Jack: Secret Histories

by F. Paul Wilson

  “He will! He’ll die!”

  The deputy wasn’t looking where Jack wanted him to, so he picked up the little red box and pretended to examine it. When the deputy saw it he reached toward Jack.

  “May I?”

  As Jack handed it over, Mr. Brussard said, “Never mind that! We’ve got to get him to the hospital!”

  But the deputy wasn’t listening. He was staring at the box, turning it over in his hands.

  “I’ve seen one of these before. Mister Sumter had it on him when he died. And I’ve heard the same box was found on Vasquez and Haskins.” He looked up at Mr. Brussard. “What was in this?”

  “Nothing. Look, we need to—”

  “Nothing?” Challis said. “Nothing? I just heard you ask your boy if he took the pill that was inside.” His jaw dropped. “And when he said yes you went crazy. You just said he’ll die.” He pointed to Mr. Brussard. “It’s you! You poisoned them! Sumter, Vasquez, and Haskins—you killed them!”

  Mr. Brussard looked stunned. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “It’s true! It’s all clear! You poisoned them with whatever pill was in that box! And I was next! ‘I’ve found a way to protect us from the klazen.’ Isn’t that what you said? But what I need is protection from you!”

  Mrs. B looked horrified. “Gordon, what is this man talking about?”

  The deputy frowned at Challis. “Why would he want to kill you?”

  “Because five can keep a secret only when four are dead, isn’t that right, Gordon.”

  “I’m not following,” the deputy said.

  “We killed Anton Boruff—the body found in the Pines!”

  “Bert!” Mr. Brussard shouted.

  “There. I’ve said it. It’s haunted me for two years. Now maybe I’ll be able to sleep at night!” He turned to the deputy and his words spewed at machine-gun speed. “He swindled us—fake diamonds. We confronted him. Things got rough. He fell, hit his head. It wasn’t supposed to happen. We didn’t mean to—”

  “‘We’?” the deputy said. “Who do you mean?”

  “Me, Sumter, Vasquez, Haskins, and Gordon here.”

  Just then a heavy guy with a first-aid emblem on his shirt thundered down the stairs.

  “We tried the bell but no one answered. I heard voices—” He looked at the swaying Steve. “Is this the unconscious person you reported?”

  “I didn’t report anyone,” Mr. Brussard said, “but as long as you’re here, he needs immediate hospitalization.”

  Jack figured this had gone on long enough. He snatched the pill from where he’d left it on the floor behind the couch, and held it up.

  “Is this the pill?”

  Mr. Brussard’s eyes widened. “Give it to me,” he said, reaching for it.

  But the deputy grabbed his arm.

  “I’ll take that.”

  Jack gave it to him. He looked at it, put it in the little red box, and shoved the box into a pocket. Then he stepped back and rested one hand on his pistol as he pulled his two-way from his belt.

  “This is Driscoll,” he said. “I’ve got a situation at one twenty-seven Harding in Johnson. Requesting backup.”

  Jack felt a rush of … what? A strange, tingling fire flared in his chest as he realized he’d done it. He’d tricked Mr. Brussard into incriminating himself. He wanted to whoop and yell and do the Snoopy dance around the room.

  But he couldn’t. Now was not the time. Not with Steve and his mother staring in shock and fear and disbelief at the man they called father and husband. Maybe there’d never be a good time for the Snoopy dance.

  Free-form guilt dulled the edge of his elation. He looked around and found Mr. Brussard glaring at him.

  “You called them, didn’t you.”

  Jack couldn’t look at Steve, but he stared Mr. Brussard in the eye.

  “I was worried about Steve.”

  And that was the truth.

  1

  “Trouble just follows you around, doesn’t it.”

  Jack turned at the sound of the voice and saw Tim leaning out the window of his patrol car.

  “What do you mean?”

  Tim smiled. “You know exactly what I mean. My buddy Driscoll says you were right in the thick of things last night. Even found the pill.”

  “Yeah, well, just hanging with Steve.”

  Tim nodded toward the Brussard house down the street. “Returning to the scene of the crime?”

