The Complete Bleaker Trilogy Box-set

by Jeremy Peterson

  He swung open the door and entered. The room was indeed empty. William hesitated for a moment, wondering if he was, in fact, in the wrong place, before finally deciding that he didn’t particularly care. He walked to the back of the room and sat next to the window.

  A few minutes later, and the door opened again. William raised his head, expecting to see Principal Paulsen, or maybe even his secretary—the donut eating Miss Holstein—but he was wrong. It was a student. A female student.

  In walked Marsha Tate, one of the most popular girls in school. Will could smell her vanilla perfume from the back of the room and the clicking of her heels on the linoleum sounded like tiny rim shots. When she spotted Will, she rolled her eyes and exhaled loudly. To Will, it sounded like a groan.

  “Oh my God,” she said. “I’ve got Jake’s party tonight and I really needed this time to study. What are you doing here? Did they find your weed or something?”

  “You mean … like drugs?” Will asked.

  Marsha stared at him and shook her head, wondering how somebody could be so stupid. “What grade are you in?”

  “I’m a freshman—”

  “Of course you are.”

  “My name is W—”

  “Listen up, freshman, I’ve got studying to do so no questions or comments. In fact, no general bullshit of any kind. Got it?”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Jesus, freshman. I guess that’s your way of saying, I don’t got it. I’m gonna say this one more time, freshman: sit down and shut up. You do that and we’ll be fine.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Monday Night

  “Mr. Woodley is going to press charges, honey,” Mrs. Grant said.

  “He started it, Mom. I told you!”

  Will’s mom threw her hands up in the air as she paced back and forth across the living room. “That doesn’t matter, Will. You—”

  “It matters to me!” he screamed at her.

  “I know, honey. It matters to me too—”

  “Well, it doesn’t sound like it.”

  Will’s mother dropped into the dining room chair and hung her head. “You know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t, Mom. I don’t know whose side you’re on here.”

  “I’m on the side that keeps you in school and out of juvenile detention.”

  “That son of a bitch was talking shit about Dad. Right to my face!”

  “Please don’t talk like that.”

  Will sighed and shook his head. “Sorry, but I warned him not to bring up dad.”

  “Honey … your father is gone. We can’t use it as a crutch forever.”

  The anger, which always seemed to be dangerously close to the surface since his father’s disappearance, erupted like a volcano and he threw his phone across the room. The protective case splintered, sending plastic shrapnel in all directions. “That’s easy for you to say, Mom! You wanted Dad to leave! You made him leave!”

  Tears streamed down Mrs. Grant’s face. “That’s not fair, William, and you know it.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “No, that’s bullshit!” Will’s mother screamed. “If he wanted to come back … he would have. Do you see him here? Me neither. I sent him away, yes, but it was his decision not to come back. His.”

  “Whatever you need to tell yourself, Mom.”

  “Go to your room! Go anywhere! I can’t look at you right now! And I hope you don’t think I’m gonna buy you a new phone.”

  Will jumped out of his chair and proceeded to pick up the pieces of his phone. The case was a lost cause and the screen was cracked but it was still working.

  He thought momentarily about going to his room but instead walked quietly to the back door that exited into the attached garage. Will opened the door and stopped to look over his shoulder. His mother had stopped pacing and was sitting at the kitchen table, her head in her hands. “I’m beginning to notice a pattern with you, Mom. When you get pissed, you just kick everybody out.” Mrs. Grant didn’t respond, and Will let the door close on the sound of his mother’s tears. He stepped onto the cool concrete floor and cursed under his breath.

  The smell of exhaust from his dad’s Harley Davidson still permeated the one and half stall garage. Thinking about all of those hours he and his father spent tinkering on one bike or another, still brought Will some comfort. In fact, he found himself wandering out here more and more as the months went on. Without thinking, he sat on an upside down bucket next to the old Honda motorcycle that he and his dad had been working on all of those months ago. Before his father disappeared, they had just reinstalled the carburetor after soaking it in cleaner and installing the rebuild kit. Will had come out and started the bike every day like clockwork since his father disappeared. He was proud to admit that the bike’s engine purred like a kitten, but he noticed the last section of fuel line was becoming brittle.

  “I should swap that out,” he said to himself. “I wonder where Dad keeps the …” The word dried up in his throat and the only thing he could do was hang his head and cry.

  A sudden banging on the garage door caused him to flinch. “Jesus,” he said, after catching his breath. He turned and saw his friend, Aaron, trying to peek through the opaque garage window. William wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand and waved half-heartedly at his friend. He hit the button on the wall and the chain driven garage door opener came to life with a growl.

  “What up, killer?” Aaron asked, strolling into the garage, his skateboard in one hand, an energy drink in the other.

  William shook his head. “Not funny, man.”

  Aaron shrugged, “What? I suppose your mom’s busting your balls about knocking out Mr. Woodley, huh?”

  “Of course.”

  “Dude, I still can’t believe you did that. I mean, Jesus, that was awesome … but what the hell were you thinking?” he laughed.

  William didn’t answer. Instead, he returned his attention to the 1980 Honda Hawk motorcycle he and his father had been rebuilding.

