Nobody Knows Your Secret (17 page)

Hadley felt the blade pinch her skin.

This is it, she thought, closing her eyes while stumbling wherever the boy led.

“You!” he screamed into her ear.

She opened her eyes. Was she dreaming? It couldn’t be! A small, dark head popped up from behind a ridiculous giant mushroom trash bin with the head of a cow stuck right in the middle of it. A brown jersey with an oversized mouth opened to receive trash. Over the head, she could just make out the letters, DON’T LITTER! MOO AND TOSS IT HERE.

It can’t be, she thought. It just can’t be. But it was!

The small round head moved back slightly, then, it began to pump up and down in a quick, jerky motion. Out from behind the preposterous trash receptacle came a rustle of feathers and a charge as fast as lightning. Sprat, the wild goose, was all over the kid’s head. The young man was startled.

“Wha’ tha . . .” he sputtered, before dropping the knife.

He took off running, yelling at the enraged goose.

Bill gave chase.

“Elwin!” Bill yelled, “make sure Hadley’s all right.”

“I’m okay! I’m okay!” Hadley yelled. “Just get that creep, Elwin!”

Elwin Dollie shook his head, charging down the path Bill and the young man had taken. Hadley rubbed her neck. That was close.

For an instant, it was strangely quiet. Hadley felt her breathing slow to a more normal rate. She was okay. Rattled, but okay.

She spied the familiar head peeping out at her from behind a large tree.

Hadley squatted down. She waited. Sprat came waddling up, slowly towards her.

“Thanks, my friend,” she whispered. “I owe you big time. You didn’t hurt yourself, did you? I sure hope not.”

Sprat honked. Hadley remained very still, and the wild goose extended its beak and touched her lips.

“I love you, too, Sprattie,” she said. “I really do.”

Hadley stood up.

B
ill felt
the limbs and briars cut his face and hands as he ran through the woods. The old park was as creepy as heck, but Bill didn’t have time to notice. Bill had caught sight of the guy near the old coaster. The wooden structure had not fared well.

Two thirds of the paint had worn totally away, exposing the dusky light black of sunburned wood. The side rails were missing on this portion of track that dipped low to the ground and was entangled in weeds and tall grass. The rusting metal rails in the center of the track traced uphill. Higher and higher they rose into the sky.

The suspect had ducked under this rotting portion of track at the spot before the coaster veered sharply to the right. This part of the track was extremely rickety. Half of the underpinning was gone. Bill prayed as he ducked under the rotting wood that the whole structure would not collapse on top of him.

Maury flashed before his eyes. He had a fleeting glimpse of Skippy, too.

Everything he loved was on the line. Bill shook his head, and the visions of his loved ones dissolved before his eyes. He caught a jerky movement up ahead.

Diving under the wooden underpinning, Bill tore off after his suspect. It was no telling what the kid was on. It used to be that beer and alcohol were the worst things kid’s bought. Now, there were designer drugs that turned them into insane monsters. Bill had witnessed their crazy rages. He did not know why some of those kids’ hearts didn’t explode in their chests.

They snorted and smoked and shot into their veins all kinds of natural and man-made substances. Depending on what poison they infused into their bodies, they could go without sleep for days. Some of them exhibited truly superhuman abilities. Strong as oxen, faster than cheetahs.

They were invincible. At least in their own minds.

And Bill had watched clear-faced adolescents and adults turn into grotesque shadows of their former selves. Scarred with the sores and bruises of meth, tracked with needle marks from heroin and cocaine abuse. It was appalling.

And the prescription addicts were just as worse.

Bill sometimes felt like the little Dutch boy, holding his finger in a leaking dam that was just about to break and drown them all in a tide of human misery.

Right now, he wondered if retirement wouldn’t be a better option than chasing some half-crazed, high addict through the abandoned amusement park.

But no.

Bill Winthrop loved what he did. He hated what folks did to themselves and others, but the job of sheriff was what he had been born to do. The jaw muscles in Bill’s jaw clenched tightly. His resolve was stronger than ever.

He would catch this piece of human trash and put him away.

Or die trying.

E
lwin Dollie listened
for any sign of the suspect. He had given chase, running as fast as he could down the path that Bill and the addict had taken. But his foot had become entangled in a root, and Elwin had tumbled forward on his face. It was a hard fall. He couldn’t be sure he had not lost consciousness.

