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Just Making Out

Page 22

by Mark Roeder


  There was a list of the team members below the photo. It didn’t take me long to find his name: Jacob Brubaker. Seeing his picture and putting a name to his face made him much more real. I knew the ghost in my bedroom had once been a real-live boy. All ghosts had been alive at one time or another. There was definitely an unreal quality about a ghost, however. I didn’t think anyone would argue with me about that.

  I felt less frightened of Jacob now. I don’t mean that I was hoping he’d pop up in my bedroom again tonight, but thinking of him as Jacob made him seem more human than thinking of him as “the ghost,” him, or it.

  There were old yearbooks in what had once been the school library, so I went there next. It was at the opposite end of the hallway from the gym that led past the cafeteria doors.

  It just figured that I couldn’t find the yearbook for 1948. It was a blessing in disguise, however, for when I opened the 1949 yearbook, there was a memorial page near the front. It read, “In Memoriam—Jacob Brubaker—1933-1949—Athlete—Friend—Classmate.”

  I counted on my fingers. Jacob was sixteen when he died, if he died after his birthday in 1949. I had no way of knowing that, so he was either fifteen or sixteen. I didn’t know how he died, either, but I thought it likely I could find out. If there were newspapers from 1949, they would surely have mentioned the cause of death. I looked carefully through the yearbook. I found another picture of Jacob in the sophomore section. There was a copy of the team photo just like the one in the gym, too, although it was much smaller, of course. There was also a photo of Jacob holding his football helmet under this arm, standing beside another player, an attractive blond guy with intense eyes. There was another photo of Jacob at the prom, escorting a pretty girl with dark hair. He looked so handsome in all his photos. I began to think it was a pity he’d died so young.

  I put the yearbook back where I found it. I spotted the one from 1948 then. I yawned. It was getting late. I took the book back to my room with me. I’d look at it when I got the chance.

  I drifted off to sleep thinking about Jacob, but I didn’t dream about him. I didn’t dream about Boothe either. Jacob didn’t come to haunt me. I had a peaceful night’s sleep.

  The next morning, I paused by Jacob’s team photo on my way to the shower. There he was with all his teammates, without a clue that he’d be dead in just a few months. You just don’t think about dying when you’re sixteen. At least I didn’t. Maybe I should. Jacob had died at sixteen. So had Taylor and Mark. I bet none of them saw it coming. I bet neither Taylor nor Mark had any idea they’d be committing suicide until shortly before they did it. It made me think. By this time next week I could be dead myself, dead and buried in the very same cemetery as Taylor, Mark, and Jacob. I’d already come close to joining them all on that horrible night with Boothe all those months ago.

  After school, I dragged Tim to the Verona library with me. He didn’t resist much. I’d told him about Jacob during school, although I’d been careful to do it while no one could overhear. All I needed was for Brandon or Jon to find out I’d seen a ghost. I’d never hear the end of it. I think Tim was just as interested as I was in discovering more about Jacob Brubaker. After all, Tim was the same age as Jacob was when he died. He lived in the same town. He also played football. If Tim had been born a few decades earlier, they would’ve been teammates and perhaps more.

  We hit the microfilm for the Verona Citizen for 1949. We found what we were seeking very quickly. That was good news for us, but not for Jacob. He’d died at the very beginning of 1949—on January 17.

  There was a photo of Jacob in his uniform on the front page of the paper. Tim and I read it together.

  The Verona Citizen—

  Wednesday, January 19, 1949

  LOCAL FOOTBALL STAR VICTIM

  OF HIT AND RUN

  Jacob Brubaker was the quarterback of the football team. He was well-liked by students and teachers alike. Now, he is gone, and no one knows why. The cause of his death is not in question. Brubaker’s life came to an abrupt end Monday night when he was stuck by a hit-and-run driver on Rogers Road just outside of Verona. What is in question is who killed him and why? Was this an accidental hit-and-run or something more sinister?

