by P. T. Hylton
Truth be told, he had been a little thrilled at the invitation. Things between Trevor and Will had been strained recently. It was natural. The kid was growing up and finding himself. He was feeling the need to rebel and he was just starting to discover what form his rebellion might take. So far it was a lot of moping around and disdainful glares when he thought Will wasn’t looking. Will could deal with that, and he thought he would be able to deal with whatever rebellion came in the next few years. Still, he couldn’t help hope that the weekend would be a time to reconnect, a time to teach the kid a thing or two about nature, about being a man. It hadn’t worked out that way so far. The kids had kept to themselves, and Trevor had interacted with Will only when required.
And now the thing with the hiker. He hoped it wouldn’t embarrass Trevor too much. Either way, it couldn’t be helped. The Regulations were the Regulations. Trust was a must. Will was a leader of the community, and he was expected to uphold the Regulations. Appearance was everything in Rook Mountain.
The kids had disappeared around a corner, but Will could still hear them talking and laughing. They were out of the dense part of the forest and surrounded by bushes. A few months earlier, this spot had been covered with the blazing purples and reds of rhododendrons. Now, the season of the flowers had passed and the bushes were bare, spindly as a tangle of fishing line left unattended.
The pitch and volume of the boys’ conversation went up a couple excitement levels.
“Sounds like they made it to the clearing,” Henry said.
Will rounded the corner and there it was—the summit.
Rook Mountain and the surrounding peaks were grassy balds—blunt rounded mountain tops covered with dense vegetation. The balds of the Southern Appalachian Mountains were unique because they were well below the tree line. The peaks’ lack of trees was a scientific mystery. Some researchers cited long centuries of grazing by a wide variety of large animals, many of which had gone extinct. Other scientists said it was the composition of the soil. There was no conclusive verdict.
Just another damn Rook Mountain mystery, Will thought. Add it to the list.
The thought snuck into his mind before he could suppress it. He was usually good at blocking those kinds of thoughts before they took shape.
Whatever the origin of the grassy balds, the end result was a clear three-hundred-sixty-degree view of the surrounding landscape. From up there the land looked untouched, an endless sea of deep green forest. Will had lived in the town of Rook Mountain for sixteen years. It had been the center point of his whole adult life. At the summit, it seemed tiny, just a series of small gaps in the thick trees that blanketed the landscape below.
When Will first moved there, the town of Rook Mountain had been a small village to the north of the mountain. The town limits had been expanded eight years ago, and the mountain itself was part of town now, all the way to where it bumped up against the North Carolina border. The prison was in the town limits too. But regardless of what the maps said, the mountain top had always been the real Rook Mountain for Will. It was his favorite place on Earth. The view, the crushingly beautiful, endlessly green view below him, was a large part of the reason he had settled there while most of his college friends had migrated to cities like Chicago, Denver and Phoenix. Up there, more than anywhere else, Will felt like he was home.
But there was a job to do.
The boys were gathered on top of a large boulder near the summit. Just a couple of years ago they would have been playing King of the Mountain, the boy at the top of the boulder fighting to keep his position as the other boys struggled to take it. Now they were too cool or too proud. Or maybe they were just growing up.
Will and Henry stopped a few feet from the boulder.
“You wanna tell them?” Henry asked.
Will nodded.
“Guys,” he said in a voice full of hard-won authority from sixteen years standing in front of a classroom. “Listen up.”
Their roar of conversation diminished to a soft murmur.
“I have something important to tell you. On the way up here Mr. Strauss and I spotted something.”
The boys turned to look at him. They went silent.
“Before we came up, we checked with City Hall. There shouldn’t be anyone on this mountain but us. Unfortunately, we saw someone. They appeared to be camping. Maybe even living up here.”
“Regulation 11,” muttered the boy at the top of the bolder.
Will nodded. “That’s right, Russ. This individual is in violation of Regulation 11.”
There was a long silence. Finally Carl Strauss said, “What are you going to do?”
