by Hamill, Ike
“I don’t think so. Looks too skinny,” Jack answered.
The boys watched men go back and forth, moving items from the house to the van. The back of the van faced away from them, so its contents were a mystery. The legs beneath the tree came towards the path. Just before the person left the shelter of the oak branch, the movers crossed Jack’s line-of-sight with a couch and the jeans stopped. Jack craned his neck in a useless attempt to see past the branch. Finally the movers had passed and the person continued walking.
Jack nearly dropped the field glasses.
The person walking across Anderson’s yard and heading toward Mr. Vigue was Smoker.
“It’s him,” said Jack. “Smoker.”
“Get the fuck out,” whispered Stephen.
“Shhh!” said Ben. “Watch that fucking language in the house,” he giggled.
Smoker walked up to Mr. Vigue and crossed his arms, standing with his feet spread confidently. He tiled his head to the side as he listened. From the back of his head, and the way his arms moved around, Vigue spoke to Smoker with great animation. A few moments later, the Bag Man appeared from under the oak tree and crossed the yard to stand next to the pair.
“The Bag Man,” said Jack. “And he’s got another bag with him.”
“Is it moving?” asked Stephen.
“I don’t think so,” said Jack. “But this one looks heavy.”
As they watched, Vigue handed something to Smoker and then the Bag Man handed his bag to Vigue. Smoker nodded and then walked off towards the street with the Bag Man in tow.
“Are they selling drugs?” asked Stephen.
“Maybe. But I can’t imagine Mr. Vigue buying them,” said Jack. “Although he’s been pretty upset since the Gabe thing.”
“Oh, that’s the guy who had his kid abducted?” Stephen asked.
“Yeah,” said Ben. “That’s Gabe’s dad.”
“Holy shit,” said Stephen. “He must be pissed. Maybe they sold him a weapon or something.”
“What for?” said Jack. “The cops already have Anderson.”
Ben got up from the bed and went over to the computer. “I’ll check online. Maybe something happened.”
Jack and Stephen continued to watch out the window. The movers carried mostly boxes at this point and the occasional lamp or chair.
“Can I look through those?” Stephen asked Jack, and Jack handed over the field glasses. “Looks like that one guy is filling out a form or something,” he reported.
A man, his jumpsuit unzipped to the waist, stood about halfway down the walk. He studied the clipboard propped against his belly and then waved to his co-worker. The man then went back to the house and closed the front door.
“Looks like they’re done,” said Stephen.
One mover climbed into the cab while the other was working behind the truck. The other movers piled into a pickup the same color as the bigger truck.
“Yup, definitely taking off,” said Stephen.
“I guess it’s not a crime scene anymore,” said Jack.
“This is all I can find,” said Ben. He read the headline: “Durham man held without bail for Gabe Vigue disappearance.”
“That’s all?” asked Stephen.
“Yeah,” said Ben, “but it’s from June twenty-third.”
“I bet my mom would know more,” said Jack. “She reads the paper every day.”
“So ask her,” said Stephen.
“I guess,” said Jack. “But she was pretty upset when they took him.”
“There’s nothing better to do. Go ask,” said Stephen.
“Okay, I’ll be right back,” said Jack. He got up off the bed and left his room, closing the door behind himself. He found his mom downstairs in their home office.
“Hey mom?”
She looked up from her papers—“Hey Bub, what’s up?”
“What, um, what ever happened with Mr. Anderson?” Jack asked.
“Oh honey,” she began, “don’t worry about that.”
“I’m just wondering because they’re taking away all his furniture,” said Jack.
“Well that’s probably for the best,” she said.
“Do you think he did it?”
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out. But, either way, I don’t think he was going to be able to live next to the Vigues anymore.”
“How come?”
“Well, regardless if he’s found guilty or innocent, I think that the Vigues would always have their suspicions, and it would be uncomfortable for them to live next door,” his mom said.
“How long has Mr. Anderson lived in Maine?” asked Jack.