  Brubaker’s body was discovered near midnight on the night of his death by Jack Selby, 26, who was returning from a late-night hospital visit with a relative.

  “There was no sign of the vehicle that hit him,” Selby said. “He was just lying slightly off the side of the road. At first, I thought someone had just fallen asleep. I stopped to check because I was worried about him being so close to the road. I was also afraid he might freeze to death. Monday night was a nasty night for anyone to be out, and snow was already beginning to cover him. In a few more minutes, I might not even have noticed him. When I got out of the truck and walked closer, I recognized Jacob. I shook him, but he didn’t wake up. I held my hand near his mouth, but could feel no breath. Then, I checked his pulse. He was dead.”

  Selby quickly drove to the nearest home, his own, and called the authorities. They were on the scene in minutes, but it was far too late to help Brubaker.

  “We found two faint sets of tire tracks in the vicinity of the body, mostly filled in with snow,” said Sheriff Howell. “One set was Mr. Selby’s. The other set of tire tracks was closer to the body. It looked as if someone swerved off the road and then back some ten or fifteen feet up the road from where the body was found. We believe Brubaker was walking on the road when he was hit. The driver must have swerved to miss him, but failed. The alternative is that Brubaker was walking alongside the road and the driver swerved and hit him.”

  Sheriff Howell is asking anyone with information pertaining to the incident to step forward but admits he doubts there were any eyewitnesses. There is slight hope that the driver of the vehicle that struck Brubaker will step forward, according to Howell.

  “The driver likely panicked after striking Brubaker,” Sheriff Howell said. “The alternate possibility is that the driver was inebriated. There are no skid marks and no evidence that the driver tried to stop. He may have swerved off the road and hit Brubaker without even knowing it due to his inebriated state.”

  Hit-and-run? Drunk driver? It matters little to Brubaker who is now lying in the county morgue, but friends and no doubt his family (who could not be reached for comment at this time) want to know what happened on the snowy night of January 17.

  “He shouldn’t have died,” said classmate and teammate Will Bailey. “It doesn’t even seem real. He was at school on Monday, talking and laughing, and then on Tuesday afternoon we found out he was dead. We were all just stunned.”

  No further details were available at press time. Funeral arrangements are pending.

  “So now you know how he died,” Tim said. “Hit by a truck or a car.”

  “Seems kind of weird, doesn’t it?” I asked.

  “What do you mean by weird?”

  “If you saw someone standing in the road, wouldn’t you hit the brakes without even thinking about it?”

  “Yeah, probably, but the paper said the driver might have been drunk. Maybe he didn’t even see Jacob. Maybe he didn’t even know he hit him. He could have hit him, been startled by the bump, and then swerved off the road—all without realizing he’d just killed someone.”

  “Or maybe someone ran him down on purpose,” I said.

  Tim just looked at me.

  “What?” I asked.

  “That seems a little far-fetched. According to the article, everyone liked Jacob. Why would someone run him down on purpose?”

  “I don’t know, but I bet not everyone liked him. I don’t think there is anyone that everyone likes. There could be all kinds of reasons someone wanted him dead. There are people who want me dead.”

  “Name one.”

  “Devon.”

  “Devon is a psycho. He wants a lot of people dead.”

  “Yeah, and maybe one of Jacob’s classmates was a psycho, too. We don’t know what
went on way back then.”

  “We probably never will. All this was a long time ago. None of it even matters anymore.”

  “I guess not. I’m just curious.”

  “Well, maybe the Citizen has more to say about it,” Tim said. “You know, you might be able to turn this into a school project. We do have a report due in English by the end of the semester. It doesn’t have to be more than five pages. Maybe you can write about Jacob like you would a historical character.”

  “That’s a good idea. I don’t know if there’s enough material for a paper, but I’d like to find out more about Jacob.”

  “Really?” Tim asked.

  “Yes, smartass.”

  Tim laughed.

  “I’m getting a little jealous of you and Jacob,” Tim said. “I’m beginning to think you like him better than me—and he was in your bedroom.”

