Ghoul (14 page)

Timmy nodded.

"You're a lucky guy, Timmy. I know you're still sad about your grandpa, and I know you argue with your parents sometimes, but you don't know how good you've got it. You should be grateful, man."

“I am,” Timmy said. “Believe me, I am.”

“I don't want to go home tomorrow. I wish I could stay here.”

“Well, look. When we get up in the morning, let's talk to my parents about it. Maybe we can--”

“No!” Doug's shout was lost beneath the thunder, but both of them paused anyway, listening to see if it had awoken Timmy's parents.

“No,” Doug said again, whispering this time. “You promised that you wouldn't tell anybody. You can't. Nobody else can know. Not even Barry.”

Timmy felt torn. On the one hand, he wanted to tell his parents. This was too big for him to try and keep it bottled up inside. His parents would be able to help.

He was worried about Doug, worried about what this would do to him emotionally. Obviously, it had already had some effect. Maybe his parents would let Doug stay with them.

But on the other hand, he'd made a promise to his friend, and he couldn't just break it. He didn't want Doug to be mad at him.

While he struggled with these conflicting emotions, Doug excused himself and crept down the hall to the bathroom. Timmy heard him running water in the sink. His mother snored softly and his father farted in his sleep. The lightning flashed again, but the storm's power seemed to be lessening. The rain slowed to a drizzle, and the thunder was distant now, muted.

Doug came back into the room and tried to smile. He shut the door behind him.

“Sorry. I'm done crying now.”

He sat back down, and Timmy squeezed his shoulder one more time.

“It'll be okay, Doug. You'll see. It'll all be okay.”

But in his heart, Timmy knew that nothing would ever be okay again.

It was a long time before dawn arrived, and Timmy was still awake when the first rays of sunlight crept over the horizon.

When they got up for breakfast the next morning, they were surprised to learn that Timmy's father hadn't yet left for work. His truck was still in the driveway, and they heard him talking to Timmy's mother in hushed, serious tones. Timmy's first thought was that someone else in their family had died, maybe one of his aunts or uncles. His second thought was that maybe his father was sick. If that were so, it would have to be something very serious. Randy Graco had gone to work with the flu and a high fever before. He'd even gone in every day when he broke his leg while out deer hunting four years ago. Things like illness didn't stop him when it came to putting food on the table.

“Wonder what's happening?” Timmy said.

Doug didn't respond. He'd woken taciturn and withdrawn, and Timmy wondered if perhaps he was regretting telling the truth about what was happening between him and his mother.

“You okay, Doug?”

“Didn't sleep too good.”

“Yeah, me either.” Timmy pulled a clean pair of socks from his top dresser drawer.

“Listen, about last night--”

“Let's not talk about it right now.”

After getting dressed, the boys walked into the living room, and immediately, Timmy noticed the grim expression on both his parent's faces. His father looked shocked, and his mother was pale. At first he was afraid they'd overheard Doug's late-night confession, but then he realized that they were both staring at the television, which was tuned to the local news. They hadn 't even looked up to acknowledge the boys' presence.

“What's going on?” Timmy asked. “What's wrong?”

Randy looked up from the newscast and blinked in surprise. “Hey guys. Good morning.”

“Don't you have to work today, Dad?”

“I'm going in late. Wanted to talk to you guys first.”

“Did you boys sleep okay?” Elizabeth sipped from a coffee mug. “Or did the storm wake you up last night?”

“We heard it,” Timmy said. “Sounded pretty bad. Is that what's on the news?”

“No,” she said quickly, glancing at her husband. “It's just ...”

She shook her head and took another sip of coffee.

“Just what?”

“Maybe you two better sit down,” Randy said, waving his hand at the couch.

Shit, Timmy thought. They did overhear us last night.

Doug shuffled his feet. “Um, are we in trouble, Mr. Graco?”

“No, Doug. Not at all.” He gave a short, uncomfortable laugh. “But we do need to talk.”

Timmy and Doug took seats on opposite ends of the couch. Timmy glanced at the television.

A reporter was standing alongside a road. There were woods behind him, and a car parked along the side next to the trees. The entire area had been roped off with yellow police tape. Timmy frowned.

“What's going on, Dad?”

Randy stood up and turned off the television. Then he turned to his wife. “Hon, can you get me some more coffee?”

“Sure.” Elizabeth got his mug and disappeared into the kitchen.

Randy leaned forward in his chair, folded his hands together, and stared at them both without speaking. He seemed to be considering something. Timmy and Doug both twitched nervously. Randy opened his mouth to speak, but the phone rang, interrupting him. In the kitchen, Timmy heard his mother answer it.

"Hello? ... Oh, hi Brenda Yes, Randy and I were just watching it on the news... . Terrible."

