The Complete Bleaker Trilogy Box-set

by Jeremy Peterson

  Kevin groaned at the awkwardness of the conversations and shrunk into his seat, wishing he could dissolve into the upholstery completely.

  “I won’t tell nothing, Troy. I promise. Just let us out. Please.”

  “Lemme think,” Troy said. “I got it! Okay, Jesus, you decide. Nope? Okay, Jesus.” He leaned forward so he could see Jill on the other side of Kevin. “Sorry, babe, no can do. Plastic Jesus says tree house or bust.”

  “Goddamn it, Troy. Stop or we jump out.”

  “Go ahead,” Troy said, but as the words left his mouth, he pressed the gas pedal down a little further and the truck picked up more speed. “You’ll break your neck if you try now. Besides, we’re almost there.”

  “Slow down, asshole, you’re going to kill us all.”

  Through the blowing snow, the edge of the forest came into view. They were only a block away and they were moving much too fast.

  “Watch out!” Kevin screamed.

  Jill fumbled with her seatbelt and latched it just as Troy slammed on the brakes. The truck’s rear end began to veer to the right. Troy tried to steer out of it, but it was too late. The truck was spinning. One second, the trucks occupants were looking at the snow-covered trees of the woods, and the next, all they could see was the neighboring houses across the street. Finally, the rear of the truck dropped out from under them as it fell into the ditch and slammed hard into a tree. When the truck finally stopped, it sat at an angle in the ditch with the driver’s side its highest point and facing up to the road. The impact slammed both Troy and Kevin against Jill and the passenger door.

  “Jill, you okay?” Kevin’s words came out sluggish, almost slurred.

  Jill answered by clawing at the door handle. She found it and pulled. The door flew open, and she cried out as the seatbelt dug into her neck. With the press of a button, she unhooked the buckle and tumbled into the snow. Kevin followed her, but managed to grab the door before crushing her once again. Once Jill got to her feet, Kevin jumped down and ran to her.

  “Jesus Christ, Jill, you’re bleeding.”

  Jill touched her hand to a throbbing spot just above her temple and winced. She stared bewildered at the blood on her fingers.

  “I am,” she said, still confused.

  She’s in shock, Kevin thought. I’m in shock.

  Meanwhile, Troy fumbled around on the truck floor, his arm outstretched, trying to reach something just out of grasp. Jill sidestepped Kevin, who was trying to inspect her wound, and wheeled on Troy. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  Troy ignored her, still clawing along the truck’s floorboard.

  She could hear him mumbling under his breath, but couldn’t make out the words.

  Kevin tugged on her coat. “Forget about him; let’s get the hell out of here.”

  She turned to him and tried to blink the blood from her right eye. “He could have killed us!”

  “No shit. He still might if we stick around.”

  She sighed and nodded. “Sorry.”

  “Forget it,” he said, “but let’s go.”

  The two of them began to climb up the ditch towards the road. Kevin reached the top and held out his hand. Jill clasped it. “We’re gonna’ freeze to death out here,” she said.

  Before Kevin could respond, they heard Troy call out to them. “Don’t go!”

  Jill snorted, “See ya later, dickhead.” With a smile on her face and both middle fingers raised, she turned to bid the man a final farewell. As she spotted him, the smile wilted on her face. Kevin noticed that she wasn’t keeping up. He stopped and looked from his friend to the man who stood ten feet behind them, a plastic Jesus figurine in one hand and a pistol in the other. Jesus hung at his hip, but he pointed the pistol at Jill.

  “Shit, man, be cool,” Kevin said, his voice cracking.

  Jill didn’t say anything. She tried, but the words failed to materialize.

  Troy took two steps forward, moving the gun from Jill to Kevin. “Why are you even here? This is between Jill and I.”

  “Let him go then,” Jill said. “Let him go and we’ll talk. Just put down the gun.”

  “Since when do you tell me what to do, little girl? I like it better when you just do what I say. You know, like the good old days.”

  “Okay. I can do that. But let him go … please.” She looked at Kevin whose wide eyes bulged from their sockets as they stared at the gun barrel pointing at him. He was as rooted to the ground as the trees surrounding them.

