The two of them decided to forgo their embarrassment, and use a pair of underwear rather than give up a shirt or a pair of shorts for the flag. Ben could only thread the flag through in one place, and he had no real idea if the branch cleared the deadfall high enough to be seen. Each time he heard voices calling for them, he would move the flag back and forth with his wrist. He had to switch arms several times from fatigue, but it was no use.
Matt was in shock from the trauma and he had been falling asleep more frequently as the day wore on. Ben knew that Matt’s injury was making him sleepy and that it was more serious than they once thought. Ben tried twice to summon up a voice when the rescuers sounded nearest, but his voice would not come. Finally, the searchers stopped calling, and the dim light of evening gave way again to the pitch black. Ben laid next to his friend to help keep him warm, and fell into a deep sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The Tower ( Present Day )
en walked back to his cabin to take another look at the painting. He pulled it off the wall and turned it around. The hand-written note from Sam on the brown-paper backing was faded, but still there. He turned the painting back around and carefully re-hung it in its place. He studied the piece closely and he noticed something that he had never noticed as a boy. A tiny Morris was hanging from the tower in the shadow of the tank in a parody of the Barrel-of-Monkeys game he had as a kid. He looked out of the cabin window, and it was pitch black outside. It was in fact, a new moon.
He stepped back from the painting looking to see if it was hung straight or crooked; and being straight, he wasted no time and walked back out the cabin door. He had thought about walking to the old Rule estate by way of the road, but decided instead to take the boat that was assigned to his cabin. As he was walking down the embankment he noticed a small silver telescoping ladder leaning against the wall of the bait house. He assumed Carly had left it there for him to see. Sure. Why not. Load a ladder into the fishing boat. He would have a hard time explaining it away if anyone was night fishing, but the lake was deserted.
The electric trolling motor was fully charged. He set the control to the high position and silently made his way out towards the main lake. The surface of the lake was smooth and black like highly polished onyx. The clear night sky full of stars reflected on the water. Way off in the distance, he heard a faint rumbling of thunder. He thought about what he was going to do, and the sound of thunder made him want to turn back around. He had been on this lake once before during a storm. He didn’t want to be again. Somehow though, he knew it would be this way. He knew there would be a storm.
He kept the trolling motor on high and the lake cooperated with him, offering no resistance in the way of waves or wind, and he was soon pulling up to the dilapidated boat house at the western edge of the old Rule estate. It was so dark outside, that he could only make out the water-tower tank by the silhouette it made in the starry sky. Another rumble came. It was the rumble of a storm that knew he was there. It said, “Sure Ben, I am coming to see how you do in your climb. Maybe I can help you down.”
He hurried his pace and looked for a place to use the ladder. He looked at the old boat house. Maybe he could start from the roof. He remembered a time when a friend from school climbed the Rhinelander water tower. He slipped and fell and broke nearly every bone in his body. It was a year before he could come back to school and even then, he needed a cane.
Ben used his flashlight sparingly until he found a place to set the ladder and start. He didn’t want to attract any attention with a light, but it was impossible to work totally in the dark. He climbed up the ladder to the roof of the boat house and then pulled the ladder up, replacing it atop the roof of the small building. This way, he could reach the built-in ladder on the tower that started a story and a half above the ground.
Ben tested the placement of the ladder on the boathouse roof several times, trying to make it fail when he was only a foot above the roof, but the ladder held.
“Here we go Ben. Time to climb.”
He was only a few rungs high on the ladder when the old tower groaned its first complaint. Ben wished he would have been able to examine the rusty structure in the daylight before trying to climb it, but he knew in his heart that the climb had to happen this way. He had to take a leap of faith that the old tower would bear his weight. If he had known the dilapidated state of the tower he might not ever climb it. He was starting to give more and more credence to the concept of fate. He continued up the ladder to the tower. He had his eyes shut half of the time. It really made no difference in the pitch black. Each time he closed his eyes, he prayed, “Please God, don’t let me fall.”
Once Ben was on the structure’s ladder, the water-tower groaned with each new movement. The ladder sounded as if it would break free on a couple of rungs, and in one place Ben could feel that the welds had already been broken. He would stop and hang on for dear life and collect himself before slowly ascending again. Off to the west he could see flashes of light from the approaching storm. Above him, the stars were beginning to dim.
He willed himself to keep climbing, and he sped his ascent to the top with the threat of the oncoming storm. He finally reached the wooden platform which ringed the tank superstructure, and once, his foot broke through the decayed wood, causing him to gasp in fright. He composed himself with his back to the tank, and was thankful he had not reached for the loose outside railing. He walked to the place where the ladder ran up the tank and he climbed again. The sky was lighting up to the west with cloud-to-cloud lightning, and he was terrified of being struck.
He reached the gaping hole where there had once been an access door, and he looked down into the pitch-black of the tank. The thunder was growing louder and the flashes of diffused lightning were lighting the sky more frequently. Ben put his legs on the interior ladder and climbed into the tank. He could hear an amplified drip-dripping from somewhere, and he could feel the cobwebs wherever his flesh was exposed. He thought about his ordeal in the cellar all those many years ago.