“Not me. We. We are going to do what we have to. We are going to find this Regulation breaker, and we are going to carry out his sentence.”
3.
Frank looked at the city manager for a long time before speaking. “I’d like to get out of prison very much, but I guess you already knew that.”
Becky Raymond smiled. “I guess I did. Let me restate that. I have it within my power to release you from prison today.”
Frank sat up a little straighter in his chair. The shank in his waistband dug into his side as he moved, reminding Frank of its presence. Was that what this was about? Did they want Frank to give up the Newg?
His palms were sweaty. They always got sweaty when he was nervous. He wished he could wipe them on his pants the way he always did back in the day before reaching for a girl’s hand, but his wrists were handcuffed to the table.
He waited to see if Ms. Raymond would continue. She didn’t, so Frank said, “What do we need to do to make it happen?”
Her lips curled into a smile. “When was the last time you saw your brother?”
Frank recoiled under the pressure of her cold brown eyes and the unexpected question.
The warden spoke before Frank could. “Ma’am, as you know, our prisoners have not been allowed any contact with the outside since Regulation Day.”
Regulation Day. That was a term Frank hadn’t heard before. He could infer its meaning from the context: the day eight years ago when everything had changed at NTCC.
The first year of Frank’s stay at NTCC had been difficult, but there had been contact with the outside world. The prisoners were allowed regular visitors and TV time. There were phone calls and magazines and letters. It had been a lot like the versions of prison Frank had seen in movies, only noisier and smellier.
Then, eight years ago, everything had changed. With no explanation, televisions were removed, mail was cut off, and the phones were taken out. The prisoners were told there would be no more visitors. They had reacted with predictable fury. They’d threatened lawsuits, but since they weren’t allowed contact with lawyers that hadn’t gotten them far. There had been a series of riots, but the guards had violently put those down.
Eventually, the prisoners had come to accept their new circumstances, taking out their anger on each other more than on the prison leadership. New prisoners were kept in a separate cell block, cut off from the prisoners who had been inside before the day everything changed. Except for the occasional new guard, Becky Raymond was the first new person Frank had laid eyes on in eight years.
Ms. Raymond ignored the warden’s comment about Regulation Day and kept her eyes fixed on Frank.
“My brother came to see me once,” Frank said. “Right after the trial.”
“Only once?”
“Ma’am, I’d be happy to pull the visitation records if you’d like to verify Hinkle’s story,” the warden said. “We could get the exact date for you. Wouldn’t take but a moment.”
Ms. Raymond shook her head. “Why didn’t he visit you more?”
Frank shifted in his seat again and the shank wedged deeper into his side. If they were serious about letting him out, what would happen if they found the shank?
“I killed a friend of his,” Frank said. “Jake didn’t take it very well. He didn’t have much to say to me after that.”
“You look like him.”
Frank couldn’t help but smile. “I’ve been hearing that my whole life. It’s been a while, though.”
“A lot has happened while you've been incarcerated. With the town. If you get out of here today, you won’t believe the changes we’ve made. The things we’ve been able to do.”
“The warden mentioned something about that. I think he called it wonderful.”
The warden practically glowed at the comment, but Ms. Raymond didn’t seem to notice.
“That’s an accurate statement,” Ms. Raymond said. “And I don’t say that out of pride. It’s the simple truth. I think it’s fair to say you won’t find a town like Rook Mountain anywhere else on Earth. It is truly a marvel.”
“What’s this have to do with me getting out?”
Ms. Raymond reached forward and touched Frank’s hand, a casual gesture that made him flinch in surprise. It had been a long time since a woman had touched him.
“I’m sorry to tell you this,” Ms. Raymond said, “but your brother killed three people.”
Frank drew a deep breath. “That’s not possible.”
“I’m afraid it is.”
