The Boy in the Woods

by Carter Wilson

‘I didn’t know you guys were home,’ Tommy said. ‘How was MaGee’s?’

  ‘Good. I had mac and cheese. Chance had a burger.’

  ‘Was it yummy?’

  ‘Uh huh.’ She was wearing Wizards of Waverly Place pajamas.

  Tommy sat back in his chair and put his arms out. ‘Come give me a hug.’

  Evie walked over and climbed into his lap, then buried herself deep in his arms. Tommy swiveled the chair and leaned back, soaking her in, her little arms wrapped around him, depending on him to hold and protect her. Shield her. In these moments, when he held his little girl tightly and didn’t want to let go, he would realize it was more her shielding him than the other way around. Tommy’s kids were his connection to everything good in the world, and he could stay in that place as long as he was with them. If he let go, and if they floated away from him, there would be only the bad things left.

  Tommy remembered the morning after he told Becky about his infidelity. He had considered going to a hotel that night. He knew he wouldn’t be sleeping anyway, but he really didn’t want to stay awake and stare at the ceiling of a lonely hotel room. So that night he had left Becky in their bed – she was still crying but refused any comfort from him – and went to the twin bed of his little girl. Evie had been buried deep beneath a multicolored Sofia the First comforter, a small lump of dreams and innocence, her small, deep nighttime breaths slow and steady. Tommy had crawled under the blanket with her, draped his arm around her, and breathed her in as he did now. ‘I’m sorry,’ he had told her as she slept. ‘I’ll be a better man for all of you. I promise.’ He squeezed her that night as he did now, not letting go, vowing never to let go.

  Evie’s voice stirred the silence of the office and pulled Tommy from his memory. ‘The … boy … in the … woods.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s what it says there. “The boy in the woods.” That’s funny. What’s the boy doing there?’

  Tommy looked at his monitor. He had left Elizabeth’s e-mail on the screen. He reached over and turned off the monitor.

  ‘Is that one of your stories?’

  ‘No, darlin’.’

  ‘But why did it say that?’

  ‘It’s … it’s just a note from someone.’

  ‘From who?’

  ‘No one.’

  She furrowed her brow. ‘It has to be from someone, Daddy.’

  ‘It’s not polite to read other people’s messages. And when did you become so argumentative?’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means you keep asking questions when you don’t like the answers I give.’

  Evie offered an extra squeeze as she mulled that over. Tommy sought to change the subject.

  ‘How was school today?’

  ‘Good.’ He watched as she tried to remember the day’s events. ‘We’re learning about time and about money.’

  ‘The only thing you need to know is you’ll never have enough of either.’

  ‘Daddy! We have lots of money.’

  Tommy had no argument. ‘You’re right, sweetie. We do. We’re very lucky.’

  She kissed him on the cheek. ‘Are you coming upstairs?’

  Tommy stared at the dark computer screen. ‘Daddy has to work.’

  ‘You’re always working.’

  ‘I know. But that’s how we get all the money. From hard work.’

  Evie furrowed her brow. ‘But what about the story?’

  Most nights he told Evie and Chance a story, making one up on the spot. Chance sometimes opted out because he insisted he was getting too old for such things, but Evie never missed one.

  ‘Not tonight, OK?’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because Daddy can only think of scary stories tonight, and I don’t think you want one of those.’

  ‘Pleeeeasse …’

  ‘I’m sorry, love. Not tonight.’ I have to figure out if my life is over, he didn’t add.

  ‘Will you do an extra long one tomorrow night?’

  ‘Deal.’ He squeezed her tightly and considered the horror of being forced away from his family. He didn’t want to think about it, but he had to. He had to admit to himself that if Elizabeth wanted to, she could destroy Tommy Devereaux’s life. Of course, she would destroy her own life in the process, but Tommy didn’t know if she even cared. He had no idea what she wanted, and the inability to deal with the situation was maddening.

  Tommy squeezed Evie again and kissed his daughter good night. She scooched off his lap and bounded out of the room, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor.

