“We’ve got time enough.” Another kiss. “And if we’re a little late, the Gillilands can simply warm up a little longer.”
The Gillilands—his folks played tennis with them now and then.
And they were talking about sex! This couldn’t be happening. His parents didn’t still have sex, did they? They couldn’t! Hell, Dad was fifty-three! They were too old!
Tennis! Jack thought, trying for mental telepathy. Play tennis! You don’t want to be late for tennis!
“Tom…”
The feet disappeared from view as a weight settled on the bed.
NO-NO-NO-NO-NO! This cannot be happening!
“How often do we have the house to ourselves like this, hmmm?”
“Jack might come home any minute.”
“But he probably won’t, and he certainly won’t run up here as soon as he comes in the door.”
Another kiss.
Jack covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. Oh, God, how long before the bed started bouncing? He gave up telepathy and tried for teleportation—anywhere. Anywhere in the world but here.
And then Jack sensed some of the weight leave the bed. He opened his eyes and uncovered his ears. He saw his mother’s stockinged feet on the floor again.
Yes!
“Tom, really. Nice as it would be, I don’t want to spend the game feeling all, you know…”
He covered his ears again. He was not hearing this.
Finally his father’s feet reappeared.
Saved!
4
Finally they were gone.
He’d watched as stockings and dark socks were replaced by white socks and slipped into sneakers, and watched those two pairs of sneakers leave.
He waited for the sound of the car starting and rolling out the driveway, but it never came. Could be because he was under a bed. He decided to take no chances. He’d wait.
To kill the time, he looked at the sheets of paper that had fallen off the closet shelf. They were dusty and looked pretty old, like they’d been up there a long time.
One was an old photo, faded and creased. It showed a guy wearing a kilt, a fuzzy hat, and holding a rifle. He recognized his mom’s handwriting at the bottom: Uncle Joe. He vaguely recalled her mentioning him a couple of times. He looked like he should have been holding bagpipes instead of that old-fashioned rifle.
The rest were old bills, mostly from the time they remodeled the house. The last one caught his eye, though—a medical bill, and it had his father’s name on it. He knew he shouldn’t look, but also knew he couldn’t not look, so his hesitation lasted about ten seconds. Maybe less.
The letterhead said Kurt Welsch, M.D., and it was a bill for surgery performed on his father back in 1968. The procedure was listed as repair of spontaneous recanalization of right vas deferens post 1962 vasectomy.
Huh?
Jack had no idea what it meant but it sounded serious as all hell. He reread it twice but it still made no sense. Whatever it was, his father had survived it. The surgery had been fifteen years ago and he was still going strong.
Fifteen years … 1968 … he hadn’t been born yet.
He wriggled out from under the bed and paused, listening. No sound from the house. He crept over to the window where a quick peek revealed an empty driveway. He had the place to himself again.
He returned all but one of the papers to the top of the closet. He was going to keep the medical bill for a while, at least until he figured out what it was talking about.
His first stop was the dictionary. He was pretty sure he knew what a vasectomy was but he looked it up anyway: Surgical division or resection of all or part of the vas deferens usually to induce sterility.
Yeah. Okay. And the vas deferens was…?
A sperm-carrying duct especially of a higher vertebrate that in the human male is a thick-walled tube about two feet (0.61 meters) long that begins at and is continuous with the tail of the epididymis and eventually joins the duct of the seminal vesicle to form the ejaculatory duct.
Swell. That was a big help.
He went to the encyclopedia and found an illustration that showed a tube coming off the testicle and running up and …
Wait. Dad had that cut?
Jack’s knees locked together of their own accord.
Yow and ow!
So wait … the bill indicated that Dad had had a vasectomy in 1962 … had himself sterilized seven years before Jack was born.
Well then, how had he fathered Jack?
Jack didn’t want to do it, but saw no way around it now. He was going to have to talk to Kate about this.
But first he had to get over to USED.
5
As he guided his bike onto Quakerton Road, Jack spotted a familiar car on the Quaker Lake bridge: A light blue Mustang GLX was heading toward Old Town.
Jack wondered if Toliver was alone, or maybe had another unwitting girl with him. But it was midafternoon, not the usual time for funny business. Maybe a stop at Mrs. Clevenger’s to ask about being haunted again? Because if he suspected he was being haunted before, he had to be thoroughly convinced now.
Jack looked at his watch. He had time for a quick detour before Mr. Rosen’s nap time.
He followed the car over the bridge into Old Town, past the Lodge and Mrs. Clevenger’s house. Well, so much for that idea. He rode past the old graveyard and the supposedly haunted Klenke house to odd-looking Lester Appleton’s truck, parked as usual next to the Lightning Tree.
The Mustang stopped, so Jack stopped. He watched Toliver get out with an empty bottle in his hand. He gave it to Lester, who filled it with clear liquid from a big brown jug. Money changed hands.
Doubly illegal, Jack knew. Still years from twenty-one, Toliver was underage to buy liquor. But that didn’t stop Lester, and when Jack thought about it, why should it? Lester was already breaking a bunch of laws just by distilling his applejack moonshine, so adding one more by selling to a minor was no big deal to him.
