by Glenn Rolfe
His dad smirked and closed the door.
Rocky gave his mom another hug and rushed down to his sister’s bedroom.
“Did you hear?”
She smiled as she picked up the can of Aqua Net. “You’re going to nail it.”
“Thanks.”
He hurried to his room, unstrapped the back brace, pulled off the sweaty under shirt and tossed on his Magnum P.I.-style Hawaiian shirt and some cut-off jean shorts.
After slipping into his Nikes, he was a blur through the kitchen as his mom called out something about keeping his eyes open for strangers. In all the excitement, he’d forgotten about Andy Rice and that tourist girl, Vanessa. He grabbed his bike from the side of the house, hopped on and pedalled down the street.
He hadn’t gone far when he saw the police cars by the Royal Acres.
Boisvert Street was taped off.
Something else had happened.
He coasted slowly, trying to eavesdrop and see if he could pick up any bit of information. He considered stopping and asking, but the beach city cops were pricks, especially to teens.
He saw Officer Nelson. The man reminded him of Barney Fife from the Andy Griffith Show. It was one of Dad’s favourite shows, but Rocky liked the guy who played Barney more on Three’s Company. Peter Nelson was usually nice enough, but a little aloof. Only today, Officer Nelson looked super serious.
What if another kid had been taken? Or worse, what if they’d found them?
This was way too close to home.
Rocky pedalled by and tried not to think about the possibilities. He needed to find November and tell her the good news. He needed something positive.
He rode back and forth, passing the main corner, hitting the beach, the arcade, up Old Orchard Street and back, but she was nowhere to be found. Truthfully, he hadn’t ever seen her out this early, so it wasn’t that big of a surprise. He pulled over at the corner in front of the Good Shepherd Parrish, took his cheap Velcro wallet from his pocket and found eight bucks. Normally, he’d grab some junk food and trade the rest in for tokens for the arcade. This morning, however, he decided to swing into Moe’s Diner. He’d left his cereal half-finished at the kitchen table, and his stomach was growling. He had time to kill, and Moe’s made the best hash in town. He could eat like a king for eight dollars.
The place was busy, as usual, but he found a booth for two near the back corner. There was a perfect view of West Grand Avenue, the opposite side of Old Orchard Street. This was the direction from town November always seemed to come and go.. Hopefully, if she came around before he was finished, he’d see her.
Kelly Thompkins, in all her braces and goofy smile, came at him and said hello.
“Hey, Kelly,” Rocky said. “Can I just get the hash, scrambled eggs, and bacon?”
“Sure, Rocky.”
She stared at him dreamy-eyed. He’d known she’d had a crush on him in junior high, but he definitely did not feel the same for her.
“Oh, and some apple juice?”
“Sure,” she said, scribbling his order on her pad.
“That’s it. Thanks, Kelly.”
“Okay, sure. I’ll put that in for you, Rocky.”
He didn’t mind her braces. He had no right judging there; it was more a combination of her weirdness and the fact that she was nearly monosyllabic in every conversation they’d ever had. She’d been that way since she came to Old Orchard in the third grade.
“Rocky,” Moe said, coming over and slapping him hard on the shoulder. The old man always did this. Rocky liked Moe a lot. He wore a light-blue short-sleeved shirt with a collar and a bow tie. Dark, caterpillar eyebrows stood prominently above his beady, smiling blue eyes. He always gave you great portions, good food, told stories of the old days and the pier fires, and once in a while, he’d hand out bags of Swedish Fish. The guy was bald, had liver-spotted skin, and smelled of onions, but he was the nicest shop owner around.
“Where’s your partner in crime?”
“Axel’s in England for the summer.”
“England? The old UK, huh?” He rubbed his chin and gazed at the ceiling like he was remembering another time. “I was there, in Manchester, must have been ’42? ’43? Watching out for Nazis. Real dirty work. I liked the people, though. Food, not so much, but the girls.” Moe elbowed him and grinned like a Cheshire cat.
“Girls and Nazis,” Rocky said. “Sounds like you had a heck of a time, Moe.”
“It was something. Another time, another world.” He clapped his hands together. “So, if your buddy’s gone, what are you doing this summer?”
“I’m going for my driver’s licence soon.”
“Whoa, look at the big man,” he said.
“Yeah, and my uncle is giving me a car.”
“Your Uncle Artie?”
“Yep.”
“He’s a good one. Say, it wouldn’t happen to be that old Buick Skylark he’s been working on, would it?”
Rocky puffed his chest out and nodded.
“Woo hoo, you are gonna get all the girls.”
“There’s only one that I care about,” he said before he could stop himself.
“Oh, a girl, huh?” Moe patted him on the shoulder again. “A car and a girl. I guess you got plenty of things to keep you busy this summer.”
“I do, for sure.”
“Well, you be good, huh, Rocky?”
“I will.”
Moe moved to the next booth and said hello to the touristy folks there.
Kelly slid his plate on the table and plopped his juice cup on a napkin.
