The “tree” was a six foot facsimile of a fur, its leaves and trunks made of plastic, which they stored in the attic every year until the Christmas holiday. They couldn’t afford a real tree most of the time, so they kept it in storage as a replacement.
“That’ll be fun,” Jeremy said half-heartedly. He should be happy, like his mother always said, because there were kids in the world that had no tree at all. Since Rebecca was born they hadn’t had a real tree, so Becky had no idea what a difference it made. Plastic didn’t give off that rich forest smell (he surprised himself by still thinking of the woods positively, but that would change). Plastic didn’t have a basin of water at the bottom. It didn’t need one.
“Becky!” he heard his Mom call from downstairs.
“Yeah Mom?” Rebecca called back.
“There’s a phone call for you downstairs! A boy! He says he’s in your class!”
There was a pause, some mumbling, as if she were asking the person on the line something. Then- “Tommy Jones!” her mother added.
Rebecca’s eyes opened wide and stared at Jeremy. “That’s him!” she said. “That’s him!”
“Well, go answer it,” Jeremy smiled.
“Jeremy?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m scared. I think… I think I might like him too.”
“There’s nothing scary about that.” He was pretty sure he was lying. “Everything will be okay. Go, go!” He shooed her away.
She ran downstairs. He got up and closed the door.
Becky’s growing up, he told himself, maybe too fast, and he wasn’t sure why that thought filled him with sadness.
33
“I just cut myself on some branches,” Johnny told his mother, “That’s all.”
“Don’t lie to me boy!” she said, examining his side. “That wasn’t no branch that did that! Have you been doing things with them boys again?”
John looked at her with surprise and mild indignation.
“I asked you a question!”
“No ma,” he said.
“What?”
He got angry. “I said no ma! Dammit, how could you think that of me?!”
She slapped him. “Don’t you ever yell at me again! You hear me?!”
It was the first time she’d hit him. It was the fact she slapped
him that affected him more than the slap itself.
He looked at her, hurt. “Thanks a lot Mom. As if I didn’t get that enough from Dad.”
That struck a chord with her, and he saw an instant change in her demeanor. She was immensely sorry.
“Oh God,” she cried, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry baby, I’m so sorry.”
“Save it.”
She went to hug him, but he turned and walked away.
34
“Where were you?” Tony’s mother cried, “I was worried sick.”
“I’m sorry Mom. I was with Jeremy and I guess we lost track of time.”
“I had dinner ready for you. Now it’s cold. I’ve always asked you to be home before dinner, and if you weren’t going to be home, to at least call and let me know where you were. Why didn’t you call me Tony?”
“I’m sorry Mom. It won’t happen again.”
“You’re damn right it won’t happen again! You pull a stunt like this on me again and you’ll be grounded for a month!” She wasn’t really mad, just scared. “You’re lucky it’s near Christmas and I’m in a forgiving mood.”
“Really Mom, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean not to call.”
She smiled. “I know Tony. But don’t do that to me again. Come over here and give your mama a hug.” His father watched them in the doorway as they hugged, and smiled.
35
“Mom please!” Staci pleaded.
“Please nothing! Not ’til you tell me where you’ve been!”
“I told you already! I was with some friends!”
“You’d better be tellin’ your momma the truth girl!” her father interrupted, “Or you’re going to get a whooping but good!”
“Oh that solves everything for you doesn’t it?!” she yelled back, vehemently.
“Don’t you talk to your father that way young lady!” her mother warned.
“Yeah, I better not. Or else you’ll both beat on me right? I’m telling you the truth ma. I’m sorry if you can’t believe me, but I was with some friends. I do have friends you know.”
“You ain’t been doing anything you shouldn’t have with these friends of yours, have ya?” her father inquired.
She caught the implication, and retorted angrily, “No more than you Dad!” He wasn’t her real father.
His face went red and his eyes opened wide with guilt.
