Chapter SIX
With the sheriff following closely, Jamison had never driven so perfectly in his life.
He held his breath, as he always had, when he drove under that beloved arch of tree branches that meant his journey was over. The trees had been there since the beginning of time if their size had much to do with it. And even though they were in front of the neighbor's house, not Granddad's, it was still the gateway to home.
The Parker Place, that had turned into the Somerled Compound/Farm three years before, was typical of most farms. The house sat out close to the road with a decent sized lawn in front. The driveway ran down the right side of the house, widened in the rear, then ran back out along the left side. No one with a brain would think about entering down the left side of the house, even without an exit sign.
That's what Jamison liked about his small town. There wasn't a need to mark every entrance and exit to keep traffic flowing. Drivers knew how to drive. People didn't live on top of each other, getting pissed when someone had their music up too loud or on too late at night. In the country, no one was close enough to hear.
Even Man Exploding Ceremonies could be safely carried out without your neighbors knowing, unless your neighbor was stupid enough to be up at three in the morning, which no neighbor should.
Guilt fell to his shoulders like a heavy horse blanket as he pulled around the back of the Somerled's. Whatever had happened to his friends was his fault. If he'd been a good neighbor, only one person would have disappeared last night, not three. And he wasn't responsible for the first one. Poor idiot.
On top of it all, his grandfather wouldn't be too happy with him being so inhospitable as to drive instead of walking over, let alone bringing a cop for backup. But at least feeling guilty was better that being scared to death that he'd be the next one to disappear—although that hadn't completely been ruled out. Of course, if they did decide to make Jamison disappear in a few days, he'd have his curiosity satisfied; he'd finally know what had happened to his friends.
The back porch was a wide crescent. The concrete still had traces of the red paint Old Man Parker had painted on it. For the first time the dark burgundy paint chips reminded him of dried blood.
No doubt the original owners, Parkers or not, had thought it would look nice if the porch matched the large burgundy bricks of the house. The curb made a nice burgundy border all along the driveway, but it had been repainted sometime in the past thirty years and wasn't chipping like the rest.
Jamison parked about half-way between the first barn and the house, blocking no one. The sheriff once again parked behind him.
No backing out now.
Jamison got out of the car and leaned on the open door for a minute. The sheriff's door slammed heavily in the quiet yard made entirely of gravel and dirt. The chicken coop was quiet. The washed-out barn wood seemed to absorb every sound, and the distant bellow of a cow was the only sign the place hadn't been deserted, like Ray's.
The storm door squeaked open, as it had the night before.
A blond man emerged, his long hair tied together behind his head. His white clothes were spotless, his shoulders wider than football pads. He lingered at the top of the steps and wiggled the door back and forth.
“Jonathan, bring something to get rid of this squeak, would you?” he called over his shoulder, into the dark house. “We don't want to be bothering our neighbors every time we go outside.” He turned and grinned directly at Jamison. “Young Kenneth. Sheriff? What brings you to our place?” He put his hands on his hips and paused on the top step for only a second before he started down.
Jamison's automatic reaction was to back away, hope the sheriff would take the lead and start a conversation that would miraculously end with a signed confession and his friends being dragged out of the basement, a little bruised, but still alive. He fought that urge and stepped forward instead, finally shutting his car door, to keep himself from crawling back inside and driving away like an idiot.
“Actually, I go by Jamison, not Kenneth.”
“Skye around?” The sheriff asked before Jamison could say anymore.
“She's around, but she's not able to join us at the moment.” The big blond folded his arms and continued to grin at Jamison. “Has she done something wrong, Sheriff?”
The officer laughed. “No. Of course not. I just thought maybe Jamison might like to talk to her, but if she's busy—”
The screen squeaked open again and another man stepped out. This one was just as tall, a little leaner, and had dark hair down to his shoulders that waved in all the wrong directions. Jamison's first thought was that someone should knit him a nice white hat. And holy crap, he should wear it all the time.
There was something about his face that made up for the rudeness of the blond. At least he wasn't grinning. And he wasn't fixing anything. The squeak of the tight spring ended abruptly when the door slammed into its casing. They’d been more careful the night before.
“Have you all met?” the sheriff asked.
Jamison shook his head.
