That evening, while lying in the darkness of his bedroom, Kyle waited impatiently for his parents to fall asleep. His father made it home from work earlier that afternoon so there was no argument to unsettle them from their rest. Usually Kyle’s father doused his bedroom light by 10:00 P.M. With both of his parents in bed by that hour, Kyle believed that he could sneak out of his house within thirty minutes. He watched the neon display of his alarm clock click to 10:26 P.M. before slipping out from beneath his bed covers and getting changed into his clothes.
All of these actions had to be conducted in near silence. His mother was habitually a light sleeper, especially since being on guard to anything even remotely suspicious. But before Kyle had a chance to put his sneakers on, a throbbing sensation inside his head caused him to stumble. He tripped over a chair and nearly fell to the floor as he held his head in pain. Such headaches had struck him before in recent days, but this one seemed far more intense. The pain was potent enough to cause him to slouch to his knees momentarily, but he quickly regained control of his body and crossed over to his dressing table. At this precise moment Kyle suspected that the vibration within his head was linked to something apart from his subconscious.
With his hands placed squarely on the dresser top, Kyle sensed his entire body shivering. Now he had the confirmation he needed—the confounded noise erupting inside his mind was not limited to the recesses of his brain. Something other than the weight of his body had caused the dresser to vibrate. He tore through each of the dresser’s drawers, frantically scattering socks, underwear, and T-shirts from their places. There was nothing unusual that caught his eye at first, so he shifted his attention to a small treasure chest positioned on the dresser top.
“Of course,” he remembered, while grasping the container with two shaking hands. The metal box shook between his palms; a true source of energy seemed to generate from within. Kyle recalled the bracelet he had salvaged from Shade Tree Pond a few days earlier. He flipped the brass latch and opened the chest’s lid. Now he had the answer he was searching for. His gaze met with the bracelet’s stones—only now these gems shimmered with a luminosity that caused him to shield his eyes.
As Kyle now suspected, it was the bracelet itself that seemed to pulsate, causing a reaction within his own mind. He gently placed the box on the dresser and removed the bracelet. The braided silver felt warm against his fingertips. Its glowing stones flashed blue, red, green, and yellow, sending streaks of motley-colored light reflecting off the walls and ceiling. Miraculously, once Kyle held the bracelet, the energy within the stones dissipated and his own headache began to subside. Rather than place the bracelet back into its box, Kyle stuffed it in the pocket of his jeans. Now, with his head once again clear, he could attempt a stealthy departure from his house.
With the help of two bed pillows and a soccer ball positioned on his bed near the headboard to duplicate his head, Kyle made it appear as though he was still in bed. If either of his parents glanced into his bedroom, they may have been fooled by the protrusion on the mattress, providing that they didn’t inspect too closely.
At this point, the only thing more relentless than Kyle’s pursuit of the truth was the humidity suffocating the town. By 10:40 in the evening the afternoon’s heat hadn’t dissolved from the atmosphere. The night air was unusually dense and Kyle sensed beads of sweat forming on his brow as he mounted his bicycle. He didn’t invest the time to monitor the evening’s weather forecast. If had taken a moment to do so, he would have learned that a thunderstorm was due to set upon the region by midnight. Despite the pending rain, the boy most likely wouldn’t have changed his mind about returning to Murden’s farm.
Meanwhile, from the comfort of his own bedroom, Robby Taylor endured his own bout with insomnia. His restlessness, however, was not directly connected to Murden’s reputation. He was more concerned his friend’s safety. Earlier that day he had an opportunity to eliminate Kyle’s plans on returning to The Bogs by simply informing Linda McCann. But a code of friendship, which almost insisted that they refrained from tattling on one another no matter how grave the circumstances, served as a quandary for Robby. Even though Kyle didn’t act like a friend over the past week, Robby presumed that their friendship would endure far longer than Kyle’s obsession with Ben Murden.
When it became evident to Robby that sleep was beyond the realm of possibilities for this evening, he pivoted from his bed and stared at the digital display on his clock. The time flashed 10:52 P.M. in red neon. Perhaps there was still enough time to stop Kyle from making a terrible mistake. The telephone was positioned near Robby’s nightstand, and for the last hour he debated on whether or not to betray the unwritten oath between friends. No matter how Robby rationalized the potential danger, he couldn’t bring himself to call Kyle’s home. Instead, he picked up the phone’s receiver and punched in Casey’s number.