“Um, let’s see, he moved here in nineteen ninety-eight,” she replied.
“Oh,” said Jack. “Where did he live before that?”
“He was in Europe,” she said. “France mostly, I think.”
“What was he doing there?” asked Jack.
“Why are you so curious about Mr. Anderson’s history all of a sudden?”
“I don’t know—just curious,” said Jack.
“Okay. Well I don’t really know that much about Mr. Anderson before he moved in there. I think his work sent him overseas.”
“Thanks mom,” Jack turned to go.
“Hey Bub, did I get your essay yet from yesterday?” she asked as he walked away.
“Oh, I’ll go get it,” said Jack.
“Don’t worry—give it to me with tonight’s,” she said.
Back upstairs, Ben and Stephen discovered the website of a local newspaper. They searched for information about Anderson, but they didn't turn up anything new.
“What’d you find out?” Stephen asked as Jack entered.
“Not much, but she did say that he was living in France before nineteen ninety-eight.”
“Really?” asked Stephen. “Why France?”
“Who knows,” said Jack.
“So she doesn’t know why he’s moving?” asked Ben.
“Nope,” said Jack. He opened the second drawer of his dresser and moved his shirts aside. The drawer-liner hid the letter they found at the hotel. Jack took it over to the bed. “This was supposedly written in nineteen ninety-one.”
“I wouldn’t trust that thing,” said Ben.
“Yeah,” said Jack, distracted. “He talks about a trust for the taxes and stuff. Really sounds like he’s planning to not be around. Maybe that’s because he was going to France.”
“So you think that this Anderson guy set up the hotel? If he did, wouldn’t he start looking after the place himself when he got back?” asked Stephen.
“I don’t know, maybe he wanted to be anonymous,” said Jack.
“Well I don’t think the hotel guy is Mr. Anderson,” said Ben. “I’m not sure if Anderson snatched the Vigue kid, but I think that the hotel guy is still at the hotel.”
“That’s super sketchy—what makes you think that?” Stephen wrinkled his nose.
“It just feels planned. Like he’s there and waiting for us,” said Ben.
“You know, one thing makes sense about Anderson being the manager of the hotel—this kind of creepy stuff has to be really rare. I mean, what are the odds that one town would have a crazy hotel and a kidnapper?”
“Yeah,” said Jack, “that’s why I keep thinking they’re connected.”
“You just want everything to tie up neatly,” said Ben.
“Well I guess it doesn’t really matter much,” said Jack. “If they are connected Anderson is in jail anyway, and if they’re not, there’s no reason to believe that the hotel guy is still around.”
“Except that’s exactly what I believe,” said Ben.
“Yeah,” smiled Jack, “but aside from that.”
“You think it’s a joke,” said Ben. “We’ll see.”
“Hey, that reminds me, we have to do those essays,” said Jack.
**********
Wednesday was sunny and the boys told Jack’s mom that they were going to catalogue the species of reptiles n
ear the creek. They had already written essays about it and hidden them in Jack’s shirt drawer. They planned to set out after breakfast.
While Jack and Stephen did the dishes, Ben tried to reach his mother on the phone. He came back to the kitchen to find his friends just wrapping up their chores.
“What’d she say?” asked Jack.
“I still can’t get her,” said Ben. “At the house the answering machine picks up, and her cell phone is off.”
“What about your brother’s phone?” Jack asked.
“Nothing,” replied Ben.
“I bet she lost her cell again,” said Ben. “That’s all I can think.”
“Yeah, but why wouldn’t she get your message?” asked Jack.
“She hardly ever checks it,” said Ben. “Whatever. I’m sure she’ll get back to me soon.”
“We ready?” asked Jack.
“Why not,” said Ben.
They grabbed their packs, put on sunscreen so Jack’s mom wouldn’t worry, and headed out. Since it was fairly early, they decided to risk the path, but they didn’t talk to one another so they could listen for Smoker. Jack took the lead and paused every hundred yards, to hear if anything was following them. They verified Jack’s fishing line still stretched across the path, and were unsurprised that the new envelope hadn’t arrived.