“Forgive me. Lucas, this is Jamison Shaw, Kenneth's grandson, as you already know. Jamison, this is Lucas Somerled and that's Jonathan.”
Jonathan nodded. Lucas kept grinning. Jamison wanted to knock that grin into the dirt.
Lucas laughed as if he'd read his thoughts.
“All right, Jamison. We're here. Get on with it.” The sheriff moved a little closer and faced the Somerleds alongside him. Poor guy. He probably thought he was there to ask Skye to the stupid dance.
Jamison was disgusted when his brain started weighing the possible benefits of doing just that, instead of making a fool of himself, like he'd planned.
Please God, he prayed silently, let me be brave this one time, for my friends.
Lucas stopped smiling and Jonathan started. Maybe Lucas didn't like the idea of him asking Skye out and Jonathan did. Who knew what was going on in their minds? He'd never understand these people.
Jamison cleared his throat. Twice.
“Actually, Sherriff, I came to get my friends. Ray Peters and Burke Costley. They were here last night and never left.” He folded his arms and waited. Brave wasn’t so bad. He wished it had been an option in Texas, but it hadn’t.
Lucas was smiling again, but only slightly. “Were they here last night?” His hands never left his hips.
“They were, and apparently they never left. They weren't at school, and the Peters’s house looks abandoned.”
The sheriff grabbed Jamison's shoulder and turned him, looking him in the eye.
“Oh, son. I wish you would have explained what you were up to. I could have told you your friends aren't here. Let's drive over to your place and we'll talk about it, with your mom.”
The bottom fell out of Jamison's stomach and his heart dropped through the gap, to the gravel at his feet. He’d never get the rocks out now; his friends were dead and it was all his fault.
“My mom?” Jamison's mouth moved without his help. “I've got to pick her up at work.”
“That’s all right. You run home and I'll pick her up. She got on at Marsden & Marsden, right? We'll meet you back at the house.” The man headed for his vehicle. “Lucas? Can you see Jamison makes it home, please?”
Jamison headed for his car, trying not to scurry away from the murderers, but then stopped. He wasn't going to scurry anywhere. He stepped up close to the SUV as the sheriff backed up to pull around the car.
“Wait. Sheriff, wait.” The SUV stopped, the window came down. “Don't you want to know what happened here last night?”
The sheriff turned off his engine and looked over Jamison's head, exchanging a look with Lucas. Every horror movie Jamison had ever seen started playing through his mind, or rather, the parts where the main character had chosen the wrong person to trust.
Dear God, please don't let them be in on it together.
The sheriff took off his hat and laid it on the seat next to him, then leaned his arm on the open window. “What's the boy talking about, Lucas?”
Lucas shrugged. “His friends aren't here. That's all I can say.”
Jamison grabbed the sheriff's forearm.
“They...they...they've got a man missing. Ask them.”
Lucas walked closer, the other one, Jonathan, right behind him.
“Yeah, I guess we're short a man, sheriff, but only because Marcus has left us. He's been called away. Other farms aren't doing as well as ours.”
“We had a little going-away party for him last night,” offered Jonathan. “Perhaps the boy thought his friends came here for that. Although I didn't know Marcus knew the other two.”
Jamison heard a voice in his head pleading with him to let it go, but he couldn't. Not this time. He wasn't going to allow his home to become like Texas; he wouldn't hide anymore.
“They're not telling you the whole thing, sheriff. They killed someone last night. My bet is, it was Marcus. Ray and Burke saw it happen.”
Lucas laughed. “And did you witness this murder too, young Jamison?”
Jamison looked first at Lucas, then at the sheriff. Here was his last chance to save himself, but he tossed the chance over his shoulder, like a pinch of salt, for luck.
Boy witnesses a murder. Boy reports the murder. There is no body. Soon...there is no boy.
Screw it.
“Yeah, I saw it too.”
***
Ten minutes later, Jamison fidgeted while he, the sheriff and Jonathan watched Lucas maneuver his big shoulders up through the drop door of the clubhouse.
“This is dangerous. We should tear this thing down.” The sheriff pushed on a beam that held up the roof; it didn't give an inch.
Jamison grinned. “A Scotsman built it. It won’t budge unless God blows the tree down. Sir.” It was his now. Okay, if Granddad never came home again, it was his.