Casey’s father didn’t typically permit phone calls at his home after 9:30 P.M., but Robby had a bit of luck on his side tonight. Mr. Collins had just finished a double-shift for his job at the chemical plant, and fatigue took a toll on the man. He didn’t even hear the phone ring before Casey had a chance to snatch it in his hand.
Noticing the caller ID as being Robby’s, Casey whispered into the phone with a slight irritation. “Man, what are you calling my house this late for? You know how my dad…”
“Listen to me, Casey,” Robby’s voice pumped through the phone with a trace of excitement and fear. “I need your help.”
Casey stood in the kitchen of his home peering into the adjacent room where his father had fallen asleep on the couch. The sound of a Yankee post-game show was playing from the television. Casey paced deeper into the kitchen and said, “I’m still grounded from the last time we all got together.”
“You’ve got to listen to me,” Robby quivered, but his voice was barely audible. “We’ve got to do something to stop Kyle. I think he’s on his way up to Murden’s farm again tonight.”
Casey nearly dropped the phone, and did all he could to stifle a long overdue scream that would’ve surely awakened his father. He managed to contain his outrage momentarily to say, “That kid has caused me too much trouble already, Rob. I don’t even want to think about that crap anymore.”
Robby’s voice was laced with apprehension when he said, “He’s our friend, Casey, and we can’t just forget about what’s happening.”
“We should call the police,” Casey countered, trying to be more practical. “This problem is too big for us now.”
“There’s no time for that now, Casey. Besides, we’re a little short on police officers right now---remember?”
“Why are you doing this to me?” Casey grumbled into the phone. “Did you think about calling his parents? They’ll be able to stop him.”
“Casey,” Robby admitted almost reluctantly. “I feel kind of responsible for what’s happening. I’m the one who got Kyle thinking about Ben Murden. You’re the only kid I trust, Casey, and I don’t want to go after him alone. Let me know what you want to do.”
Casey glanced back at the sofa where his father still slept soundly. His father had already grounded him from a week’s worth of Yankee games, including a trip to the stadium at the end of the month. To get caught disobeying his father’s rules again would surely dissolve what remained of his summer vacation. Adding to the dilemma, the question of Murden’s mental stability now seemed more legitimate than ever before. How could anyone in a proper frame of mind dare to tread on soil still freshly marred by the disappearance of four individuals?
The only thing working in Robby’s favor was a question of loyalty, and Casey found it difficult to abandon a friend in need. Though he might’ve regretted his words or the impulsivity under which they were uttered, Casey elected to salvage some of his dignity tonight.
“Meet me by the entrance of Adler Lane in fifteen minutes,” Casey instructed Robby. “But I ain’t going into that peach grove. If we still got time to stop him, let’s do it before he gets too close to
that old man.”
Robby agreed and hung up the phone before Casey had the opportunity to change his mind. But after making that promise to Casey, he realized that it might’ve already been too late to prevent Kyle’s progression into Murden’s peach grove. In any event, Robby had no intention of letting his friend confront danger alone, and the fact that the situation would become more perilous seemed inevitable in his mind tonight.
At precisely 11:05 P.M. Andrew McCann sprang from his sleep with a deafening scream. In response to her husband’s reaction, Linda jolted upward and witnessed him grasping at his temples as though his head was clamped between the iron jaws of a vice. Andrew’s yell lasted nearly three seconds, which caused Linda to rush from the bed and flick the light switch on the wall. Once the room was illuminated, she noticed that her husband was literally drenched with perspiration. The hair on his chest was matted and damp, and his breathing became quite shallow for several seconds.
Linda immediately feared that her husband was suffering a heart attack or stroke. She sprinted back to the bed and leaned across the bed to tend to him. “My god, Andy, what’s wrong? Can you answer me?”
Andrew required a moment to regain his composure, but when he finally did the disturbance inside his head had ceased. “It’s okay, Linda. I…I think I was just having a nightmare or something.”
“You’ve been having bad dreams lately,” Linda thought aloud. She then noticed that Andrew still hadn’t removed his hands from his forehead. “Does your head hurt?” she asked, reaching her fingers out to touch his face.