Randy cleared his throat. Timmy and Doug turned their attention back to him.

“Boys,” he said, "I don't know how to say this, so I'm just going to say it. I know you've had some trouble in the past with Ronny Nace and Jason Glatfelter and Steve Laughman.

I know they're not exactly friends of yours, but--well, there's been some bad news."

Timmy twitched, wondering if his parents had found out about Ronny's stolen bike, and what they'd done with it.

Doug looked relieved. “Are they finally in jail for something?”

“No. They're missing.”

In the kitchen, Elizabeth told Brenda good-bye and then hung up the phone.

“Missing?” Timmy glanced at the blank television screen. “Like they ran away?”

His father shook his head. "I guess it's a possibility, but the police don't seem to think so. Their parents reported them missing this morning. Another woman is missing, too. An adult. Deb Lentz. They found her car abandoned out near Porter 's Sawmill. And there's even speculation that maybe Karen Moore and her boyfriend didn't run off, either."

“A serial killer?”

“I don't know, Timmy.” Randy Graco scowled. "That's a little extreme, don't you think?

Ask me, you've been reading too many comic books."

“But it could be.”

"Yeah, sure it could. I guess. But they don't know that yet. All they know is that there are a lot of people missing all of the sudden. That doesn't mean it's a serial killer. Where do you get this stuff? I wasn 't thinking about serial killers and monsters when I was twelve. I was busy playing football."

That's because you didn't get clobbered every time you played, Timmy thought to himself.

And you didn't live next door to a monster or down the road from one, either. The bad people aren 't just in my comics. They're in the real world, too.

Elizabeth returned with two fresh mugs of coffee for Randy and herself. Then she sat back down in the rocking chair.

“That was Brenda,” she told her husband. “She and Larry are going to do the same thing with their kids.”

Nodding, Randy sipped coffee.

“Do what with us?” Timmy didn't like the sound of this--whatever it was.

“Well,” his mother said, picking up where Randy had left off, "the reason your father stayed home this morning was because we wanted to talk to you about this. We've discussed it, and came to a decision. Your father and I think it might be best if you stick close to home for the next few days. You too, Doug."

“But it's summer,” Timmy said. “We've got stuff to do. Important stuff. We're not babies. We can watch out for ourselves.”

“Even still,” Elizabeth insisted, "you're not to go anywhere by yourself from now on--until the police find out what's happened. No going off to the woods or the dump or the pond, and no riding down to the newsstand, either."

“But I've got to go to the newsstand every Wednesday, or I'll miss the new comics.”

“You've got enough comics,” Randy said. "Won't hurt you to miss a few. You should save your money, anyway. In four more years you're going to want a car and --"

Timmy cut him off. “If I miss the new issues, then I'll have gaps in my collection, and won't find out what happens next.”

"I'm not going to argue with you, Timmy. We've all been under a strain lately since--well, since Grandpa's death, and I've tried to take it easy on you. But don't fight me on this."

“It isn't fair.” Timmy crossed his arms over his chest and sank back into the cushions.

“Why should we be punished just because some other people are missing?”

“You're not being punished,” Elizabeth said. "We're just worried about your safety, is all. We're worried, about you--both of you. I bet Doug's mother will say the same thing. Try to see it our way. It 's for your own good."

Timmy stifled a laugh. There was his old friend, his invisible accomplice, U'rown Goode, making another appearance.

“I've got to ride my bike past Bowman's Woods to get here,” Doug said. “What should I do?”

“Well,” ElizaBeth said, “for the time being, maybe your mom can drive you over here when you want to visit?”

“I don't think so, Mrs. Graco. My mom doesn't leave the house much.”

“Oh. Well, maybe Timmy's father can pick you up and take you back.”

“Wait a second,” Randy said. “I've got to work.”

“Well then, you can make special trips when you're home.”

Randy started to protest, but Timmy cut him off again.

“This sucks.”

“Language,” his mother warned.

“Well,” Timmy said, “it does suck. Our whole summer is ruined because of Ronny, Jason, and Steve.”

“Timothy Edward Graco!” Elizabeth's voice boomed across the living room. "Those boys are missing, and Lord only knows what's happened to them. You should try to be a little more understanding and sympathetic.

We raised you better than that."

“Sorry,” he said, feeling anything but.

“You should be.”

He forged ahead. “Well, what about Barry? Can we still hang out at his house? He's right over the hill, and we only have to go through our backyard to get there.”

“You can still play with Barry,” Randy said. "But no further until we say otherwise.

I mean it."

“And we can help him work in the cemetery?”

Randy sighed. “Yes, as long as you're not by yourself. But no further. Understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Doug? How about you?”