Jack led them rapidly through the hotel’s passages, checking his notebook at each room to be sure they remembered each trick. They had grown accustomed to waiting for the white room, so they talked and sat in the dark for over fifteen minutes.
“This sucks—it’s not going to open,” said Jack. He turned on his light.
“Maybe it’s us,” said Ben. “Try turning off the light again and let’s all just be quiet.”
“You think someone is listening?” asked Stephen, dubious.
“It could be simpler than that. Maybe it’s just a motion or noise sensor,” answered Ben. “I’m pretty sure the light has to be off, but maybe we have to be still and quiet too.”
“Worth a shot,” said Jack.
After they had extinguished their lights and sat quiet for two minutes, the door began to open.
“See?” gloated Ben.
When they arrived at the spiral room with the door under the stairs, the scene jogged Jack’s memory. “Hey Ben, set your watch alarm for eleven a.m., would you?”
“Sure,” said Ben. “Why? You want to turn around then?”
“Not necessarily, but I want to make the decision then,” said Jack.
“Okay,” said Ben.
Today the maze was no challenge. On the way out on Monday they had added to their markings. Each time they reached a new decision point they had marked the way out, but when they followed those markings, they also marked the way they had come. This gave them a series of indicators that showed both the way in and out.
“This is awesome, Jack,” commented Ben. “I’m going to tell my brother about marking both directions.”
When they reached the ledge none of the boys wanted a boost. They wanted to try Jack’s method of vaulting up to the next level. Stephen had to try several times, but Ben was a natural once he watched Jack accomplish the jump.
Soon the door stood before them. Jack approached it first. He hunched over; it only came up to his stomach.
“This thing is tiny,” said Jack. He ran his hand over the panels. The hinges were visible, so he guessed that it would open towards him. Jack got down on the plywood floor and tried to look under the crack of the door. He saw only black.
“Let’s just try it,” said Stephen. “What’s the worst that could happen.”
“Plenty,” said Ben.
“I’m going to try it,” said Jack.
Ben retreated a step and Stephen moved to Jack’s side as he reached for the ornate handle.
“I wonder where you even get a door handle that size,” said Jack, stalling.
Jack knelt and put his hand on the door knob. His grip swallowed the small brass knob. “Won’t turn,” he said.
“What?” asked Stephen. “Let me try.”
Jack backed away and let Stephen try the knob. Failing his first attempt, Stephen handed back his flashlight and tried with both hands.
“It’s not like it’s locked,” said Stephen, grunting. “It’s like it’s stuck. If it were locked, I think this handle would turn. I mean it has a separate hole for a key—so it’s not the deadbolt. Anyone got a credit card? My dad showed me how to open a door with one.”
“Can’t you just take the hinges off?” asked Ben. He pointed at the exposed hinges on the left side.
“Maybe,” said Jack. “Who has the screwdriver?”
“Right here,” Stephen pulled one from his pack and handed it to Jack.
Kneeling, Jack started with the bottom hinge. The pin was stubborn, but Jack got it started by wedging the blade of the screwdriver below its head and pounding the handle with his palm. The first inch was difficult, then the pin popped out. Jack moved on to the middle one.
“Lousy security,” said Ben. “Almost too easy. Maybe we should think about this for a second.”
“Could be anything,” said Stephen. “Poison gas, a shotgun pointed right at us, a midget with a hatchet—what’s the point in worrying about it? Wouldn’t he have killed us by now if he wanted to?”
“Didn’t he just try to kill us with the level-two ladder?” asked Ben. “Why would he stop now?”
“Bah,” said Stephen. “Seriously, don’t worry about it.”
“I’ll be back here,” said Ben.
The top pin was giving Jack trouble. “I think the door is sagging,” he said.
Stephen pushed up on one of the left-hand panels in the door to take the pressure off the hinge. One more hit from Jack and the pin flew up and out of the door.
