Secret Hollows (8 page)

“He’s a good man,” Ian said, following her glance. “And if it’s so, Maggie couldn’t ask for a better father.”

She nodded. “And if it’s not, we’ll keep looking and we’ll find her.”

“You’d do anything for him, wouldn’t you?”

She smiled and sighed. “Yes, I’d do anything he’d ask me.”

*

“I am not going to do it,” Mary said emphatically.

“Come on,” Bradley argued, “It’ll be fun.”

“I saw how fast that toboggan went down the run,” she countered. “That’s too fast for me.”

“It won’t go that fast with two fat people on it,” Andy inserted.

Mary turned and glared at him. “You do know how far it is to walk back home, don’t you?” she asked.

He laughed.
“Yeah, but Chief Alden drove and I’m on his side.”

“I’m making the hot chocolate and cookies,” she said.

“No, Rosie’s going to have them for us when we get back,” Maggie said. “She told me.”

Mary turned back to Bradley. “I’m really getting no support here,” she said.

Shaking his head, he guided her over to the toboggan. “We wouldn’t want them to think you were chicken, would we?” he asked.

“I’m not chicken,” she said, turning around quickly.

Her foot slipped out from under her and she tumbled down. She fell backwards onto the toboggan, her legs and arms hanging over the sides.

“Hold on, Mary. I’ll help you,” Bradley said, moving towards her.

“I can do it,” she called, digging her feet into the snow and pushing.

The toboggan moved sideways and, when Mary tried to roll to the side, slipped even further down the hill. She tried to grab on with her hands, but the force of her movement had the toboggan hurtling down the wrong side of the hill, into the tree line, with Mary clutching the sides for dear life.

“Hold on,” Bradley yelled, running down after her.

“No kidding,” she screamed back.

She dug her hands further into the sides of the sled as it increased in speed due to the steep descent of the hill. Miraculously, the sled slid through the trees and bumped its way across the frozen ground. Mary felt it slide sideways and saw the ground coming up close to her left. She was sure it was going to flip, but instead it set its course down a narrow path that was probably a small creek during the spring run-off. Mary lifted her head and saw the path ended up in the lake and knew that warm spell the week before had weakened the ice covering.

The speed seemed to be lessening a little, but not enough to stop before she hit the lake. She quickly assessed her options. About ten yards ahead of her, an oak tree had fallen over the creek. The low hanging limb of the old tree seemed to be her only chance. As she got close, she lifted her arms and grabbed hold of the vines and brush wrapped around the huge branch. The toboggan slid sideways and then flipped over, dumping Mary into the snow.

Her heart still hammering, Mary stood up, her legs shaky as she grabbed hold of the toboggan’s rope and began to climb out of the small hollow. She was just pulling herself up when she saw him. Dressed for a summer’s day, in swim trunks and a t-shirt, he had dirty blonde hair and was about Andy’s age.

He turned to her, his translucent face covered with dirt, his faded eyes filled with distress. “Can you help me?” he asked. “I can’t find my way home.”

Mary nodded. “Sure, I’d be happy to help you,” she said. “I’m Mary, what’s your name?”

He smiled; relief evident in his face. “I’m Timmy,” he said. “Timmy Beck.”

Bradley tore through the woods, grabbing on to tree trunks to keep from slipping and falling down the hill, as he chased Mary and the toboggan. He saw it slip into the creek bed and head down towards the lake, but the angle of the terrain was so steep he lost sight of her. He prayed she wasn’t hurtling into the lake.

He came up to a rise and saw a flash of red below. The toboggan was on its side, just beyond a huge oak limb.
Has she been hurt? Was she knocked off the sled? Is she unconscious? What the hell was I thinking, forcing her to ride it?

He continued his run down the hill, angling towards the hollow. He was nearly to the fallen tree when he saw her in the woods. She was safe; he breathed a sigh of relief. And as he looked closer, he realized that she was not only fine, she was sitting on another large limb talking to someone.

A year ago, Bradley might have thought she must have hit her head and was experiencing delusions. But after only five months of knowing Mary, he realized that she indeed was talking to someone. He just couldn’t see them.

He continued towards them, being careful not to rush onto the scene and frighten her new client. She turned to him and smiled as he climbed over the log and sat down next to her. She pulled off one glove and he pulled off his and they held hands. The little boy appeared in front of him.

“Timmy, this is my friend, Bradley Alden,” Mary explained. “He’s the Chief of Police in Freeport.”

“Hi,” Timmy said. “Do you get to carry a gun?”

Bradley nodded, “Only when I’m on duty.”

“That’s cool,” Timmy replied.

“Timmy was telling me that he came here to do some fishing and must have gotten lost,” Mary said, her voice shaking slightly. “He’s ten years old. His birthday is August 14, 1982.”

“How did you get here, Timmy,” Bradley asked. “Did someone give you a ride?”

He shook his head. “No, I rode my bike,” he explained. “My friend,
Mikey
, was going to meet me but he never came.”

Why does this sound so familiar?
Bradley wondered.
What is it about his story?

Then he remembered.

“Timmy, did your friend
Mikey
have to clean out the chicken coop, so he couldn’t go with you?” he asked.

Timmy grinned. “Yeah, his mom caught him before he could get away,” he laughed. “So, he was supposed to meet me here.”

