Until Summer Comes Around

by Glenn Rolfe

  “He is a good boy,” Mother said. “He’s just wrestling with the truth of what we are.”

  “He’s killing people. He’s acting like a monster!”

  Mother’s face grew stern. “You will not speak of your brother that way. We do not use that word.”

  “He’s done awful things, Mother.”

  “He’s a good boy.”

  “He’s a murderer!”

  Mother’s hand lashed out and left a patch of heat across November’s cheek.

  “He’s your brother. He’s my son. We will not speak of him as if he were some common criminal.”

  November held the tears back. Her mother had never struck her. She bit her lip and got up from the table.

  She had so much to say but could not find a single word.

  “November,” Mother said, reaching out.

  November hurried to her room. Behind the door, she burst into tears. Burying her face in her pillow, she cried for herself and for Gabriel.

  If they didn’t do something now, there would be no saving him. If it wasn’t already too late.

  * * *

  Pete Nelson entered his apartment, his limbs heavy, his eyelids ready to crash. The night had been fairly quiet. A few fistfights. A flasher, and some creepy kids following a good-looking trio of teens. He had to get Ivan McKenna out of the Black Diamond before he got his ass kicked by a group of tourists, but at least there were no new missing kids.

  Not yet, his mind whispered. Wait until morning. There will be a list of plucked and vanished kiddos that will make your heads spin and put your ass in the unemployment line by the end of the month.

  He climbed out of his pants, folded them and placed them on the chair in the corner of his bedroom. He undid his shirt and hung it on the little hook by the door. There was a nearly full bottle of rum in his cupboard. He poured three fingers into a tumbler, tossed in a few ice cubes and filled it the rest of the way with a half a can of Coke.

  Opening the paper he’d brought in from his doorstep, he sat down at the table in the kitchen, relieved that they’d removed the missing kids from the headline. A vote on the Old Ball Park was taking place at the town hall tonight. Locals were trying to stop the rock concerts. Pete couldn’t care less either way. He was just happy to not find an in-your-face reminder of the police department’s ineptness. They had reports of more than ten people vanishing from the area, half of them local children.

  He had thought it was some vacationing pervert out having his way with their open community. It really was the perfect place for a sicko. Somebody like the Zodiac or that twisted fuck Ted Bundy. And it wasn’t just kids. It was adults too. Tourists, mostly. Somebody was taking these people right under their noses and it was beating the department’s public face to a pulp.

  Pete finished his drink and set the glass in the sink.

  Turning in, the alcohol just starting to lift the worries from his mind, he thought of the shoe. Kailin Bouchard’s one boot, the drop of blood on the pavement that night, the Camaro still idling in the middle of the road.

  He pulled the blankets up under his chin and clenched his eyes shut.

  The unsettling disappearance of Kailin Bouchard crawled after him into his sleep.

  Officer Pete Nelson did not rest well.

  Chapter Twenty

  November met Rocky at the arcade shortly after noon. She’d cried herself to sleep last night. Seeing her brother turning into the devil and her mother living in denial of it was overwhelming. She knew she had to say goodbye to Rocky. Hanging around with him was far too dangerous, especially if Gabriel saw them together. She’d made a promise to herself to make their last day together special. With the awful condition Gabriel had been in when he came home, there was no way he’d be out in the light today. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d even seen him up in the daytime. Despite all her worry that he’d catch the two of them these last couple weeks, he hadn’t bothered her once. Whatever hell he was struggling with, it was taking up all his time.

  They moved from the arcade entrance to the water fountain that sat just before the beach.

  “So, my mom was pretty worried about you last night,” Rocky said, sitting on the edge of the fountain sipping a soda.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry I left the way I did. It’s been a hard week at home.”

  “Well, I’m glad you made it out today. I thought you might never talk to me again.”

  Whitney Houston’s ‘How Will I Know’ blared from a boombox being carried by a group of teens on their way to the beach.

  “We know this is gonna end sooner than either of us wants it to,” November said.

  “I know, but….” He let the words die.

  Neither of them said anything. It was true and it wasn’t fair. Here she was, sitting with a boy that looked at her like she was the most important thing in his world. And maybe, at the moment, she was. She took his hand.

  “Kiss me,” she said.

  He did. It was soft and sweet.

  “You’re really a great kisser,” she said when their lips parted.

  “Thanks.”

  “Come on,” she said. “Take me on some rides.”

  They went on the Thunderbolt twice, the Tilt-a-Whirl enough to make them both queasy, the bumper cars, and the carrousel. Even though it was mostly a kiddie ride, she still made him go with her on it. They grabbed fried dough, orange sodas, and popcorn. After finishing their lunch, they decided the Gravitron would not be a safe idea, opting for the roller coaster instead. It wasn’t very big, but it was still fun and had one drop that made her stomach jump.

  “That was awesome,” she said.

  He looked at his watch.

  Again with the watch.

  “Can I ask you something?” she said.

  “Sure.”