“Hey, Kelly,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Did you happen to see all the cop cars over by Royal Acres this morning?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And?”
“What?” she asked.
“Never mind,” he said. “Thanks.”
She smiled again and headed to the kitchen.
He’d scooped half the plate of eggs into his mouth before he noticed the newspaper on the small table beside him.
Three more children reported missing.
A mouthful of eggs dropped from his mouth to his plate.
He reached for the paper and scanned the article.
Holy bat shit.
The piece was short. It mentioned that Elias Schmidt, a German gentleman renting a nearby condo, found a wallet on the sidewalk during a late-night stroll with his dog. He called the police when he discovered a substance on the wallet. The rest of the front-page story went on about the other missing teens of the last week.
Jesus, Rocky thought. Mom’s never going to let me out again.
He downed his apple juice and set the paper back on the other table.
For the first time since he’d been gone, Rocky wished Axel was here. The two of them would toss their crazy theories behind these missing kids back and forth. These kidnappings…god, he hoped it wasn’t something so sinister. Were there such things as serial kidnappers? Was it someone local? A tourist? They’d get caught, especially if they stuck around. Eventually, no matter how good they were, they always slipped up.
Well, not always, but most of the time.
He thought of the Zodiac killer, the serial killer from San Francisco who seemed to have vanished.
He had to find November. And she couldn’t be walking home alone anymore. He didn’t know what he’d do if she wound up missing next.
Of course, she would be gone in a few weeks.
He pushed the thought away. He’d cross that bridge when he had to.
He wasn’t as hungry as when he’d come into Moe’s Diner, but he wasn’t about to throw his money away. He shovelled the rest of the eggs and bacon down his throat and took a giant bite of the biscuit before leaving his cash on the table.
The clouds had rolled in. The wind had
picked up and the air had an electric tang to it. A good ol’ thunderstorm was on the way. The beach was still packed as he made his way to the sand and scanned the bodies for her. He was going to ask her where she was staying. He’d either walk her home from now on or make sure she had a ride.
By the time she yelled out, “Hey, Heatstroke,” the sun was gone, and the first raindrops had arrived. He’d been without his back brace for almost two hours. His mother would kill him if she found out.
November was wearing a black skirt and her Twisted Sister shirt.
“You been waiting for me?” she asked, walking over to him.
“Me? Waiting for you? Nah, I was just kicking some rocks and watching the Canadians in their skimpy swimsuits.”
“Even the dudes?”
“Especially the dudes. Have you seen the things they wear? They’re hilarious.”
She glanced at the sky. “Looks like a pretty heavy storm. Do they get bad around here?”
“Nah, nothing dangerous. I mean, I still wouldn’t go swimming or flying a kite on the beach.”
“If it’s going to be messy out here, I was wondering if we could go to your place and maybe watch a movie or something?”
“Ah, yeah, of course.”
“Cool.”
She took his hand and they started toward his road.
“Oh shit, wait, my bike is by the diner.”
They walked over, and she climbed onto his pegs. She wrapped her arms around his chest as they shoved off down the road.
“Did you hear about that?” he asked, as they neared the police tape. Most of the cars were gone, but the tape remained, along with a couple of local cops.
“No, what happened?”
“They think it’s related to those missing kids.”
They both fell under a spell, coasting by the tape. This was supposed to be summer, the best time of the year. You only had so many as a kid, and this would surely go down as the one that always stuck. Rocky just hoped it was for something better. He glanced over his shoulder and saw November staring toward the scene. He couldn’t tell if she looked more angry or scared.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, it’s just…it’s just sad. I hope those kids are okay.”
Rocky thought about Andy Rice and Vanessa Winslow.
“Yeah, me, too.”
Chapter Eighteen
It wasn’t until later that night on the local six o’clock news that they announced the name found inside the wallet. Jonas Bazinet. His mother reported last seeing him at eight thirty the previous night with his friend John Chaplin. Neither Bazinet nor Chaplin had been seen since.
November clutched Rocky’s hand as they watched the report from his living room sofa. His mother had just gotten home and placed a bag of groceries on the table before wandering over behind them. He felt her hand on his shoulder.
A third child, Sheena Wickman, fourteen, of Newberry, Vermont, had also been reported to the police. Her parents thought she had gone to bed early and found her missing in the morning. A cousin of the Wickman girl mentioned that she was supposed to meet up with the boys last night.
“Those poor children,” Rocky’s mother said.
“I just talked to John the other day outside of Uncle Arthur’s,” Rocky said. “Their band is supposed to be playing their first show Saturday.”
The door opened and his dad came in singing about a West Texas town called El Paso. He stopped just inside the doorway and they all turned to look at him.
“What’s going on? Was I butchering Robbins that bad?”
Mom went to him.
“Three more, Dale. Three more kids are missing.”
“Jesus,” he said. He set his lunch cooler on the table and took Mom in his arms.