  “Hand me that roll of fuel line,” William said, “It’s on the shelf behind you.”

  Aaron followed William’s pointing finger and finally spotted the rubber hose. He grabbed it and handed it to his friend. “This?”

  William looked at him and said, “It says fuel line on the package, doesn’t it?

  “Jeez, ya dick. Here.” Aaron tossed it at him.

  “Sorry. Mom’s being mom, ya know?”

  Aaron nodded and smiled his wide, toothy grin. “That’s all right, bro. So, you grounded?”

  William shrugged. “Damn, that’s a good question. I guess I took off before she had a chance … but yeah, probably.”

  “Bummer,” Aaron said. “So, what are you going to do with all of your extra time … beside working on this old piece of shit bike?”

  William looked up from his task and glared at his friend. “Piss off. My dad bought me this bike.”

  “I know, man. I’m sorry, it’s just—”

  “She may be old but she’s gonna be awesome. And she’s all mine.”

  She?”

  “You’ll be jealous when I get her road-ready and get my license. When we turn sixteen and I’m riding this,” he glanced at Aaron’s skateboard, “the girls aren’t going to care how clean your backside Ollie’s or your trey flips are.”

  Aaron shook his head and waved him off, but they both knew it was true. “Like you’ll ever get that thing running,” Aaron said.

  “Me and Dad already got her running … and she runs like a sonofabitch. I just gotta get the wiring right.” He leant over the bike and fumbled with some loose wires. “I’m having a little trouble getting all the lights to work.”

  From behind him, Aaron asked, “What’s this?” He held up a Polaroid picture; curled and faded.

  William looked over his shoulder, the five-gallon bucket he was using as a seat grating on the concrete floor under him. He looked at the picture, eyes squinting. “Uh, that’s my dad and his buddy when they
were young.”

  “Cool tree house,” Aaron said.

  “Yeah,” William agreed. He turned back to the motorcycle and grabbed the old hunk of cracked and leaky fuel line from the garage floor. Carefully, he measured out a length of new hose, cut it off, and attached it, making sure the hose-clamps were secure.

  The sharp crack of Aaron’s skateboard bouncing off the concrete driveway as he landed another trick caused Will to jump.

  After all these years, I’m still not used to that sound.

  Will stood up and watched his friend skate. The board flipped and spun under his feet like magic. As usual, Will could barely track it. Finally, he asked, “Where did you put that picture?”

  Aaron grinded his board to a stop. “What?”

  “That picture of Dad … where did you put it?”

  “Oh, I put it back in the box. It’s right behind you.”

  Will turned to a rack three shelves high. Each one packed tight with boxes. “Which one?”

  “On the right. The one marked Rene’s stuff.”

  Will turned to the box and then looked back at his friend. “Why were you going through my mom’s things?”

  Aaron shrugged, “I thought she might have some nudies in there.”

  “You’re freaking demented!”

  “What? Your mom is hot. Weird, but hot.”

  Will turned his back on his friend and reached for the box, shaking his head. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Aaron didn’t answer.

  Will found the box and pulled it down. It was lighter than expected and he almost fell over backwards. He righted himself and sat the box on the garage floor. Under the cardboard flaps, he found the picture. His dad looked so young and happy, unfamiliar but at the same time, it was unmistakably his dad. He stood leaning against a tree, the floorboards of the tree house several feet above his head. He had his arm around another boy who was smaller and smiling wide; probably caught in mid laugh. They were both young—younger than Will was now.

  “Guess what I did yesterday?” Aaron said.

  Will placed the picture back in the box and closed the flaps. He sat the box on the floor and turned to face his best friend. “Masturbated furiously?”

  Aaron smiled. “Well, duh. Guess what else I did?”

  If it’s possible to shrug with frustration, William did so. “I don’t know what you did. Please tell me.”

  “Erica Lewis.”

  “What?” Will asked, his voice rising an octave.

  “Oh, yeah. We started at second base, too. She was all about it. And they were nice … bigger than they look.”

  “Really? Cause they look pretty damn big,” Will said.

  Aaron nodded. “She was at the skate park with Kathy and we just started talking. She’s so hot. Kathy’s pretty hot too, but I didn’t do anything with her … yet.”

  Will nodded. “So you gonna call her?”

  Aaron shrugged and dropped back on his skateboard. He effortlessly ollied over a crack in the driveway. “Maybe, I guess. I heard she was just a tease, though.”

  “Yeah.” Will said, nodding as though he had any frame of reference.

  They both pondered that for a moment before Will went back to working on his motorcycle.

  “Well, I’m sorry you’re grounded, but I better get going. Enjoy a weeks’ worth of detention, you lucky bastard,” Aaron said, cackling.

  “That’s me, double A … the luckiest bastard in town.”

  “Yup. So, do you have to go back to Mr. Woodley’s class?”

  “I’m not sure. Mom said he wants to press assault charges. So that should be fun ...”

  “Damn, bro. That sucks. He was being a dick, I guess, but maybe you shouldn’t have punched him.”

  “Ya think?”

