he's going to call the police. So I went inside, left him ranting in the yard, grabbed a beer, and waited for the cops to come. But they never showed up. The man's a bag of wind, biggest asshole I ever
met. I don't blame Tony and Jeff for taking off as soon as they could. They hardly ever come back here, from what I understand."
Eric said, "He actually came by my house in sort of the same spirit a couple of weeks ago. Official welcome wagon I guess. Had the nerve to suggest that maybe I killed Adam. Mary...Mary Collins, said he did it just to get to me, and I think she's right."
"Sounds about like Arnie." JT gave him a sly smile, raised his eyebrows and said, "Yeah, I heard about you and Mary. That was a shocker." His tone went serious and he added, "She's a sweet girl, Eric. Her dickhead husband cheated on her, broke her heart. Don't you do the same, okay?"
Eric heard the threat and stiffened.
JT took a long pull of his beer, watching him, and said, "Calm down, all right. I'm just saying. I asked her out myself a long time ago, and she was right to turn me down, but that doesn't mean I don't care about her."
"You seem to know an awful lot that goes on around here, for a recluse...if that's what you are."
"Something like that, yeah. But it's a small place. I have my sources, and make it my business to know what's happening around here if I think it matters to me. Unlike Fisk, though, I don't think I have the right to inspect your underwear drawer."
Curiosity got the better of Eric and he said, "So...why do you stay here? Not that I don't think you have a right to, and could care less. It just seems it would be easier for you somewhere else. I mean, you're not exactly head of the social committee..."
"Ah, Eric. You're getting close to why I asked you here in the first place. I'm working on it. Not so easy now that you're sitting in my living room." He suddenly looked troubled, and Eric had the urge to leave right now, leave behind whatever JT wanted to tell him. But he stayed, watching him warily and waiting for him to speak.
JT blew out a breath and scratched his beard. Staring at his feet, he nodded to himself and started talking without looking at Eric.
"Okay, listen. When I came back here, I could hardly walk. My leg had shattered into about five different pieces. I did my therapy, but still had to use a cane and just getting to the bathroom was a major event."
"Mary told me about that, too. Must have been hard."
"Look, Eric, this is difficult enough for me as it is, so just keep your mouth shut and save your comments and questions until the end, okay amigo?"
Eric tried to decide if he should be offended, even use it as a handy excuse to leave. His sense of dread grew, like a kid on his first camping trip listening to ghost stories he doesn't want to hear but more afraid to look like a wimp in front of the guys.
Or not wanting to seem like a novice while looking at Hustlers.
Instead he just nodded, knowing he was here until the end. What horror writer worth his salt wouldn't stay for a good ghost story? But his base fear was that this somehow involved Adam, and it might threaten the hard won peace and healing he'd found. But for the same reason he had to know. If JT had more of the story that he didn’t, he needed to hear it.
"Yo, Eric. You listening?"
"Yeah, go ahead."
"All right, so I started forcing myself to take walks. At first I made it halfway down the driveway before I was cursing Riker's Construction and thinking how I was going to break the legs of all the top dogs there who more or less sicced that dump truck on me. But eventually, I made it to the road. So then I had to decide if I was going to start walking through town and waving and smiling and asking Mrs. Loughton how her hemorrhoids were, or find somewhere else to go a little more private. I chose the latter, and started walking out in the woods."
Eric noticed JT had begun to sweat, and now absently rubbed his leg.
"Now we're talking a span of months, but eventually I was cruising around better than I'd dared to hope. And that little patch of woods, “Adam's Woods” I always think of them, seemed too small. So I started packing a lunch, not because it was so far but because I had to sit and rest a few times each way, and went up into the Big Woods. Thought I might see just how big. But I found out I have limits, no matter how much my mind refuses them, so I never found out. I did walk far enough to find out something though."
And here it is, thought Eric. He could still stop him if he wanted to, just say...
"Eric, what if I told you that Adam wasn't the only one?"
He stared blankly, trying to understand if he'd heard correctly, searching for the joke although he couldn't imagine how this might be funny.
"What? What the hell do you mean, John Thomas?" He felt light-headed with an irrational desire to get up and strike him. He would have if he suspected it was a joke, however sick and twisted, however big the man. But JT’s expression left no doubt to his sincerity.
"I don't know where they came from, or how long they've been there, but there are bodies of more kids buried up there."
"And you...haven't told anyone. The police?"
"Well, that was my first thought, too. But when I thought some more, I had to wonder what the hell the police accomplished with Adam. And that would be zip. And of course there was the fear the whole place lived under after that. Why subject everyone to it again? I think they're all skeletons, so it didn't just happen recently. And the biggest reason, Eric, maybe selfish on my part...but, hey, no one is looking out for me now just like no one ever has been...how would it look if the kid voted most-likely-to-have-killed-Adam shows up with a hearseful of corpses?"
"But JT, you just can't...how...how many bodies are you talking about?
"I don't know, Eric. At least five, I think."
Eric sat mutely, trying to process this information while JT continued.
"It was November when I found them. If not for needing to sit down and rest the leg, and with the undergrowth all thinned out, I never would have noticed. I'm on this fallen tree above a big depression in the ground and I noticed this group of...I don't know like little sunken rectangles in the ground. They all seemed about the same size and I think, "Those look like graves.” And the more I looked at them, the more they did seem like graves. And then I realized that some sticks poking out of one of them weren't sticks. They were ribs. Small, like a kid's. I figured some asshole had shot some dogs and buried them out here and went down for a closer look, dug a little bit in the dirt with a stick. Dug out a skull. Definitely not a dog skull. So now I'm this big tough guy but I nearly shit myself. I put the skull back and covered it up the best I could and went home. Almost called the police."
Eric had begun to recover and asked, "So why are you telling me?"
"Because I figure that you can tell the police, or somebody, do something about it. You asked me why I stayed. I've stayed to keep an eye on the place, to maybe catch the sonofabitch that killed your brother and probably those kids, too."
He held his hands up in a stop gesture." Don't get the wrong idea. I'm not some nutcase and it's not my full-time job. I have buddies that I ride and drink with. But since I don't have a job and don't need one, I figured it couldn't hurt. Thought maybe he'd come back here sometime, even though it's been years. Unless there's more up there that are...fresher than the ones I found. I go up to the woods occasionally, just to watch, see if anyone's been up there or hoping to stumble on him. If that happened, I guarantee you there would be one more adult sized grave added to the collection. And I won't lie to you that it would be more than satisfying to toss his corpse on Arnie's doorstep, first."
Eric got the logic of the shotgun in his neck. "You thought I was him, didn't you? In the woods?"
"I did. Nearly blew your head off , too. Wasn't joking about that. The irony of you and your brother dying in the exact same spot twenty years apart hasn't escaped me."
"John Thomas...JT...I don't know what..." He felt angry again, that JT would drop this on him, but understood the reasons behind his silence, even if he didn't completely agree.
"I drew you a map."
"Wh…what?" Eric stammered, eyes wide.
"A map. To get to the kids. I thought you might want to see it for y
ourself before you told anyone. I put myself in your shoes, before you came over, and thought if it were me, I'd want to know for sure before I got messed up in it. Before I left the spot, I used my knife to gouge a big oak tree on the edge of the depression. You should be able to find it."
"I don't know if I want to see anything. And even if I did...why can't you take me?"
"I haven't been back there since. Not the exact spot. Didn't want to mess it up, scare off the killer maybe. And I'm not taking you, because it won't do for me to be seen with you heading up there, right before the news comes out. Plus I don't walk like I used to anymore, and I'm not sure I could make it."