The Unusual Second Life of Thomas Weaver

by Shawn Inmon

  Madison’s eyes bored into Thomas’s for a few seconds. He smiled. “Okay, then. If I have any more questions, I’ll drop back around.”

  Anne, Thomas, and Zack stood in the kitchen watching the detective get in his car and drive away. Anne just turned to look at Thomas, visibly thinking something over.

  “Mom? I know you’re probably mad at me—“

  “I am. I'm damned mad. I'm also disappointed, hurt that you’ve lied to me, feeling very alone that Zack was in cahoots with you about all this sneaking out, and wondering why you didn't tell the detective about Michael Hollister.”

  And there's the live electric wire again. Grab it and get fried. "Well, Mom, I think it's probably illegal to put a dog turd in someone's sandwich. I didn't want to confess to that."

  Zack burst out laughing. "Is that what it was? All I heard is that he puked up his lunch. I didn't hear why. You put sh...dog turds in his lunch? I didn't know you had it in you."

  The look on Anne's face stifled all the mirth from Zack. "This is when I need you to help me, Zackary, and be a big brother," she said, as if every word aged her a month. "You're almost an adult. This is a real problem and nothing about a missing girl is funny."

  “I understand,” Thomas continued. “I’m probably grounded for the rest of my life. But before I serve my sentence, I need to go do something.”

  Anne's eyes said otherwise. "Tommy, you don't get to decide what you need to do any more. But I'll listen to you explain.”

  “It’s really important. I want Zack to go with me to the cave behind the school.”

  “Is that really necessary?” Anne glanced at Zack, whose face revealed nothing. She lit another cigarette, sighed out a cloud of smoke. “I suppose if there’s any chance at all you know where she might be, we should check on it. Why didn’t you mention it to Detective Madison when he was here? Besides not wanting to tell him about what you did to Michael's food?”

  Thomas squirmed. “I didn’t think he’d believe me. I promise, after we check that place out, I’ll be grounded for life.”

  “Okay. Be back here in less than two hours, and no other stops, understood?”

  Zack grabbed his keys off the dishwasher and walked toward the Camaro. Thomas hurried into the dining room, pulled the flashlight out of the cupboard, and hurried after Zack. As soon as he climbed in, Zack's fist rammed knuckles deep into the fleshy part of Thomas’s bicep, giving him a Charlie horse.

  “Ow!”

  “That’s for dragging me into your mess with you, dumbass. I should give you a lot more than that. Just when I think you can't be a bigger idiot than you already are, you prove me wrong.”

  “Sorry, Zack. Didn’t mean to get you in trouble too.”

  “Apparently I slept through most of the story this morning. What the hell happened?”

  “When I got to the church last night, Carrie was gone, but the door was open and her car was there. Her dad showed up and thinks I have something to do with it.”

  “You are such a dipshit. Who the hell goes to make out in a church? You are the weirdest little shit I know.” Thomas did not answer. Then Zack came unglued in several minutes of sustained laughter, so wracking that he could barely drive. When he finished, he asked: "So why'd you put dog shit in Michael's lunch? Because of his kidnapping Amy? I would have just kicked his ass for that myself."

  "Yeah, that was it. The guy abuses animals. That's why I think Carrie might be in his animal torture cave."

  They pulled into the school parking lot. “What’s the deal with this cave, anyway?”

  Shit. Am I going to have to confess to every lie I’ve ever told today?

  “That day I was in the woods after school? I followed Michael Hollister to a weird-ass cave. He’d been torturing little animals there and had a cat caged up. I let the cat go, and that’s why I was so freaked out by the time I got back to the car.”

  “You little shit. I knew you were lying to me. Why the hell was Michael killing things out there?”

  Training.

  “He’s a weirdo. He gets off on hurting things. Killing them.”

  “And what makes you think he gets off on it? I do a lot of things that don’t get me off, but I still do them.”

  How about because we know a lot more about serial killers and their behaviors in another thirty years?

  “You don’t do anything like this, and you know it.”

