by Matt Drabble
Henry noticed that Hatch would have mood swings and would become easily upset, and it soon became clear that a standardized test for ADD was in order.
Hatch had been willing to try the test as the thought of becoming mellower and much more on an even keel was appealing to him as he was aware of his own troubles.
The problem had been Hatch’s father - a bear of a man determined to see his only son rise to the sporting heights that he had been unable to scale.
Butch Hatcher had reacted severely and unexpectedly to the threat to his own dreams and Henry had soon found himself on the end of a particularly nasty smear campaign of sexual abuse.
The irony being that Henry had often fantasized about that very subject and it had taken all of his iron will to keep his hands to himself. Fortunately - and surprisingly for Henry - the school had rallied around him; his students and fellow teachers had banded together and marched to his defence.
It had been a rough few weeks but eventually Hatch himself, along with his mother, had stepped forward and refuted the allegations.
Henry had been lauded to the rafters for his dignity and calm in the face of such monstrous accusations.
In reality, Henry had spent the weeks praying for a miracle, basking in the realisation that if he had ever acted on his impulses then this would be the reality of his fate.
Once cleared, he had sought to leave the area and find another school far away from the inevitable distrusting eyes of those who would always wonder, despite his clearing.
He hadn’t intended to take another teaching position, but the email from Eden had been a gift from the heavens, one promising a new and prosperous life.
Once he’d visited the town, he was sold. The school was a luxury for a teacher and the size of the town meant that he could never be tempted again. There would be no place to hide and no crowd to conceal himself amongst. Until today he had kept the promise to himself; it had been a mad slip, an insane fall from grace, that had ruined everything.
He pulled into his driveway and ran to his front door; it was one of the few locked doors in the town he’d wager, but there were some dangerous publications that had been ever so carefully concealed within.
He flew up the stairs and into his spacious bedroom, his shoes scraping on the hardwood floor that normally would not have permitted such footwear.
He quickly grabbed the ready packed suitcase from on top of the wardrobe.
It was an old habit that had never died, an emergency door that he had never fully closed. The open bedroom door suddenly eased towards closing behind him and a vast dark shadow fell across his world, drowning him in terror. He turned slowly to face his reckoning. “Please,” he wept, his hands up and out, “I can just leave, I’ll go.”
The shadow moved towards him slowly with black menace.
“I never even touched him,” he sobbed.
The thick length of rope slipped effortlessly over his head and the massive man tightened the noose roughly.
Suddenly, he was being dragged forward with immense strength; his feet slipped on the hardwood flooring as he staggered.
The man pulled him through the doorway and out onto the landing. Realizing what was happening, Henry began to struggle, but he was a feather caught in a hurricane.
He was pulled to the thick oak banister that ran the length of the open landing.
The bear pulled him in close and his feet were off the ground. He kicked backwards, scraping his heel uselessly down the bear’s leg.
He was held in one massive and powerful arm whilst the other end of the rope was wrapped around the banister.
All at once he was hoisted up and over the rail; he was held out suspended in mid air and looked back into the soulless smiling eyes of his death. Then he was falling.
The sharp snap did not break his neck completely and he was left to ponder the natural order of justice as he slowly choked and his world faded.
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The barbeque was flowing along with the wine. As was customary, the evening was warm and the company was pleasant. Michael turned the steaks several times pointlessly, as was the want of men when cooking over an open flame. The smells drifted on the gentle breeze as did the occasional bout of laughter.
Emily sat with Sarah-Jane on the wooden garden furniture. The seating was comfortable and the conversation likewise. Sarah-Jane drank a little too much and a little too quickly.
Emily watched with pleasure as her young friend’s confidence grew and swelled before her eyes.
She knew that the main source of SJ’s happiness was standing with Michael, griddling seasoned meats with beer fuelled expertise. Dr Samuel Creed held a chilled bottle in one hand and, Emily guessed, a very soft spot for a certain young teacher in the other.
