by P. T. Hylton
He held up a finger for emphasis. “When you go, you will see how the world on the outside really is, and then you will start to understand why Rook Mountain is so special and why we must do everything possible to protect it.”
Trevor couldn’t help but imagine the places he would go as the man talked.
“The things you see will change you,” Zed continued. “And you might need someone to talk to. Someone who understands. I want to tell you—and I mean this from the bottom of my heart—that from this moment on, I consider each person in this room family. Anytime you need to talk, day or night, you call me. Even if it’s something silly, something you don’t think is worth bothering me for, you call me. And, I promise, I will do everything I can to help you. You might need a listening ear, a place to stay, or even protection from your own parents. Doesn’t matter. I will help you.
“Like I said, I love Rook Mountain, and I believe you are her future and her brightest hope. It doesn’t matter what you were before today, what your dreams are, or—” he looked at Trevor, “—what your parents might have done. You are the future, and the future starts today.”
Zed smiled and put his hands on his hips. “Ready to get started?”
4.
Frank walked in the door a few minutes before six o’clock. He had spent most of the day wandering the town. He’d walked past his childhood home and his elementary school. He’d gone by Sean’s house and knocked on the door, but there had been no answer. He’d even walked past Wendy’s place, though he knew she would be at school. People had to work for a living.
The hours of walking had left his feet sore but his head clear. Becky Raymond had been wrong to suggest he should be suspicious of Christine and Will, but she did have a point. It was odd the way they weren’t asking him any questions, and the way they steered clear of certain topics. The way they hadn’t told him anything about the Regulations, and the way Will had only shown him those things on the outside of town after Sean had called him and asked.
Frank had come to a conclusion on his long walk through town: either Christine and Will were hiding something, or they didn’t trust him and thought he was hiding something. Possibly both.
Of course, if they thought that he was hiding something, they were correct. He hadn’t told them why he had been released from prison. He’d had to sort through his own feelings first. But now was the time. He had to have an honest talk with them tonight. Everybody needed to put their cards on the table. Enough with the secrets already.
The front door was locked, but that was no problem. The door knob was still the same one he had given Jake and Christine as a housewarming present so many years ago. Frank twisted it a quarter turn, pulled, twisted it a full turn the other direction, gave it a push at just the right angle, and the lock popped open.
Will and Christine were sitting at the dining room table.
“Hey,” Frank said. “You all have a good day?”
Will and Christine exchanged a glance.
“It was fine,” Christine said. “Frank, could you sit down for a minute? We need to talk.”
“Yeah, of course.” This was it, Frank knew. The chance for everyone to come clean.
Frank sat down. He felt a little like a child with mommy and daddy sitting at the ends of the table.
“Where’s Trevor?” Frank asked. “I wanted to ask him about his first day.”
“He’s at Carl’s,” Will said. His hands were squeezed into tight fists. “What was Becky Raymond doing at our house this morning?”
Frank shifted in his seat a little. The question caught him off guard. He wanted to discuss that, but he had hoped to be the one to get the ball rolling. “How’d you know about that?”
“I forgot my coffee this morning. I came back to get it and I saw her leaving. The two of you were chatting like old buddies.” Will’s ears were bright red. Will was a calm man, able to hide his emotions better than most, but Frank had played enough poker with him over the years that he could see what was wriggling beneath his cool exterior. Will was furious.
“Will,” Christine said, “let him explain.” She spoke in an uncharacteristic staccato. Her eyes were troubled.
“Okay,” Frank said. “She was here to check on my progress.”
“Your progress on what?” Will asked.
“Finding Jake.”
“Excuse me?” Will raised up out of his chair and leaned forward, palms on the table.
Frank met Will’s eyes. He felt himself getting a little heated too. There was no reason he should be under attack.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Frank said. “I was trying to get my bearings before we had this discussion.”
“Time’s up,” Christine said. “Talk to us.”