  The whole town was buzzing with the news of the Brussard arrest and the Challis confession. Jack had wandered over, wondering if he should stop in and see how Steve was handling it. He knew he shouldn’t feel guilty about exposing a murderer, but he couldn’t help it.

  He’d chickened out on the visit, at least on his first pass, afraid Steve would take one look at him and somehow know Jack had got his dad arrested. As he’d passed he noticed that the garbage can near the end of the driveway was full of empty liquor bottles. Mrs. Brussard was cleaning house—a first step toward helping Steve, but Jack had a feeling he’d need more.

  “Brussard posted bail,” Tim said.

  “He’s out? How?”

  “Not much on him beyond what Challis said. But we’re analyzing that pill, and if it turns out to be some funky poison, we’ll have a whole different ball game.”

  Now Jack was doubly glad he hadn’t stopped in. The way Steve’s dad had looked at him last night made it clear he suspected something.

  Tim went on. “Challis, on the other hand, didn’t want bail. Said he felt safer behind bars.”

  Safe from the klazen? Or his Lodge brother?

  “He give any reason for the way they—?”

  “Cut him up?” Tim shook his head. “Not much. Told us Boruff was killed in a ‘sacred rite’ used for those who betray Lodge brothers, then clammed up. Said it was a Lodge matter and nobody else’s business.”

  Cutting off the arms at the elbows and sewing them into the armpits … what kind of sacred rite was that?

  “Seen any more state troopers running around?” Tim said.

  Jack used the title of another book on his summer reading list. “All quiet on the western front.”

  Tim nodded. “It is sort of the western front, isn’t it—the western front of the Pine Barrens.”

  Mention of the Barrens reminded Jack of something.

  “You went to the mound yesterday. How’s it look?”

  Tim shook his head. “I saw it when we dug up the body. Gotta tell you, you wouldn’t recognize the place now. All torn up.” Another head shake. “Shame. One of the pointy heads we had doing the crime scene work-up said he was sure the mound was pre-Columbian.”

  Jack had heard the term before. “Before Columbus? Wow.”

  “Yeah. Wow. He said definitely pre-Columbian, maybe even prehistoric.”

  “Oh, man. Weezy will want to go back.”

  Jack did too, but knew Weezy would want to even more.

  “Nothing left to see. Trust me.” Tim poked his arm. “But even so, you two stay away from there for now … until things settle down. I asked one of the medevac pilots I know to snap a photo or two on one of his many runs to AC.”

  “Why?”

  Tim looked away, through the windshield. “Not sure. Something about that place …”

  A burst of static from his two-way interrupted with a report of an accident near Shamong.

  “Gotta go. Remember what I said: Stay out of the Pines for now.”

  As Jack watched Tim go, he figured he could manage that for another day or two, but there’d be no stopping Weezy once she heard “prehistoric.”

  Good thing she was in Baltimore for the weekend and wouldn’t be back till tonight. Because he wasn’t sure he could keep the news from her.

  2

  Jack sat in the dark on a thick limb of the tree across the street from Steve’s house, watching.

  It had turned out to be a quiet Sunday, quieter than usual after the rain started around midday. Kate was still at her apartment in
Stratford. Tom was packing to move back to his place in Jersey City. Sure signs that summer was drawing to a close. Not much shaking at USED either, so Jack did his cleanups and polishing, and practiced his lock picking when he had a chance.

  After dinner, he’d watched a Knight Rider rerun, followed by the ABC Sunday Night Movie, then hit the sack. But sleep eluded him. He kept thinking about Steve, and how his friend’s family was messed up now because of him.

  No, he kept telling himself. Steve’s father had been the one to mess up that family.

  Finally he’d pulled on a shirt and jeans and slipped out his window.

  He wasn’t sure what had drawn him here. Guilt? Or maybe worry that Mr. Brussard might slip off into the night?

  The rain had stopped earlier but the tree bark and leaves were still wet; a thick mist hung in the air, glowing in the widely scattered streetlights. The house lay dark and quiet. No sign of anyone moving about. Jack finally asked himself what he was accomplishing here. And when he couldn’t come up with a good answer, he decided it was time to go.

