Beyond The Bare Maple

by Christopher D Eckersley

  “What's going on?” I ask. “What did your father do now? He hasn't hit you I hope.” I talk in a low whisper so his parents and the officer can't hear me.

  “There's been a break-in at dad's store,” he says. Kyle looks just as puzzled as I'm sure I do too. I mean what are the chances that someone else would break into his father's store the same night we were going to do it.

  “Someone witnessed a guy hauling goods out the back door and loading them into a station wagon. By the time the police got there, he took a bunch of stuff but they caught him before he could get away. I guess that's him in the back.” Kyle is pointing at the back window of the patrol car. I'm shocked because I didn't even notice anyone sitting in there. I guess I had assumed the police were here for his father.

  “Dad has already identified him as a customer from earlier today. I guess he spent a bunch of time in the store, asked a lot of questions and never bought anything.”

  Kyle shrugs and says, “So I suppose this changes our plans.”

  At first thought, I suppose it would. But the bad-boy that's been getting the better part of me lately looks at the situation and sees an advantage.

  “No, no... This is perfect,” I say. “The store has already been broken into, so who knows what's missing, right? I mean, we already have our own key to the front door now, and as long as nobody sees us, we can walk right in and grab what we need – as long as we do it tonight. With all the commotion of the break-in, your father might not even notice. Or if he does find that he's missing some inventory, the questions will certainly revolve around the guy in that police car.”

  “I think it's a bad idea, Simon,” he replies, still talking in a low whisper.

  I keep an eye on the officer, writing up some kind of report at the front porch. “We have insurance,” I overhear Kyle's mom tell the officer.

  “Kyle, I need those tiny cameras. I don't know how else I can prove one way or another that my mom is poisoning my dad. I think we need to take advantage of the situation and at least follow through with our plan.”

  “Our plan?” he says. “It never was OUR plan. This has been YOUR plan right from the beginning. You were just trying to get me to go along with it.”

  I can tell from his stance and scowled face that he's starting to back out on me, shaking his head with a silent “no”.

  “I really don't want to disappoint you, Simon, but just listen to yourself, will ya? We're not like this. We're not thieves. We're a couple of smart kids, and I can't believe I even agreed to such a thing. So before it’s too late, I'm out. And so are you. Give me my dad's key so I can sneak it back into his office while he's tied up with the cop.”

  I stand there, thinking. I don't want to give up our plans. I need those cameras.

  “We don't need to prove a crime by committing one. If you go down that road Simon, you will be changed. You might even get away with it, but it will change you. You will even be more bold next time. So I'm putting a stop to this nonsense right now. We're not doing this, you hear?”

  Kyle's voice was almost loud enough for the officer and his parents to overhear, but I don't think they did. He's right though. This bad-boy mentality isn't me. I wouldn't be any good at it anyway.

  “You need to take a step back and look at the big picture. You want your mom to be investigated on suspicion of attempted murder? Well, there's a police officer right there on my front porch. Let's go talk to him right now.”

  “No! Kyle, wait,” I say, almost panicked. I pull the keys from my pocket and give the original to him.

  “Give me the copy you made, too,” he says, holding out his hand. So I do.

  “We'll just have to investigate from another angle,” he says. “Let's talk about it tomorrow. Go home before you get into anymore trouble with your mom.”

  And just like that, my plans were halted. “Probably for the best”, I admit to myself, even though I can't help but feel defeated in some sense, but also feeling somewhat relieved at the same time. A question however stirs inside me. Did my best friend just save me from a life of crime? I doubt it. He just steered me away from making a bad choice, like any good friend would do. So I have to appreciate that, and someday I'm sure I will thank him when we're all grown up sitting around a barbecue smoking cigars and drinking beer on my own backyard patio. We'll have a good laugh and talk about how close I came to committing a felony.

  My mind returns to the present.

  I turn my bike around.

  “See you tomorrow then?” I ask. He nods back.