  “Well, he is kind of hot—if you can get past his bluish-purple face and the fact that he’s dead.”

  “That’s kind of a lot to get past.”

  It was my turn to laugh.

  “Okay, let’s see what else the paper has to say about your other boyfriend,” Tim teased.

  We turned our attention back to the Citizen. The next week’s edition carried the obituary and details on the burial, which had occurred the previous Friday. I wrote down all the names mentioned in the obituary and the short article, but I was already beginning to wonder if there was enough material for a paper. It didn’t matter. I wanted to know about Jacob, anyway, but it would’ve been nice to get a paper out of my efforts, too!

  As Tim and I worked our way through issue after issue of the Citizen, it became apparent that the driver who ran him down was never found. Jacob was mentioned in every issue for a month, but then he more or less disappeared from the pages of the Citizen. We did find one more mention of him about two months after he was killed, but it merely recapped the details of his death and reported that the driver had still not been found. Tim and I kept looking, but all mention of Jacob Brubaker disappeared after that.

  “It’s sad,” I said as Tim walked me home. “He was just forgotten.”

  “He wasn’t forgotten, Dane. Just because he wasn’t mentioned in the paper doesn’t mean no one was thinking about him. It doesn’t mean nobody cared. His friends and family didn’t forget about him. You’ve never been mentioned in the paper, and I care about you a lot.”

  I grinned.

  “Thanks, Tim. I guess you’re right. It’s still sad that he died like that. He was our age, Tim. It makes you think, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but I’d rather not think about it.”

  Tim pulled me to him and kissed me. It was his way of shutting me up, and it worked perfectly. When our lips parted, we walked hand in hand to the old school that was my home. There, we kissed goodbye before I walked inside.

  Shawn

  “I want you so bad I’m going to explode,” I told Marc just after school.

  “The feeling is mutual.”

  “I’m off tonight, and Tim is going to be with Dane.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You want to come over?”

  “Trick question?”

  “Let’s go.”

  The only thing that kept Marc and me from ripping each other’s clothes to shreds was the fact that Tim was coming home to change before going out with Dane. I wanted to pounce on Marc so badly I could barely restrain myself, but I knew that once we started, there would be no stopping. Even if we could limit ourselves to just making out, Tim might think he’d interrupted something. It would be just like him to hang around to torment me.

  I made Marc and me some hot tea. When Tim and Dane came into the loft a few minutes later, Marc and I were holding hands across the table. We looked innocent, but not too innocent, as that would make my little brother suspicious.

  “I just need to change and grab a couple of things, and we can head out,” Tim said to Dane. “Be right back.”

  “So, anything more on Boothe?” I asked Dane.

  “Thankfully, no.”

  “Don’t go anywhere with him alone, Dane. If he does come back and you really feel you’ve got to talk to him, promise me you’ll call me or Brandon or Ethan. One of us will go with you.”

  “What about Tim?”

  “Well, that would be better than going alone, but I don’t like the thought of Boothe being around my little brother.”

  “Me, either,” Dane said.

  “Call one of us. Don’t meet him alone like last time.”

  “That wasn’t by choice, but I’ll call.”

  “Good.”

  I had the impression Dane wanted to tell me something, but he held back. It surely couldn’t be because Marc was present. Marc knew all about Dane’s meeting with his old grave-robbing employer and Boothe’s warning about the ghost.

  “Is there anything else you want to tell me?” I asked, trying to draw him out.

  “Um, no. I will tell you if I spot Boothe again, though, or if he wants to meet.”

  “Okay.”

  Tim hurried back into the room.

  “I rushed as much as I could. I know how boring Shawn can be.”

  “Funny,” I said.

  “See you later, big bro.” With that Tim and Dane were gone.

  “Want to call Blake?” Marc said with a wicked sparkle in his eyes. “I can handle two of you.”

  I grinned and picked up the phone.

  “He’s on his way,” I said after I hung up. “I told him I’d leave the door unlocked. I don’t want to wait for his arrival.”