  But just as he was readying to swing down from the limb, he saw a thin dark streak flowing through the mist along Harding Street. He couldn’t call it black, couldn’t call it solid. More like something colorless or invisible, displacing the mist. Tapered at both ends, maybe ten feet long and no more than two feet wide, it moved lazily, undulating on the breeze—

  And then Jack realized with a start that there was no breeze.

  Despite the warmth of the night, chill gooseflesh rippled over his skin. He shrank back against the tree trunk and watched as the streak angled toward the Brussard house. For some reason he wanted to shout out a warning, but his vocal cords were clenched tight. And a warning against what? Smoke? A hole in the mist?

  Whatever it was, it nosed against the left side of Steve’s house and then splashed out along the siding like water from a faucet hitting a sink. As it spread it thinned and broke up into tiny dark wisps that swirled and faded to nothing.

  Weird, Jack thought. Really weird. But it was gone now. Time to get back.

  He swung down from the branch and began walking home. As he passed the house he glanced back and saw the streak seeping out the opposite side. He stopped, his Vans glued to the pavement, watching as it reformed into the elongated shape he’d first seen. It began to drift again …

  Toward him.

  And then a light came on in the house and he heard a woman scream.

  Part of him wanted to run up to Steve’s door and see if he could help, but he had a feeling whatever had happened in there was beyond his help or anybody else’s.

  Mr. Brussard had just met the klazen. Jack was sure of it.

  And now it was heading for him.

  No … angling northwest … across his intended path.

  So Jack did an about-face and began walking the other way, taking the long way home. When he looked back he saw the streak still headed in the other direction.

  Safe … or was he? Somehow he didn’t feel safe.

  He broke into a run and didn’t slow until he’d reached his yard. He stopped and looked around, praying he wouldn’t see a dark streak filtering through the misty cornrows of the neighboring field and heading his way.

  Nothing. It must still be heading northwest.

  Wait … the county jail was northwest of Johnson … and Mr. Challis had stayed there … because it was safer …

  He wished Weezy were here. She’d be so into this. But Jack …

  He crawled through the window, closed and locked it behind him, leaped into bed, and pulled the covers over his head.

  He hated things he couldn’t explain.

  1

  “Did you hear?” Kate said, rushing into the kitchen.

  Jack was just finishing the Taylor ham and egg sandwich he’d had for lunch.

  Mom turned from the sink. “Hear what, dear?”

  “Gordon Brussard dropped dead last night.”

  Mom dropped the plate she’d been fitting into the dishwasher. It didn’t break.

  “No!”

  “Yes! And so did that man Challis, the one who confessed to killing the man Jack found. Within an hour of each other. Can you believe it?”

  “No,” Mom said. “I can’t.”

  Jack could. But even though he’d half expected it, he couldn’t help but feel shock. Had he really been on Harding Street last night? Or had he dreamed it? How could he e sure?

  Kate said, “It’s true!”

  “Where’d you hear all this?”

  “Down at Burdett’s. I was on empty and Jeff filled me in while he was filling me up.”

  That sort of clinched the deaths. Jeff Colton, the pump jockey at Burdett’s Esso station, talked to everyone who stopped in and pumped them for gossip. He knew everything there was to know in this end of Burlington County.

  Jack said, “What are the chances of that happening? I mean, two people arrested for the same crime dropping dead at almost the same time?”

  Kate shook her head. “Astronomical, I’d think. Then again …” Her voice trailed off.

  “Then again what?”

  “Getting arrested has got to be unbelievably stressful, whether you’re innocent or guilty. I can’t imagine that would be good for your heart. And if you had any heart disease …” She shrugged. “I guess it’s possible. If this were Magnum, P.I., I’d be guessing they were both poisoned or something, but in real life …” Another shrug. “Just a bizarre coincidence.”

  Uh-uh, Jack thought. Maybe no coincidence. Maybe a klazen.

  But no way was he mentioning that. Talk about opening a can of worms.