  Zack shook his head in angry frustration. “And this is the guy you’re all mixed up with, huh? Okay, show me where this cave is.”

  The third trip to the cave, in full daylight, was quicker and easier. Thomas remembered the right place to turn off the path, and managed to find the edge of the cliff without tumbling off. “Here,” Thomas said, “there’s a little trail down to the clearing.”

  The vines and ivy had begun to hang back down over the mouth of the cave, but it wasn’t fully covered. It looked innocuous in the daylight. “This is it?” Zack asked, doubtfully.

  “Yeah, this is it.” Thomas turned the flashlight on and led the way into the pitch darkness, turning sideways. He hesitated, but Zack shoved him in.

  Thomas flashed the light along the floor, hoping not to see anything, but his mind’s eye already saw Carrie, crumpled on the floor.

  Nothing.

  “Looks like an empty, stinky little cave to me. Are you sure this is the one?”

  Thomas scanned the entire cave with the light: floor, corners, walls, ceiling. Nothing. “Yeah.” His voice wavered.

  “You didn’t really think she was in here, did you?”

  “Yeah, I really did. I was hoping she wasn’t but was afraid she was. Let’s get out of here.”

  As they began to make their way back, Thomas swore inwardly. Of course he came back and finished cleaning everything out. He’s not an idiot. Still, I had to check, or I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.

  They made it back to the house well before their deadline. Anne was waiting at the door.

  “Mr. Copeland called while you were gone.”

  “What'd he say?” Thomas asked.

  “No sign of Carrie yet, unfortunately. He asked if you would wrack your brain and see if you can come up with any reasonable explanation.”

  “Jesus Christ! Does he think I haven’t already been doing that? I don’t think he wants to hear what I’ve come up with.”

  Thomas spun and headed to his bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed and took the Creedence Clearwater Revival record off the turntable. He slipped on a Charles Mingus album, set it to repeat, and lay down. He spent the rest of the day tossing and turning, picking up a book and throwing it down, unread.

  He was still there, the same record still playing, when Zack came to bed many hours later.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  SUNDAY BROUGHT NOTHING more than Thomas laying on his bed staring at the ceiling. He ran the same scenarios over and over in his mind, looking for any explanation for Carrie’s absence. There was nothing he could do, no reason to want to do anything that was in his power, and nothing to look forward to.

  On Monday morning, he was awake before the sun came up, early enough to see his mom leave for the early shift at the hospital. By the time Zack got out of the shower, Thomas was ready and waiting to leave for school. I know it. She will be sitting in homeroom, with some story to explain this whole weekend.

  Just inside the school's front door, Billy, Ben, and Simon were waiting for him. Not talking, cutting up, or laughing; just waiting. Thomas spotted them, nodded without stopping or speaking, and headed for his homeroom. They caught up to him, flanking him.

  “What’s up, bro?” Billy asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Really? That’s not what everyone else is saying,” Simon said.

  Thomas stopped dead. “What do you mean?”

  “You are topic number one in the hallways of greater Middle Falls High this morning.” Kids parted around them in the hall, staring as they passed. “We half-expected to see y
ou come in with handcuffs or a ball and chain attached.”

  “What the hell? Seriously? What have you heard?”

  Ben glanced at the other two, hesitated. “We’re hearing a lot of stuff. We knew it wasn’t true.”

  Billy added, “We heard you and Carrie ran away to get married, or you had kidnapped her and the police had already arrested you, or she had run away to California to become a singer, but she was framing you for…something. The details didn’t make a lot of sense.”

  “That’s because it’s all bullshit. You guys know that, right?”

  “Yeah," said Ben, "of course we do. So what’s really up? What can we do to help?”

  “I don’t know,” Thomas said. “I was supposed to meet Carrie on Friday night. I was late. When I got there, her car was there, but she wasn’t. Then her dad showed up and got really pissed off, since he didn’t know she was sneaking out to see me. He thought I had something to do with her being gone. The cops did come and talk with me Saturday, but they just asked me some questions. I didn’t do anything. I was with Mom, going to the movies on Friday. That’s why I was late to meet Carrie. Are you guys sure she’s not here?”