“What does she mean by that Leonard?” her mother questioned him. “What is she talking about?”
“Nothing Nora! She’s just making stuff up!”
“What’re you saying girl? Tell me the truth now,” Nora said.
“Why don’t you ask him?” Staci said. “Ask him where he went last night while he was drunk out of his mind.”
“What’re you talking about Staci? He was right here, in the house, with us.”
“Yeah, that’s right!” She was screaming now. “That’s right! Here, with us! But in whose bed?!”
36
When Myron walked through the door his mother screamed as if she’d been the one hit.
“Myron?” Ben Powers said, worried. “My God, what happened?” He ran up to the door and pulled him in. “Were you in a fight, an accident?”
Myron nodded. “Fight.” There was no use denying. The evidence was too obvious.
“Those bullies again?” his mother cried.
“Yeh. Dragunzzz.”
“Oh my God Ben, they broke his nose. Oh baby,” she coddled him. “Lie down on the sofa. Rest. You want some water honey?”
“Yeh. Pleeze.”
“When did this happen?” Ben asked.
“Afta chool.”
“How come you’re back so late?”
Myron lied down. “Chazed me tru treets.”
“You’ve been running? They caught up with you and broke your nose?”
“Yeh.”
“Ben,” Laura said, “Let him rest a while. We’re going to take you to the hospital Myron.”
“Right,” Ben said. “Just relax bud; I’m going to get you some ice for that. Damn bullies,” he muttered under his breath, “Always messing with my boy.” He’d be extra upset to know that they always stole his lunch money too, but Myron could never tell them that.
“We’re going to have to take him out of that school,” Laura said.
Myron opened his eyes and shook his head frantically, but they didn’t take notice.
“He’s liable to get killed one day by that crazy gang,” Ben said. “I ought to talk to the principal of that school. I mean, if things like this are allowed to happen on school grounds…”
But it wasn’t ON school grounds, he wanted to say, but couldn’t. He didn’t need them calling the principal. He knew it would only make matters worse.
“Take it easy son,” Ben said. “Don’t agitate yourself.” He shook his head sadly. “Right before Christmas too. Hell of a way to spend the holiday.”
Myron smiled agreement.
“Poor kid,” Laura said.
CHAPTER THREE
ORDINARY LIVES
(2014)
LOS ANGELES
1
In the end they all got caught. This didn’t make looking at the pictures of the victims any easier. He didn’t have to look at them, of course. But he liked to know what he was up against. What they were capable of. His job was to find their killers. Bring them back. Dead or alive. These were the worst of the worst. Fugitives who’d escaped justice too long. Serial killers and rapists mostly. A lot of them one and the same.
That was what he was paid to do as a bounty hunter. What he’d been doing for over ten years now. It was all he knew. Sometimes the pay
was good. Most of the time it wasn’t. He could easily end up with only a hundred dollars on a thousand dollar bounty. Even after months of searching. Yet he still found the job fulfilling. He got the scumbags off the street.
Later he would think his life turned out the least ordinary of all of them. Not glamorous by any means, but certainly not your typical nine to five. Considering what they’d all been through it wasn’t too surprising. For someone who once ran with the Dragons this was practically his calling. At least this time John Winter was on the right side of the law.
He riffled through the photographs again at his desk. There were no lights on in the place, except for the desk lamp, and the mid-day light filtering through the closed blinds. The entire apartment had an air of secrecy. John winced again at the picture of the little girl with her eyes cut out. He flipped the picture over.
“Sick bastard,” he cursed under his breath.
There were more like that. Severed parts, bloody torsos, bruised and beaten kids, one with her skirt hiked up. But the little girl with no eyes was the worst. He could tell she’d been a beautiful girl once, before he snuffed all the life out of her. Then there was the sick bastard himself. Oddly enough it was a studio portrait, but the monster still managed to make it look like a mug shot. No smile, black emotionless eyes. If he didn’t have to return the pictures to the cops he’d stab those eyes with his letter opener, just like the sicko did to that girl.