  ‘Love you, Dada,’ she called out as she raced toward the stairs.

  ‘Love you, sweetie.’ He walked over and closed the office door.

  He needed to do something. Anything. Anything that, if even for an instant, gave him some sense of control. Because right now he was tumbling through an open void, and his stomach couldn’t adjust to the freefall.

  ‘Mark and Jason. I have to find Mark and Jason.’

  SIX

  Mark and Jason.

  In The Blood of the Young, Tommy had changed their names to Spencer and Drew, and the opening chapter of the novel was the exact account of what happened to all of them that day in the woods.

  Tommy thought about them often. The faces of his fourteen-year-old friends were frozen in time in his mind. Mark, the de facto leader of the three, the sexually frustrated boy-man who wanted nothing more than to become a full man, but not the way it ended up happening. Jason, the soft giant, who had cried that day.

  In the weeks and months after the killing, the boys had disbanded as a group. They hadn’t exactly ended their friendships with one another, but they avoided each other, as if any contact might lend credence to what had happened. Or, more truly spoken, the lack of contact maybe let them believe that, perhaps, the killing never actually happened. This was certainly the case for Tommy, who at first burned to tell his parents, his friends, anyone who might help provide relief from the guilt he felt. But fear stopped him. Then, after some time passed (and not as much time as would seem necessary, he always thought), Tommy found his continued silence actually buttressed his fantasy that it was all just a vision, a bad dream. Something he had seen on TV, perhaps.

  Tommy assumed the other boys felt the same, because any words he had exchanged with either of them after the killing were always on a different subject. Small talk.

  Though he thought of his old friends often, Tommy had never searched them out in the past thirty years. But now everything had changed. It was time to see if ghosts were real.

  Tommy pressed speed dial #3 on his phone, then locked the office door.

  ‘Hey, Tommy.’

  Sofia’s voice was bright and alert.

  ‘Hey there. Catch you at a bad time?’

  ‘I’m always on call – you know that.’

  ‘Good. I need help.’

  Sofia was more than just his assistant. She managed his life. Tommy was in continuous wonder at how a thirty-year-old could have both her shit and his shit so together.

  ‘Name it, boss.’

  Tommy knew the request was not a typical one. ‘How do I find a long lost friend?’

  ‘You could finally join Facebook and search for them.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to go through all that. I just want to locate a couple of people.’

  A brief silence. ‘Do you have any idea where they are?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘High school friends?’

  ‘Yeah. How did you know?’

  ‘Because everyone wants to find high school friends, though I can’t imagine why. Shouldn’t be too much of a problem – there are websites that can run names. They charge for it.’

  ‘Not a problem.’

  ‘Names?’

  ‘Jason Covington and Mark Singletary. We went to high school together in Lind Falls, Oregon. Back in eighty-one, eighty-two.’

  He could hear her typing on her laptop. ‘That’s
the last you know of them?’

  ‘Yes. Jason didn’t even finish. He dropped out and his family moved. Not sure where. Maybe Texas?’

  ‘Sure thing. What’s the interest? They owe you money?’

  How many different females was he going to have to lie to tonight?

  ‘I want to see if they remember something the same way I do.’

  It wasn’t a complete lie, and Tommy took some solace in that.

  ‘Ooh. Sounds intriguing. When do you want the info by?’

  ‘Any chance tonight?’

  ‘Sure. I’ll just put my life on hold for you.’

  ‘Oh, I mean, of course it can wait—’

  ‘Take it easy, Tommy. I was joking. All I was doing here was catching up on my shows. You sound a bit wired tonight.’

  Tommy felt his face flush. ‘I’m just a little stressed out about my deadline. I think talking to these guys could help me with my ending.’

  ‘Give me an hour.’ Then she hung up.

  It took less than forty minutes, which was good because Tommy’s mind was racing in every direction except a positive one.

  ‘OK, I have what you’re looking for. Cost thirty bucks, by the way.’

  ‘Fine, fine. Tell me.’

  ‘Mark Singletary was easy. Didn’t even need to pay to find out where he was – Google search was all I needed.’

