Moonbog (16 page)

“I was pretty drunk,” David said., leaning toward Allison, “I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“
Didn’t know what you was doin’?
Come on. It was great. One of the biggest, strongest guys in town. I mean, nobody messed with Moose Perry, and Davie boy straddles him and says, ‘That’s the last fuckin’ time you’ll do that!’ It was
great!
”

Allison had a vacant look in her eyes, as though the impact of the story was entirely lost on her. When Les sat back in his seat, satisfied with his story, Allison looked at him and asked, “So where’s Moose now?”

“He was killed in Viet Nam,” Les said casually looking down at his empty beer glass.

An awkward silence fell over the table, and all three people avoided eye contact until David said softly, “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, well.” Les shifted in his seat and then stood up. He pushed the chair back to where he had gotten it. “I’ve gotta’ get going, get home now.”

“Still married to Leah?” David asked brightly hoping to dispel the dark mood that mention of Moose’s death had created.

“Yeah, I am,” Les said. There was a snap, a coldness in his reply that David noticed immediately, so he decided to let the conversation drop.

“Yeah. Well, I’m glad you stopped by. Good to see you.”

“Yeah, uhh, it’s been great seem’ you again, Davie boy,” Les said. Then he turned to Allison and gave her another appreciative look. “And a
real
pleasure meetin’ you, Allison. Thanks for the beer ole’ buddy. I’ll give you a call at the motel, ‘n maybe we can have you folks over for supper some evenin’.”

“Sure,” David replied, sounding disinterested.

“Later,” Les said, and then turned and strode from the Sawmill. They watched him leave, and then faced each other again.

“So,” Allison said, letting her voice draw out, “that’s your old buddy from high school, huh?” Her eyebrows were two raised semi-circles. “I didn’t know you had such cultured friends in your childhood.”

“Come on, get off it, will you? We grew up together, that’s all. Les and I have about as much in common as . . . as . . . as I don’t know what,” he said exasperated. He took a sip from his long-neglected drink.

“No, really,” Allison said, pressing. There was glint of humor in her eyes, and David thought it was too bad that that glint always came when she was being malicious. “I found him refreshing. A few years from now, once he’s drunk himself into a real catatonic state, he’ll be what you’d call a real ‘town character,’ won’t he? Hanging around bars telling stories like the one we got tonight, cheating on his wife every other night, scaring the pants off all the kids in town.
A real character
.”

“Just leave him alone, will you, for Christ’s sake!” David fought the impulse to slam his beer glass against the table and, instead, gripped the base of the glass tightly until the scar on his wrist turned bright red.

XI

“O
h God! Bob! What are we going to do?” Linda Hollis wailed, looking up at her husband. Her shoulders were shaking, and tears were running down her face. “It’s past midnight!”

Bob Hollis placed his hand firmly on his wife’s shoulder, then let it fall helplessly away. He had to be strong and fight back the feelings of weakness. “I talked to Shaw just an hour ago. He says not to worry, that he and Del and some other men will be out all night if they have to.”

“
Not worry! Not worry!
” Linda screamed, nearly hysterical, “
How can I not worry?
My God, Robert, Jeffy’s never done anything like this. He’d be home by now if he was all right! Something’s happened to him. I know it has.” Her voice broke off into wrenching sobs. She buried her face into his shoulder.

“There, there,” Bob Hollis said soothingly as he stroked her back. “Shaw’s doing everything he can, honey. You’ll see; everything will be all right.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was wrong.

XII

T
ears ran down Jeffy’s Hollis’ face, streaking the grime on his cheeks. His eyes glowed in the darkness. “You’re gonna’ let me go, aren’t you? Aren’t you?” he asked with a twisted voice. “I won’t tell anyone what you did. Honest.
Please
Mr.—”

The man towering over him lashed out with his fist and cracked the boy’s jaw. Jeffy howled with pain. “You just keep your fuckin’ mouth shut!”

