Jack: Secret Circles

by F. Paul Wilson

  But Jack was thinking about this afternoon … how he was going to earn sixty bucks for mowing the Lodge’s lawn while he figured out a way to get inside.

  5

  “You look so hot.”

  Jack glanced up and saw Weezy straddling her bike, shaking her head.

  “As hot as Carson Toliver?”

  She gave him a puzzled look, then laughed. “In your dreams.”

  He didn’t know why he’d asked, but that wasn’t an answer he liked.

  She shrugged. “You know what I mean.”

  Yeah, he knew. And truth was, he felt very hot.

  The grass around the Lodge was even thicker than he’d anticipated. The mower kept clogging, and the sun kept hammering away at him. After school he’d changed to a T-shirt and cut-offs before coming over, but that hadn’t helped much. He was drenched.

  But worth it for sixty bucks. He’d more than earn it this week, but have a much easier time next.

  “Have you been able to look inside yet?”

  The mower clogged and stalled again. Jack would have to unclog it, then start yanking on the cord to restart the motor. He felt his mood heading south. He gave Weezy a look.

  “Boy, do you have a one-track mind. No. As you can see, I’ve been a little busy.”

  “Yeah, I guess. Still … every day our pyramid sits in there is like … a beehive buzzing in my head.”

  There she went again, rewriting what he’d told her. “I said I might have seen a pyramid.”

  “Only one way to find out.” She shifted her gaze and stared over Jack’s shoulder. “Is anybody home?”

  Jack turned and realized she was looking at the Lodge.

  “Whoa, Weez. We can’t go snooping around here now.”

  “Looks empty,” she said. “I wonder if the door’s locked.”

  He could sense her getting carried away. Didn’t she have any brakes on that brain of hers?

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  “Can we at least look in the windows?”

  His voice rose as he felt his patience thinning. “Look, you need a little patience and I need to finish here before midnight.”

  “Okay, okay. When you do finish, Eddie’s waiting on you to help him reach the final round of Death Star.”

  Yeah, he’d rather be handling an Atari 5200 joystick than soggy grass, rather be piloting the Millennium Falcon toward the Death Star’s power core than pushing a mower.

  “Death Star? What is a Death Star? It sounds rather entertaining.”

  Jack started as he looked up and saw Mr. Drexler, wearing his ever-present white suit, standing in the Lodge’s front entrance beneath the huge sigil.

  How long had he been there? Had he heard anything?

  “It’s in a movie,” Jack said. “Science fiction.”

  His interest vaporized. “Oh. I don’t like fiction.”

  Weezy looked jumpy. Jack understood. Even though the Lodge had been here forever, probably before the town, maybe before the Pilgrims—long before the Indians, according to her—it was fanatically secretive and mysterious and nobody knew what to make of it. And here she’d been talking about poking around inside it.

  Giving her a keep-mum look, he left her behind and walked over to Mr. Drexler. Mainly because he was standing in the shade, but also because Jack wanted to broach a certain topic. He hesitated, then decided to go for it.

  “What’s it like inside?” Jack said, pointing to the building.

  Mr. Drexler regarded him. “It is what one might call ‘functional.’”

  “Do you give tours?”

  “Tours?” he said, his eyebrows lifting. “Tours are only for prospective members during recruitment. You are too young for recruitment.”

  “But you recruited my father and gave him a tour.”

  “Then you can ask him all about it.”

  “He won’t tell me much. How about it? Make an exception for the son of a recruit who turned you down?”

  “That’s hardly reason for an exception.” He sighed. “I might give you a cursory tour sometime, but not today.”

  Yes!

  “Can I bring a friend?”

  Mr. Drexler nodded toward where Weezy waited with her bike. “By ‘friend’ I suppose you mean your girlfriend, the contentious Miss Connell.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.” Though she could be contentious as all get-out. “But yeah.”

  “I would hope she wouldn’t think she was going to find her precious missing artifact inside.”