  She let it hang there for a moment, letting Tommy know he could easily have found this information himself. Tommy knew he could have, but he relied on Sofia so much that she effectively was his Google.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He’s a State Senator in South Carolina. Up for re-election in November.’

  Pretty impressive. ‘Republican or Democrat?’ he asked.

  ‘Republican.’

  ‘That sounds about right.’

  ‘Lots of articles on him. Found a bio that referenced Lind Falls, and he’s the same age as you. Figured he must be the guy.’

  ‘You find a picture?’

  ‘E-mailing you now.’

  Seconds later a link arrived in his inbox. Tommy clicked on it. Mark Singletary’s campaign site filled the screen in front of him.

  Ghosts were real.

  It was him. Thirty years older for sure, but it was him. Tommy could hear his voice, clear like water.

  Why don’t you do me first?

  The intensity. The desire to have more. The urges. The wants. They were all in the face on the screen just as they were in the fourteen-year-old boy that day.

  ‘Yes,’ Tommy said into the phone, aware of the edge in his voice. ‘That’s him.’

  ‘Hardcore right-wing,’ Sofia said. ‘Anti-tax, anti-gay, anti-abortion, the works. Christian conservative. Wife, three kids. Schooled in West Point, a few years of service, then Duke Law. Moved to South Carolina to clerk for a federal judge. Ran for State Senate four years ago and has been there since. His big achievement last year was getting a creationist museum funded with state tax revenue. You know, the kind of museum that shows Adam and Eve riding on dinosaurs.’

  ‘Sounds like you don’t approve,’ Tommy said, knowing it to be true.

  ‘Whatever. Just glad I don’t live in South Carolina.’

  Tommy read snippets from Mark’s home page, catching words like FREEDOM and FAMILY and SERVICE.

  ‘How do I reach him?’

  ‘Contact info is on his home page.’

  ‘Won’t I have to go through his staffers?’

  Sofia sighed. ‘He’s a State Senator, not the President. Besides, you’re Tommy-fucking-Devereaux.’

  Tommy scrolled to the bottom of the page and found Mark’s contact information. Probably some campaign phone number, which meant normal business hours only.

  Too late to call tonight.

  ‘So what cost me thirty bucks?’ he asked. Tommy heard a yelp from upstairs in the house. A happy shriek from Evie. The sound of family life moving forward without him.

  ‘Finding Jason Covington.’

  ‘More difficult?’

  ‘Took an extra twenty minutes.’

  Tommy pictured Silent Jason, the kid who just wanted to please but not lead. He had been a strong kid, but those muscles only went to sports. After that day in the woods, Jason barely spoke to anyone. Six months later his family moved away.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He’s in New York.’

  ‘The city?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s he doing?’

  ‘He’s dead. So, not too much.’

  Dead?

  ‘But … you said he’s in New York.’

  ‘He is. That’s where he’s buried.’

  Tommy’s mind took a moment to reconcile all his vibrant memories of an old friend with what was now a heap of dust and calcium deposits.

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘Suicide,’ she said. ‘Hanged himself in a studio apartment in the city about twenty years ago.’

  ‘You sure it’s him?’

  He heard the clicking of a keyboard over the phone line.

  ‘Jason Covington. DOB July seventeen, nineteen sixty-seven, Seattle. Moved to Lind Falls, Oregon in seventy-four, then McKinney, Texas in eighty-two. Was a mechanic there until moving to New York in ninety-one. Killed himself a year later.’

  Tommy processed the information for a few seconds, despising the fact that a few seconds was all it took to come to terms with an old friend’s death.

  ‘You OK, Tommy?’

  Her voice pulled him back. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Yeah, I’m OK.’

  ‘Need anything else, boss?’

  ‘No … no. Thanks so much, Sofia. See you tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow’s Saturday.’

  ‘Oh, right. Monday, then.’

  ‘Night, boss. Don’t work too hard. And … sorry about your friend.’

  ‘Thanks, Sofia.’