Elwin’s nose throbbed. He hoped he hadn’t broken it on the uneven paving of the path. This place was a jungle of decay and overgrowth. He thought he heard something near the roller coaster. Elwin ran toward it.

He was winded from the fall and breathing through his mouth because his nose had started to bleed. He stopped to catch his breath. There was evidence of broken twigs and trampled grass near a low spot where the old roller coaster almost touched the ground. The blackness underneath the rotting wooden hulk looked far from friendly.

“Shoot,” Elwin muttered, “there’s probably a million snakes under that thing.”

Elwin hated snakes. He hated lawbreakers more. Wiping his bloody nose on his shirt sleeve, Elwin spat on the ground. It was blood-tinged. The blood from his nose was draining down his throat. Elwin swallowed hard. He looked closely at the opening underneath the coaster, straining to see if any snakes lay coiled nearby.

“Shoot,” he said, once more.

He dove into the blackness. Elwin batted at the cobwebs and spider webs that hung down in front of him. The air underneath the coaster had a wet, rotten smell. The dead leaves slid beneath the soles of his shoes. Elwin stumbled under the coaster, glad for the sun on the other side.

He looked left and right, trying to see a broken twig, a piece of cloth, anything that would direct him to the sheriff. The whole area was a tangle of vines and poison oak. Elwin was faced with a choice. He could charge into the snarl ahead or take a less overgrown route to his right.

Elwin bolted east. He ran about 150 yards, coming out at what was once a fairy tale house called Mrs. Oblopolopotros. The crumbling structure now reminded Elwin of his worst nightmare. Pickets that once stood tall and vertical were leaning and weathered. A wet ditch filled with trash and debris trailed across the doorway. Vines covering the fairy house looked as if the house itself was fertilizing them. They were tremendous, trailing and intertwining, and poking out of the windows of the collapsing house.

Here was fun turned to insanity.

Elwin stood in front of the house, trying to decide whether or not to go in. No birds sang. The wind was deathly still. The sun slid behind a cloud. Daylight blinked from sunny yellow to blue-gray. Elwin heard his heart beating in his ears.

“El!” Bill called out.

Elwin followed the sound of Bill’s voice.

He ran past the Ferris wheel and saw Bill standing over the boy. The youth was cuffed but cursing.

“How’d you collar ’im?” Elwin asked.

“I didn’t have to,” Bill said. “He ran right into a hole, over there.”

Bill pointed to a tangle of weeds on his left.

“It’s some kind of drainage pit, I guess,” Bill said. “It’s shallow, but deep enough to trip up ’im up. I think the buzzard broke his ankle.”

“That doesn’t usually stop ’em,” Elwin said.

“Hit his head on a rock, too. Knocked himself right out.”

“How we gonna get him outta here?” Elwin asked.

“You got me,” Bill said. “I was just before seein’ if we had service out here. Grab your cell, and see if you can call up the EMS.”

It took several hours, but the rescue team arrived, loading the youth on a stretcher. He was carried out of MEGA park and sent to the hospital.

Maury and Hadley and Beanie were standing beside the giant clown when Bill and Elwin finally exited the park. Maury fell on Bill’s neck.

“Elwin Dollie,” Beanie said, “they takin’ you to the hospistal, too?”

“Yes, you are going, Elwin,” Bill said. “Don’t even start to say you’re not.”

“Elwin!” Maury said. “Are you all right?”

“I’m all right,” Elwin said.

“Looks like that Barrymore profile might be ruined, Elwin,” Hadley said.

“Bill,” Maury said, “are you hurt?”

“No,” Bill said. “I look like somethin’ the cat drug home, but it’s nothin’ that a good, hot bath won’t fix.”

“Hadley phoned me,” Maury said. “I’ve been on pins and needles all afternoon.”

“Ruth’s thinking of pinning a medal on Sprat’s chest,” Hadley said. “Sprat’s the goose that saved me.”

“She needs to,” said Bill. “Of all the hair-brained things, Hadley, what were you thinking showing up like that?”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Hadley said.

“Well, this time your curiosity almost got you killed,” Bill said.

“I know,” said Hadley. “Thank the good Lord for an angry goose.”

“Is that the killer guard goose you told me about, honey?” Bill asked Maury.

“One in the same,” said Maury. “But after today, I think even I have become one of that crazy bird’s fans.”