John suddenly became aware of sounds outside the four story white stucco. He was on the second floor and picked up sounds from the street easily. Although the blinds were drawn, the window behind it was open. Sometimes it helped bring him back to reality. You could lose yourself sometimes in the worlds of these psychos. But this time it was more than mere traffic noises. There was talking on the sidewalk beneath him. He put the photos back in their manila envelope and got up, pushing his seat back, raising the blinds and leaning over his desk to have a look.
A group of teenagers had gathered outside the complex. What people knew nowadays as the Goth crowd. Not as popular as they were in the late 90s, early 2000s, but still around. Color preference, lots of black. He counted six of them. Four boys and two girls. One of the girls was clearly with the tall guy wearing the dark cloak, with his limp black shiny hair. The other girl was particularly pretty with long fiery red-orange hair that really stood out among the black. She had black face paint that started and extended from her eyes, which looked like Egyptian hieroglyphs, or some sort of mutated ankhs, the loops going around the eyes. They were actually rather striking, making her look sort of regal.
What didn’t fit, aside from all this darkness on a bright beautiful LA day, was the boy standing with his skateboard, a little off to the side. He wasn’t dressed like any of them. If he had to give a description he’d say the kid was a little Abercrombie and Fitch, a bit skater punk. Kind of reminded John of his own kid, back in St. Louis. Never really knew whether something from Hollister or Hot Topic would suit him better. Not that it mattered anymore. He didn’t get to see that much of him anyway. Not since Cody moved in with his ex-wife, the boy’s mother. Court ruling and all. Of course, he hadn’t really expected them to award him custody due to his unhealthy and dangerous lifestyle nabbing baddies. Not to mention the fact that he was always on the go, travelling across the country, sometimes across borders to get some of these A-holes. But damn, some days he really missed him a lot more than others.
Skater boy was either looking down at his skateboard, wishing he was somewhere else or really fascinated by some spot on the gleaming sidewalk when Hieroglyph girl put her arm around his waist.
Oh, I get it now. The boy looked up at her gratefully. He looked up because he was about a half a foot shorter than her. They did the quick peck on the lips thing, when John caught motion and more talk from down the street. From the next block over another group of kids was crossing the street.
Why are there so many kids? Oh, of course. School just let out. He hadn’t thought of it, because he usually wasn’t here at this time, when he was here at all. Anyone could easily tell from the minimal arrangements in his studio apartment, if you could see past the gloom.
This new group of kids approaching was definitely the Abercrombie crowd. As they crossed over they almost halted dead in their tracks at the sight of the Goths. If the traffic light hadn’t been theirs someone surely would have been hit by a car.
As they passed them, they gave the skater/punk hybrid a quick onceover, apparently not sure what to make of him. They didn’t even pretend to hide their disdain at the black clad ones, their faces in full sneer as they walked past. The Goths sneered right back.
Ah, John thought, high school politics never die.
Then as they disappeared, he wondered why the Goths were still standing there. This wasn’t what he’d call a primo hang out spot. When they all grow up most of them will be wearing suits and ties. Johnny had seen true darkness. Theirs was just a fad.
He heard the downstairs door creak open, saw a girl bolt out
onto the sidewalk, a long black mesh robe trailing behind her. Was that Irma? The girl that lived downstairs? She was a senior at the high school. Irma was a button-downed girl if he ever saw one, and she was in with the Goths now? He wondered if he should call to her. Yeah, what the hell.
“Hey Irma!”
She turned, looked up, and smiled. The Goths looked up suspiciously.
“Hey Mr. Winter! I didn’t know you were here. You going to be in town for long?”
“’Fraid not,” he called down, “Got another lead.”
“I see,” she said, hugging her new friends.
“You know this guy?” he heard tall, dark, and creepy ask.
“Yeah, he’s fucking cool! He chases bad guys all over the country,” she said.
