by Tim Marquitz
Jacob stared at the sheriff, unsure of what to make of him. There wasn’t time to ask him why he cared as the squad car pulled onto Jacob’s street. Tate slowed and began to pull over at the corner when a loud rumble rolled up behind them. Jacob cringed and sunk into the seat as the sheriff slowed further, drifting onto the soft dirt beside the road.
An old Ford pickup rolled past. The cold stare of Jacob’s dad was fixated on Jacob sitting in the backseat of the squad car. The sheriff spotted him as he drove by. A quiet sigh slipped from Tate’s lips.
“So much for stealth, huh?” He glanced into the rearview at Jacob, then edged back onto the road. “I’ll talk to him, don’t worry.”
Jacob groaned but said nothing. He knew his father too well to think it would matter.
The sheriff pulled his cruiser into the driveway as his dad hopped out of his truck. Tate hit the locks and let Jacob out before he went to speak to Jacob’s father.
“What the hell did he do this time?” Jacob’s dad asked as he stormed down the driveway. He headed for Jacob, his fists clenched.
The sheriff intercepted him, placing his bulk squarely between father and son. His dad stopped and met Tate’s eyes.
“He didn’t do anything, Mr. Rile,” the sheriff answered in a calm voice. “He was checking on a friend whose father is in the hospital. I just happened to be around and heading back this way, so I gave him a ride, that’s all. Jacob’s a good kid.”
His father snorted and glanced at Jacob. “Go inside.” He looked back to the sheriff. “I’ll make sure you don’t have to cart my boy around anymore. Don’t you worry.” Without another word, he reached into the truck and retrieved a twelve-pack of beer. He then followed Jacob toward the trailer.
“Take care, Jacob,” the sheriff said as they walked away. “Maybe I’ll see you at the bar tonight, Mr. Rile.”
His dad spun around and glared at the sheriff. Tate stood there with a broad smile plastered across his face. He waved and nodded, giving Jacob’s father every opportunity to respond.
Jacob groaned. He knew the sheriff meant well, but he didn’t know his father. He was only making things worse.
After an uncomfortable moment, his father turned away. When he entered the trailer, he slammed the door so hard Jacob thought it would come off its hinges.
The sound hadn’t even echoed away before his dad turned on him. He shoved Jacob hard into the wall.
“I don’t know what kind of horseshit excuse you gave that cop to get out of trouble, but you damn well better watch yourself. You won’t find any bail money here. You’re lucky I don’t kick you out already.” He poked at the scratches on Jacob’s face as if to prove his point. “You’re nothing but trouble, boy. I don’t want to see the police out here again, you understand?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Go to your room. I don’t want to see you either.”
Jacob was all too happy to comply. He trudged off and breathed a sigh of relief once the door was closed behind him. He went to the bed and lay down as his father stomped into the kitchen, vibrating the floor. Jacob heard the glasses clink as his father slammed the refrigerator door. The whole time, he shouted about police and worthless kids.
Jacob righted the table beside his bed and examined his stereo. To his surprise, it wasn’t broken. He set it gently on the table and retrieved his CDs and clock. He made sure the volume was as low as it would go, then turned his music on. He settled in to wait out his father and hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with him again.
He didn’t have long to wait.
His dad rushed Ann out of the house an hour early, much to Jacob’s delight. As the truck roared off down the road, its sound fading away, Jacob picked up the phone to call Cass.
Again, it was only her substitute voice that answered. He set the receiver back into its cradle and growled. He wanted to talk to her, but it frustrated him that he couldn’t.
The excitement of the day washed over him like the tide. He felt sleep creeping up on him, but he didn’t want to sleep. With the clamor inside his head, the last thing he wanted to do was dream. He thought about taking a walk.
What about Jenks? The threat of the old man was still sharp in his head. He peered out his window and glanced around the neighborhood. He spied movement at the trailer across the street, the flutter of curtains. He leaned back against the wall so no one would see him. When he realized what he’d just done, he laughed.
He was becoming just like everyone else that lived in Paradise Park, paranoid. The place was getting to him.
He shook his head and went outside. He stuck to the trees, his head on a constant swivel. Once he was out of the trailer park, he waited until the traffic cleared on Sudderth. He ran across the street and headed for the woods. He paced indecisive when he reached the base of the hill.
The sun edged toward the mountains. He caught himself climbing the hill. He was at the barbed wire fence before he even realized it. He dropped low, his eyes on a frantic sweep for anyone—for Jenks.
After several minutes, he was satisfied he was alone. He was just a short distance from the trees that covered the bunker. He made his way to it without a second thought. Inside the protective shell of greenery, he felt his adrenaline begin to rush. Even through the closed hatch, he could smell the wet earth of the bunker. The cloying scent called to him.
He lifted the hatch with trembling hands and slid quickly down the ladder. He felt the darkened eyes on him the moment he hit bottom. He drew in a deep breath. The air was crisp.
The images of murder that had been swept into the back of his head, charged to the front as though summoned by their earthly counterparts. Jacob met their empty sockets, but only briefly, before skipping past those of the rest. They seemed to cry out for his attention.