“I think it’s going to fall open,” said Stephen. “Back up a little,” he said to Jack.
Gradually, Stephen let go of the door and it stayed upright. Jack came forward and used the screwdriver to lever the door from the hinge. Groaning and creaking, it fell off the hinges with a loud thump, but stayed upright. Jack and Stephen scrambled back.
“Hey—don’t worry about it, guys,” mocked Ben from several feet away.
“Go open it,” said Stephen.
“You do it,” Jack countered.
“Fine,” said Stephen. He approached the door and gingerly grabbed the middle hinge. Stuck against the floor and latch, the door wouldn’t budge. He grabbed it with both hands and had to rock it several times to pull it away from the frame. “Jesus, that thing is heavy as fuck,” he said. With one final tug the door came loose and slammed to the floor at their feet.
Jack and Stephen stared down. Still keeping his distance, Ben couldn’t see what was going on. “What’s there?” he pushed between them. Instead of looking through the doorway, his friends were studying a map painted on the door. The door had fallen towards them, so it was upside down, but so was the painting.
At the bottom of the drawing a yellow star was labeled “Go.” A Network of lines branched out from the yellow star, twisting and sometimes crossing one another. Where they came to a stop, most of the lines ended with a skull and crossbones. Some were just an oval with two eye-dots atop a wide “X” in white.
“Looks like more traps after all,” said Stephen. “Lots of them.”
Jack was counting under his breath—“Twenty-two traps. It’s going to take forever to get through here. I can’t see any pattern at all.”
“Start writing it down,” said Stephen.
“Yup,” said Jack. He pulled out his notebook and sat cross-legged next to the door.
Stephen leaned against the wall and looked at the map. “So we go straight, take our second right, the third left. Wait, is this the end?”
“Maybe,” said Ben. “But it could also be here.”
“I wonder what these traps are,” said Jack.
Ben stepped past Jack and the door and shone his light down the passage. �
��Pretty small in there—smaller than out here,” he said.
“So, is this level one we’re on now?” asked Stephen. “We came down from level two, so it must be back to one.”
“I haven’t seen any signs,” said Ben.
“There’s one right here,” said Jack. Ben turned around to see he was pointing at the corner of the door. “It says ‘Level 4,’” he said.
“Interesting numbering scheme,” said Stephen. “I guess it’s not based on height.”
“That means there’s also not a boss at the end of each level,” said Ben. “Unless you count the stairs and this little door.”
“Seem like pretty easy bosses,” said Stephen.
“I can just see down to the first turn-off,” Ben was looking down the hall again. “It’s like the walls absorb the light—you can hardly see any distance.”
Stephen added his light to Ben’s—“Your light is getting dim too. We should bring more batteries next time. Let’s go down there a little while Jack’s copying the map.”
“Yeah, go ahead, you can safely go down to the second right at least. Let me know if you can see anything funny down the first right,” said Jack.
“Okay,” said Stephen. “Right behind you, Ben.”
To make his way down this more narrow passage, Ben had to resort to almost crawling. It was only four feet high and he walked with one hand down on the floor.
“You weren’t kidding about the height,” said Stephen.
“Here’s the first right,” Ben paused ahead and waited for Stephen to catch up.
They both shone their lights down the passage—it went about ten feet and stopped abruptly with a black wall.
“Does this one end in a trap?” Stephen called back to Jack.
“Yeah,” Jack yelled back.
“I can’t see anything—you?” Ben asked Stephen.
“Nope. Guess we don’t want to find out, either,” Stephen replied. “We should mark it.”
Ben tried to mark the floor of the passage, but the floor, walls, and ceiling were too dark for the Sharpie to show up. “Hope we don’t have to get out of here in a hurry,” said Ben.
“What time is it, anyway?” Stephen asked.
Ben looked at his watch—“About ten till eleven. Why? You have to take a dump again?”
“Ha, ha,” said Stephen stoically. “When I do, you’ll be the first to know.”