  “Yeah. Well, I gotta go. Hang in there, slugger.”

  “How did you get so funny?” William asked. He stood and turned from his motorcycle to bid farewell to his friend. He transferred the pliers to his left hand and the two boys bumped fists and completed their secret handshake, which took no more than three seconds to complete but looked complicated enough that it would take a week to learn and a further month to master.

  “Thanks for stopping by, Double A. Really.”

  “No worries, bro. I’ll be back.” He brushed back the long, curly brown hair from his face. “Text me if your mom is on the warpath though. I don’t want to walk into that shit.”

  William nodded and Aaron disappeared out of the overhead door, calling, “Peace, killer,” over his shoulder as he left. William smiled and watched him go. He picked up the Polaroid again and put the pliers in his pocket so he could study the old picture with both hands. His dad and his old friend and that old ramshackle tree house made from scrap lumber. Will remembered the stories from his dad’s youth, who used to reminisce all the time, especially after a couple beers. His hometown and that piece of shit tree house. And his friend …

  What was his name?

  It was on the tip of Will’s tongue, but it refused to come to him. He flipped the picture over but there was nothing written there. Nothing but years of dust and fingerprint smudges. William sat down and stared at the box where Aaron had found the snapshot. He ran his fingers across the words Rene’s stuff written on a strip of duct tape. The handwriting was the large clean script of his mother’s, which thankfully looked nothing like the chicken-scratch of both he and his father.

  William quickly thumbed through the papers in the box and decided it wasn’t Rene’s stuff after all. This was Dad’s stuff. Inside he found more old photos, pay stubs, sporting magazines, girly magazines and some credit card statements … nothing but junk. But it was Dad’s junk—not Mom’s. He glanced at the other boxes on the shelf and noticed that they all had their titles scribbled directly on the cardboard without the use of the strip of duct tape. One corner of the silver tape on Dad’s box had curled up and, without thinking; William pulled on the tape and peeled it off. Most of the cardboard came off with it but he could still read the original words underneath. It read: Dad’s Junk.

  Why had his mother covered it up? Had it been his mother? William didn’t know. He slid the box back onto the shelf, and after a second thought; he tossed the childhood photo of his father and his mystery friend back into the box as well.

  What did it matter anymore?

  “It doesn’t,” he said aloud. “It doesn’t matter. Not now … not to me at least.” He suddenly realized that he was talking to an empty garage and he cursed himself.

  I’ll be right back; his dad had said two years ago.

  “Liar.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Tuesday Morning

  Will sat up in bed. The clock on his bedside table read 1:42 AM.

  God, detention is gonna suck tomorrow.

  Unable to fight it any longer, he turned on his bedside lamp. It was that damn box. His father’s box of crap from the garage. Will couldn’t explain it, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it, either.

  It’s that stupid picture.

  Or was it something else?

  Will crawled out of bed, naked aside from his boxer shorts and headed for the garage. The house was dark and quiet. He couldn’t even hear his mother snoring, which was usually loud enough to wake the dead.

  He walked gingerly across the kitchen tiles and opened the door to the garage. It was completely dark but he did not turn on the light until he closed the door behind him. The fluorescents crackled overhead as they offered up their meager light.

  Will pulled the box from the shelf and lost himself in the memories.

  His alarm woke him five hours later. The box of his dad’s things sat on his bedroom floor and the picture of his dad lay on the pillow next to him. He could remember carrying the box to his room but had no recollection of falling asleep. He stretched his stiff neck and yawned.

  School was definitely going to suck more than normal today.

  Will knew he would get the verdict of his in school detent
ion and thought he might even find out if Mr. Woodley planned on pressing assault charges. Fun times, indeed.

  “We’re gonna be late,” Rene called from the kitchen.

  “Alright, alright. I’m coming.”

  “Today is the worst day to be tardy, young man. You understand that, right?”

  Will exited his room, walking lopsided; backpack over one shoulder but only wearing one shoe. “Relax, Mom. I’m ready … if I could only find my other—”

  “It’s by the front door. How do you manage to lose one shoe?”

  “You’re not helping, Mom.”

  “Quit whining and put on your damn shoe. Think fast.” She tossed him a Pop Tart.

  He stepped into his shoe and looked up just before the breakfast pastry hit him in the head. He snatched it out of the air with a smile.

  “Nice catch.”

  “I have reflexes like a cat.”

  Rene chuckled. “Something like that.”

  They finally left the house and Rene locked up after them. As she pulled the Toyota out of the driveway, she asked, “Are we picking Aaron up this morning?”

  Will shook his head, “Naw, he says you’re too mean and you scare him.” He kept a straight face and continued staring out the window.

  “Good. That kid’s a little bitch,” his mother replied, trying but failing to keep the smile from her lips.

  Will didn’t expect that and let out a little snort. He quickly collected himself and continued, “I’ll tell him you said that.”

  “Tell his mom, too. Just in case she doesn't know.”

  “Oh, she knows,” Will said.

  The car was silent for a while and then both of them burst out laughing. After they collected themselves, Will’s mother said, “We have a meeting with the Principal and Mr. Woodley this evening.”