  “Why should I let him go? Do you think that would end well for me? Besides, I’ve decided I don’t like him very much. Something about him just bugs me.” Troy stared into space, seemly trying to think of a genuine reason why he didn’t like Kevin. He held up Plastic Jesus and spoke directly into it. “There’s something about the kid, am I right, Jesus?” He nodded his head and looked back to Kevin. “Yeah, Jesus doesn’t like you either.”

  “Just take me where you want to go and let Kevin wait here at the truck. How about that?”

  “Jill,” Kevin said under his breath, “you can’t go anywhere with this guy.”

  She gave him a stern glare, but didn’t say anything.

  “See what I mean, Jill? He’s trying to drive us apart,” Troy said, glaring at the boy.

  “Put the gun down, Troy. Please, you’re scaring me.”

  Troy looked at Jill, while the gun remained trained upon Kevin, “Why are you scared, hon? Your friend here is the one with the gun in his face.” He winked at her before returning his attention back to Kevin. He took a few more steps toward them. “Jesus says hands up, motherfucker.”

  Trembling, Kevin raised his hands and Jill did the same. “Not you, dear. You’re good.”

  Jill tried to lower them, but found she couldn’t.

  “What to do?” Troy said to himself. He wrinkled his forehead and looked to his left hand, which was holding Jesus. “I don’t know. Yeah, I don’t think that’s the best course of action …”

  “Please,” Kevin said.

  “Shut up! Can’t you see that I’m trying to have a conversation here?” Troy, with the face of a frustrated parent, stuck the tiny figurine into Kevin’s face.

  Kevin closed his eyes and lowered his head.

  “What am I doing here,” Troy said, shaking his head in disgust. He began pacing a short trail, back and forth through the snow, all the while talking to himself—or possibly the tiny figurine in his hand. He looked at Jill and chuckled. “It’s bloody cold out here, and I didn’t bring my boots.” While still looking at Jill, he raised the gun and pulled back the hammer.

  Kevin heard the click and looked up. He saw the gun and the look in the man’s eyes, and finally understood what was about to happen. The next ten seconds seemed to slow down and proceed in Technicolor. He saw himself race forward and knock the gun from the crazy bastard’s hand. He could see the gray steel and dark plastic of the pistol silhouetted against the snowy background as it flew end over end, disappearing into a snow pile where it could potentially remain until the spring thaw. Kevin could feel his knee rising, connecting hard with Troy’s groin. He had a moment to savor the pained look on his teacher’s face, before Troy dropped like an anchor to his knees, wailing in pain. Then he saw himself grab Jill’s hand victoriously and race away, calling for help to anybody who would listen.

  Only that’s not how it happened.

  Instead, Kevin took one-step backwards before the gun went off. The blast exploded into the night and then disappeared into the trees around them. The muzzle flash lit up the night and burnt images on Kevin’s retinas. And somehow, through it all, Troy punched him. The teacher didn’t move, Kevin was certain of this, but somebody had punched him, and punched him hard. He could feel it in the shoulder. It was only a dull throb, but he felt that pain was coming, and coming fast. His mind conjured a bullet train. It was racing towards him, pain its only cargo.

  Kevin tried to breath, but stupidly couldn’t remember how. For one crazy second, his vision seemed
to expand. The ever-looming forest began to shrink, as if he were floating away. He could see it all: the forest, the town. Like a snow globe. Something he could hold in his hand. Something he could destroy if he so chose. Then it was gone.

  I’m in the snow globe now, he thought.

  Kevin stumbled, but fought to regain his balance. He could see his teacher. In fact, besides the snow, he saw nothing but his teacher. The boy tried to speak but couldn’t find the air to do so. As confusion turned to panic, Kevin tried again to suck in a breath, and once again, found it increasingly difficult. It was then he felt a warm liquid pouring down his chest, inside his coat. His legs seemed to be growing increasingly tired, and, in a galaxy far away, he thought he could hear a girl screaming.

  Jill could not stop screaming. The gun blast and her scream seemed to slalom and rebound off every tree in the forest. Troy tucked the gun in his waistband and punched the girl in the mouth, splitting her lips against her teeth. With the gun blast still ringing in her ears and her head spinning from the blow, she collapsed next to her friend in the snow.