Frank let this idea, this horrible idea, roll around in his mind. Sure, Jake had hit a rough patch and got in some trouble as a teenager, same as Frank. Unlike Frank, Jake had met a nice girl and made a solid life for himself. Jake was a husband and a father. He was the only person Frank knew who could accurately be described as content. The idea that Jake could have taken three lives was absurd.
Something wasn’t right about this. Something seemed off in a big, bad way. The sudden meeting where even the warden was caught off guard. The way Ms. Raymond had walked through the door as if she owned the place. All this talk about the board of selectmen like they were the President’s Cabinet or something. And now this lady was saying Jake was a killer? Had she come to prison just to deliver this horrible news?
Why was Becky Raymond really there?
Frank’s hands were dripping a fair amount of sweat onto the table. He really wanted to wipe them on his pants. “Okay. So my brother’s a killer. You still haven’t told me what I need to do to get out of here.”
“After the killings, your brother realized that we were on to him, and he ran.”
A chill went through Frank. He pictured Jake on the run, living out of hotel rooms and dying his hair unnatural colors. “When was this?”
Ms. Raymond smiled her hollow smile. “Seven years ago.”
“What about his family?”
“He left them behind.”
Frank’s stomach felt like lead. Christine and Trevor had been going it alone for seven years? “I don’t understand. Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
The warden cleared his throat. “We discussed it. But the selectmen decided, and I agreed, of course, that telling you wouldn’t serve any purpose. Time in prison is hard enough without that on your shoulders. Besides, Jake had only been here the one time. We assumed you two must not be close.”
The smoldering lead ball of emotion in Frank’s belly was growing hotter by the moment. He wanted to lash out at them, to scream. Not close? A thousand childhood memories flashed through his mind in an instant. A hundred inside jokes. A dozen secrets. Not close? Frank had been closer to Jake than to anyone else in the world. Jake and his wife and son were the only real family Frank had. Maybe things hadn’t been friendly since the trial, but this went deeper than that. This was family.
Frank took a deep breath and reminded himself of what the city manager had said. He could get out of here today. He couldn’t help Christine from behind the walls of this prison. Whatever emotions he was feeling, he had to remain calm and figure out what the city manager wanted to hear. Whatever he needed to say, he would say it.
“You still haven’t told me how I get out of prison,” Frank said.
Ms. Raymond leaned forward and took a deep breath before speaking. “We have reason to believe your brother is still in town. We believe he’s been in Rook Mountain all this time, deep in hiding. We have used everything we can think of to ferret him out. We’ve failed. We are not one step closer to finding Jake than we were seven years ago. We’ve turned over every stone in this town. There is nowhere we haven’t looked. We’ve investigated every angle. And we have nothing.”
Frank spoke cautiously. “And you think I can help?”
The city manager nodded. “We're hoping you can.”
“You must be pretty desperate.”
“Watch your mouth!” the warden said.
“It’s okay,” Ms. Raymond said. “We are desperate, but we also have our first clue in seven years.”
Frank cocked his head and waited for her to continue.
“Do you remember Sally Badwater?”
Frank nodded. Sally had lived a few doors down from the Hinkles when Frank and Jake were growing up. She was two years younger than Frank, but the boys spent a fair amount of time with her because of the trampoline in her backyard.
“Sally claims that your brother came to see her three days ago.”
“Why would he go see Sally Badwater?” Frank asked.
Ms. Raymond reached into her briefcase, pulled out a stack of paper, and slid it to Frank. Frank repositioned the pages as best he could with his restrained hands.
“Top of page four,” Ms. Raymond said. “Jake approached Sally in the Food City parking lot. She was putting her groceries in the trunk. She turned around and there he was.”
Frank flipped over the first three pieces of paper and looked at the text on the top of the fourth page.
OFFICER DENSON: What did Mr. Hinkle say to you?
SALLY BADWATER: It was about that brother of his. Frank. The murderer.
OFFICER DENSON: Do you remember exactly what he said?
SALLY BADWATER: Yeah, I remember. He was real intense. Got up in my face. He said, ‘Tell my brother to meet me at the quarry.’