Frank nodded. He took a deep breath. “Becky Raymond came to see me in prison last week. She offered me a deal. If I agreed to help find Jake, I would be released.”
Will shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why would they think you could help?”
“Jake made an appearance last week. He talked to Sally Badwater.”
“That’s impossible.” Christine’s voice quivered as she spoke. “Sally Badwater’s making it up. She’s batshit crazy, and she’s telling stories.”
“No,” Frank said. “Jake told her something. Something only he would know. I believe her.” Frank didn’t want to explain the Cassandra lock. Not now, anyway.
Will stood up straight and pointed a shaky finger at Frank. “There is no way Jake’s in town. You think he’d go see Sally Badwater and not visit Christine and Trevor?”
Frank shrugged. “I only know what I know. It seems crazy to me, too. Maybe he’s trying to protect you guys.”
Christine rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands. “Okay, say it is true. Why did Becky Raymond come to you?”
“Jake told Sally that he needed to see me. So they let me out. Becky said I had one month to find him. And I had to agree to weekly meetings to discuss my progress. That was what you saw today.”
“This is incredible,” Christine said.
Will took a step back from the table. His balled up fists were at his side. “You know what’s incredible to me? After we took you in, no questions asked, you didn’t think to mention that Jake, Christine’s ex-husband, Trevor’s father—” he gritted his teeth, but Frank saw the tears in his eyes, “—my best friend. You didn’t mention that he was out there. They’re hunting him right now and he might need our help.”
“Will,” Christine said. “You’re wrong.”
“Thank you,” Frank said. “If we could all take a minute—”
“You’re wrong to say that they’re hunting Jake.” She nodded toward Frank. “Frank is the one hunting Jake.”
“Whoa, Christine, please. Let me explain.”
“Explain what?” Her eyes were filled with fury. “You agreed to track down Jake in exchange for your freedom! Explain to me what kind of a person does that.”
“It’s not like that. I’m trying to find Jake, yeah, but I’m gonna warn him. I wouldn’t turn him in.”
“Then why the secrecy?” Will asked.
“It’s not like you've been super forthcoming, either. Listen, maybe we need to work together. We can find Jake. Isn’t that what you want? Becky Raymond mentioned these objects. They have a broken clock symbol on them. She said Jake was obsessed with them. Have you seen anything like that?”
Will’s lips pressed together into a tight line. He said, “I’ve never seen anything like that.”
Frank knew Will was lying. He knew it as sure as he knew his own name. “Okay. How about the cabins? Did you clear them out before the Hansens moved in? Maybe we can look around out there. If Jake had to hide something, that’s where he’d stash it.”
“We moved everything out,” Christine said. “There’s nothing there.”
“What about my guitar case? The one with my locks in it.”
“We put all your stuff in a storage unit. We can go down the
re tomorrow if you want.”
Frank shook his head. “Gus Hansen said he had the guitar case. If you missed that, there might be other things out there too. Some of Jake’s things maybe. I should go take a look.”
There was a long moment of silence. “Damn it,” Will said. “I know you are fresh out of prison and don’t know any better, but there are things going on in this town that even your buddy Sean doesn’t know about. Bringing the city manager here could have really screwed us. I love you like a brother, and Christine does too. But if you put my family in danger—”
“What?” Frank asked. His voice was loud, almost a shout. He felt himself slipping, starting to lose control of his emotions. “What will you do, Will?”
Christine spoke softly. “You’re not the only killer in this house, Frank.”
Frank stopped, mid-breath. “What are you saying?”
“Will and I have done things, terrible things, to protect this family and to make sure Trevor has a future. We’ve sacrificed so much. We’ve hurt people, and we will do it again if we have to.”
Frank looked back and forth between Christine and Will, two of his closest friends in the world. All he saw in their eyes was ice. He believed Christine.
He pushed back his chair. “I’m sorry if I put you in danger. That is the last thing in the world I’d ever want to do. Maybe I should clear out of here for a while.”