He wasn’t really sure why he was even there. He looked over the familiar assemblage of skulls and noticed a new niche. It had been dug into the packed earthen wall beneath the lowest row. In it sat a gleaming skull Jacob hadn’t seen before. Its white dome appeared almost wet in the dim light.
It was then Jacob heard a familiar voice. It called out to him as he breathed along with the skulls. He listened close to hear any intelligible words from the otherworldly drift of sounds, yet they were still too faint for him to pick out. He held his breath and strained his ears. This time he could make it out. It was just one word.
Jacob.
His head exploded with his name. All of the skulls seemed to take it up as though it were a mantra. Their ethereal voices prickled his skin.
Jacob.
The temperature in the bunker dropped. He could see his breath as it slipped slowly from his lips. Wisps of air huffed from the nostrils of the skulls. He felt their willowy breaths mingle with his.
The comfortable familiarity of the voice drawing him in, he stared at the newest skull. He lifted it into his hands. Its presence tingled through his fingers as he turned it to stare into its hollow eyes.
The blackness inside whirled to life, glistening stars born out of the darkness. Resistance was not even a thought, not even an option. He welcomed the cold contact. Craved it. Fear left behind, he dove into the well of the skull.
Chapter Fifteen
The woods clustered, claustrophobic, around Dennis Jones, but not as thick as the emotions that crowded his head and shadowed his heart.
He’d been an outcast so long he didn’t know what the word meant anymore.
Dennis trudged through the Ruidoso forests hoping to chase away the demons of his home life. His father, out in the free world for a record six months the last time, once more found the easy way back to jail. Again, as always, he took his family’s spirit with him. His meager paycheck—what hadn’t been blown on drugs and alcohol—had gone away as well.
At sixteen, Dennis had once more become the man of the house, a role for which he was ill sui
ted—more so each time his dad was locked up. He was quiet and unassuming, a ‘C’ quality student at the best of times. He struggled to keep his part-time sales job at a small T-shirt shop off the main strip.
The shop catered to tourists and he didn’t fit the vacation town’s ideal image. The water off more often than on, his greasy-haired and thrift-store clothing led to his hours being cut all the time. His shifts were relegated to the times when business was slowest. It was only the compassion and understanding of the owner, Miss Hernandez, who was well aware of his plight, which kept him there at all. There was only so much she could do for him though.
His mother suffered from hypertension and depression and a host of physical ailments that left her unfit to work. Her alcoholism only added to the cocktail of inability. When Dennis was home, he was saddled with everything she couldn’t handle, which was simply everything.
His days started with chores and progressed steadily through catering to his mother to picking her up off the floor at the end of the night and dumping her limp body into bed. Often Dennis sat semi-conscious in a chair in her room, waking up with a start to turn her onto her side to keep her from choking on her vomit. The last of their utility money was spewed warm across the mattress, more often than not. He’d clean the mess and try once more to sleep. The bitter scent of regurgitated alcohol lingered in his nose.
When he wasn’t at work or school, or tending to his mother, Dennis found what solace he could in the woods. Still sore from the beating his father had given him before he left, all the bruises conveniently hidden, Dennis needed the escape.
Up on the hill, well into Old Man Jenks’s property, he wandered without direction, every step a nagging pain. His chest and stomach hurt, but it was his head that needed healing.
A thick fog of despair crowded his mind, casting a black pallor over every thought. Though there wasn’t much peace to be found anywhere for Dennis, the woods gave him a few minutes away from his problems. It was often just enough to give him the courage to go home.
The animals and insects he shared his walk with didn’t badger him with questions or tease him for not showering. They simply went about their business as he went about his. It was a comfortable counterpoint to all the screaming and crying that leeched the joy from his life.
As he strolled between the trees, his chin raised just enough to see what lay right before him, he wondered how much more he could take. It was a question he asked himself often.
His jaw hurt every night when he crawled into bed—he clenched his teeth all day. He could feel it aching even then and took a moment, out in the woods, to relax.
Caught up in his own world, Dennis didn’t realize someone had come up behind him until he heard the snap of a dry twig. He spun around to see a gloved fist smash into his face.
Just like he did at home, he took the blow without complaint.
* * * *
His head throbbed. Bright light pierced his lidded eyes like scalpels as Dennis flickered into awareness. Strands of his hair clung to his face and he reached to brush them away, but he couldn’t move his arm. He squinted and looked up at his arm to see a metal clamp around his wrist. It held his arm pinned to the wall that pressed uncomfortably into his back.
He glanced at his other hand to see the same kind of shackle. Dennis swallowed hard, the pressure against his throat making it difficult. He lifted his chin and found the wall as the back of his skull thumped against it. Able to breathe a little better, he braved the glare of the light.
As though staring into the sun, dots of darkness danced across his eyes. The brilliance was almost too much to bear. He shook his head a little, so more of his hair dropped onto his face to help shield his eyes against the light. Partially successful, he let his gaze drift to the side of the light where he could see some shadows beyond.
Something moved in them.