“So have you, you know, yet?” Emily asked curiously.
Sarah-Jane blushed deeply, but for once she didn’t drop her eyes from Emily’s gaze. “Not quite,” she confessed with a whisper. “We’ve done, you know, other stuff, just not that, not yet.”
“Do you think he’s big all over?” Emily giggled.
“EM!” SJ shrieked unable to contain her explosive laughter. “I certainly hope so,” she whispered again, leaning in closer, her cheeks burning.
“What are you two laughing about?” Michael called from the grill, smiling.
“Oh you know, just girly stuff. Clothes and shoes,” Emily teased, smiling back poking her tongue out.
The evening had passed happily, despite Michael’s concerns over Sarah-Jane and the doctor’s fledgling relationship.
He had expressed his concerns to Emily that they would all spend the evening sitting in awkward silence. His fears had been quickly laid to rest.
The doctor was a comfortable companion. He didn’t garble away aimlessly and he didn’t look to dominate the conversation; he only spoke when he had something to say.
They had quietly discussed Emily’s pregnancy. Michael knew that his anxieties were unfounded but they persisted all the same.
His nagging fears crept around the corners of his mind in the small dark hours exclusively at first, but they soon grew tired of the unsociable hours and began making their presence felt during the bright day.
Michael knew that until the day he died, he would carry the responsibility of Emily’s accident and their baby’s loss, no matter how much Emily protested.
It wasn’t a case of not believing that she had wanted to venture out on that fateful winter evening. It just simply didn’t matter. His actions - or lack, thereof - had directly contributed to Emily being struck by the car that had changed their lives.
Unbeknownst to Emily, Michael had held several informal appointments with Dr Creed, the purpose being to talk through his guilty conscience. Michael had slowly come to accept that his guilt was perhaps not quite as fulsome and complete as he had once believed, but it would always exist and he would have to make peace with that.
Michael was drooling over the BBQ’s melting meat when Thom Bray’s face appeared around the house.
Michael immediately raised a hand in welcome, but stopped when he saw the boy’s face. Despite their conversations and Thom’s obvious brightness and maturity, he was still really a child. Michael saw the child’s worried face, illuminated with fear and something else; shame, embarrassment - he couldn’t quite tell.
“Thom!” Emily yelled an enthusiastic greeting as she spotted him, her words carrying across the large garden. “Come in! Come in! You hungry?”
Michael saw a reticence on the young man’s face. He handed the tongs to Creed. “Take over for a minute, doc; use your steady surgeon's hands.”
“Perhaps I should have told you before, Mike, I actually flunked medical school,” he taunted. “I did get my vet’s license though.”
“Funny man,” Michael laughed. “I’ll remember that next time I have to write you a check.”
He left the party and headed over to the waiting boy. “Thom,” he said as he got closer. “Everything o
kay?” He could see from this distance that everything was most certainly not. “What is it, what’s happened?” Thom’s trembling face threatened to collapse into tears and Michael felt a strong and not unpleasant paternal tug. “Here, come into the house.” He led Thom in through the patio doors and into the kitchen. The light was dimming inside but an instinct made him not turn on the lights. Whatever had happened, perhaps Thom would prefer a little dim lighting.
Thom ran through the afternoon’s events and Michael fought to control his rising temper. Thom spoke slowly and stutteringly. He told Michael that his mother was out at work for the day and wouldn’t be home for another couple of hours. Michael noticed several times that Thom’s thumb rose towards his mouth in an unconscious childhood mannerism.
Primal instincts run deep in man and Michael’s first thoughts were of retribution. He would hunt and he would kill. Violent thoughts were augmented every time that he looked into the deeply scared and embarrassed face of a skinny fourteen year old boy. He was saved, however, by a soft hand on his shoulder.
He turned and looked into the knowing face of his wife and her gaze was steady and her eyes were clear. Reason returned and sane rationale took hold. Storming castles with pitchforks and lit torches would benefit nobody at this point - least of all Thom.