  “Poor Steve,” he said, and meant it. The thought of losing his own father … he couldn’t imagine what Steve was feeling.

  He could imagine Steve’s mom using her Valium today, and Steve probably wishing he had some—needing some.

  Jack realized then that he needed something too: fresh air. He had the day off and didn’t want to spend it thinking about things he couldn’t explain. Besides, Eddie had called to announce that his grandmother had bought him the new Star Wars: Death Star Battle video game.

  “I’m going out,” he said, carrying his empty plate to the dishwasher.

  “Where?” Mom said.

  “Weez and Eddie’s, I guess.”

  Mom gave him a don’t-forget-what-I-told-you look.

  Man …

  2

  Jack heard cursing as they approached the spong.

  He’d hung out with Weezy and Eddie for a while, the two guys taking turns at Death Star Battle—it looked super on the 5200—and Weezy watching morosely, saying little. She was still bummed out about losing the cube and the pyramid. Somewhere along the line Jack let slip the possibility that the mound was pre-Columbian, maybe even prehistoric.

  Well, that was all Weezy had to hear. Before he knew it she was up and out and headed for her bike. Jack tried to stop her, telling her what Tim had said, but Weezy was deaf to all that. Since he couldn’t let her ride off into the Pines alone, he went with her. Even Eddie tagged along, saying something about it being “fossilacious.” Apparently he’d equated prehistoric with dinosaurs.

  On the plus side, the road trip pulled Weezy out of her funk. She was her old self again, chattering away about her secret-history stuff as she led them down the fire trail.

  The cursing grew louder, and as they reached the spong area they saw a skinny man wearing an Agway gimme cap, bib-front overalls, duck boots, and probably nothing else. He looked like he was dancing around the open area, but he was kicking at the traps, many with sticks jutting from them, and cursing a blue streak.

  The three of them stopped to stare. This had to be the trapper, and it looked like Mrs. Clevenger had been doing her thing again.

  He stopped when he saw them.

  “Whatchoo lookin’ at?”

  When they didn’t reply, he started toward them. He needed a shave and most likely a bath, and his eyes looked wild with rage.
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br />   “You been doin’ this? You the ones been messin’ up muh traps?”

  “We just got here, mister,” Jack said, thinking this couldn’t be Old Man Foster because he wasn’t old. Forty, tops. “Are you Mister Foster?”

  “Zeb Foster? No, I ain’t him.”

  “Then what are you doing trapping on his land?” Weezy said.

  He stepped closer. “Look, I don’t need no little girl asking me no fresh-mouthed questions. Get outa here!”

  Weezy stood her ground. “Well, if you’re not Mister Foster, who are you?”

  “I’m his son, dammit! Now git!” He pointed a dirty finger at them. “And you better not be the ones springin’ muh traps, ‘cause if you are, I’ll skin you like a coon—only you’ll still be alive when I do it. Now git!”

  “Okay, okay,” Eddie said, moving faster than usual.

  “One creepitacious guy,” he said when they’d moved out of earshot.

  Weezy made a face. “Like I believe he’s Old Man Foster’s son.”

  “Maybe he isn’t,” Jack said. “But I do believe he meant what he said about skinning us alive.”

  3

  “This is criminal!” Weezy cried as she walked among the ruins of the mound. “An absolute sin!”

  Jack agreed. The mound or mounds—he couldn’t be sure exactly what had been here before—had snaked among the burned trunks. Now trenches ran in all directions amid knocked-down and half-downed trees.

  She kicked at the sand. “They’ve destroyed everything!”

  “See any fossils?” Eddie said.

  “Why am I not surprised to find you here?” a familiar voice called.

  Jack turned and saw Tim standing by his patrol car at the edge of the burned area.

  Jack, Weezy, and Eddie looked at one another, then ambled over to where he waited.

  Tim shook his head as he looked at Jack. “Didn’t I tell you to stay away from here?”

  Jack could have said he’d come along only to keep Weezy company, but that wasn’t exactly true and he wasn’t about to lay it on her. No one had forced him to come along.