Moonbog (14 page)

Sammy stopped on the second step and turned to face his mother. His jaw worked back and forth with nervous twitches, and he felt his eyes beginning to water, as though he had just finished running real hard. “But Mom—”

“But nothing!”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Sammy suddenly shouted. “There was
someone else
there!”

Leah felt as though her stomach were suddenly filled with ice. “What—?” She stepped forward and gripped the banister tightly, as though she needed it to keep her standing. “What did you say?”

“There was a man out there, there in the Bog,” Sammy cried out. His eyes were stinging badly now. “I saw his . . . his bootprint in the mud.. He was out there, and I couldn’t find Jeffy!”

“Who?” Leah stepped forward and grabbed her son’s arms. “Who was out there?”

“I don’t know.” Sammy suddenly collapsed into his mother’s arms, and when he let his tears flow, his voice broke off into a series of rasping hitches. “Some some . . . someone. I don’t . . . know . . . who.”

“Did you see him?” Leah asked, panic filling her. “Did you?”

“No . . . I . . . I didn’t.”

“And Jeffy got lost? Is that it?

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” Sammy wailed, and then he collapsed into a sitting position on the stairs. Leah forced herself to be calm and sat down beside him.

“OK, hon’, OK. Take it easy.” She stroked his hair away from his forehead. Her eyes were riveted to the twisted pain in her son’s eyes. “Tell me what happened.”

“We were playing guns. . . . It was getting dark . . . and . . . and Jeffy ran off into the Bog. When I . . . when I followed him, I knew I wasn’t supposed to. Honest, I did . . . but . . . but he would’ve called me a chicken or something if I hadn’t gone after him.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have, and he would have come right back,” Leah said softly, calmly. She wasn’t feeling soft and calm, but she knew she had to disguise the fear that was welling up within her.

“He would’ve called me a chicken . . . so I went . . . I went after him. He just disappeared, though. I called and called, but . . . but he didn’t answer.” Again, Sammy collapsed in a series of sobs. He pressed his face against his mother’s shoulder. When he regained his composure a bit, he pulled his head back and continued. “I followed, and I kept my eyes open. I was careful. I watched out for quicksand and stuff.”

“That’s good, hon’,” Leah said, patting his shoulder.

“I figured he’d run up toward Judkins field, ‘cause we weren’t supposed to be near the Bog . . . but then . . . then I heard a sound from toward the Bog, so I went that way, and that’s when I saw the footprint.”

“Jeffy’s footprint?” Leah asked. She wanted Sammy to say that, yes, it had been Jeffy’s footprint, but she dreaded what she knew was coming.

“No . . . no.” Sammy shook his head wildly back and forth. “It was a big one. A man’s footprint. That’s when I got scared and ran. And that’s when I fell and lost my sneaker and cut my face.”

Leah looked down at Sammy’s tear-stained face. His eyes were glassy and red-rimmed from crying; in their depths, she saw a frightened, haunted look. She fought to control her voice. “There, there,” she cooed, pulling him close to her. “Everything’s OK now. You’re home, safe and sound.” As she spoke, her mind raced over the possibilities; she always came back to the thought that Sammy and Jeffy had
almost
seen the person who had killed Billy Wilson and left him in the Bog. All other possibilities—lovers looking for a secluded place, someone on a nature walk, maybe Chief Shaw or a deputy scouting the area—just didn’t ring true in her mind.

“But what about Jeffy?” Sammy asked, pulling away from her for a moment and looking up. “I hope he’s OK.”

Leah’s stomach clenched. A shivery tingle spread up the back of her neck and across her shoulders. “You mean you didn’t wait for him?” she asked. Now there was no way to disguise the fear she was feeling.

“No, I . . . I got scared and came right home,” Sammy moaned.

“You
didn’t wait for him?
Oh my God!”

“He’ll be all right, won’t he?”