“Can I have a medal, too?” Beanie asked.

“We’ll get you one just like Sprat’s, Bean,” Hadley said.

“Medals for a goose and a bean,” Beanie said. “Or a bean and a goose.”

“Either way you want it, Bean,” Hadley said. “I think it’s time we all go home.”

“Amen,” said Maury.

“Amen,” said Beanie.

T
he red-tailed
hawk sat majestically on its perch in a large flight pen. Hadley walked by and admired the striking regal air of the raptor.

“Chester has been exercising you,” Ruth said. “And you have been doing well, old girl.”

The staff had been monitoring the progress of the bird, making sure she was able to maneuver and fly well. She had passed her pre-release examination of her feet and feathers. Blood had been taken, and all her blood work labs came back within normal limits. Chester has put her through tests of endurance, perching, and live prey-to-prey testing for two successive nights. Ruth told Hadley that if the bird passed tonight’s test, she would be released the next day.

Hadley found Ruth in the back room taking inventory of the drug supplies.

“Ruth, would it be okay with you if I asked Skip to come to the hawk release tomorrow? Maury has been worried about him because he spends so much time alone on that land his grandfather left him. I think it would do him some good to be around people for a change if you don’t mind.”

“You know,” Ruth said, “I think that would be a fine idea. If Skip hadn’t rescued the hawk that day, she would never have been able to fly and survive on her own. I think Skip should be the one to release her back into the wild. He’s a great young man. I see him sometimes at Pixies, but he always seems so busy, I hardly get to say anything more than ‘hello’ to him at the store.”

“Thanks,” Hadley said. “I’ll call him and let him know if she passes her last test tonight that he can have the honors of releasing her back into the wild. I think he would like because I know how much he loves the woods himself.”

“Since he found her near his land, maybe he would give us permission to release her there,” Ruth said.

“That’s a splendid idea,” Hadley said. “I will ask him tonight, and I’ll let you know.”

The day passed uneventfully. Chester put the hawk to the test of catching her own dinner and once again, she passed with flying colors. Ruth called Hadley and told her that the hawk was scheduled to be released the next day.

Hadley called Skip.

“Hey, Skippy,” Hadley said. “It’s your favorite aunt.”

“You always say that, Auntie H.,” Skip said. “But, I gotta admit. It’s true. What’s up?”

“They’re releasing your hawk tomorrow. We think that since you found her and brought her to the center, you should be the one who releases her back into her natural habitat.”

“That sounds great!”

“She was injured near your place, Skip. What do you think about setting free on your land?”

“I love the idea.”

Hadley made plans to meet him at the rescue center in the morning.

Everything was set for the release. Now, it was time to feed Onus and herself. Hadley stood in her garage opening some cans for her dinner. She didn’t want to send Onus into his can opener frenzy. Juggling the cans, she opened her kitchen door.

Onus looked up at Hadley with his “wanna fight” look.

“Are you mad at me?” Hadley asked.

She put down her cans on the counter. She moved toward the cat. He blinked and took off into a back room of the house.

“Why am I talking to a cat?” she muttered.

After cleaning up the dishes, she decided to practice on her guitar. Sitting on the hearth of her fireplace, she tried to pick out the notes of the song Hobie had played. She thought of Ruth and wondered if she was going to be okay after discovering Declan’s secret.

Onus ambled into the room. Hadley strummed a few chords. She began to sing.

“
R
EOOOWWW
”

“Okay, Onus,” Hadley said. “I get it. I can’t believe you adhere to that old superstition that ghosts enjoy hearing people sing and will come to listen. They like good singers, Onus. Not folks who butcher a tune with their voices, like me.”

Onus looked up at her, half-closing his eyelids.

“Okay! Okay!” Hadley said, “I told you I get it. Just play. Don’t sing. I’m glad you’re not a pig. They say pigs can see ghosts. If there is a ghost outside my window listening in, I’d prefer not to know it, thank you very much. Besides, I’ve got my star quilt on the bed. That should be protection enough against any ghost. Not that I believe in them, you understand, but I think Beanie’s rubbing off on me. Better safe than sorry, huh, old bird.”

Hadley quietly strummed thinking about the mysterious doctor who had swooped into Ruth’s life and just as quickly had flown back out on his plane.

“Sometimes I just don’t understand men, Onus. I’m glad you came to me already neutered.”