  Simon shrugged, said, “I don’t think so.” A girl with short blonde hair and an equally short skirt eyed Thomas in passing. “If she was here, I think everyone in school would know it.”

  “You’re probably right, but I still want to get to first period and see for myself.”

  “Okay, that’s cool,” Billy said. “See you guys at lunch, maybe.”

  Billy and Thomas took the stairs two at a time and hurried to a dark, deserted room 222. Thomas flipped the lights on, and both took their usual seats.

  Two minutes later, kids started to stream in, saw Thomas, and stared until they caught themselves. Those who were alone just looked. Where there was a group, the whispers came.

  Mr. Burns arrived right before the first period bell rang. Right behind him, Michael Hollister walked in and took his seat at the front. He didn’t look at Thomas.

  A dull, preoccupied morning of classes gave way to lunch, where Thomas stood in line and got his food without even looking at what was being served.

  I have never felt less hungry.

  Out of force of habit, he made his way to the back corner where he had sat so often with Carrie. He looked around the room for Michael Hollister, but didn't expect to see him. Since the Sandwich Incident, Michael had taken to eating elsewhere. In his car, probably, since we aren’t supposed to leave campus during school hours. Once again, all eyes and whispered babble seemed to center on Thomas. When Ben, Billy, and Simon emerged from the end of the line, they took seats next to and across from him, semi-shielding him from prying eyes.

  “Thanks, you guys, but they don’t bother me. Heard anything new?”

  They exchanged glances.

  “C’mon, whatever it is, it can’t be that bad. Wait. You didn’t hear anything about Carrie, did you?”

  “No. Some of the jocks in English were saying…” Billy shook his head.

  “What? Saying what?”

  “They were saying you had killed her and buried her in your back yard. They’re a bunch of assholes, though.”

  “Amen, brother,” Simon chipped in. “Assholes. Holders of the coveted Asshole's Medal with Crossed Plungers.”

  Thomas laughed along in spite of himself. “I appreciate you guys hanging with me. It’s good to know who your friends are.”

  “What was it d’Artagnan said?" asked Simon. "All for one, and all of you to protect me when I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, right?”

  Chapter Forty

  AT TRACK PRACTICE that afternoon, Zack and Coach Manfred planned Zack's next few days of training. “Let’s get your distance work in today and tomorrow, your intermediates Wednesday and Thursday," said the coach.

  "Sounds good, Coach. Stretch only on Friday?"

  Coach Manfred nodded. "We’ll have you ready to go.”

  "I feel good. No..." Zack’s eyes wandered over to a group of boys standing in the middle of the field, huddled together, gesturing toward him.

  “Weaver, you with me? Now is not the time to lose your focus.”

  “No, I know. I’ve got it, Coach. I’ll be ready.”

  “Okay, get warmed up, we’ll start with some timed 880s. Take it easy, though.”

  “Sure, Coach. You got it.”

  Zack started his warmup routine, stretching, taking a few high steps, then stretching again. He noticed one of the boys gesturing at him again. He jogged over to them. “What’s going on?”

  Thirty seconds later, Zack tore for the parking lot full tilt. Five minutes later, he brought the Camaro into the driveway at home hard enough to sling gravel into the small yard.

  Anne met him at the door, ready to give vent to outrage. Then she saw her son's face.

  Chapter Forty-One

  A FEW HOURS later, Thomas was in his room staring at the ceiling. Anne knocked on the bedroom door, then stuck her head in. “Honey?”

  “Yeah?” Thomas rolled onto his side. “What? Did you hear something from Mr. Copeland?”

  She and Zack both stepped into the room.

  Thomas looked from one to the other, swallowed hard, and closed his eyes for two long beats. “Okay. Whatever it is, just tell me.”

  Anne's composure cracked, with tears rolling down her cheeks. She and Zack had delayed this conversation for hours. She had made phone calls, talked to the police, tried to get the details right. Most of all, she and Zack had tried to come up with a better way to tell Thomas the truth, and there was none.

  “Oh, goddammit, what, Mom? What?”