  Troy reached down and grabbed a fistful of her hair. The pain was real. She could feel it, but it seemed somehow distant. Like a memory or a dream. She slid through the snow as Troy dragged her into the woods. She caught a glimpse of her friend and saw the pool of blood forming around his body. It grew larger as they passed.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Was Virgil’s coffee getting better? Or was it just the longest night ever? Trent wasn’t sure and decided it didn’t matter.

  “You look like shit,” Virgil said, squinting through a new pair of bifocals.

  Trent grunted, but gave a nod, knowing he couldn’t deny it. “You’ve looked better yourself, I gotta’ say.”

  “Nonsense. I’m at my peak.” The old man stubbed out his cigar and leaned back in his chair. The two of them considered more useless banter, but were both tired and didn’t have the stomach for it on this night.

  “I gotta’ tell you, Trent, I’m beginning to think that Jerry is losing his mind.”

  “Do you?”

  “You know, he’s been calling me from the hospital nonstop. Filled me in on his story, and it’s pretty goddamned crazy.”

  “I figured he would,” Trent said.

  The Sheriff removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. The bags underneath them were heavier than usual. He put his glasses back on and said, “He sounded pretty sober today, all things considered. What was your read on that?”

  “About the same. Jerry’s an old hat, though. Sometimes, they can disguise that shit pretty well. My Aunt was like that growing up. You could sit and talk with her all day, and she would seem perfectly normal, then she’d get up to take a leak or grab some crackers and fall right on her face.” Trent made a slapping sound by smacking his hands together. “Two sheets to the wind and unable to get her drunk ass off the floor.”

  “Sounds like a sweet lady,” the sheriff said, “So you think Jerry was drunk again?”

  “That’s not what I said. I’m just saying you never can tell … especially when they’re a hardcore drunk.”

  “Ah uh,” Virgil said, eying the Deputy closely.

  A few minutes later, Trent swallowed the last of his coffee. He pushed away from the table and headed for the coffee maker. Virgil held out his cup and Trent grabbed it as he passed.

  Virgil coughed into his fist and grabbed a fresh cigarillo from the pack in his shirt pocket. “Hardcore drunk is a pretty damn accurate description of Jerry for sure. But he didn’t seem overly drunk all the same … at least not today.”

  “I can’t disagree with you there.”

  Trent poured two more coffees and returned to his seat. “You know,” he said, “Vanessa Barrows said some similar things.”

  “That so?”

  “Yeah. She said her boy, Leo, was there. But it wasn’t him, not him how she remembered, anyway. She said it was another Leo who burned down her house and killed Donny.”

  “And not her firing that damn shotgun all over her basement?”

  Trent could only shrug at that. “So you think it’s all bullshit?”

  Virgil considered that over a long drag on his cigar. “I’ll tell you what, I’m an old man, and I like things simple. I believe the simplest, most obvious explanation is usually…” His words trailed off, but his eyes remained true. “But I’ve been around long enough to know that simple and obvious isn’t the way it is all the time. I lost a good friend in Korea. Well, shit, I lost a lot of friends in Korea, but there was this one in particular.” Virgil looked away and remained silent for a good minute. Like a good interrogator, Trent waited patiently for him to resume speaking on his own. Eventually, he did. “Do you believe in God, Trent?”

  “No,” Trent said quietly, but without hesitation.

  “I didn’t think so. So, I’m guessing you don’t have much use for the Devil, either?”

  Trent didn’t respond. He simply stared at the old man, willing him to continue.

  “Either way, there was a time I was pretty convinced I saw the latter in Korea. The winter of ‘50. It’s bitter cold over there in the winter. Did you know that? A lot of folks don’t know that. Our company was dug in along this river, and it was cold.” He motioned to his kitchen window, “A lot like this, only worse. And we didn’t have the proper gear, not by a damn sight. It got better in ’51, but that didn’t help all those boys that froze to death the first winter.”

  Trent nodded.