Jeffy slumped back against the tree he was bound to. The rough bark chaffed his skin, and the rope that bound his wrists and ankles burned as he struggled to free himself. Fighting the tears and the pain, he told himself that he had to keep talking to keep the man occupied. The rope binding his wrists felt just a bit looser, and if he could get his hands free —

“If I hear any more bullshit outta’ you, you’ve had it.”

“Really. I won’t tell.” He worked the rope furiously, confident that in the dark, he couldn’t be seen, and with the deafening sound of the spring peepers, he knew he couldn’t be heard. “No one has to know.”

“No one’s
gonna’
know,” the man said menacingly.

How far could he get, Jeffy wondered. Naked and barefoot, running through the Bog in the pitch black, what would his chances be? Then again, the darkness would help him too, if he could just get far enough away.

He felt the last knot in the rope slip away and, unbelieving, flexed his free hands behind him. He tried to contain the excitement in his voice and he shifted forward silently and pleaded, “Please lemme’ go. I won’t tell a soul.”

His hands reached down to his ankles and began to work on the knots. The man was pacing back and forth in the darkness, and Jeffy was pretty sure he couldn’t tell what he was doing.

Jeffy decided on a new tactic . . . something, anything to keep the man talking for just a minute longer. “If you let me go, I’ll . . . I’ll let you do that to me again.”

The man in the darkness snorted and then chuckled softly. The knots around Jeffy’s ankles fell away under his fingers.

“No, really. Honest. I . . . I kinda’ liked it,” he said, wincing with the remembered pain. “I’ll let you do it to me again.”

“I’ll do it to you any time I fuckin’ well please, boy.”

“That’s what you think,” Jeffy yelled. The last knot fell away, and he kicked the rope from his feet and jumped up. Like a bolt, he took off down the path, swinging his hands out wildly in front of him to keep the brush from hitting him in the face.

It took the man a moment to realize what Jeffy had done; then, with a loud curse, he took off down the trail after him. “Boy, you better stop and come back here,” he bellowed. “You ain’t gonna’ like it when I catch you.”

Jeffy ran wildly at first, careless of where he was going, just grateful to be away from the man who had done those terrible things to him. He found it difficult to run too fast because of the pain that wracked his whole body. As the man’s voice behind him slowly faded, though, Jeffy realized that he would have to pick his trail carefully, figure out where he was in the Bog, and just how to get out—otherwise he’d be lost all night or, worse, found by the man again.

His captor following behind him was still yelling, but then, suddenly, the shouting ceased. When Jeffy noticed this, he stopped running. His breathing came hard, tearing into his lungs and burning them as badly as the rope had burned his wrists and ankles. He strained, trying to listen for the man’s pursuit, but the night was filled with the loud chorus of spring peepers.

A deeper, more gripping fear seized him as he realized that now he couldn’t tell how far or near the man was. If he wasn’t careful, he might run right around in a circle and bump into him. As he considered this, Jeffy thought that it would be better if he hit in the brush and waited for dawn, then he’d be able to figure out which way to go.

Suddenly, the sound of someone moving behind him made him jump and turn around. He stared, frozen along the path, but the darkness was too deep to see anything. Whimpering, he scuttled from the trail into the brush and lay flat against the cold, moist spagnum.

Blood pounding, lungs aching, Jeffy lay there for what seemed hours, waiting to hear the sound repeated. All he could hear was the sound of the peepers; all he could see was the thick, vibrating darkness.

Suddenly, a voice spoke, so close Jeffy jumped and let out a soft groan.

“I know you’re around here somewhere, boy,” the voice said in a low, rumbling growl that sounded like an old man. “When I find you, boy, you’re gonna’ be some sorry.”

Jeffy pressed his face against the ground, intensely aware of the thick, fertile smell of the soil.

“You better come out—
Now!
” the voice in the darkness snarled.