  Anne took a few tentative steps, sat on the edge of the twin bed. Zack hung back, out of place in his own bedroom. “Tommy, honey. I wish I didn’t have to tell you this.” She reached out and held his hand.

  Thomas froze inside. His voice went flat. “Whatever it is, Mom, just say it.”

  Anne reached up, wiped away the tears, and drew a deep breath. “Carrie’s gone. The police found…they found her body.”

  For a moment, all Thomas could do was blink. Then, the pain, the loss, the finality of—they found her body—exploded in his heart. He closed his eyes tight, looked for a place inside him where there wasn’t pain. It didn’t exist.

  I knew it. What else makes sense?

  “Oh, Tommy. I’m so sorry.” Anne reached her arms out and hugged Thomas. He was stiff as a statue.

  Thomas leaned back from her and cleared his throat. “Where did they find her?”

  “Tommy, do you really need to know?”

  “I do.”

  “In the rest area just north of Roseburg.”

  Thomas nodded, completely calm. “Rest area? Yeah. Figures.”

  “Figures? Why? What do you mean?”

  Thomas shook his head, stared at the wall. “Doesn’t matter.” Nothing will ever be okay again, will it? I’ll never catch up to her. I have no idea how this works. Does this world keep resetting, or are there a million different worlds with a million different Carries in them? If I find Carrie again, would she even know who I am? The Carrie who truly knows me, is gone to God only knows where—her starting point, a new life altogether, who knows? She killed herself and started over a dozen times. What happens when someone murders you instead? Do you get to go on to something new?

  The thought broke him inside. He laid down, pulled his knees up a bit, and turned his back to Anne. “I just want to lay here.” For the rest of my life, or until I figure out how to kill Michael Hollister.

  “There’s something else I need to tell you.”

  Oh, for fuck's sake. You haven't told me enough? Thomas rolled over and looked at her.

  “There’s someone here who wants to talk to you.”

  “The cops here already? I’ll come out right now and they can take me away, if they want.”

  “No, not the police. Someone who wants to talk to you.”

  “Goddamnit, Mom! I don’t want
to see anyone. Just tell me what is going on!”

  Anne paused, bit her lip, then shook her head. “Come out as soon as you can,” she said, leaving the room. Zack remained behind, leaning against the wall. He started to say something, but couldn't. As tears filled his eyes, he shook his head and followed Anne out of the room.

  Thomas looked out the window. It was still light out, but overcast. The clock read 7:45.

  Thomas turned, swung his feet over the bed.

  So here it is. Carrie’s gone. Michael killed her, but she would still be alive if not for me. I loved her, now she’s dead, and it’s all because of me.

  Why do I keep killing the people I love most?

  Thomas pulled the record off the player and smashed it against the edge of the table. It broke into half a dozen pieces. He flung the biggest piece against the wall, where it shattered into smaller pieces.

  That’s Thomas Weaver’s #1, all-time classic hit, “Destroying Whatever He Loves!”

  He put his head in his hands, drew a deep, shuddering breath, and walked to the mirror over the dresser. He stared at his reflection. In most ways, he looked as he had upon his arrival back in 1976, just a few months earlier. His eyes, though, looked familiar in a different way. And I know it well. Those are the eyes of a middle-aged alcoholic at the end of a long bender.

  Thomas glared into his reflection for a full minute. Then he heard subdued voices coming from the living room.

  What in God’s name does Mom have up her sleeve now?

  Chapter Forty-Two

  THOMAS TOOK TWO steps into the small living room and stopped dead. Standing in front of him was someone Thomas hadn’t seen in more than forty years.

  James Weaver looked almost exactly as Thomas remembered him. He was still tall, if not quite as lean as the day he'd walked out on them. A full head of hair, with wisps of grey, framed a tanned and angular face with an expression that rankled Thomas at first sight.

  Who the hell has a tan this time of year in Oregon? You, asshole. Riding in on your white horse in a time of family crisis. Well, you can go fuck yourself. Last life, I never saw you again. Not even at your funeral. I liked that just fine.