Leah held her son at arm’s length and studied his face. “You came right home? You didn’t talk with Jeffy’s mother or father?”

Sammy nodded.

“Oh God!” Leah ran her fingers through her hair, stood up, and walked rapidly to the telephone. “I hope to God he is,” she said, picking up the receiver and beginning to dial. “I hope to God he is!”

The phone rang once—twice—three times. Leah stood listening, studying the earnest anxiety that twisted Sammy’s face. She covered the mouthpiece with her hand and said to Sammy, “Go to the bathroom and get cleaned up.”

—Four rings.

“But Mom, I wanna’—”

“Go. Now. Please,” Leah said firmly, and watched as Sammy began to climb the stairs.

—Five rings.

“Oh, God, please be there. Please let him be all right,” she whispered. She didn’t watch Sammy get to the top of the stairs, so she didn’t notice that he stopped there and looked back down, listening.

—Six rings.

What would she say to Mrs. Hollis. Probably, Jeffy had come home mud-caked and cut like Sammy, after fighting his way out of the Bog after it got dark. Leah figured she was probably over-reacting and should just hang up.

—Seven rings.

There was no sense getting Jeffy’s parents all worked up. If something had happened, she’d hear before long . . . and what could she do about it anyway?

—Eight rings.

“Hello?” a tense-sounding voice said as the receiver at the other end of the line was picked up. It was Mrs. Hollis.

Leah paused, took a swallow of air, and said, “Hello, Linda. This is Leah. I was—”

Before she could continue, Linda Hollis broke in. “Are the boys there at your house?” she asked sharply.

Leah squinted, staring at the ceiling as it turned watery from her eyes welling up. “Oh my—”

“I’ve been calling them for supper for the past half hour.”

“Sammy . . . Sammy. . . .” Leah felt her tears, hot and salty, run down her cheeks. “Sammy came home almost an hour ago.”

There was a long silence on Mrs. Hollis’ end of the line. Then, fighting to keep herself under control, Leah told her what Sammy had told her. The panic and pain were just beginning.

VIII

M
arshall squinted as he jiggled the change in the palm of his hand and counted out fifty cents. He plunked it onto the counter, avoiding Roy Cutler’s outstretched hand.

“There yah go,” Marshall said, folding the paper and tucking it under his arm. “I appreciate you holdin’ it for me.”

“I’m glad you finally picked it up, Mr. Logan. You usually have been in here by now. I could’ve sold this here paper six or seven times by now.”

“Well, you know. Been busy at the house. ‘N the old legs ain’t quite what they used to be. Not half so sprightly.”

“Ain’t we all,” Roy said, shaking his head from side to side. Both men looked up when the door jingled open and in walked a man of about thirty followed by his two boys.

“Evenin’, Roy,” the man said, nodding. Then he looked at Marshall and nodded again, silently. “Howdy, Ned, boys.”

The youngsters didn’t follow their father to the back of the store. They made a bee-line for the counter display of gum, candy, and bubblegum cards. Marshall watched them and smiled, but he could see the way they sort of shied from him, twisting their shoulders just slightly away. Their father was over at the magazine rack leafing through the new issue of
Playboy
.

“Wow, look at this yo-yo,” the older boy said, holding up a shiny red Duncan.

“Neat,” the younger one said, barely looking up from the pack of
Star Wars
bubblegum cards he held.

Roy moved out from behind the counter and began pacing the front of the store. It was his tactic for discouraging any of the brightly packaged items from finding their way into a coat pocket before they had been paid for. Roy felt slightly angry whenever a married man or a father came in and looked at
Playboy
; there was something
wrong
about that, he felt.

Marshall stood there for a while, looking at the younger boy, whose eyes fought the temptation to stare at the shaggy, old man who stood there beside him. The young boy was conscious of a stale tobacco smell that reminded him of his grandfather.

“You really like
Star Wars
, huh?” Marshall asked. He put his hands on his knees and leaned down.