Andrew waved off his wife’s worry, but she was already prepared to dial the phone for medical assistance. After a few minutes, Andrew felt stable enough to stand up from the bed. He attempted to smear some of the sweat from his skin in these seconds.
“I’m probably just working too much,” he guessed. “It’s nothing serious, honey, honest.”
Linda watched her husband pace wearily over to the bedroom window. Though the house was cool from the air-conditioning, he opened the window in an attempt to inhale some fresh air. During this time, Linda’s thoughts shifted to Kyle. Surely Andrew’s piercing scream was loud enough to wake him from his sleep. She wondered why he hadn’t yet come to investigate the matter. Without giving further consideration to the matter, Linda rushed from the bedroom. She moved with such haste that she forgot to slip her robe over her nightgown.
Before even reaching Kyle’s bedroom door, Linda discovered an uneasiness developing within her. A tremor or pain worked its way into her abdomen. She now felt the tension siphoning her strength as she bounded forward into the corridor. Upon nearing the room, she staggered momentarily. Plain fear prevented her from opening the door, for she already suspected that her son was not where he was supposed to be.
With a single surge of energy, Linda flung open the door and watched as the light from the corridor spilled into the bedroom. The room was not yet fully illuminated, but she already knew that Kyle was gone. She collapsed to her knees and released a scream that equaled her husband’s in intensity only a few minutes beforehand.
Andrew met with his wife in the hallway seconds later. Once seeing that Kyle was not in bed, he realized the nature of Linda’s distress. His head began to throb again as he bent down in the doorway and embraced his wife with all the empathy he could muster. His wife sobbed achingly against his shoulder.
“Why is he doing this, Andy?” she sobbed. “He’s never disobeyed us in the past.”
Andrew reserved a slight hope that Kyle was still inside the home. He called his son’s name three times, but an answer was not heard. It now seemed likely that Kyle had left the house for a specific reason, and Linda already knew where he ultimately planned to go.
“He’s gone back to those woods, Andy,” she cried. “I know it.”
“I don’t know what’s going on inside his head,” Andrew muttered in near disbelief. “It’s as if he’s suddenly obsessed or something.”
“We’ve got to go after him,” Linda insisted, stifling her tears long enough to enunciate her words. But then a terrible thought permeated her mind. “How will we find him in those woods?”
Andrew hugged his wife closely and said, “I’ll go and find him, Linda. I want you to stay here and wait for him in case he comes back to the house.”
Linda freed herself from her husband’s arms and scurried to her feet. “We need to call the police,” she mentioned, trying to contain her emotions. Andrew did his best to settle his wife’s nerves, but she resisted his efforts at this point.
“We’ve got to stay calm so we can think our way through this thing.” Andrew was already pacing back toward his own bedroom alongside his wife. Linda had the phone clutched in her hand when she turned back to gaze at her husband.
“How can you expect me to be calm, Andy? Our son is missing!” She then proceeded to dial 9-1-1 into the phone’s keypad.
Andrew did not wait for a response. He frantically changed into his clothes and made his way toward the door. If Kyle truly planned to venture back to Murden’s peach grove, then Andrew realized that every second mattered. His wife followed him to the front door with the phone in hand.
“They’re sending the police over,” she announced glumly. “I don’t think they’re going to find him…”
“Stop it,” Andrew advised his wife while snatching his car keys from a vanity table. “I’m going to find him and bring him home—okay?”
“But you don’t know those woods very well, do you?”
Andrew hesitated before revealing, “I haven’t been in those woods in many years, Linda. But I remember them a little. If Kyle’s anywhere near Murden’s farm, I’ll find him.”
Now more than ever, Linda wanted to believe her husband, but as she accepted a kiss goodbye from him, she couldn’t help but feel as though he would disappoint her yet again. Besides that, she didn’t have any confidence that her husband could properly navigate the woods in darkness. And there was something else slightly less discernable in his demeanor as well. She detected a reservation in his touch, a sort of trembling on his lips that made him feel cold to her. She knew that he was just as frightened as she had become, but that did not alleviate her worry. As he left the house, she was left to wonder why it took the endangerment of his own child to make him understand the perils that existed just beyond their front door.
Chapter 20
Songs of a Peach Tree Page 20