“Yes, Mr. Graco. You don't have to worry about me. If some sick perv tries to snatch me, I'll kick him in the balls and run!”

Elizabeth gasped. Randy struggled to suppress his laughter. A moment later, all four of them started laughing. Privately, Timmy wondered why he got hollered at for saying “sucks” but Doug could get away with “balls.” But he didn 't ask. It was good to hear Doug laughing, especially after last night.

“What do you boys want for breakfast,” Elizabeth asked when she'd regained her composure.

“There's Count Chocula or Trix, or oatmeal.”

Both boys made a face at the mention of oatmeal.

“Or, I guess I could make pancakes.”

“Pancakes,” Doug said. “Yes, please. That would be great. Can you put blueberries in them, too?”

She smiled. “I think we can do that. It just so happens I bought some at the store this week.”

“Awesome.”

Timmy raised his hand without much enthusiasm. “Me too, I guess. With bacon.”

“That makes three of us,” Randy said. “With eggs.”

While she cooked, Timmy and Doug watched The Transformers while Randy got ready for work. They ate, and Timmy listened to his parents talk without really hearing them, and his mother's blueberry pancakes, usually his favorite, had no taste. The new set of rules and boundaries really chafed at him. Sure, unbeknownst to his parents, they still had the Dugout to play in, but that somehow wasn't enough. The most desirable horizons were the ones you were forbidden to reach, and the thrill of exploration was what lay beyond those known borders. He thought about Doug's map, useless for all intents and purposes now. The blank space all around the edges would stay blank now.

Doug chatted with Randy and Elizabeth, and ate three helpings of pancakes.

Timmy sulked. He tried very hard to ignore the fact that his best friend's mom was having sex with him, and that people were missing, probably abducted by some serial killer, and that his summer vacation was not turning out to be a vacation at all, but a prison sentence. It was like one of the storm clouds from the previous night had settled over him, dark and foreboding.

It felt like he was in a tunnel and the walls were closing in.

He shivered.

After breakfast, Randy left for work and the boys went outside to play. They grew bored after an hour and decided to go to Barry's house and see what he was doing-- after assuring Elizabeth that they'd stray no farther and come straight home when they were done. They left their bikes behind, and doing so filled them both with sadness. What good was a BMX with mag wheels and thick tires and racing stripes if you couldn 't ride it anywhere and show it off? It was like Batman without a Batmobile or Han Solo without a Millennium Falcon.

As they trudged through the backyard and up the hill toward Barry's, Timmy picked up a stick, left over from the storm, and in a fit of anger snapped it in half and tossed the pieces aside.

“So much for going tubing. This bites. This whole summer just keeps getting worse and worse.”

“Could be much worse,” Doug said. He was still wearing Randy's old shirt, and had put on his jeans from the day before, along with a pair of Timmy's socks.

“How could it be any worse?”

“The police could be trying to find out who beat Catcher, instead.”

“True. I guess they've got more important things to worry about now.”

“Or it could be us that was missing.”

“Yeah ...”

“I just hope Ronny and those guys are okay,” Doug said. “I'm a little worried about what could have happened to them.”

Timmy stopped walking. “Are you crazy?”

“What? I'm concerned, is all.”

"Doug, how can you say that? Are you forgetting about everything they've done to you? The pink bellies and the wedgies and swirlies? How they made you wear girl's underwear on your head that time on the school bus? Or how Ronny used to squeeze your ... well, your tits, until you cried?"

“I don't have tits,” Doug said. “And I cried because it hurt. And no, I haven't forgotten about any of those things. How could I?”

“Exactly. So why worry about them?”

“I don't know. I just do.”

“Those guys are jerks. They picked on you constantly.”

“Yeah, they're jerks, but that doesn't mean I want some crazy guy to kidnap them and do stuff to them. That's wrong, man. Nobody deserves that.”

They started walking again. The wet grass soaked through their sneakers. They passed by Randy Graco's grapevines, which had been flattened by the storm. To their right, at the top of the hill, the Wahl's cherry tree was spilt in half, the unfortunate victim of a lightning strike.

“I just hope they come home safe.” Doug stepped over the drooping vines. “That's all I'm saying.”

“They deserve whatever happens to them,” Timmy said. “Serves them right. I don't care.”

“Yes you do,” Doug said. “You're just pissed off right now.”

“So? I'm serious. Why should I care what happens to those assholes?”

“You cared about Catcher when Barry started beating on him, and he was just as mean to us as Ronny and those guys were.”

“Catcher didn't know any better. He's just a dog, and he was just doing what all Dobermans do. They're attack dogs. It's instinct.”

"Not necessarily. The guy that lives next door to me used to have a Doberman, and it was nice, because he'd trained it to be nice. Catcher was mean because Mr. Sawyer didn't teach him any different."