“Tell me from the beginning, Thom,” she instructed rather than asked, in an authoritative voice borne from years of teaching and experience of children.
After telling the story for a second time, Michael watched as Emily’s manner calmed and settled Thom.
His voice grew stronger and more assured and Michael knew that in the boy’s place, he would already be thanking his lucky stars that he had gotten off this lightly.
Thom had suffered an almighty scare; the thought of what might have happened without the intervention of the fortuitous phone call was truly horrifying. Just who had been on the other end of the line that had scared the teacher back to his senses was a matter for consideration, but their priority now had to be Thom and Mr. Stark.
Sarah-Jane appeared in the kitchen behind them. Michael turned to see her face filled with sadness seemingly directed at Thom.
“I’ve called the sheriff’s office and told them about what happened,” she said gently. “They’re going to pick up Stark now and someone will be by for Thom.”
Michael and Thom shared a private look; the last thing that either of them wanted was for the big sheriff to come rolling in again, as Quinn’s motives were still a cause for concern.
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Deputies Kurt Stillson and Tommy Ross pulled up to Stark’s house and found the teacher’s car was still in the driveway. They exited the squad car quickly and carefully; neither man was armed, as was the way in Eden.
Kurt placed a hand on Stark’s car bonnet, a manoeuvre that he had seen on television countless times; he was pleased to feel that the engine was still warm. “He hasn’t been back long,” Kurt said with authority. He led the way to the front door. Tommy moved behind him with a smile.
“You see that on TV?” Tommy whispered as they reached the door.
“No,” Kurt bristled. “Standard police work.”
“Yeah, right,” Tommy laughed.
Kurt took a pair of disposable gloves out of his back pocket and began struggling to pull them on.
“What are you doing?” Tommy giggled.
“Fingerprints,” Kurt hissed, annoyed.
“Whose exactly? Stark lives here alone and you’re opening the door.”
Kurt gave up the job of trying to pull the tricky gloves on and his mood darkened. For the first time since his move here, he had envisioned a real crime and a real arrest, hopefully with resistance. Tommy was spoiling his daydream with boring reality.
Kurt pushed the door open, not bothering to knock. “Mr. Stark,” he called out loudly. “Stark!”
The front door opened into a large open plan lounge area. The bay windows let in plenty of natural light and Kurt was admiring the tasteful decoration when Tommy elbowed him painfully in the ribs.
“What?” He turned to his partner.
Tommy’s attention was located upwards; Kurt followed his eye line. Swinging from the landing banister was the teacher in question.
Stark’s face was swollen and puffy, and his eyes had rolled back in his head. The noose-ended rope swayed gently under the soft breeze of the air conditioning and Kurt moved closer to the body. Stark’s tongue lolled grotesquely from his open mouth and the closer Kurt got to the body, the more his nose wrinkled in disgust at the voided odour emanating from the dead man. Despite his initial terror, Kurt found himself morbidly fascinated by the corpse.
“Kurt,” Tommy’s urgent voice shocked him back. “Don’t touch anything, not a damn thing; oh, and it might actually be an idea to put those gloves on after all.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
“So let’s just get everything out on the table” Michael announced to the room.
Michael, Emily, Thom, Sarah-Jane, and Dr Creed were all sitting in the doctor’s office.
The door was closed, his secretary was out to lunch, and the blinds were drawn. The five of them were squashed in cosily. The A/C was pumping out on full but the room was small and packed fit to burst with hot bodies.
“I’m kind of lost here,” Dr Creed said.
“Yeah, me too,” Sarah-Jane added nervously. “What is it that you’re saying?”
“That something very odd is going on in this town,” Michael stated. “Our neighbour, Janet, supposedly committed suicide after a fling with the gardener. She confessed all to her husband, Chris, and to cut a long story short, they made up and were going to move away.”
“Then why would she kill herself?” Sarah-Jane asked, puzzled.