Christine and Will were silent.
Frank paused, hoping they would say something. Maybe ask him not to leave. At least say goodbye. But they didn’t. Frank walked out the front door and headed into the darkening streets of Rook Mountain.
IN THE BEFORE (PART 4)
“Frank,” Brett said. “You ever feel like maybe you need a change of scenery?”
Frank shrugged. “You want to get out of Rook Mountain?”
Brett strummed a lazy D7 chord. “I don’t know. I guess. I’ve lived in these mountains all my life. I still think they’re pretty, but there’s something stifling about them too, you know? The trees are so thick it’s like they want to squeeze you. Not like the Rockies. Those mountains give a man a little room to think. Or the ocean. I could really spread out near the ocean.”
“You’ve got some weird ideas, dude.”
The two men were playing guitar on Frank’s porch, strumming old country tunes and 90’s grunge songs. Brett did a mean Billy Corgan imitation on “Bullet with Butterfly Wings.” It was the odd night when Will wasn’t around. He had some PTA function or something, so the three amigos were dos tonight. On nights like these, they often pulled out the guitars and jammed. Will was learning to play, but his limited chord vocabulary held them back a bit. Sometimes Todd came by with his perpetually out of tune ukulele. But on the nights when it was just Frank and Brett, they could get lost in the music and really jam.
They made an odd pairing. Brett was always talking as if he couldn’t stand the silence. He’d talk about anything, from the sad state of popular music to his grandfather’s rare coin collection. He was the type of guy who would start calling friends to chat anytime he had a drive longer than ten minutes. It didn’t even matter who—he would keep working his way through his contacts list until someone answered. Frank, on the other hand, cherished the silence.
It was understandable, Frank supposed. Brett was used to a houseful of kids and a wife who talked his ear off. His recent divorce had left him lonely. At first, he had a hard time understanding Frank’s quiet nature, but he came to accept it over time.
Frank was about to launch into “Interstate Love Song” when Brett said, “You know what I saw today?”
Frank reached for his beer. “I really don’t.”
“I was walking down by Gravel Park and I saw this little crowd gathered around. There were maybe ten people. I figured it might have been some kind of class or something, so I wandered over to see what was up. And guess what I saw?”
“I still have no idea.”
Brett leaned his guitar against the porch railing to free up his hands. He was a big hand talker. “Okay, so all the people are sitting on the ground in a semicircle around this rock. And guess who’s sitting on the rock like he’s Buddha or something? That Zed guy.”
Frank snorted out a laugh. “Naked Zed?”
“Yeah. I mean, he was wearing clothes but that’s the guy. I didn’t recognize some of the people, but I did know a few of them. There was Nate Grayson. And that girl Will took to that Strange Brood concert in Asheville—”
“Mary Gunderson.”
“Yeah. And Becky from the gas station on the corner of Dennis Cove Road.”
“Becky Raymond.”
“Yeah. So I stood back a little ways and watched. I wasn’t close enough to hear what he was saying, so I was kind of watching their body language. And, man, they were hanging on his every word. He was going on and on like he was giving a sermon or something. And they were eating it up. It was like Jesus with the ‘Blessed are the meek’ stuff.”
“The Beatitudes.”
“What?”
“The ‘Blessed are the meek’ stuff. That’s from the Beatitudes. It’s part of the Sermon on the Mount.”
“Anyway, I’m standing there watching, and all of a sudden Zed looks right at me and nods toward me. And all his little groupies turn their heads. Then one of the guys, this dude I’ve never seen before, stands up and walks over.”
“No way.”
“So I stand there, trying to figure out if this guy is going to get aggressive, trying to decide what to do if he does. Fight or flight and all that. But then I see he's smiling. He walks up and says, ‘Brett, Zed would like you to join us.’ Keep in mind, I’ve never met this dude.”
