by Marc Buhmann
They were almost out the door when Willem remembered something. “One sec!” he shouted and ran from the room. He’d been meaning to drop something off at the willow tree, but every time he went that way he’d forget to take it with. Not today. He grabbed the brown paper bag from his desk, the key to the box from Elliott’s room, then joined Sam outside.
“What’s that?” Sam asked.
“I’ll show you later.”
When they got to Willow Creek Bridge, Willem handed Sammy the paper bag and jumped onto the ledge. Willem walked the length of the ledge with his arms outstretched for balance. He noted the concerned look on Sam’s face, said, “It’s alright,” and hopped down. “You want to try?”
Sam looked over the edge at the shimmering water running along its rock bed. “What if I fall?”
Willem ran back and took the bag. “Boost up.” Sam gingerly put his hands on the ledge and with Willem’s help cautiously climbed up. Willem never let his brother go, and soon Sam was standing on shaky legs.
“This is scary.” He looked down at Willem. “Promise you won’t let go?”
“Promise. Just take it slow.”
Sam took one slow step at a time, pebbles sliding out from under his feet. Halfway across the bridge the sound of a car’s engine grew, and Sam looked toward it. A black Ford slowed, the sun glistening off the polished metal. The driver, an older man with glasses, peered through the window as he passed the boys before speeding off. Shortly thereafter Sam was across and jumped down beaming with pride. “I did it! I did it!” he cried.
Willem patted his shoulder. “Nicely done. Good job.” Sam gave a toothy grin. “Come on.” Willem followed the path down to the creeks edge.
“Where are we going?” Sam asked.
“Have to make a quick stop.” They followed the embankment to the willow tree. When they were beneath it Willem handed Sam the brown paper bag.
The ground was soft and mossy beneath the canopy. Willem moved the rocks from the hole of their buried treasure. He glanced at Sam who watched him curiously as he pulled out the box wrapped in a dirty cloth.
“What is it?” Sam asked. Removing the cloth, Willem revealed the dented metal box.
“This,” Willem said with an air of suspense, “is our buried treasure.”
“Buried treasure?” Sam repeated in awe.
“Elliott showed it to me a while back.” He handed it to Sam. “Go on. Open it.”
Sam crept closer, knelt next to his brother, and gingerly took the box with its intricate design. “This was moms,” he said matter-of-factly. “She kept her sewing stuff in it.”
“Elliott found it in the trash.”
“Where’s the key?”
Willem pulled it from his pocket and handed it to Sam who unlocked and opened the lid. Inside was an old pocket watch, a family photo several years old, a green fishing lure, and other odds and ends. “What is all this stuff?”
“The watch was dads; he gave it to Elliott a long time ago. The lure is mine.” He didn’t mention that it, too, had been a gift from their father. “And that photo… do you remember it being taken?”
Sam shook his head.
Willem continued. “It was taken at Blue Gill Park. We were there having a picnic.”
They all looked so happy, each with a smile on their face. An imperfection in the photo—a small lens flare or damage of some sort—hung over his head.
Sam looked at each item in-turn before focusing on several toy cars.
“And those?” he said, pointing.
“Those,” Willem said with a smile, “are just some toy cars.” Sam looked at him surprised. “Never hurts to have some toys lying around.”
“Why are you hiding this stuff?”
“I don’t know. Elliott and I just sort of started collecting stuff. It was his idea to hide it here. Can you keep it a secret, Sam?”
There was no hesitation on Sam’s part. “Yes.”
“Good.” Willem pointed to the paper bag next to Sam. “Hand me that.”
Sam picked it up and handed it to Willem. “What is it?”
“This,” he said opening the bag, “is something special.” He reached in and pulled out a single item, one that made Sam’s eyes grow.
Willem had been holding onto it since the day they had gone with William into the woods in search of Caroline’s Cottage—the metal ring. He’d stuck it in his closet and had forgotten about it until two weeks ago when he’d uncovered it. Ever since then he’d felt an urge to hide it here.
“This I found in the woods that day with William. Do you remember?”
A nod. “Why are you hiding it here?”
Willem shook his head. “I don’t know. Just a feeling.”
Willem put it in the box; it barely fit, taking up most of the remaining room.
“Can I put something in there?”
“Sure.”
Sam dug into his pocket and pulled out a toy soldier and placed it in the box. “He’ll protect the treasure.”
Willem smiled. “Good idea, Sam.”
He took the key from Sam and relocked the box, wrapped it back up, and returned it to its hiding place. Together they covered it with rocks trying to make it look as natural as possible. Once done, they stood and Willem led Sam away. “Let’s go get that ice cream.”
“And Deadeye!”
“And Deadeye,” Willem agreed. They walked back to Willow Creek Bridge and continued on their way.
Willem and Sam were on Main Street and rounded the corner stopping at their destination, simply named The Soda Foundry. Not only did they sell ice cream and soda pop, they also sold comic books. To say The Soda Foundry was a popular destination for kids was an understatement.
Willem and Sam spent time flipping through the latest issues of Green Lantern, Superman, and Batman. They bumped into William who had recently earned the not-so-pleasant nickname Pube after his voice screeched in English class.