  “Who, Weezy? Not a chance. So how about it?”

  “I suppose.”

  Yes!

  As Mr. Drexler turned away and closed the door, Jack hurried back to where Weezy waited.

  “We’re going on a tour of the Lodge,” he whispered.

  Her eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. “Ohmygod, I can’t believe it. When?”

  “Not sure yet, but I’ll bug him till he gives in. Operation Pyramid is on!”

  6

  “I’m going out for a little bit,” Jack said.

  Dinner was over and he was feeling restless. His father looked up from where he sat sipping an after-dinner beer with Mr. Bainbridge, a fellow Korean War vet.

  “Okay, Jack. Homework done?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah. Just going for a ride.”

  “Don’t be too long.” He raised a hand. “Oh, Mom says you’re cutting the Lodge’s lawn?”

  “Those nuts?” Mr. Bainbridge said.

  Jack nodded. “Mister Drexler’s paying me sixty bucks.”

  Dad’s eyebrows shot up. “Sixty!” Then his eyes narrowed. “He just came out and offered you sixty bucks?”

  “No. It was less at first but—”

  “You negotiated more?”

  “Well …” Jack couldn’t really call it negotiating. He’d hesitated and Mr. Drexler had interpreted that as dissatisfaction with the initial offer of fifty.

  Dad smiled. “Good for you.”

  Mr. Bainbridge laughed and slapped his thigh. “Damn, Jack! Maybe I should take you with me next time I buy a car!”

  Outside, Jack looked around his front yard. Too dark to see anything now. He’d scoured the whole area this afternoon, looking for that Frisbee. The bushes, the street, the neighbors’ yards—not a sign of it. All he could think of was some dog had come along and run off with it.

  He hopped on his bike and accelerated. Yeah, he was off on a ride, but he had a destination in mind: the Vivino house.

  He’d thought about Sally while he was mowing the Lodge’s lawn, during dinner, and through his homework. He knew it was crazy, but he had to go check on her.

  Dusk was fading to night as he cut past the Bainbridge house on his way to the highway. He spotted a dark figure rocking on the front porch. Weird Walt, no doubt. His sister was married to Mr. Bainbridge and he lived with them.

  Down on Quakerton he passed USED. All looked quiet there. He hadn’t given a thought to opening it today because Mr. Rosen always kept it closed on Mondays.

  He rode up 206 to Mr. Rosen’s place and leaned his bike against the side of the trailer. Then he crept into the Vivino yard and up to the house. His heart jumped, then sank when he heard Sally screaming.

  He stole to the side of the house and followed the sound to one of the kitchen windows. He suppressed a gasp when he peeked in and saw Mr. Vivino holding his wife in an armlock. Her expression looked agonized but she wasn’t saying anything. Her husband seemed to be doing all the talking but Jack couldn’t hear what he was saying over Sally’s screams.

  “Stop it, Daddy! Stop-it-stop-it-stop-it!”

  Unable to watch, Jack reeled away from the window and ran back to his bike. When he reached it he stood panting—not from exertion, from rage.

  This couldn’t go on. Mr. Vivino had to be stopped. But that didn’t seem doable unless Mrs. V stopped covering for him.

  Had to be another way. Had to be.

  As he rolled his bike back toward the highway, he s
aw the lights from the circus up the road. He rode up there, looking for distraction, but when he reached the entrance he found he had no interest in wandering the midway again.

  So he turned around and headed slowly back to town. A fog was rolling in so he switched sides and rode against the traffic to see what was coming, all the while cudgeling his brain for a solution. He considered talking to his dad about it. But what could he do? Go up to Mr. Vivino and say, My son’s been spying on your family and says you’ve been mistreating Cathy and Sally.

  Like that would do a lot of good—especially if Mrs. V said nothing was wrong.

  Everything seemed to hinge on her.

  Or maybe he should just mind his own damn business. Yeah, that was exactly what he should do.

  But he knew he couldn’t.