  “Tomorrow is another day!” he says as I ride off down the street, wind against my face again. I shiver, and I wonder what state my mom will be in when I get home.

  When I arrive, I see Dale and Tina out in the front yard looking as if something bad has just happened. I leave my bike beside the garage and head for the door.

  “I wouldn't go in there right now if I were you,” says Tina.

  “Mom and Dad are having a fight,” adds Dale.

  “A fight?”

  “A big one,” says Tina.

  That's a totally foreign concept to me because I don't think I have ever seen my parents fight. I mean sure, I've known a time or two when they weren't happy about one thing or another, but I never heard or saw them actually argue or fight about anything. And from the look on Dale's and Tina's faces I can see that they are just as surprised as I am.

  “What are they fighting about?” I ask.

  “Not sure,” replies Tina, in her deeper, more mysterious sort of tone she often has when she's preoccupied about something.

  “Where have you been anyway, Simon?” she asks.

  “I went over to Kyle's house for a while.”

  She quickly looks me up and down. “Hmm… looks like you forgot to bring back your books,” she says in a sneaky sort of jab.

  Crap. Mom must have mentioned it to her or she overheard me when I left.

  “What exactly are you up to little man?” she says with an accusatory tone which matches the turned up smirk she has on her face. She's taller than me of course, and a bit older, but there's no need for making me “feel” small.

  “Nothing,” I say.

  “You and Kyle are up to something. I can tell.”

  OK, now she's starting to make me mad. It's none of her business. I'm just trying to save Dad's life is all, and maybe stop her from doing the same as Mom someday, “break the chain” as the owls put it to me. But she doesn't know about the owls, so she has no idea that I'm actually trying to help her too.

  Now the fighting inside is getting loud, and I want to put a stop to it before a neighbor calls the cops. I wonder if they'll quit if I just go inside. So that's exactly what I do. Before Dale or Tina can stop me, I barge through the front door. I see Mom and Dad in the kitchen having it out, a scene I have never witnessed before now, but I hear many voices shouting, more than just Mom and Dad's. It's the owls. They're making them fight; I just know it. I look at the clock. The owls are so busy messing with them that they don't even know I'm here.

  “Push him!” I hear a voice echo, although I know it's not meant for me. “Hit him! Knock him down!” another voice piles on. It's the owls. I see Mom raise her hands and violently shoves Dad into the wall. He's so week and frail she has no trouble in doing it. He falls to the floor and tries to get up but he's shaking so uncontrollably he can't steady himself. I think the owls are evil, and they don't care who hurts who now. They are so impatient to see violence, perhaps even a murder that they are pitting my parents against each other in hopes of seeing someone – anyone hurt or killed. And with Dad in his weakened state, he's totally helpless, so I have to intervene.

  I run for the garage, and I feel that tingling sensation invade my body. The owls have a fix on me now. They know what I'm about to do when they see me return with Dad's sledge hammer. I fight to raise it above my head, but it feels much heavier than a moment ago.
Damn it! It's Tina behind me, pulling back on it.

  “Let go!” I yell. Now I'm fighting the owls and Tina both. She's winning but I stomp her toes with my heel and shove my shoulder into her stomach in an effort to rid her of her interference, but its only enough to unbalance her, not enough to actually knock her down. The owls control her now, and I think she draws strength from them.

  Dale is standing in the doorway just watching the scene unfold in disbelief. Mom is kicking and actually stomping on Dad while he's on the floor, curling up defensively because his illness leaves him without the physical strength to fight back. Tina rips the sledge hammer away from me without much effort, even though I was gripping it with all my might, and I'm stunned that she takes a swing at me with it, but misses. I look to Dale for help, but he's obviously in some kind of a trance, probably created by the owls.