“Still DC with you? Really?” William asked not unkindly.
“Best writing out there,” Willem responded. “Everything with Atlas is mutant, mutant, mutant! DC has originality.”
“Originality? Please!”
“X-Men? Fantastic Four? Mutants. Spider-Man? Mutation from a radioactive spider. At least with DC you’ve got a man who gained his powers from the sun, a man who got a ring from a dying alien, and a rich guy who makes his own stuff and no special powers. Marvel? Mutants.” This was a long running debate between the two friends.
“Whatever. I gotta get going anyway. To be continued,” he said with a smile.
Willem and Sam walked to the back of the store where the ice cream was. “What flavor are you getting?” Sam asked as they stared through the glass display. “I’m getting chocolate!”
“You always get chocolate.”
“It’s because I love it!”
There were only two real flavors to choose from—he didn’t consider strawberry a flavor. He could follow his brother’s lead or go with vanilla. Today felt like a chocolate day, so follow Sam he did. “Two chocolate cones,” he said to Mr. Taylor when the middle aged man approached. He paid and they took their cones.
They wandered the town aimlessly before ending up at Blue Gill Park. They played on the seesaws then chased some lounging mallards. One of the picnic tables caught Willem’s eye, the table where the photo in the lockbox had been taken. Happier times—it seemed like so long ago.
When they approached Willow Creek Bridge Sam tugged at his brother’s hand. “Can I try again?” he asked.
“Go for it. Want help?”
Sam looked at the ledge, determination in his eye. “No. I can do it all by myself.”
“Alright. Just be careful.”
Sam peeked over the ledge, timidness now creeping into his movements.
“You don’t have to do this,” Willem said even though he sensed Sam’s determination.
Willem stayed close as Sam put both hands on the ledge and boosted himself up, first one kne
e and then the other. He got one foot under himself and tentatively stood, arms outstretched. Once at full height be began to smile. “I’m doing it!” he shouted proudly. “I’m doing it, Willem!”
“Great job, Sam! Now start across… slowly. No need to rush.”
Sam put one foot in front of the other, slowly making his way across, and Willem paralleled him on the street ready to grab him if the need arise.
Willem was so focused on his brother that he didn’t hear a car fast approaching. It wasn’t until it was almost on top of them that he turned to look. The car swerved toward him as the driver laid on the horn. Four teenage boys hooped and hollered out the window as they flew past, well over the speed limit, forcing Willem to jump back. The car then swerved back into its lane.
“Assholes,” he said as he watched after.
The brake lights lit up and the car screeched to a stop.
“Willem? What’s going on?”
The cars reversed.
“I don’t know,” Willem said keeping his eyes on the car. Bobby jumped out of the back seat.
“Well look who we have here,” Bobby said as he strode to Willem. Behind him three older boys got out. Bobby stopped a foot from Willem, eyed him up, and snorted. “I knew I’d finally get a go at you if I waited.” He looked around, arms outstretched. “Here we are and not a soul around! You ready for payback?”
Willem was nervous. “Payback? It’s been three years, Bobby. You still sore over that?”
Bobby pointed to his crooked nose. “See this? And this?” He opened his mouth showing the hole where two teeth had been. “Yeah… I’m still sore.”
He could feel a dampness under his arms, his face growing warm. Could Bobby really have held a grudge for this long? “Are you serious? We were kids!”
“There are always consequences for our actions; my dad says that all the time. Today you finally get yours.”
“Come on, Bobby. I’ve got my brother here…”
Bobby glanced at Sam for only a second.
“Can we do this another day?” Willem asked. He looked at the older boys who had moved closer. “Just you and me.”
He tried to duck but was too slow. He hadn’t expected Bobby to throw the first punch without warning. His teeth rattled and his jaw throbbed, pain shooting through his legs as his knees slammed onto the concrete.
“Willem!” his brother screamed.
He tried to stand, but before he could Bobby’s foot connected with his gut. Wind exploded from his lungs—he wanted to puke. A punch to a kidney.
“Leave him alone!” he heard a tiny voice scream through the ringing in his ears.
Another kick, then a third punch to the side of his face as he tried to look up. Gravel bit into his palms and face.
He lay there, curled up in a ball, waiting. What was Bobby waiting for? Was it over?
He heard tires peel out, an engine disappearing into the distance. Willem tried to push himself up but couldn’t. He hurt. So fast! The fight couldn’t have been more than twenty seconds yet he felt like he’d been beaten for hours.
Why wasn’t Sam trying to help him? “Ugh…” he grunted, looked up, vision unfocused. “Sam?”
Couldn’t see him. Had the boys taken him? His baby brother had nothing to with this. Why would they take him? Made no sense.
Willem struggled and managed to push himself up, took in his surroundings. “Sammy?”
The wind and birds and creek his only companions.
Standing he hobbled in the direction the car had sped off in when he heard a tiny sob. He looked around again, saw nothing. “Sam?”
Then a terrible thought came to him, and he lunged to the ledge of Willow Creek Bridge and peered over. There, lying in a heap, water trickling by, was Sam.
“Sam!” cried Willem.