“How did you know…?” Mary asked.

“Timmy is Mike Richards’ friend,” Bradley explained. “Mike told me about Timmy when we went into Chicago.”

“Yeah, but no one ‘
cept
teachers call him Mike,” Timmy said. “He’s just plain old
Mikey
.”

“Okay, Timmy,” Mary said. “We have to ask you some questions so we can help you find your way home.”

“Sure,” he said. “But I know where I live, if you could just give me a ride.”

Mary wiped away a stray tear trailing down her cheek and Bradley squeezed her hand for comfort. “Well, it’s not quite that easy,” she explained. “But, don’t
worry,
we’re on the right track.”

Timmy looked alarmed. “Did something happen to my mom?” he asked. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” Mary reassured him, “we just have to figure a couple of things out.”

“Okay,” he replied, looking a little suspicious. “What do you need?”

“Okay, think back to when you came to the park,” she said. “Try to picture it in your mind.”

He closed his eyes and nodded. “Okay.”

“You rode your bike to the lake,” Mary said. “What was the weather like?”

“It was really hot,” Timmy said. “It was going to be a scorcher.”

“So, you got to the park and where did you go?”

“Here to our secret spot,” Timmy said. “I stashed my backpack in the tree and I got my fishing gear out. I had a whole fresh cup of night crawlers.”

“Then what happened?” Mary asked.

“I guess I started fishing,” he said.

“No, Timmy, don’t guess. Think back, you got your tackle out and you were about to go fishing and then…”

Timmy’s breathing began to increase, his little chest was rapidly rising and falling, and he shook his head. “No, I don’t want to remember that,” he said.

“Timmy, I’m so sorry,” Mary said, “but you have to remember that. You have to remember it so we can help you get home.”

Tears slid from closed eyes down translucent cheeks. “I don’t want to remember!” he screamed.

Mary placed her hand over her mouth, took a deep shuddering breath and controlled the tears that were threatening.

“Timmy,” Bradley said. “You can tell us because we’re here to protect you. Nothing bad can happen to you again. And when you tell us, we can help you.”

Timmy opened his eyes and looked directly at Bradley. “You can protect me?” he asked. “I can’t get hurt again?”

“No, Timmy, you will never get hurt again,” Bradley said. “You have my word.”

Timmy wiped his arm across his face and nodded. “A man came,” he said. “He told me he wanted to take me somewhere and I told him no. I told him I had to wait for
Mikey
.”

He took a deep shaky breath. “He told me he put my bike in his truck,” Timmy said. “He said he needed my help to get it out.”

“And did you help him?” Bradley asked.

Timmy shook his head. “I was walking,” he said slowly, remembering. “I was walking up the hill and then something hit my head. He hit me with something. Then he grabbed me. And he… and he…”

He started sobbing, his little body shuddered uncontrollably. “I told him I wouldn’t tell!” he cried. “I promised I wouldn’t let anyone know that he hurt me. I just didn’t want to die.”

Suddenly, he took a deep breath and froze. He looked at Mary and Bradley, his eyes wide, dawning awareness spreading across his face. “And then he killed me?” he whispered slowly.

Wiping away a tear, Mary nodded. “Yes, Timmy, he killed you.”

“But I don’t want to be dead,” he said. “I’m only ten.”

“Who did this to you?” Bradley asked. “Timmy, tell me who the bad man was.”

Timmy looked over at Bradley and shook his head, his face filled with despair. “I can’t remember. I can only see the sun above him in the trees, shining down in my eyes, when he was hurting me,” he said. “I can’t… I can’t remember him.”

“That’s okay,” Bradley said. “You were very brave. You have helped us a lot.”

“Can I go home now?” he asked.

“Well, I think we still have some things to figure out,” Mary said. “But would you be willing to come home with me? Just for a little while.”

“Well, I don’t know,” he said. “My mom says not to go with strangers.”

“Your mom is a very smart woman,” Bradley said. “But I think she would agree it would be safer for you to come with us, than stay by yourself in the woods.”

He looked slowly around the woods, and then looked at Mary and Bradley.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said. “Mike, um,
Mikey
Richards lives at my house.”

“
Mikey
?” Timmy said, relieved. “Oh, if he’s there, I know I’ll be safe.”

Snow was piled up against the side of the barn and the main area of the farmyard had been cleared with the scoop on the tractor. The snow pile was almost as tall as the white fencing that surrounded the pasture next to the milking barn. Black and white Holsteins calmly pulled hay from a large round bale sitting in a metal hay feeder.
A grouping of bird feeders behind the house were
filled with sunflower seeds and there were several ears of dried corn nailed to flat boards for the squirrels to enjoy. A symphony of roosters crowing, chickens cackling and cows mooing filled the morning air.

Mike glided through the barnyard of his family’s farm. The scene was so familiar. He remembered pulling on rubber boots and sloshing his way through calf-deep mud to reach the barn and do the morning chores. He had actually enjoyed the earthy sweet scent of cow manure.

But this morning it was his mom who was walking back from the chicken coop with a wire basket of brown eggs in her arms. He fell into step next to her. She paused for a moment and slowly looked around.

“Hey, Mom,” he said.

She looked confused. “Allen?” she called to Mike’s dad. “Allen, did you hear that?”

His dad came out of the barn, a grain bucket in his hand.