He couldn’t make out the exact words, but he caught the gist. Had she actually cursed? He’d never heard Irma curse.
“You mean he’s like a bounty hunter?”
“Yeah,” Irma nodded feverishly. She hadn’t quite yet got the laid back cool of the Goths, or at least what they thought was laid back cool.
“All right,” the guy said approvingly, yet somehow with no trace of a smile.
He looked up at John, nodded. The others followed along.
At least they didn’t sneer. Johnny was in their cool book.
“You ready to go?” the guy asked Irma.
“Yeah, let’s go.” She looked back up. “See you later Mr. Winter!”
“Call me Johnny please!”
She nodded, looking perplexed.
“See you Irma!”
And they were off, garments flowing in the breeze. The only sound now besides the traffic was the distinct sound of the wheels on the kid’s skateboard, rolling on the concrete sidewalk. Oddly enough John thought of him looking a bit like a mascot or pet dog, just tagging along. He retreated from the window, a small grin on his face. She thinks I’m cool. Wonder what my own kid thinks of me.
2
Driving along the highway, looking at the bright blue skies and the palm trees, the clean white sidewalks; taking in the fresh air through the open windows, the beautiful women; he thought how lucky he was to live in LA. Of course, you didn’t want to be caught dead in South Central or Crenshaw, which was likely to be the way you might be caught.
He turned off the ramp heading toward Los Angeles International. Next stop New Mexico. If he could catch the next flight out it’d be nice. He didn’t always have time to make reservations beforehand. This was one of those times. Sometimes the best he could do was waiting until there was a flight that wasn’t full. It was one pm on a Tuesday so he didn’t think he’d have too much trouble.
He didn’t. There were several seats still open. “Thank you,” he told the pretty receptionist.
“My pleasure sir. Have a wonderful day.”
“Oh I will,” he winked. As soon as I catch this jerk off, and I can concentrate on things like getting your number. This partic
ular jerk off, however, had been eluding him for over a year now. Why he hadn’t fled the country yet Johnny had no idea, but it did seem he was heading that way now. Some anonymous had spotted him in a New Mexico hotel, recognized him from his story and picture on America’s Most Wanted. John was grateful to the show because up until now, the leads he’d got so far had mostly been false starts. Since so many people watched the show, it had produced harder, more concrete leads. He really believed he was finally going to nail this guy. His path of escape, or destruction (whatever the case might be) had lead him closer to home than Johnny had ever imagined. He’d started out primarily on the east coast and moved slowly toward the center. Now he was travelling south. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to chase him into Mexico. Customs was a bitch, but he was a free agent and could go wherever he wanted, and he would be paid for it, and if he did anything illegal, they would quickly disavow themselves of him.
He arrived that evening in Albuquerque, scouring the stores for maps, asking the locals for the location of the Palmita Inn. There were more difficulties finding it because he wasn’t pronouncing it correctly. He was asking for the Palmetta. Eventually he did find it, and showed the attendant there the picture of the man he was looking for.
“Yes, yes!” said the man, with a thick Spanish accent (he appeared to be Mexican). “He was here! Left early this morning!”
“Damn!” John said. “Dammit! Any idea where he might have gone my friend?”
“No, although I overheerd him…”
“Overheard?”
“Yes,” he nodded gratefully. “Specking on the phone.” He pointed toward the payphones.
“Speaking on the phone, yes,” Johnny urged him on.
“Calling taxi, some-tin about Diego.”
“Diego? San Diego?”
The man shrugged. “I speck little Engleesh.”
“That’s all right.” John looked down, thinking aloud. “He wouldn’t be taking the taxi to San Diego. So he most likely went to the airport.”
Guess he’s not leaving the country after all, unless he’s planning to go across the ocean. But then he could be planning to go to Tijuana, but why, when he could have left the U.S. from New Mexico?
The Pit in the Woods: A Mercy Falls Mythos Page 7