  Tommy put his phone on the desk and thought about the three people who had just come back into his life: Elizabeth, Jason and Mark. The four of them had been all together only once, thirty years ago, and just for a couple of hours. Now it was coming full circle. Elizabeth was back. He would contact Mark in the morning. And Jason was dead, but Tommy didn’t think that was the end of that storyline.

  Why did Jason kill himself?

  Tommy hovered over his desk for a moment before yielding to his chair. Grabbing his mouse, he clicked back to the draft of The Blood of the Young. Ninety thousand words and not an end in sight. He scrolled to a page somewhere near the middle and stared at the words.

  ‘Why did you kill yourself, Jason?’

  The words before him blended together into nonsense. All of it suddenly seemed like such nonsense.

  ‘Drew wouldn’t kill himself. Why would you?’

  It was in that moment Tommy realized his mistake. His mistake was in writing the book as fiction. Only the first chapter contained elements of the truth, and the rest he’d constructed out of his own mind, out of his own desires for a compelling series of events where the heroes were strong and the villain was a monster. But the truth was much murkier than that. The truth contained conflicted heroes who lied to their wives and villains who were just doing what nature built them for.

  Tommy’s book needed more of the truth. And in finding that truth, maybe Tommy could finally put to rest the ghosts of his past.

  SEVEN

  Sofia D’Alle parked her blue Prius at the Cherry Creek mall, sliding into a freshly vacated space near the entrance to Crate & Barrel. It was a minor stroke of good luck, but it was good luck nonetheless, and she let such things speak for themselves.

  Bad things rarely happened to Sofia.

  She had been living in Denver for nearly seven years, working for Tommy the entire time. That had been a good luck day – the day she met him. She had just graduated from the University of Denver with a BA in English, wondering what to do next. Graduate degree? Temp work? Move back to Des Moines, where her parents said she could always stay as long as
it took ‘to find a proper job’. One month post-graduation, she realized she had fallen into that trap that so many college students do. Between student loans and her parents’ long-saved money, Sofia’s education added up to a tidy eighty grand, and she had spent it studying books. She dreamed of opening an independent bookstore someday, the kind that people like her would stroll into, a place where you could smell the paper and ink, where the patrons would run their fingers along the spines, pick up a title under the ‘Sofia Recommends’ section, then grab a latte in the Coffee Nook.

  Like all dreams, they sounded perfect. But dreams were the fuel of the future, and rarely of the present. A month out of school she needed to find a job, something that would give her money without sucking her in where she would suddenly find herself twenty years later asking where her life had gone. A professor of hers from her college days sat on a charity board with Tommy, and had introduced them. Tommy was looking for a new assistant at the time, his last one having just moved to Rome with her husband. Sofia had never been much of a thriller reader, preferring the classics. But she had taken an immediate liking to Tommy, whose soft charm and relaxed nature belied a storyteller who was devoted to his craft and worked endlessly to satisfy his readers. They tested the waters with each other for a few months before mutually deciding it was a pretty good arrangement.

  It was essentially administrative work, but the truth was Sofia couldn’t have been happier. Tommy paid her well, gave her a lot of room to make decisions, and working for him was more education than she ever had in school. She assisted heavily in his research, which she found fascinating given Tommy’s near-obsession with female serial killers. She even started writing her own short stories – something she never thought she’d be good at – and Tommy was the best critic she could ever have hoped for.

  Bad things rarely happened to Sofia, but when she and Tommy slept together two years ago, she knew nothing good could come of it. It had happened so quickly, which, she acknowledged, sounded stupid. It was after a book launch party, they were both a little drunk, Becky took the kids home early, and a whole list of etceteras after that. They spent the night at the Ritz in downtown Denver, and Tommy had told Becky he crashed at the office. Sofia had actually watched him make the call, that first call to the unsuspecting wife, the first lie. Sofia had still been in bed and Tommy was looking out the bedroom window in his boxer briefs, his fingers pushing up through his hair, his body lean and muscular. Sofia didn’t regret the night, but she knew it was a mistake.