Frank laughed. “What did you say?”
“I didn’t know what to say! I just kind of shook my head and walked away. I’m telling you, Frank, this Zed guy is up to no good. We’ve got a real David Koresh situation building here. You met him. Can you imagine sitting there listening to him talk for twenty minutes? Voluntarily?”
Frank shook his head. “I could barely stand him for five minutes.”
“Weak minds, I guess.” Brett took a drink of his beer. “So how’s the workshop fund coming?”
Frank sighed. “It’s coming. I got a big payment in yesterday. I’m still eighteen months away from being able to get a real shop set up, though. That’s if I’m lucky.”
Brett smiled. “Man, when you start mass producing your locks, I’m going to be bugging you for a job.”
“I didn’t realize you were a qualified locksmith.”
Brett shrugged. “I’ll do whatever. Sweep floors. Help with the books. As long as I make enough to tell my current boss to suck it. I don’t need much. Just enough for rent on one of these cabins, a little food money—”
“Child support,” Frank said.
“Yeah.” Brett frowned. “That too. How much are your locks going for these days?”
“Anywhere from fifty bucks for the standard models up to a few hundred for the custom jobs. But it’s not like the money’s going to be rolling in the minute I get the shop set up. I’ll still be a one man operation. I’ll be able to work a little faster, that’s all. I’ll build it up slowly. Maybe bring on another locksmith in a few years so I can concentrate on designs.”
Brett wagged a finger at him. “What you need is an investor. You get some capital behind you, I’ll bet you could have your locks in every magic shop and hobby store in the country in a couple years.”
Frank smiled. “Maybe I should join Zed’s cult. Get them to fund me.”
Brett let out a full-bellied laugh which quickly devolved into a coughing fit. “Not the worst idea I’ve ever heard.” He stood up. “I gotta take a piss. Mind?”
“Yeah, sure,” Frank said. It was a little odd that Brett asked. He wasn’t usually averse to walking into Frank’s house without asking permission.
It wasn’t until almost eleven the next morning that Frank noticed the guitar case was gone.
&nbs
p; It was only by chance that Frank had discovered it at all. He had wanted to look at it this morning. Tinker with some of the locks he kept in there. He looked under the bed, but the case wasn’t there. He ran over to the cabin next door, the one he used as his workshop, but it wasn’t there, either. His guitar case and all the locks inside of it were gone. His life’s work. Thirty original lock designs, including ten prototypes not yet for sale. Including the unfinished Cassandra lock.
After some initial panic, a surprising sense of calm settled over him. There had only been one person in his cabin since he had last seen the guitar case. That person had always shown an uncommon interest in the locks Frank left laying around the house. Brett would mess with them for days trying to figure out the trick to opening them until Frank finally took pity and showed him how to do it.
Frank started at Brett’s cabin, first knocking on the door and then breaking in through a window when there was no answer. The inside of Brett’s place had always been sparse –nothing on the walls and only a few pieces of furniture, as if he expected to move back in with his wife at any moment—but this took it to a whole different level. The furniture was still there, but everything else was gone. The clothes, the bedding, even most of the food. Brett must have packed up his things during the night and headed out.
The room felt ten degrees colder than it had a moment ago. How long had Brett been planning this?
Frank sat down on the old overstuffed recliner in Brett’s living room and pushed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. The pain brought clarity.
It all made a sick kind of sense. Brett had been wiped out financially and emotionally by the divorce. He had gone from living an upper-middle class lifestyle to barely being able to scrape by. He had been on the edge for a while. It wasn’t shocking that he would bolt in the night. But what was he planning to do with Frank’s locks?
He took a deep breath and pulled out his cell phone. He needed to call the police. Something held him back, though. If he could get to Brett himself and talk to him, maybe the law didn’t have to get involved. And there was one place Frank was almost certain Brett would go before leaving town for good. Frank glanced at his watch and ran for his truck. There was still a chance.