“That is the very question,” Michael answered. “Janet and Chris were round at ours the night in question. Chris seemed happy with the idea of them moving away and making a fresh start. Next thing I know, I’m waking up to flashing blue lights and the sheriff is telling me that Chris left Janet and she’s dead at her own hands. Now, apart from the fact that only a couple of hours earlier they were still together and planning for the future, just what the hell is the town sheriff doing divulging confidential details about a death to me out on the sidewalk? Now add to those facts that I haven’t been able to contact or locate Chris since that night and the whole thing seems pretty damn peculiar.”
“Forgive me, Mike, but don’t you write peculiar for a living?” Dr Creed asked analytically. “I mean, doesn’t it stand to reason that you might see weirdness everywhere when it might not exist?”
“Sure, that’s what I - we - thought,” Michael said, indicating towards Emily. “But here’s another one: I cycled out to the woods and basically, after I went in I lost a whole bunch of time. After that, I went out to see Darnell.”
“Kevin Darnell?” Sarah-Jane asked.
“Yes, you know him?” Michael responded.
“Well, he’s kind of known as the town drunk to be honest,” she replied embarrassed.
“Well that’s as maybe, but I haven’t been able to find him since our little conversation either. And another thing, what is with this town and the Woodland Festival? It seems to be the only thing on anyone’s mind lately. Darnell even told me to stay away from it, but wouldn’t say why.”
“It’s just an annual festival. A small town tradition really. I’ve never seen anything untoward going on,” Sarah-Jane answered.
“So how many people are we talking about having disappeared?” Thom asked, intrigued. His sense of self was returning quickly after his scare. His mind may be imaginative, but it was also resistant.
“Well that’s Chris and Darnell that I know of,” Michael said.
“There’s also this,” Emily held up Jessica’s diary. “This belonged to Jessica Grady. She had my job before me and our house before us. Oh, and she was also pregnant as well. She speaks of growing more and more paranoid about the town, up until the point when she says t
hat they are going to escape - and that is the word she uses, escape. She talks of them wanting her baby. She doesn’t say who they are, but she seems terrified. She says that her doctor was Dr Lempke. Samuel, did you know him?”
“Yeah, sure. Dr Lempke was here before I took over. I can probably dig out his old notes on Jessica, just as long as none of you leak that fact,” he said seriously.
“But Em, I told you all about Jessica. She was unstable and acting weird. She had to be dragged out of school and carted away,” Sarah-Jane interjected.
“But she also says here that someone was drugging her. She talks about suspecting Thirlby.”
“Oh, God,” Sarah-Jane suddenly said unhappily. “She tried telling me, and I wouldn’t listen. It was me that called the sheriff when she started going nuts at the school.”
Samuel put a large arm around the now crying teacher. “What do you mean, going nuts?”
Sarah-Jane trembled as she spoke; her shoulders hitched with low sobs. “She attacked Mrs. Thirlby with a pair of scissors right in front of her class. The children were screaming hysterically when I came in to see what was going on. Luckily, Jess just seemed to abruptly go weak as though she just suddenly lost her strength, and I was able to calm her enough until the sheriff turned up.”
“So what happened to Jessica Grady and her husband?” Thom asked pertinently.
The room looked at each other. “SJ?” Emily asked.
“Sorry, but I don’t know. Thirlby just told me that they’d left town unexpectedly. I asked if anyone knew where, but no one did. I wanted to make sure that they were okay, and that the baby was as well, but I couldn’t,” she sniffed.
“Anything else?” Dr Creed asked.
“What about the graffiti that keeps springing up around town?” Michael said.
“The ‘WAKE UP’ signs?” Sarah-Jane asked. “What does that even mean?”
“I’ve seen them; the town’s cleanup crew get there quickly enough, but I thought that was just kids?” Creed said.
“Maybe, maybe not. We saw the first one on the day that we moved into town,” Michael answered, “and I remember thinking that it was a little weird, but at this point, we’re in danger of perhaps reading too much into everything.”