But the town wouldn’t feel that way. Nobody reported the applejack trade in Johnson and other Pinelands towns. The cops knew, but it was part of the life cycle of the Pines, a private matter, not subject to the rules and regulations common to the rest of the state or even the country. Nobody would dream of blowing the whistle. That would be like sticking a knife in a dying way of life.
But the quarterback of the high school football team buying applejack … that would make waves. Especially after last night’s performance. People would get upset. They’d blame the applejack and wouldn’t look the other way on that.
Is this my doing too? Jack wondered. Had the locker rigs and the bloody words driven him to drink?
But from the way Toliver and Lester chatted, and the way Lester clapped him on the arm, it seemed pretty clear this wasn’t their first transaction.
As Toliver returned to his car he spotted Jack and froze. Their eyes met and locked for a few heartbeats, then he slipped into the front seat and started the engine. He turned the car around and pulled to a stop beside Jack.
“What did you just see?” he said, giving Jack a hard look. He had circles under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept. His air of superiority seemed less natural and more forced today. And his eyes … definitely haunted.
Jack looked right back. “Nothing.”
He was tempted to add, Nice game last night, but decided against it.
“Good,” Toliver said. “See that you keep it that way.” He reached for the gearshift, then looked back at Jack. “Hey, I’ve seen you around.”
Yeah, Jack thought. I’m the guy who showed you up at the circus last month.
“I go to SBR.”
“Right. A frosh. You pal around with Weezy Connell.”
You mean “Easy Weezy”? Jack wanted to say, but bit it back. Couldn’t risk giving his feelings away. So he simply nodded.
“Yeah.”
“Where’s she been lately?”
“Home.”
“Yeah?” His star
e bored into Jack. “She ever talk about me?”
“Now and then.”
“Really? What she say?”
“Not much, except she used to think you were a great guy.”
Toliver looked gut-punched for an instant, and Jack wondered if it was because he regretted what he’d done to her, or because after the locker episodes and the blown game, lots of other kids in school might be feeling the same.
But he recovered quickly and gave a who-cares shrug. “That’s life, I guess.”
Jack wanted to punch him. Instead he decided to rub it in a little.
“Want me to say hello for you?”
“Don’t bother.” He pointed to the bottle of applejack on the passenger seat. “And don’t bother saying anything about this either. Or else.”
Jack felt his anger rise. He wanted like crazy to say, What’s that red spot on your hand? Could it be … blood? But that would be stupid. That would give everything away.
Instead, he said, “Or else what?”
Toliver’s smile was cold. “Or else I make your first year in SBR a living hell. And if you don’t think I’ll do it, try me.”
With that he hit the gas and roared off.
Jack watched him go, wondering how he could have felt even a little bit sorry for the guy.
Let him off? Let him have his little victory on Monday?
No way.
Jack had been ready to declare a truce, but now he was back in full war mode.
But to win the war he had to get past Toliver’s latest lock. And to do that he’d need another close look at it.
That meant another trip to the school. Tonight, most likely.
6
Later that afternoon, as Jack was pedaling away from USED along Quakerton Road, he heard a car toot. He looked and saw Kate waving as she passed.
He started to wave back, then remembered the piece of paper folded in his back pocket.
“Kate!” he cried, releasing the handlebars and waving with both arms. “Kate!”
As she slowed and pulled over, Jack hopped off his bike and leaned in the passenger window.
“I need to talk to you.”
“I’m headed home. We can talk—”
“I can’t talk to you about this at home.”
She frowned. “Are you in some sort of trouble?”
“Nothing like that.” He pulled the medical bill from his pocket and hopped into the passenger seat. “But you can’t tell anyone about this.”
She cocked her head. “I don’t know…”
“Please, Kate. It’s nothing bad. It’s just … you just can’t let Mom and Dad know I found this.”
She held out her hand. “No promises until I see it.”
Jack hesitated, then figured if he couldn’t trust Kate, who could he trust? She’d be cool with it.
He handed it to her. “I found this at home.”
Kate looked it over, a frown deepening as she read it.
“Where’d you get this?”
“Can we just say I was somewhere I probably shouldn’t have been, and leave it at that?”
She glanced at him. “More like ‘definitely’ shouldn’t have been, I’m sure.” She reread the paper. “This is very personal.”
“I know. I just want to know what it means.”
“‘Repair of spontaneous recanalization of right vas deferens post 1962 vasectomy,’” she said, reading. “I have an idea what it means but I’m not sure.”
“But you’re in medical school.”
She laughed. “For a little over a month! I’ve got four years of studying ahead of me before I can qualify to be even an intern. But Jenny’s in her second year. Maybe she can clear it up.”
“When can you call her?”
“I’ll have to wait till no one can overhear, but I’ll get to it as soon as I can.” She looked at the paper again. “I’d like to know what this is about too.”
7
“Dad, you were a soldier, right?” Jack said as he helped Mom clear the table before dessert.
His father and mother were still in their tennis clothes—they’d beaten the Gillilands. He’d grilled burgers on his trusty Weber. He refused to buy a gas grill, insisting that charcoal was the only way to go.