  Tina suddenly steps toward me again and knocks me in the head with the handle of the sledge hammer, coming down on top of me hard. I don't know why she didn't use the heavy end, but I'm glad. What am I thinking? I don't even know why she took a swing at me in the first place. It has to be the owls. They know I want to destroy them, so they have to protect themselves by recruiting Tina, although I doubt she even realizes what she's doing. Of course now there's blood running down my forehead and I only know this because some of it starts to pool into my eyes, and some of it has traveled as far down as my lips, so now I can taste it, which makes me want to vomit. But I hold it back.

  Tina twirls the heavy hammer around above her head as if it was a baton; as if she's done this before, maybe even practiced it. She holds it up high, gripping it like a baseball bat. Even though she's bigger than I am, I'm absolutely dumbfounded by the strength she has.

  “Smash the clock, Tina!” I yell. “Please, smash the clock!” But she doesn't. I scamper away just as the heavy end comes down and hits the floor. I feel the entire room shudder with that blow, so I know it probably would have killed me had it been a direct hit to a vital part of my body. Tina would never do that. She's definitely being directed by the owls, just like Mom.

  “Dale, snap out of it!” I scream.

  There's no way I can stop all this myself. Mom is beating Dad to death with something in her hand but I don't know what because the blood in my eyes has turned everything blurry. My mind is buzzing and I can't think straight. I believe I may have sustained another blow to the head, but I can't be sure. I can't even be sure if I'm standing or if I'm curled up on the floor like Dad.

  The lights dim a little but I realize it's not the lights, it's a shadow over the top of me. So this makes me think that I'm probably on the floor. I clench my hands and I feel carpet fibers between my fingers, confirming that I am in fact on the floor. I try to stand but the room is spinning like a merry-go-round and I'm knocked down by something. My face is pushed into the carpet and this heavy weight is applied to the back of my neck which keeps me from moving very much. My arms are pulled back against my will and I feel something cold as steel wrap around my wrists. I kick and try to roll over but the same is happening to my feet, both pulled up, bent at the knees and clamped together, then cinched tight.

  I'm hog-tied. I can't move and I ache all over. The room is still spinning and with the taste of blood in my mouth and in my stomach, I vomit a little, enough to feel the stomach acid burn the back of my throat and nasal passage. I spit what comes up out onto the floor beside me. It still has that smoky burger taste, but of course it's completely rancid. Compared to this, I think I would rather be squeezed by the owls and forced to stand like stone for hours on end just like they did to me last night.

  I start to lose sense of time and begin to feel myself floating upward, then horizontally like I might just float right outside the front door. I begin to wonder if I'm having an out of body experience, or if maybe I'm dying.

  As I continue to float, I see stars, but not from my injuries. I see actual stars and familiar constellations like the Big Dipper and Orion The Hunter in the nighttime sky. Then I see flashing colors that seem to light up the entire street. I'm forced into a tiny dark space, like I'm being thrown into a coffin, and all I can think of is I'm not dead yet!

  I'm not dead yet!!

  I'm not dead yet!!!

  CHAPTER

  7

  _______________

  Some time must have passed, but I don't have a clue as to how much. I'm conscious of the fact that I'm lying down on my back and my eyes are shut. I try to use my power of perception but I can't. Even when it works, it's only good for knowing what is about to happen or to read people's thoughts. I want it to work backwards. I need to know what HAS happened, not what WILL happen. I feel powerless.

  I take a mental inventory of my state and for the first time, I realize that I can't feel anything, nothing at all. Is this what it feels like to be dead? Not feeling anything? But I know I can't be dead because I know these facts... I'm conscious. I'm generating my own thoughts, and although I can't seem to open my eyes, I know I can hear things. I hear a distant electronic beeping sound and an intermittent pulse of rushing air. But there's more...

  I can hear the occasional sounds of something non-mechanized, and it changes pitch and tone, and even volume and direction. But it sounds so far away, miles perhaps. Unfortunately it's totally inaudible. I don't know what it could be, so I keep listening for more clues as to where I am, but can't help but feel that I am somewhere in the gray area, somewhere between living and dying.