  “We’re lucky he was free, although I’m sure we’d do fine by ourselves,” Marc said.

  “He wasn’t free. He had plans with his football buds, but he’s dumping them.”

  “I wonder why,” Marc said with a smirk.

  Marc pulled me, not into my bedroom, but into the bathroom. There we stripped each other. Marc turned on the hot water and pulled me under the showerhead. Our lips met, and we made out like crazy for several moments. Next, we soaped each other up. Once we were all soapy and wet, we went back to making out. We began feeling and fondling and stroking. When we nearly reached the point of no return, we slowed down and made out passionately as the hot water coursed over our hard bodies. After ten or fifteen minutes we rinsed off, dried and headed for my bedroom.

  Our make-out, feeling, and fondling session immediately continued. Soon, I was on my back, watching as Marc licked his way down my torso. Those blond bangs of his kept falling into his eyes, making him sexier than ever. Marc licked his way lower, and I nearly went over the edge.

  I focused on maintaining control. I was sure I was up for more than one round, but I wanted to play it safe just in case. Besides, holding off was a delicious torment.

  Blake entered my bedroom and closed the door behind him. I gazed at him with lust-filled eyes. He stripped off his shirt, revealing his smooth, muscled torso. His shoes, socks, jeans, and boxers followed. He walked toward us, as stiff as he could be…

  From then on it was an intense three-way with far too much going on to describe. Sometimes I couldn’t tell whose hands or tongue were where. We were all over each other, a writhing, moaning mass of pleasure. I slipped on a condom and took Marc first. It felt so natural to be with him like that. I operated on pure instinct. My focus narrowed to mating with Marc. Nothing else mattered to me then. Nothing could have stopped me. The sensations were way too intense, and I lost control. I rolled off Marc gasping for breath, slightly embarrassed that I hadn’t lasted long. I was definitely up for more than one round, however.

  We continued going at it. Blake did Marc next. Marc made Blake wear a condom. Blake wasn’t happy about that, but he was in too big of a frenzy to argue for long. I watched Blake and Marc together before leaning over and slipping my tongue into Marc’s mouth. Marc kissed me with intense passion. Blake lasted a lot longer than I had, but it wasn’t a contest. He was a lot more experienced, too. Compared to Blake, I was a virgin. Wh
en Blake finally lost control, we all continued. If I described all we did in detail, I bet it would take fifty pages!

  Marc was willing, and I was ready to go again, so I slipped on another condom and went at it. Blake put on another condom, too, and walked around behind me. I don’t think I have to spell out what he did. Pain flashed in my mind for a moment, but it was soon replaced with exquisite pleasure. I’d never experienced anything like that in my entire life! I didn’t know whether to focus on Marc, Blake, or my own body. The sensations passing through my body were too intense. I fought to stave off the inevitable, but I felt myself edging closer and closer. My heart pounded, I moaned louder than ever, and I exploded inside Marc. He moaned at the same moment, and I knew he was sharing my intense pleasure.

  “OH, SHIT! I’M SORRY!”

  Still in the midst of my orgasm, I whipped my head around just in time to see my little brother whipping out of the room and slamming the door shut.

  “Oh, fuck!” I said.

  I pulled away from Marc, but Blake wasn’t finished with me. He held me down and went at me harder and harder. I was caught between passion and fear. I needed to get to Tim, but…

  Blake moaned, his body jerked, and he fell on top of me. I wiggled free and slipped off the bed.

  “Guys, I’ve…I’ve got to deal with this.”

  Marc nodded.

  “We’ll let ourselves out,” Blake said as he reached for his boxers. “It was intense.” Blake grinned. I only wished I could share his enthusiasm.

  I looked around for my clothes and then realized they were still in the bathroom with Marc’s. Shit!

  I slowly opened the door and peeked out, although I don’t know why I bothered. Tim had already caught me in the act with not only Marc but Blake, too! What must he be thinking? I motioned to Marc that the coast was clear, and we slipped down the hall to the bathroom.

 

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