He finally stepped down onto the floor of the tank. There was a foot or so of water at the bottom, and it had the fetid smell of nasty swamp or fen. He turned on his flashlight and scanned the walls all around him. The spider webs were everywhere, and in the light, he noticed several places where the walls of the tank were damaged, preventing the tank from ever holding more than a foot of water. He thought correctly that the damage was intentional. A full tank would be too much weight for the tower to bear. He was pleased to see that the interior of the tank was metal, and that the wood of the outside was more cosmetic than structural. Then he pointed the light downward.
The tea-colored water in the bottom of the tank allowed little of the light to pass through. He could see tadpoles swimming occasionally just below the surface, but nothing more. He walked around inside the tank shining the light, hoping to find a chest, or a bag, or a box of some sort, but there was nothing visible. His feet kept slipping on the slick tank bottom, and one time, he lost his footing and fell. He cussed at the water-tower for being wet and full of foul-smelling water. He put his hand down to get back on his feet, and that is when he felt it.
He stood still in the old water tank holding the gold coin up to his flashlight, turning it over and over close to his face. It was a coin with a woman’s head circled in stars, and when he turned it over, the engraving revealed that it was a United States twenty dollar piece. He turned it over again. He thought it might be Lady Liberty on the front. He absentmindedly put the coin in the front pocket of his jeans. He lowered himself back into the fetid water, swishing his hands back and forth, feeling for more coins. And then he realized that the whole floor was scattered with them.
Outside, the storm was getting closer. Each time the thunder reached the tower, it shook from the sound waves. Outside, rain was beginning to fall, amplifying on the metal tank. Ben continued oblivious of the storm, and decided that he would do better if he started at the perimeter and worked his way towar
ds the center of the tank in concentric circles. This way he would not be covering any ground twice.
The smell of the stagnant water was awful and the unseen ages of sediment created a kind of black muck at the very bottom. He wondered how anything lived in a tank fifty feet above the ground, but several times as he was feeling his way for coins, large slimy salamanders wiggled through his fingers. He hoped that he was not going to catch some foul disease from the awful muck, and he breathed through his mouth whenever he could to help mask the awful smell.
How many coins had he picked up? He guessed at the very least a hundred and fifty, but thought it more likely to be around two hundred. There was no time to count with the onset of the storm. The rain had turned into hail and as each hailstone hit the tank roof, the metal would clang like a bell. The sound the hail made was deafening, and the tank swayed each time it was buffeted by the wind. The swaying made Ben’s stomach turn, reminding him of a time in the Sears Tower while he was up on the observation deck, that a strong wind made the building sway. He was sure of his safety in the skyscraper but the rickety water-tower gave him no such confidence. He knew he had to climb out of the tank into a thunderstorm, but he would have to risk it. The old tower felt like it was going to fall.
When he lifted his head above the top of the tank, he was sure that he would be struck dead by a bolt of lightning or hit in the head by a baseball-sized hailstone. The hail had stopped, and now there was a steady downpour. He tried to climb out the hatch but the backpack on his back containing the coins got snagged at the opening. He climbed back down and turned the backpack around to his front and climbed again to the tank roof, then down the outside tank ladder. The wind blowing against the tower was fierce, and it almost caused him to fall twice; but he held on fast to the hand-holds on the side of the tank.
Lightning was all around him and with each close bolt, the sound-waves shook the tower. It was insane to be up there in a storm such as this, but he had to climb down. He had to ignore the lightning. If he got struck, so be it. He climbed over the side of the gangway and one-by-one he climbed down each rung of the shaky ladder attached to the tower.
When he reached the place where the ladder ended he looked for the one he had brought with him. The flashes of lighting revealed that it had blown down and was laying flat in the grass along side the boat house. He would have to shimmy down the diagonal cables which supported the tower. He wrapped his legs around the first rusty cable and grabbed hold of it with his hands. He almost lost his grip when his body weight and the heavy duffel swung around beneath the wire, but he caught himself. He switched to another cable where they crossed, and he made it down the second cable. Finally, he reached the last cable, and he foolishly slid down it until he could let go and be on solid ground. He stood there under the tower looking at his rust-stained and bloody hands. They were shaking from pain and anxiety and they bled badly from sliding down the rusty and frayed cable. He would need a tetanus shot.
He pulled the backpack off his shoulders and replaced it in the standard way on his back. It was heavy. He wondered how much weight in gold he was carrying. He resisted the urge to open the pack and look inside. He wanted to get off the property. He would go back to the cabin and load his motorcycle and go. He would ride in the rain and he would only stop for gas.
He thought about Carly back at his boyhood home. Should he say goodbye to her? He thought that he had seen the last of her. He didn’t know for sure, but he thought she might already be gone, having served her purpose.
What had she said about having too much? She had warned him that having too much causes a person to lose their way. Too much money creates a whole new set of problems. But he had more than enough here to pay the bank. He would be able to pay them and get a car and take the twins to Disney. They always wanted to go to Disney.