“Your grandpa’s said that a hundred times. But any of us could have been killed climbing up here. One day some little kid—”
“—little kids can't even reach the second rung. Sir.”
The sheriff huffed and stepped over to the window. He'd called for a deputy to pick up Mom. She was going to freak out when the guy got to her, thinking instantly that her son was either not safe, not warm, not fed, or not happy. When they told her he was fine, she wasn't going to be too happy herself, but he'd deal with it when she got there. Right then, he had some confessing to do.
“Okay, let's hear it.” The sheriff moved to the picture window.
Lucas and Jonathan stood back. They looked only mildly curious.
“Well, Ray heard Skye talking to another Somerled about how she wasn't looking forward to the three a.m. gathering.” Jamison looked at Lucas. “It wasn't Skye's fault. Ray likes to pretend he's listening to his music, with his earphones on, so he can eavesdrop.”
No one interrupted, so he turned back to the window and went on.
“So we came up here to see what might happen. It was cold.” He shivered with the memory of the temperature alone. “At three we heard their screen door open, so we knew something was up. But then Ray and Burke had to pee and climbed down. That's when I saw them.”
“Who?”
“Somerleds, I guess. Lots of people dressed in white robes. Moving through the field, to the circle...over...”
Damn.
It was gone! The crop circle was gone. Holy crap, how did they do it?
Lucas cleared his throat, probably to cover his laughter. He knew what Jamison was going to say, knew he’d look like an idiot if he said it.
Crop circles and conspiracy? He'd be headed for his first drug test if he opened his mouth.
Not this time. He wasn't going to cave now.
“They all had little flashlights or something, because I could see what was going on. They...made a big circle in the field, and I know this is going to sound stupid, but someone walked into the center of the circle and then...there was an explosion. The guy in the center just exploded. There weren't even any chunks left of him I don't think.”
“Woah. Hold it.” The sheriff looked not out the window, but at the two men behind him. “I don't suppose you want to confirm anything he's said so far.”
“No. No. Let him keep talking.”
Jamison could feel himself blushing hot in the cool air. Dusk was coming fast. If they were going to find traces of anything in the field, they had to move quickly.
“The field. We should look before it gets any later.” Jamison waited for the Somerleds to move away from the hole before he started climbing down. He chose his grip carefully, in case he got shoved from behind. His hands were shaking, and that pissed him off.
It didn't matter. The sheriff would be able to tell where the stalks had been bent over. There had to be char marks from the explosion. There had to be something. What he really needed was a couple of friends to back him up, but they'd already been eliminated. So if he was going to be vindicated, they had to get to the field. Who knew how well the Somerleds could clean a field in the middle of the night, if given the chance? They'd already managed to un-circle a freaking crop!
Just as he touched ground and backed away from the mighty tree's roots, however, a sheriff's truck pulled up and his mother jumped out. She hurried toward the tree and frowned as she watched the three men carefully make their way down the widespread rungs.
“What's going on?” She turned to Jamison and raised the famous eyebrow.
***
Skye didn’t know what she’d expected, but when she’d told Lucas of the connection between herself and their mortal neighbor, he’d said, “Interesting,” and walked away. As he’d passed Jonathan, however, the two had exchanged a look that led Skye to believe the pair weren’t telling her something.
It wouldn’t be appropriate to demand to know their secrets—but she was determined to work it out of Jonathan later.
Skye stood at her bedroom window looking out on the cornfield. She stayed out of sight, as Jonathan had suggested; if someone looked her way, they’d only see curtains.
Sheriff Cooke, a pleasant and patient man for the most part, was proving even more patient than usual, going back over rows that had already been examined and listening to Jamison’s story over and over. Every once in a while, he’d take off his cowboy hat, rub the back of his neck, then pull the hat down tight and start looking again.
Lori Shaw, Jamison’s mother, searched the field too, showing complete trust in her son. When sunlight could no longer illuminate anything more than the tassels, it was Jamison who finally gave up. He must have realized they were all waiting for him to cry uncle.
As his mother followed him inside the house and Lucas walked the sheriff and his deputy back to their vehicles, Skye again wished she could have wept. Jamison had done an incredibly brave thing.
And no one would be allowed to remember any of it in the morning.
She prayed he would at least be able to remember her.