OFFICE DENSON: The quarry? Does that mean anything to you?
SALLY BADWATER: No, of course not. He was talking nonsense.
“What did he mean by 'the quarry'?” Ms. Raymond asked.
Frank thought for a long moment. There was no quarry in Rook Mountain. “So that’s it, huh? Decipher my brother’s cryptic message for you and I can walk free?”
Ms. Raymond nodded.
Frank paused. This was the most power he’d had in nine years. He couldn’t waste it. “I think I’d like a lawyer.”
“Jesus, Hinkle.” The voice came from behind him. Rodgers. Frank had forgotten the guard was in the room.
A cold smile crossed Ms. Raymond’s face. “The whole point of a lawyer is to get you a better deal. I’m offering you the ability to walk out of prison today. You think a lawyer is going to get you something better than that?”
Frank licked his lips, trying to decide how far to push this. “No lawyer means no paperwork. No paperwork means maybe you don’t hold up your end of the deal.”
The woman shrugged. Her face was unreadable. “I understand your concern. Your choice. If you want to go back to your cell, ask for a lawyer again. If you want to get out of prison today, answer the question. What’s the quarry?”
Frank weighed the options and then answered. “You’re right. I couldn’t ask for anything more than what you’re offering. The thing is...I have no idea what Jake was talking about. I’ve never heard of any quarry around Rook Mountain.”
Ms. Raymond sighed. Then she did something unexpected. She reached out and she took one of Frank’s hands. For a moment, he felt the old familiar shame at their sweatiness, but then she looked into his eyes. And when she did, all other thoughts slipped away. Her gaze had a force to it, a weight. There was nothing intimate about it; in fact it was the opposite. Her stare was cold and clinical. She looked into him like he was a math problem. He felt her gaze squirming into him. It was a feeling he had felt only once before.
After an endless moment, she released his hand. She didn’t look away, but her star
e lost its weighty intensity. She had an odd look on her face, a surprised look.
“I believe you,” she said, and she stood up. “Thanks, warden.”
“Wait,” Frank said. This was it. His freedom was about to walk out of the room, and he was about to go back to the world of the Newg and mentally drifting and shower stabbings. “Maybe I can still help you.”
“I don’t think so. But I appreciate your willingness to try.”
Frank’s mind was spinning. He had to say something. He had to find the right words to stop her from leaving. Jake needed him. Christine needed him. “Jake wants to see me, right? That’s what he told Sally. He can’t do that in here. But if I were out there maybe he would make contact.”
Ms. Raymond picked up her briefcase from the table and put it under her arm.
“And in the meantime, I could do some digging. I’ve lived here all my life. I know everybody and they’ll talk to me. And I know these mountains. I know them as well as Jake does. If anyone can find him, it’s me.”
Ms. Raymond paused for a long moment, then looked at him. “Thirty days.”
Frank’s heart almost stopped as he waited for her to finish.
“You have thirty days to find him. If you do, you’re free. If you don’t, you come back here and serve out your sentence.”
Frank felt himself nodding.
“You meet with me each week to discuss your progress. You don’t leave town. And if I even suspect you aren’t following through, your little leave of absence ends.”
She reached into her briefcase and pulled out an envelope. She slapped it onto the table in front of him. “This is enough money to get you some clothes and a week of food. I assume you can find somewhere to stay?”
Frank nodded again. He looked at the envelope. She’d had it ready.
“Okay,” she said. She looked at the warden. “Get him released. He has work to do.” The warden looked as shell shocked as Frank felt. He nodded to Rodgers.
“Ma’am,” Frank said. “How do I find you? For the weekly meetings.”
Ms. Raymond smiled. “You don’t. I’ll find you.”
Rodgers moved back into Frank’s field of vision and unhooked the cuffs. Frank felt a smile growing on his face, and he was powerless to stop it. He had a feeling it would be there for a long while.