  “Why do you always check your watch? Do you need to be somewhere else?”

  He looked away.

  “Am I keeping you from somewhere? I mean, I can go home if you—”

  “It’s not that. I just like to know what time it is.”

  He was lying.

  “I want today to be special,” she said. “But I want you to want to be here with me.”

  “I do, I promise,” he said.

  “Then prove it.” She crossed her arms.

  “How?”

  “For starters, put your watch in your pocket.”

  “Okay,” he said, undoing the band and tucking the watch away. He rubbed his hands together like he was swiping dirt off them and then held them up in surrender. “Done.”

  “Good.” She stepped to him and gave him a kiss. “Now, take me on the Ferris wheel.”

  She watched his gaze turn upward. It looked like he’d swallowed something sour.

  “Just this once and I won’t make you do it again.”

  “Yeah? And then you’ll believe that all I want to do is hang out with you?”

  She nodded.

  Hand in hand, they got in line for the Ferris wheel.

  * * *

  Pulling her Pontiac onto Bellamy Lane, and parking on the curb outside the cosy two-storey A-frame house of Jim and Betsy Seger, Marcy Jackson felt the shiver work its way through her body. She shut the car off and stuffed the keys in her pocketbook.

  A small Toyota pickup sat in the driveway. The garage doors were closed. Jim’s boat rested under a canvas cover just to the right of the drive. Marcy checked her purse to make sure she had her gear. She pulled on the gloves she used for gardening, made sure she had the small ballpeen hammer, the silver fork, and Eddie’s old army knife. It was so big it barely fit in the space. She’d also brought the Polaroid camera in case she needed to take pictures for evidence.

  Satisfied that she was prepared, she aimed the rearview mirror toward her and gave her disguise one last look over. Sure, it w
as silly. Everyone in town knew her, and would recognise her car, which is why she parked just down from the Segers’ driveway. She wore dark sunglasses and a Red Sox ballcap, her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

  Good enough, she thought.

  She stepped from the car and hurried across the yard and up the porch. Welcome One and All was written in block white lettering on the black rubber mat. Marcy glanced around to make sure there was nobody on the street or out on the porches of the neighbours’ houses. The coast was clear. She opened the screen door and gave three loud knocks. After a minute, she knocked again. Peeking in the window by the door, she saw no movement within.

  Now, the first true test.

  She tried the doorknob.

  It turned and the door opened.

  She took a deep breath and peeked her head inside.

  “Hello? Is there anyone home?”

  No answer, but she thought she heard voices. She listened closer; it was a TV. Maybe one of them was here and hadn’t heard her.

  She’d come this far; it was too late to turn back. She knew she’d never have the balls to attempt it again.

  She entered the home and closed the door behind her.

  “Hello? Jim? Betsy?”

  She took her sunglasses off and dropped them in her purse. The TV was in the living room just around the corner.

  “Betsy?”

  She made her way to the laundry room. She lifted the lid to the washing machine. A load sat there, still wet. It smelled like it was mildewing. How long had it been sitting there? She closed the lid and glanced out the window to the empty backyard. There were clothes hanging on the line; a couple of Jim’s white undershirts lay in the grass.

  Meow.

  The cat startled her. Marcy slammed her back against the wall and clutched at her chest.

  “Didn’t anyone teach you not to sneak up on people?” she said to the scraggly looking feline, a black Himalayan. She reached down and petted the animal as it brushed itself against her legs, mewling. She felt bones.

  Marcy knelt beside it and said, “You must be starved? Where did Jim and Betsy go?”

  The cat rubbed against her, getting its long hair all over her tan pants.

  “Let’s make sure you’ve got something to eat.”

  The cat followed her to the kitchen.

  A cup of tea sat on the table. It was half full. She touched the mug. It was cold.

  An open coupon book sat beside it, next to that, a pair of scissors and a stack of cut coupons.

  Marcy wondered where the newspaper was that the coupons had come from.

  The cat meowed.

  “Okay, let’s get you taken care of first,” she said. She found the bag of Meow Mix in the pantry. She filled the dish on the floor next to the refrigerator and got the water bowl and filled that from the sink.

  With the animal taken care of, Marcy went back into the living room. A newspaper sat on the coffee table, a bottle of Schlitz next to it, a half-smoked cigar in the ashtray beside them. She picked up the paper and checked the date. June 18th. Nearly two weeks ago.

  There was no way the Segers would leave without having someone take care of their pet. They’d also never leave stuff out like this.

  She fetched the camera from her large purse and began to snap shots.

  When she’d finished, she put the Polaroids in a pile on the kitchen table and spread them out.

  She left them there to develop and started up the stairs to check the upper floor.

  Nothing seemed out of order, and there was no sign of the Segers.

  She was starting for the stairs when a knock at the door froze her in place.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  She stepped slow and careful toward the stairs, waiting to see if whoever was out there might try the door as she had and come inside.

  The knock came again.