  7

  Jack pedaled through the foggy town, still unable to think of a solution. Instead of turning off on North Franklin, he followed Quakerton Road toward the lake to see how it looked in the fog.

  Well, it looked like … fog, and nothing but fog; the mist had grown impenetrably thick over the surface, masking the lake and its shores. The fully lit Lodge seemed to float above it, like a boxy cruise ship. He’d never seen it so lit up, so he crossed into Old Town for a closer look. He found perhaps a dozen cars parked around it.

  Well, well, well. Was the Septimus Order throwing a party?

  An unbidden image of Mr. Drexler dancing around with a lampshade on his head made Jack cringe.

  Curious, he leaned his bike against the curb and wandered across the lawn. The cars parked on the gravel driveway were of all types, ranging from limousines to pickups. About a dozen feet from the building, he paused. He really shouldn’t be here. If he got caught he’d probably lose the lawn job and the sixty bucks a week that went with it, plus the chance at a tour of the place.

  Nope, not worth the risk.

  With an effort he turned and was starting back toward his bike when he heard a faint, high-pitched cry—like a child’s voice. He froze and waited, listening. He heard the breeze whispering through the pines and rustling the leaves of the maples that lined the street, but no—

  There. Again. The high-pitched cry.

  Cody? Could it be … ?

  He did a slow turn, trying to identify the direction it had come from. The fog diffused the sound, making it seem to come from everywhere at once. The only place near enough for a source was the Lodge.

  Jack headed back toward the building. He didn’t see any choice but to take a look. If Cody was in there …

  He didn’t want to think about it.

  Lowering to a crouch, he eased up to one of the front windows and peered between the bars into a room with a huge fireplace. No one in sight, and the spot where he thought he’d seen the pyramid wasn’t visible from this angle.

  He heard the cry again. It seemed to come from around the corner.

  Staying low, he slipped along the stucco wall toward the rear of the building. There he peeked into another large room, this one crowded with men gathered around a large table. The familiar sigil of the Ancient Septimus Fraternal Order was painted on the ceiling, looking down on the table like a watchful alien eye. Some of the men wore suits, some dressed more casually, but all were avidly staring at something on the table. Jack couldn’t see what it was because they blocked his view.

  His gut twisted as he imagined them torturing Cody in some foul secret rite. And then someone stepped away, leaving a gap that revealed what was so interesting. Jack recognized it immediately.

  The Mystery Machine from the circus sideshow.

  And now he spotted its owner, the thin man the canvas boss had called “Prather.” Mr. Prather appeared to be explaining something about the gizmo to the Lodge members, and they all seemed fascinated. Then the man who’d moved away stepped back, blocking Jack’s view again.

  He backed away from the window. More evidence of a connection between the Order and the Taber & Sons circus. But so what? It didn’t mean anything unless the circus was involved with Cody’s disappearance.

  And if that cry hadn’t come from Cody, then who—?

  Jack jumped as a sound broke the silence from directly to his left, louder and higher pitched than the previous cries. He looked and saw nothing at first, then a pair of eyes flashed as they caught the light from the window.

  A cat … a fat tabby looked up at him and made that sound again. From farther away, through the fog, Jack imagined it could have sounded like a frightened child. He chased it away and stood listening.

  All quiet.

  He gave up and headed back to his bike.

  8

  Mr. Bainbridge was leaving just as Jack got home. He could tell from his eyes he’d had more than a couple of Dad’s Carling Black Labels.

  “Gonna make it to the smoker on Thursday?” Mr. Bainbridge asked his father.

  Jack knew that “the smoker” was the monthly get-together at the VFW post where they drank, played cards, and showed porno movies.

  Dad shook his head. “Not my cup of tea, Kurt. You know that.”

  “Yeah, but we finally got rid of those old eight-millimeters. We’ve got a VCR now and we can rent all sorts of new stuff.” He laughed. “All in living color!”

  Dad gave him a tolerant smile and waved. “You boys have fun.”