He almost lost balance on his way down the embankment. Pain coursed through his body but he didn’t care. He grabbed his baby brother. “Sam!” he cried out again, tears of heartache and terror streaming down his cheeks. Sam whimpered, eyes unfocused. “Sammy!” And then they closed and his whimpering stopped. “Please wake up!” Willem began to sob. “Please!” He ran a hand through his brother’s wet hair as if trying to comfort him. He felt a gash on the back of Sam’s head. He pulled his hand back and looked at it.
Blood. A lot of it.
“No-no-no-no-no!” he kept crying, shaking his brother, trying whatever he could to wake him up.
Willem hobbled up the slope to the road and looked in both directions. No cars! What was he going to do? He could either stay here, go for home, or go for town. What would be best for Sam? He felt dizzy, unsure of himself. What to do? Think! There was a doctor in town. And his mother.
Elliott was at home, but what would he be able to do?
Decision made, he ran back towards town.
* * *
The death of Sam Amberson—and the boys responsible—made the front page of the River Bend Times. It wasn’t often something as tragic as a child’s death rocked the small community, but what made it even harder to digest was the fact it was done at the hands of another boy. No one thought Bobby had done it intentionally—more a case of “boys being boys”, a little spat if you will—that had ended in tragedy. David and Lilly both felt bad for the family; they knew the loss all too well.
David’s dreams had subsided for a while but never completely stopped. Now, though, they were back with a vengeance, DeMarcus in them all. Stay away from him, Lilly had begged him, but he knew no matter how hard he might try to keep that promise it was futile. DeMarcus would find him; of that he was certain. He would toss and turn, sleep evading him, until he would leave the comfort of his bed so as not to disturb Lilly.
Tonight he’d ended up sitting in the backyard with a cup of tea enjoying the cool breeze, the familiar smell of autumn swirling around. The seasons were changing fast this year, and the leaves had begun to darken from lush green to an assortment of reds, yellows, and oranges.
His mind wandered to Claire. Such a beautiful little girl, and he often wondered what their child would have been like had they not lost it. They’d talked of adoption, but neither seemed ready to pursue it.
Over the months they’d learned more about the Underhill’s. It wasn’t that they were bad people, but the happy-go-lucky perfect American family exterior they radiated was a façade. It’s just that Frank was rarely home and stuck at the base, always coming in late. Jeanine and Claire, at least as far as David could tell, rarely saw him. While it wasn’t obvious to the casual observer, David and Lilly knew Frank and Jeanine were having problems because, on too many occasions, they’d asked them to watch Claire. They were happy to do so because it gave them the opportunity to plug a hole in their lives—to play parents. At first it was infrequent then became something they did several times a week. And while it wasn’t their place to say anything, both David and Lilly suspected Jeanine was having an affair.
That family is going to break one day, Lilly said matter-of-fact one night. Mark my words. David didn’t doubt it.
The buzzing started gradually, and it brought back his dream. The dark dream. The backyard flashed a blue strobe light as the buzzing increased to a near deafening volume. And suddenly it was silent, so silent David imagined it must be what death sounded like. He sensed a presence, turned, and sitting in a second chair was DeMarcus.
His head was turned toward David, that everlasting smile on his face. His hands grasped the armrests of the chair. He looked comfortable, lounging. “You didn’t bring her to me, David.” DeMarcus looked around the yard in an unnatural and damn unsettling head turn. “I’m disappointed.”
“Why?”
“What transpires from this moment on will resonate throughout everything.” DeMarcus turned back. “You have a choice to make,” he said and tapped his temple. “There is a girl that needs your help.”
The buzzing increased, the blue strobe flickered. David looked around and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window,
yet much older and frail.
Is that me? he wondered.
“We’re all reflections of each other.” DeMarcus’ eyes focused elsewhere. “She’s going down the up staircase.”
“Who?”
DeMarcus’ smile widened. “She sees the girl in the photograph.” He looked again to David. “Now she’s screaming. They’re both screaming.”
The buzz turned to screams, and then the world came crashing back. The night sounds, the autumn breeze.
At first he thought he had been dreaming, had fallen asleep in his chair, but then he heard Jeanine screaming next-door, panicked.
David leapt up just as the light in the bedroom he shared with Lilly turned on. He rushed across the dew-covered grass to the Underhill’s back door and banged on it.
“Mrs. Underhill? Mrs. Underhill! It’s David! Are you alright?” He banged on the glass again.
Lilly came out the back door in her robe. “David! What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” he said with a shake of his head. He knocked again, ready to throw his shoulder against the door, when Jeanine opened it.
“Claire’s gone!”
David said, “Wh—what? Where’s Frank?”
“Still at work, I think!”
“Call the police,” he instructed and ran past.
He assumed Claire’s room was upstairs, took the steps two at a time. When he reached the top he spotted it and burst through. A few toys were scattered about but most were put away all nice and neat. Claire’s bed was empty. He looked under it and in the closet. Nothing. The window was open, went to it and looked out. The screen window was intact and it was unlikely it had been tampered with. He searched the rest of the upstairs with quick glances calling out Claire’s name.
He nearly collided with Jeanine at the bottom of the stairs. “What happened?” he asked.