  * * *

  More time passes, but again, I have no idea how much. But I am pleased that I can feel something now. I believe it's a wrinkle in the sheet I'm laying on. I can feel it just under the back of my right knee where the skin is soft and sensitive. At least that's what it feels like, and I'm ecstatic at the thought that I can actually feel something outside of my own body now. I can still hear the electronic beeping and the intermittent sound of rushing air. It almost sounds like someone keeps opening the door on a fast moving train, and then slamming it closed, then a few seconds later, open, then closed again, over and over. But I know that I am perfectly still, like the way the owls had me locked in stone before, but this time I'm lying down. So I don't think I'm on a train. I listen more intently then before and I hear something else. Something I think I can make out if only it would repeat itself again. So I wait silently for it.

  And there it is!

  Words! I hear words being spoken. It's sort of mumbled but that's what they are. There's no doubt about it. I hear words, but now I'm being very cautious. I pray that the words, as mumbled as they are – are not coming from the owls, calling me or my sister or my mom to do something bad or horrible, like commit murder.

  Now I can feel something tickling my forehead. Its touch feels intimate to me, and it makes me want to cry. I'm starting to feel again, but I'm so tired I just want to sleep. And so I do.

  * * *

  “Ofin-r-iez-it-el an,... Pleze ust ofin-r-iez.”

  The broken, inaudible voice rouses my senses, but I can't make out what it was. “Say it again!” I shout. But I can't hear my own words or feel my mouth move so I'm left to assume it was only my thoughts that are saying it.

  “Open your eyes little man. Please, just open your eyes.”

  I don't know if I'm smiling on the outside, but I sure as hell am smiling on the inside, because there is only one person in the whole world that I know who ever says those words to me, and that's my sister, Tina!

  “I love you, Tina!” I say, but I don't think she hears it, and that's OK for now. I know she's there, and I know I'm getting better every day. I know it's just a matter of time before I will open my eyes again.

  * * *

  The tickling on my forehead once again wakes me from my deep comatose like sleep. I'm conscious, but my eyes are still closed as usual. They don't seem to feel as heavy anymore so I muster up every bit of strength I have within me and manage to open them into l
ittle slits which lets out a gush of tears that I can feel run back toward my temples and around my ears soaking my pillow. I move my eyes from one side to the other trying to peer through the little white slits that lets almost nothing in. I see foggy dim shadows moving about and I know that they are people nearby. I have a sense that they're excited about my progress and I realize that the tickling that I've been feeling on my forehead is somebody's warm hand gently stroking it, like mom use to do to me when I was just a little kid, sick in bed with strep throat and a high fever.

  “I think he's going to be alright,” I hear a familiar man's deep voice say. “As long as we keep him on his meds this time, he won't be a threat to anyone. He'll have to be committed to the infirmary of course.”

  “Yes, but for how long, doctor?” Mom's voice asks.

  “Mom! I'm so glad you're here! I miss you!” I cry out. But my own voice still does not materialize, so she does not know that I'm conscious of her presence. I know it eventually will. It's just a matter of time, so I guess I will just have to be patient.

  “It's hard to tell,” I hear the doc's voice reply to Mom's question about how long I'll be in the infirmary. “We'll just have to take it a day at a time. The important thing is that Simon cannot hurt anyone anymore.”

  Wait a minute. Hurt anyone! Who have I hurt! I've been trying to save Dad's life! Trying to keep him from being poisoned! Oh, how I wish they could hear me.

  I'm right here! Oh God, please let them hear me speak!

  “There's evidence that Simon was putting strychnine in his father's food somehow.”

  “Yes, I know, and I'm sorry to learn about his situation. With strychnine in his system, his father must be suffering a great deal.”

  “I wonder where he got it?”

  What! I did no such thing! You've got it all wrong! It's those evil owls I tell you!