Jeffy was afraid he was going to faint. The darkness was spinning wildly, and his stomach twisted as the voice and the footbeats drew nearer.

“I know you’re right around here boy,” the voice said, closer still, filling the night, heavy footsteps squishing in the muck.

“I can just wait, you know. Sooner or later you’re gonna’ have to give yourself away. If worst comes to worst, I’ll just have to wait’ll it gets light. And
then
when I find you—” The darkness pressed in on Jeffy, completing the sentence.

“Don’t make it any harder on yourself than it’s gonna’ be, boy,” the voice boomed above the sound of the peepers.

Tears welled in Jeffy’s eyes. He bit down hard on his lower lip, making it bleed and filling his mouth with the salty taste of blood. He thought about what the man had already done to him, how much it had hurt, and he knew that what this man would do to him next would be worse; he might even kill him.

Finally, Jeffy could fight his terror no longer. His stomach revolted. Instinctively, he got up onto his hands and knees to vomit as he felt his stomach clench. He tried desperately not to make any noise, but he started to gag. Vomiting, he tried to crawl away, deeper into the brush, but he had barely moved before a steel-cold hand grabbed his shoulder and jerked him roughly to his feet.

“You shouldn’t run away from me like that,” the man said deeply. Jeffy was still choking and sputtering as he felt a coarse rope loop around his throat and pull tight.

“Now you got me
real
mad, boy, ‘n you’re gonna’ pay!”

HOLLAND, MAINE, MONDAY, JUNE 6, 1977 BOY MISSING. FOUL PLAY FEARED

HOLLAND—Jeffrey Hollis, age twelve, was reported missing last night by his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Robert Hollis of 30 Briar Road.

The youth was last seen while playing near his backyard. Immediate concern was raised because of the tragic murder last Friday of another local boy, close in age to Jeffery. Police Chief Virgil Shaw was quick to point out that, at this point, there is no apparent connection between the two cases.

“They are
entirely
separate incidents, as far as this department is concerned,” he said. Chief Shaw also asserted that any leads which may connect the cases would, of course, be followed.

The search for the missing boy has been going on all night. State and local personnel are asking for any available assistance, and all interested parties are asked to meet this morning, at eleven A.M. at Chief Shaw’s office.

I

S
ix-thirty, Monday morning, and still Jeffy Hollis had neither come home nor been found. After spending the whole night tramping through woods and swamp and bog, Chief Shaw had just settled into his chair and hadn’t even taken one sip of his coffee before the phone rang. He snatched up the receiver in mid-ring and barked, “Yeah!”

“Hello, Chief Shaw?” the voice at the other end of the line said, sounding distant and formal.

“Yeah, this is Shaw,” he answered gruffly. Lack of sleep tended to make him cross, and a missing person along with an unsolved murder put him very much on edge.

“This is Lieutenant Brad Porter, State Police in Scarborough. I had a note to contact you as soon as possible.”

“Oh,” Shaw shifted forward in his seat and leaned his elbows on the desk. He took a quick swallow of coffee, adjusted his glasses, then said, “Yes, lieutenant, I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“I understand that you now have a missing person,” Porter said.

“You got that right,” Shaw replied. There was something in the cold formality of Porter’s voice that irritated Shaw, and he decided that he would take a loose, conversational approach with him; he sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to work well with someone if he didn’t feel at ease.

“A twelve-year-old boy missing, correct?”

“Right.” Shaw briefly filled him in on the events of the previous evening. Porter listened patiently, no doubt taking notes, Shaw thought.

“Our real concern here,” Shaw continued, “is the possibility that these two events might be connected, that the same individual might be responsible. It would seem to make sense that—”

“There’s not really enough to go on,” Porter interrupted.

 
“Well,” Shaw said slowly, “you see, the Hollis boy was last seen near his family home on Briar Road. Now that ain’t too far from where the body of the Wilson boy was found last Friday night.”