  “Anyways, there was a kid named Sebastian. He was from Boston, and he wouldn’t shut up—he played baseball; said he could throw it a hundred miles per hour and was gonna’ pitch for the Sox. Well I don’t know anything about all that, but a couple nights before Christmas, he got both of his legs blown off … just below the knees. It was a grenade. I heard it land. They make a distinct sound when they hit, and I can still hear it. Sebastian shoved me and I fell. Ended up sliding along the snow before it blew. Then it exploded and I couldn’t hear anything else.

  “He saved you?” Trent asked.

  “I believe he did. Now maybe I was simply in his way and he needed to get by me, I don’t know. All I know for sure is, if he hadn’t knocked me down, I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you … or I wouldn’t be doing it looking this pretty.”

  After some silence, Trent said, “That’s quite a story.”

  “That ain’t it. I’ve told that story before, but I ain't never finished it. At least not out loud.”

  Trent swallowed and found his tongue sticking to the top of his mouth.

  I don’t want to hear it.

  “We were sticking the wounded in a trench, but we had to keep moving them cause of all the noise they made. Except ‘Bas—he didn’t make any noise. He should have been dead, you see? That grenade took both legs, remember, but he stuck those stumps in the snow and they froze right up. He wasn’t crying or moaning or calling for his mother. He would just sit there, as quiet as could be. I went to him and thanked him and I tried to help him, but it was like he wasn’t there. That night, it was cold … so cold, and dark. I was trying to sleep, but nobody slept over there, not really. I had my eyes closed, and that was good enough. Then I heard voices. I could hear ‘Bas’s accent—he was from Boston remember—and I knew he was talking to someone. I opened my eyes and there he was. He walked right on out of there …”

  “Wait, the guy without any legs?” Trent asked.

  Virgil gave a quick nod. “Only now he had them. But they weren’t … they weren’t legs like yours and mine. More like animal …” He stopped to take a sip from his cup with a trembling hand. “And he wasn’t alone, Trent … Sebastian wasn’t alone. He was walking with someone. Don’t ask me who or what, because I don’t know. But I can tell you ‘Bas looked back once, looked right at me, but I pretended I was sleeping. I was afraid and confused.”

  “What happened?” Trent asked.

  “That I can’t say. I can tell you he was gone. The next morning, he was just
gone. Some of the guys went and looked for him, but the Chinese were everywhere so they couldn’t go far. ‘Bas was gone.”

  “But he had no legs. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “I can’t explain it. I was there … I saw it with my own eyes, and I can’t explain it. And frankly, I don’t want to. Some things can’t be explained. And some things just don’t make sense.”

  Trent took in the man’s words and did his best to maintain eye contact. He thought about what the old man had seen in Korea and shivered despite Virgil’s overworked heater and the hot coffee. Deep down, he had assumed that Jerry’s story—along with the widow Barrows—had been much ado about nothing. Especially in Jerry’s case. There was baggage that came with being a known alcoholic. Did Virgil’s war story change anything? Trent wasn’t ready to answer that.

  Virgil broke the extended silence. “So what came of that video? The one the Barrows’ were crowing about?”

  Trent opened his mouth to speak, and then stopped. Images of Leo’s video message to his folks flashed in his mind, followed by a scene from the kid’s horror movie. That final scene. The death in the tree house. The death of Peter Taylor. Virgil’s phone rang and let Trent off the hook.

  “This is Virgil.”

  On the other end of the phone, Jerry asked the Sheriff if Trent was with him?

  “He is indeed. How is Vanessa holding up?”

  “Not great, Sheriff. That’s what I wanted to talk to Deputy York about.”

  “All right then. I can take a hint. Here he is.”

  The old man shuffled across the floor and handed Trent the phone, which still hung to the wall by a cord. Trent had once called it old school. Virgil insisted it was just plain old. They were both right.

  “This is Trent.”

  “We need to burn it down,” Jerry said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Excuse nothing, Deputy. We need to burn down that tree house. The whole damn woods if need be.”

  Trent held the phone tight to his ear, and turned his body to shield himself from the Sheriff, who had reclaimed his spot at the kitchen table. “Yeah, that’s not gonna’ happen, Jerry. Are you drinking already? I thought you promised to take care of Mrs. Barrows for me.”