Dad looked at him. “You know darn well I was.”
Yeah, he did. He kept pestering his father for war stories and was continually frustrated.
“Right. Was your father a soldier?”
He shook his head. “No. Too young for the First World War, too old for the Second.”
“But your grandfather was in the Spanish American War,” Mom said.
“Yes, he was. On San Juan Hill.” He looked at Jack. “Why the sudden interest?”
“Just curious as to how many soldiers were in the family.”
He was curious, but that wasn’t why he was asking now. Kate had sneaked off to the phone in her room to call Jenny Styles about the recanalization thing and Jack wanted to keep his folks in the kitchen, far out of earshot.
Plus he wanted to know about that photo of Uncle Joe.
“How about your dad, Mom?”
She shook her head. “No. Too young too. But his older brother, your great-uncle Joe, was a career soldier in the Black Watch.”
Black Watch? That sounded cool.
“What’s that?”
“A Scottish regiment,” Dad said. “Reputed to be some of the fiercest fighting men in history. They used to wear kilts into battle, and because of that their enemies named them the ‘Ladies from Hell.’”
Jack laughed. “My uncle was a Lady from Hell! How cool is that?”
Mom pulled a gallon of Welsh Farms peanut butter swirl ice cream from the freezer and handed it to Jack.
“There’s warriors on both sides of the family.”
“And thank God we’ll have no more,” Dad said, looking at Jack. “At least in your generation.”
He felt mildly insulted. “What do you mean?”
“The draft’s gone, and if we can avoid war for the next ten, twelve years, you’ll be too old should some idiot bring it back. I don’t want anyone shooting at my son.”
Kate returned then. She looked at Jack with a tiny shake of her head.
What did that mean? Jenny didn’t know either?
Jack cocked his head toward the back door and wandered over there, pretending to look out at the backyard. Kate joined him for a second.
“She’s out for the night,” she whispered. “I’ll call her in the morning.”
Jack nodded and stayed at the door as Kate drifted away.
Okay. He was disappointed, but only a little. He could wait till tomorrow.
His thoughts drifted to tonight—or early tomorrow morning, rather—and his planned trip to school.
That lock … how was he going to beat that lock?
8
His folks had gone to bed earlier than usual, so Jack decided to get an early start. But just before midnight, as he wheeled his bike into the garage, he caught sight of a glow in the cornfield next door. He stopped and stared in wonder as a softball-size glob of yellow-white light skimmed along the tasseled tops of the stalks, heading east … toward the Pines.
A pine light. What was this one doing out here, out of the woods?
He walked around to the back of the garage to keep an eye on it and saw it meet up with another light. They circled each other twice, then continued toward the Pines.
He felt an urge to follow but held back. Heading into the Pines alone at night was risky. Weezy always knew where they were, but no way he could get hold of her. He wished again for a Star Trek communicator.
He found the Big Dipper in the moonless sky and followed its leading edge to Polaris, the North Star. Good. If he got lost, the stars would guide him home. All he’d have to do was keep heading west and eventually he’d run into a town, a farm, or Route 206. So, besides wasting a little time, he couldn’t see much downside in following. And the upside … well, you never knew with the P
ine Barrens.
He hopped on his bike and followed the pair. Once in the Pines they picked up others. This reminded him of the time he and Weezy had followed a group of lights—she called them lumens—during the equinox last month.
Lights of all sizes mingled and circled one another as he followed them along the starlit firebreak trails through the trees. They led him to a place he recognized: the clearing beyond the spot where Toliver had attacked Weezy.
He stopped his bike near the dead zone and watched as the lights got organized. They formed a line and began swooping down on the bare area amid the trees. They seemed to disappear into the sandy soil for a second or two before reemerging farther on; then they soared back above the trees and looped around a big oak that stood above the pines, only to return for another dip into the barren sand. They flowed around in a continually moving figure eight.
Jack watched, awed and fascinated, until they dispersed and drifted off in all directions.
What was that all about? Was that why nothing grew in that spot? Did the lumens somehow sterilize it?
Questions, questions, questions, but none so pressing as how to open Toliver’s lock.
SUNDAY
1
A little after one A.M., Jack pushed his bike through the brush and onto the shoulder of Route 206. As usual he emerged opposite the Lonely Pine Motel. In the dim blue light from the roadside neon sign he again made out Miriam’s old station wagon in its same spot before room three.
She said she’d be there till Sunday. Well, Sunday was here. He imagined her waiting alone with her baby since Tuesday in that tiny room. The poor woman had to be stir-crazy by now.
He was about to push on when he saw a shadow moving along the motel’s front walk, passing the doors one by one until it stopped by number three.
Walt?
Could be, but Jack couldn’t make out any details. The light from the sign didn’t reach that far. All he saw was a man-shaped blob of black.
The shape stood silent and unmoving before room three. Then, with a suddenness that made Jack jump, three loud knocks echoed through the night. Seconds later the pair of double-hung windows to the right of the door lit. The curtains parted in the middle and Miriam’s face appeared, then quickly vanished. The door opened, letting light escape into the night.
Jack: Secret Vengeance Page 14