Dennis’s mind cleared quickly from the blow—he was used to it. He stared at the shape that came to stand beside the light. His subconscious mind recognized the shape of a man. He knew the man’s eyes were on him. He could feel their stare.
Several moments passed, the silence in the room deafening. Dennis never took his eyes off the figure. After what seemed forever, the shadows swirled and parted. A colossus of a man stepped into the light.
The brightness tamed by the man’s presence, Dennis could see clearly at last. Masked, twin orbs of black stared at him from the eyes holes of a ski mask. Dennis couldn’t look away.
Dressed in all black, every inch of skin covered, save for his eyes, the man came to stand before Dennis. The smooth dark leather of his apron shimmered in the reflected light. In his hand, he held an axe.
Dennis knew right then what fate had in store for him. He sighed, expecting no less, but he couldn’t bring himself to be afraid.
Born into suffering, Dennis had never known anything else. He’d been beaten for as long as he could remember. Starved and neglected, he’d spent many nights sleeping under the stars. The cold and wet grass was better than the lice-infested mattress that squirmed beneath him.
He’d never known love and truly never expected he ever would. He had never felt welcome in the world, its cruelties a prison. His sentence was life.
As he stared into the man’s dark eyes, he saw mercy buried there, a reprieve from the sadness that hung over him like a funeral shroud. His heart thumped hollow in his chest as he swallowed deep, moistening his mouth to speak.
“Kill me,” Dennis said in a whisper. The words lingered in the air.
The man’s eyes widened a moment as he stared at Dennis, then narrowed to tiny slits. He reached out and set his gloved hand gently on Dennis’s cheek before brushing the strands of hair out of his face.
He nodded, the wish granted.
The man took a step back as Dennis drew one last breath. The cold air tingled in his lungs. His eyes locked on the axe and he watched as it was hefted into the air. The glistening edge sparkled in the light.
As it streaked toward him, Dennis couldn’t help but feel relief. He watched the axe, through dry eyes, until it disappeared from view. The shuddering thud of its impact echoed through his bones. There was the sudden sense of falling and Dennis saw the ground approach.
He felt the rough plastic flooring scratch at his cheek when he landed. His eyes lolled back and forth a moment before settling. He looked at his body and marveled. It twitched and struggled against its binds, a geyser of red spewing from his neck.
His sight darkened at the edges. He glanced at the man who knelt before him. Dennis met his gaze and smiled up at him. The man was slowly swallowed by the encroaching blackness.
Though he couldn’t be sure through the mask, he thought the man had smiled back. It was Dennis’s last thought.
Chapter Sixteen
Jacob fell to his knees, his eyes locked on the empty sockets of Dennis’s skull. He felt as though his head were full of cotton candy.
He hadn’t paid much attention to Dennis since he’d known him. Apparently, no one had. A sinking guilt settled like an anchor in his fluttering stomach. He staggered to his feet and returned Dennis to his niche. He’d found a happy home at last.
Jacob apologized out loud. The words were hollow in his ears. He knew he wasn’t responsible for Dennis’s death—or even his life—but had he known how bad things were, he might have been able to help. He could have been the friend Dennis never had, the one he needed. Instead, Jacob had ignored him like everyone else had. Now he was dead.
Worse yet, he died with a smile on his face. He’d wanted to die. He’d truly wanted to die.
That was too much for Jacob. He staggered to the ladder and took his time climbing up it. He made sure each hold was solid before he went on to the next. One second he could see clearly, and the next, the world had grayed. Katie, Terrance, and Dennis stared out from the gloom.
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He shook his head, but the visions pelted his mind like a steady rain. Afraid he would fall, he clutched to the wooden ladder.
It took him twenty minutes to climb free of the bunker. He lay in the foliage shelter, peering through the thick leaves as he waited for his mind to settle. Finally, he realized the sun was sinking from view. The shadows thickened around him.
Wanting nothing to do with the woods after dark, Jacob got to his feet and sealed the bunker. He made his way through the shrubs and out into the woods. His sight continued to flicker, his mind drifting as though his brain had slipped a gear. He made it to the barbed wire fence after just a few moments.
The sun almost set, he ran as fast as he dared. He plotted his course through the lightest gathering of trees. The branches lashed at him as he passed, but he welcomed their attention. Each tiny sting cleared his mind a little more than the last. The burning of his lungs injected just enough pain to keep him from slipping back into the dreams of the dead.
As the sun disappeared, Jacob found himself panting down by the highway. Though it made his walk longer, he was grateful for the yellowed lines that would lead him toward home.
The whirr of passing traffic kept him to the side of the asphalt, but it also gave him something to focus on. He was weak, his legs trembling. He stumbled on, then cut across the Downs where the highways met, hoping to shave time off his trip.
As he made his way through the quiet neighborhood, Jacob felt a tingle at the nape of his neck. He glanced around, but saw no one there. He traveled a little further and once again felt as though he were being watched. He stopped and looked to the windows of the nearby houses, but saw nothing. There were no flickers in the curtains, no creases of light through the blinds like he was used to from the park. There was nothing to indicate anyone even knew he was there. But still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on his back.