  Mom walked in as he left. She held a dish towel. “That was Kate on the phone. She was talking to Tim and he says they’re stalled on Cody. The state police are involved now. They had a search party in the Pines today and they’re planning on going back tomorrow. They dragged the lake and found nothing. They’re also searching the cornfields and the orchards. There’s so many places he could be.” She twisted the towel and looked about to cry. “His poor parents. Think what they must be going through.”

  “He’s got to be somewhere.”

  As soon as the words left his mouth Jack wanted to kick himself for saying something so ridiculously obvious. Of course Cody was somewhere. Everybody was somewhere. Question was: Wherever he was, was he alive?

  It seemed less and less likely to Jack that this was going to have a happy ending.

  9

  That night Jack dreamed he was at the Taber & Sons circus, showing off for Karina at the ring-the-bell game. Tony Vivino was nowhere in sight this time, but his mother and Sally were, and he wondered why until he realized that Mr. Vivino’s head had replaced the ringer weight. He swung the mallet in a mighty arc that sent Mr. V’s head to the top and rang the bell. The instant-home-movie guy from the bumper cars was taping it all and everyone was having a great time until Cody Bockman showed up with Mr. Prather’s Mystery Machine and dissolved everyone with the disintegrating ray it created.

  TUESDAY

  1

  After Mr. Kressy’s class, Karina went through the caf line with Jack and they joined a table with Eddie and a few other kids. As he pulled up a chair Jack noticed Elvin Neolin approaching. They made brief eye contact and Jack started to wave him over. He didn’t know any of the pineys and Elvin seemed like an okay guy. Shy as all get-out, but maybe Jack could draw him out … see if he knew anything about a pyramid in the Pines.

  But Jake Shuett raised a hand in a stop signal. “Don’t even think about it, piney. We don’t eat with inbreds.”

  Elvin’s gaze dropped and he veered away.

  Karina slammed her hands on the table. “What?”

  Matt Follette and Erik Burns looked up from their food and Eddie stopped fiddling with his Rubik’s Cube.

  Jake looked surprised. “Hey—”

  Karina jabbed a finger at his face from across the table. “Don’t you ever say ‘we’ when I’m around. I’m not part of you, I’m not like you, and I don’t want to be included with you.”

  She began putting her food back onto her tray.

  Jack watched Elvin approach another table occupied by fellow pineys, then turned to Jake.

  “That was pretty cold, Shuett. And you don’t speak for me either.”


  “What is it with you two?” Jake said. “He’s a piney. They’re retards. He’s probably going to marry his sister just like his daddy did.”

  Karina’s eyes blazed. “Mostly they’re just poor. Some don’t have electricity or running water, but that brother-sister stuff is garbage.”

  “What did you say to Elvin?” said a new voice.

  Jack looked up and saw a tall skinny kid with long, unruly brown hair. His clothes were too small, leaving his gangly arms sticking out of his sleeves and his cuffs above his ankles. He had one blue eye and one brown. His mismatched gaze was fixed on Jake.

  Jake seemed to shrink for an instant, then he puffed up. He had ten or fifteen pounds on the new kid. He picked up a ketchup pack and casually began shaking it down.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “My name’s Levi Coffin.”

  Jake snickered. “Coffin? Is that a made-up name like Sid Vicious?”

  He looked around the table. If he was expecting a laugh, he was disappointed. Jack was feeling acutely uncomfortable.

  “It’s an old Quaker name,” Levi said. “And I’m asking if you called El an inbred.”

  Jake tried to stare him down. “Yeah. I did. What’re you going to do about it?”

  The guy didn’t flinch. “Just wanted to make sure.”

  With that he turned and walked away.

  Jack wondered if a threat had been issued.

  Jake’s laugh sounded forced. “Another piney loser.”

  Just then his ketchup pack exploded, spraying his shirt-front with crimson sauce.

  As he cursed and grabbed for a paper napkin, he must have knocked against his plate, because it spilled his burger and cole slaw onto his lap.