“Let’s go to my room,” Rocky said. November nodded as they got up.
“Excuse me,” Mom said. “You haven’t even introduced us to your friend here.”
Mom had a hand on her hip as she waited.
“Oh, Mom, Dad, this is November.”
“Hi,” November said.
“Hello,” Mom said. “And where do you live? Are you new to town?”
“My family’s here for the summer. We have a cottage on Costigan Lane.”
“Dear, that’s a jaunt from here. Are your parents going to be picking you up tonight?”
“I usually just walk.”
“Well, not tonight. Dale will give you a ride home when you’re ready to go.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I’ll be fine, really, but thank you.”
Rocky braced for a Clarise Zukas all-out insistence.
“I won’t hear of such a thing. You just watched that report. I won’t have you added to the list under my watch. Dale and Rocky will give you a ride.”
Mom stood, waiting for November to agree.
“Yes, ma’am, that would be fine.”
“Good. Now, I’m assuming you’re staying for supper?”
She looked at him. Rocky gave a crooked smile.
“I’d love to,” November said, turning back to Mom.
“Good. Now you two go on, but Rocky—”
“Yeah, Mom?”
“The door stays open.”
They were going to his bedroom when he remembered that his back brace was lying on his bed.
“Oh, ah, can you give me just a minute? I just want to straighten up a bit.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, trying to push past him.
He gripped the doorframe, blocking her way.
“Please,” he said.
She stepped back and smiled. “Okay, if it’s that important to you.”
“It is. I’ll just be a minute.”
He went into his room, closed the door most of the way and scrambled to his bed. He snagged the brace and a pair of underwear from the floor and tossed them in his closet. Another scan of the room and he felt comfortable.
“Okay, come on in,” he said.
“So, this is where you hide all your secrets,” she said, entering and drifting around the room.
His gaze moved to the closet and the brace within. He hadn’t had it on all day.
She waltzed by the closet door and went to the TV and the Atari. She picked up the stack of games and looked through them before moving on.
It was a strange thing showing a girl your room. Nothing like having a buddy over. This was like opening a piece of you and exposing your inner world to someone whose opinion you cared about deeply.
He realised he was holding his breath.
He exhaled and joined her by the stereo.
“Remind me to bring over their new record next time.” She was holding his cassette of Van Halen’s 1984.
He reached down and picked up Motley Crue’s Theatre of Pain.
“Have you heard this?” he asked.
“No.” She held up the new Europe album. ”Can you play this one next?”
“Sure, I’ve actually been listening to that one almost nonstop since I got it. It’s an awesome record.” He grabbed the Walkman from his bed and pulled the cassette out, setting the tape next to the stereo.
As they settled side by side on his bed, the thought of having a girl not just in his room but on his bed sent a swirl of butterflies cascading through his stomach.
“So,” she said.
“So.”
“Your mom is pretty serious about you guys giving me a ride home tonight.”
“Yeah, she’s kind of freaking out about what’s been happening. So am I, a little bit.”
“I know,” she said.
“I was thinking about it this morning,” he said. “After seeing those cops and the yellow police tape, I was sitting at Moe’s and wondering if you should be walking by yourself, especially after dark.”
“That’s really sweet, but you don’t have to worry about me, Rocky. I can take care of myself.”
“Yeah, but what if we really have our own serial killer or kidnapper in town? Doesn’t that freak you out?”
She dropped her chin and rubbed her arm. “I’m not like other kids, Rocky,” she said.
“I know, but—”
“No, no you don’t know,” she said, getting up.
He stood and reached out for her.
She walked to his open window and stared out. What was she looking for?
“Hey,” he said. “Are you all right? I mean, you always look like you’re…like you’re expecting someone.”
She shoved the screen out.
“I have to go, Rocky,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
“What? Wait.”
She was out the window and running across the lawn before he could chase after her.
Holy shit. He really didn’t understand girls. He wasn’t sure if she was mad or worried or what. Whatever it was certainly freaked her out. He looked around at his empty room, the Crue still playing on the radio.
All he did was ask if she was expecting someone….
Was someone following her? Had she seen them and that’s why she bolted?
He just hoped she would talk to him again when she calmed down.
He also hoped she made it home okay.
He looked out the window and found himself scanning the neighbours’ yards and the sidewalk for who? He considered jumping out, following her and making sure she got home okay, but he didn’t want to upset her more than he apparently already had.
He hoped he’d see her tomorrow. In the meantime, he had to figure out a way to explain to his parents that she literally jumped out the window after promising them they could drive her home.
Chapter Nineteen
Marcy Jackson hadn’t stayed awake past seven p.m. since the night she saw the man in her yard. She’d hardly stepped out of the house, only running to the corner grocery to grab milk, bread, and a few other essentials. There was a dark menace in her town. Something not of this world, or if it were, certainly not human. The missing kids were part of it. Poor John Chaplin from next door. Despite all his parents’ prayers, their boy would not be returning to them. The Bazinet child was gone, as well.