Ben turned to head back to the boat, and just as he turned around, he caught a fleeting glimpse of Ruben the Jeep-man and the skinny guy with the custom pool cue. He wondered why they were here at the water tower and not shooting pool at the campground; then the skinny guy with the pool cue swung it hitting Ben on the left shoulder and neck. Ben was confused. Why would Carly allow this to happen? Didn’t she have authority with her connections to—
Something heavy hit Ben in the head. Ruben had something heavy— and then he remembered no more.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The Rescue ( 1968 )
ohn Fisher sat on the screen-porch steps wondering how he could ever go on with his life without his boy. Sixty hours had gone by since he last saw his child and he was beginning to lose hope. His head felt thick from the grief, and it was hard for him to think clearly. The guests in cabin one and five had already been by to inform him that they were leaving for home. They each said something to the effect of too much sadness, or terrible tragedy, but John did not really hear them.
The early morning light bathed the clearing in golden light and John watched the flying insects as they fluttered around the family in five as they loaded their station wagon. The morning light striking the flies illuminated them converted them to sparkles of pure light. The mother and father were doing their best to quiet the disappointed children, trying in vain to explain why they were cutting their vacation short and going back home.
Ben could easily hear the family’s entire conversation, and he could not be moved any deeper into his own grief by the child saying, “Just because a couple of kids are missing—”
The mother stopped the sentence cold holding the boy’s arm with one hand, and spanking the wriggling child with her free one. John didn’t blame the boy. Kids say what they think. John looked down at his feet on the steps. He did so to give small comfort to the mother in five. She would be less hard on the boy if she thought John didn’t hear.
The guests in five finished packing and John kept looking down. He was spitting in-between his feet on the wooden step each time he had a good shot at a black ant. He listened as the station wagon backed over the gravel. He didn’t look back up till the vehicle was gone. He didn’t want to awkwardly wave goodbye.
He thought about walking down to the runabout but after two days of searching, he thought he would do more good at home, trying helplessly to comfort his grieving wife. Allie had been sleeping for twelve hours already, having taken a heavy sedative prescribed by the family doctor. He thought about the last time he had seen the doctor. It was when his son left the hospital after pneumonia. How long ago was that? A month and a half? It seemed like yesterday.
A wave of fresh grief made John’s sinuses fill and he couldn’t stop the tears from falling; the wet bombs dropping on the already beleaguered ants. He wiped his eyes with his shirt sleeve and watched another family in the nearest cabin as they began to pack also. He was far too close to act like he couldn’t hear, so he spared them and walked back inside. He stayed in the kitchen pouring a fresh cup of coffee, listening for the car engine to start and when it finally did, he went back to his place on the porch.
He just sat there watching and waiting. He didn’t focus on any one thing, he just watched and waited for a thought, or a break, or just for his wife to wake up. The monkey was running on all fours across the cabin roofs jumping as he always did from cabin to tree to cabin; then leaping onto the wire which led from cabin six to the light pole, hand-over-handing on the wire until he reached the pole. Ben wondered what the creature had been eating the last couple of days. He guessed that the monkey had been eating insects or frogs. He didn’t care really. Ben was gone.
The monkey crossed the wire which led from the light pole to the main house, and disappeared behind him. John wondered where the thing went when he left the resort. In the last couple days when he had been on the water in his runabout searching, he had seen Morris as far as the western edge of the Rule estate. The animal seemed to have a routine. John guessed that the monkey had favorite places to forage for food.
John could hear the sound of outboard engines out on the lake. The search
was continuing for his son. Another wave of grief came over him. Would he always feel this way? A door shut inside the house. Allie was awake. John almost wished she would keep on sleeping. He was having trouble managing his own grief and he did an abysmal job at comforting her. He never knew what to say.
The outside-door to the screen porch opened. She was coming out. He slid over on the steps so Allie could open the screen door and get by him on the steps. She sat down next to John and greeted him with a kiss on his cheek. She had a cup of hot tea in her hand, and she dipped the tea bag up and down on its string.
John couldn’t believe how good she looked. Yesterday evening before she finally fell asleep, she was a wreck. All the crying from her grief and having eaten nothing had left her depleted. Her eyes were red and black, and in two places her hair had even turned gray. John was not sure if she could survive having Ben— but now she looked better. Then she said, “I had a dream last night that was so real. I was sitting on the rock where you found the boat and I was crying.”
John didn’t interrupt her. He just sat, looking down at the ants.
“A beautiful woman walked up to me and said: “Don’t worry Allie. Your boy is alive. He will grow up and marry and give you two twin grandsons.” I asked her in the dream how she knew this, but she didn’t answer. John, she said you would be the one to find Ben.”
John was not in the best place mentally to listen to some bizarre dream as a source of comfort, but he was thankful that his wife had stopped crying. She took a drink of her tea and continued: “You should have seen her John. She was radiant. I asked her who she was and she said her name wasn’t important. She just kept smiling and telling me it is going to be okay. I felt so happy being next to her. Then she told me to tell you something.”
Spider Lake Page 23