“Yeah, it’s
neat!
”

“Jason,” the older boy said, firm caution touching his voice.

“You see the movie?” Marshall asked.

“Yeah. Three times!”

“Three times? Really?” Marshall smiled wider now and laughed.

“Ja-
SON!
” his older brother repeated. He had put the Duncan yo-yo back and took a threatening step toward his brother.

“You must have all the cards in the series by now, don’t yah?”

“No. Almost, though.”

Marshall winked. The older boy came up behind his brother and pulled roughly on the back of his jacket. “Jason, I’m gonna’ tell Dad. You know you ain’t supposed to talk to—” He didn’t continue, but looked up at Marshall with a sharp glance.

“We’re just talking,” Marshall said softly. “No harm in that.”

“My folks say we ain’t suppose to talk to anyone we don’t know,” the older boy said with authority. “Come on, Jason.” He pulled again on his younger brother, almost tripping him.

“I’m just looking at these,” Jason said sharply.

“Come on!”

“Leave me alone.” In defiance, Jason took a feeble poke at his older brother. This old man wasn’t a total stranger to him. Anyone who smelled like grandad and knew about
Star Wars
couldn’t be all bad.

“He’s just an ole boogeyman. Got boogers on him,” the older boy said. He pulled his brother again. This time, when Jason shoved back, he got another, harder push.

“Cut it out! Leave me alone!” Jason yelled. He was just cocking his arm back to take another swing at his brother when his father stepped out from behind one of the displays.

“What’s going on here,” he shouted, and both boys cringed.

“Jason started it.”

“I did
not!
You did!”

The father looked angrily at one boy, then the other, then at Marshall. “Just quit your squabbling and come on.” He paused and held out his hand to Jason. “What have you got there?”

“Cards. You said I could get some—”

“Give ‘em here,” his father demanded.

“But Dad—”

“We’re going home.” He took the cards and tossed them onto the counter. Then he spun Jason around on his heel and headed him toward the door.

“The smelly old boogeyman was talking to him,” the older boy said, as though this was the last, most damning piece of evidence against Jason. Again, the father gave Marshall a harsh look. Marshall’s ears were burning. He wanted to leave right then, but not while the father and boys were still there.

“That’s enough out of you, young man,” the father said.

Jason walked out the door, followed by his father. The older boy was last to go, but just before he stepped outside, he paused in the doorway and said, “Nothing but an old boogeyman. You got boogers all over your face.” Before he could say anymore, his father’s hand clamped down on his shoulder and pulled him away. Marshall watched as the door whispered shut.

“Kids,” Roy said as he came around to the counter, picked up the pack of
Star Wars
cards and placed them back on the display.

“No manners in that older one,” Marshall said grumpily.

“I dunno’,” Roy said, “it just seems like kids got no respect these days, you know?”

Marshall nodded. “Trouble is, there ain’t enough hide-tanning these days. Parents are too soft, so kids grow up to be like that.” He hitched his thumb toward the closed door. “Well, thanks for holdin’ the paper, Roy. I got a little busy and lost track of the time.”

“Sure,” Roy said. “No problem.”

“Evenin’,” Marshall said and then left the store.

IX

D
avid woke with a start three hours later. The room was dark and cold and, disoriented for a second, he wondered where he was. When he remembered that Allison was waiting for him at the motel, he jumped to us feet. His shins banged solidly against the coffee table, and he went sprawling onto the floor. The sound of his fall filled the house with a strange tension.

Glancing at the luminous dial of his watch, he saw that it was after seven o’clock. “Holy ole’ Jesus,” he muttered, reaching for the couch to help him stand up. Reaching blindly in front of himself, he fumbled his way over to the living room doorway.

“She’s going to be pissed,” he muttered as he moved slowly down the hallway toward the door. Would she think that something had happened to him? He wondered. Maybe she was really upset and had already called Shaw and reported him missing. He wished the phone in the house was still connected.