  Marcy’s heart was racing. She cursed herself for coming here. What if it were the police? How would she explain herself? Would she be taken to jail? The door had been open; did that still count as breaking and entering? The cat, she could say she was taking care of the cat for the Segers while they were away.

  There was a thump at the door.

  She descended the stairs, careful not to give herself away. She made it to the door and looked out the window.

  She could see the mailman’s truck outside driving down to the next set of boxes.

  Cracking the door, she saw the package and a rubber-banded stack of mail. The package was addressed to Betsy.

  She pulled the parcel and letters inside and decided to get out before any other visitors stopped in.

  She was in her car and almost home when she realised she’d left the Polaroids and her camera on the kitchen table.

  What had she planned to do with them anyway? Take them to the police? Tell them how she got them? She hadn’t thought that far ahead. She couldn’t go with the pet-sitter line if she was also informing them that the Segers were not on vacation in the tropics but missing altogether.

  She needed to go into town today. She’d have time to think up a proper lie. But she would have to get those pictures and her camera back. Her name was on the neck strap.

  She’d have to get her errands done as quickly as she could. She didn’t want to be swinging into the Segers’ when everyone was getting home from work.

  A police siren barked once as she pulled onto her street.

  Oh god. Someone had seen her and reported her.

  She pulled over and hung her head before looking in the side mirror.

  A young man she didn’t recognise sauntered up to the window.

  “Afternoon, Officer.”

  “Licence and registration, ma’am.”

  She dug the papers from her glovebox and pulled her licence from her purse.

  “You know why I stopped you today?” he asked.

  She swallowed hard.

  “Not really,” she managed.

  “You failed to use your blinker on either of your last two turns.”

  “Oh,” she said, relieved that she wasn’t going to get handcuffed for a B&E, but sick with the thought that she could have been.

  “Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

  She was not cut out for a life of crime or for being an investigator. In truth, all the improbable possibilities she’d considered this week had turned Marcy into an emotional mess. She wiped a tear from her eye while waiting for the officer to write up his ticket.

  * * *

  High in the air, the sounds of summer below them, Rocky clutched November’s hand.

  “Open your eyes,” she said.

  “I’m okay.”

  “It’s beautiful,” she said. “You have to see your town from up here.”

  His stomach was doing somersaults, springboards, splits, and twists. He knew if he looked, he’d either throw up or pass out.

  He was up here because he wasn’t being truthful. He was holding back from her. He cursed himself. He should have just explained why he was looking at his stupid watch. His skin felt prickly. If he didn’t say something, he was going to dive into a full-on panic attack.

  “Rocky, are you okay?”

  “I wear a back brace,” he blurted out, eyes still clenched shut, hands gripping the railing in front of them.

  “What?” she asked.

  “A back brace. It’s bulky and ugly and I hate it, but I have bad scoliosis and I’m supposed to wear it twenty-three hours a day to keep my spine from getting any more crooked. I didn’t want to tell you because I thought you’d think I was some kind of freak.”

  He tried taking deep breaths. It felt good to spill his guts, but if he didn’t get off this ride, he was going to lose his lunch.

  She kissed his cheek and called out, “Stop the ride. Stop the ride! He’s
having a panic attack!”

  He felt the slow-moving wheel slow further.

  She sat beside him and leaned to his ear.

  “You’re going to be all right. It’s stopping and we’re getting off, okay?”

  He nodded but felt dizzy. Black spots came to life behind his eyes.

  “Rocky, hey, we’re done, okay, come on,” she said. He heard the door open. She pulled the lap bar up and they hurried by the woman with the blond mullet running the ride.

  Rocky dropped to his knees and barfed by the fence.

  November rubbed his back.

  “Stay right here,” she said. “I’ll go grab a water.”

  He felt the attack slowly let him go, slinking away, leaving him with an empty stomach, sour breath and a case of the cold sweats. One thing was for sure; if November still liked him, he was pretty sure he’d fall in love with her.

  “Here you go,” she said.

  He sipped the water and gave her a weak smile.

  “Better?” she asked.

  “Much. Thanks.”

  “So, where’s the back brace?”

  “At my house.”

  “You mean to tell me you’re supposed to be wearing it now?”

  “Yeah, I just didn’t want you to see it.”

  She took his hand. “Believe me, it would take a lot, I mean a lot more than that to make me think less of you.”

  He climbed to his feet. “Do you want to see it?”

  “Sure.”

  A few minutes later, they reached his house.

  He led her to his room and showed her the torture device.

  He put the new Europe tape on as she inspected his brace. He cued up the love song, ‘Carrie’.

  “Should you put it back on?” November asked.

  He took it from her and set it on the floor. “In a little while.”

  She bit her lip as he stepped over, took her hand, and wrapped an arm around her back.

  “Dancing?” she said.

  “Shh.”

  She looked disarmed. They swayed together through the song; she placed her head on his shoulder. He knew he’d never be the same after this. He was heading full force into heartbreak but could not even think about stopping.

  As the song concluded their lips met. She pushed him to the bed and started to take off her t-shirt.