The Wildman

Chapter FIFTEEN

Without End





“I knew you’d come here if you made it,” the voice said.

Jeff froze in mid-step until he started to lose his balance and almost fell before he finally placed his foot back down on solid ground.

For a terrifying moment, he wanted to believe he had imagined hearing that voice. He was so far past the point of exhaustion he knew he was susceptible to all kinds of visual and auditory hallucinations. All he could think was he had to get some place warm and safe or else he was going to die.

His shoulders hunched and pressed forward, constricting his chest as he blinked his eyes against the rain and looked up to the crest of the hill. He was about halfway up the slope, but at the top, silhouetted against the night sky, was a black figure.

A deep roll of laughter filled the night as the figure shifted forward. Jeff rubbed his eyes, hoping the vision would go away; but even as he started taking short steps backwards, shifting his feet without lifting them, the figure resolved more clearly.

And then the voice came again.

“You’re a lot tougher than I gave you credit. The others …?” There was a loud harrumphing sound of derision and then the person spat onto the ground. “They were cowards. Weaklings. I assumed you were, too, but I’ve got to give you credit, Jeff. You’ve got sand.”

Who the hell are you? Jeff wanted to shout, but he already knew. He knew as certainly as if there were looking at Ben in broad daylight.

And even though it was dark and the rain made it just about impossible to see clearly, Jeff knew Ben’s gun was aimed at him.

“Are … you … real?” Jeff said through chattering teeth that diced every word.

He didn’t know if his voice carried far enough for Ben to hear him until another deep rumble of laughter rolled down onto him like a landslide. It was all too easy to imagine this was Jimmy Foster’s ghost, come to mock him or Hobomock somehow materializing and coming to torment him before destroying him.

The problem was, as much as Jeff wanted to deny what was happening, he knew as surely as the icy grip the night had on his bones that Ben had found him.

But how?

“I … I don’t want to die.” Jeff’s voice was all but lost beneath the steady sound of the downpour.

“What’s that you say?” Ben leaned forward and cupped one hand to his ear. “I didn’t quite catch that, Jeff.”

He started walking down the slope toward Jeff, moving a few steps at a time. He was wearing a hooded raincoat that made him look like a huge statue carved out the night. All the darkness, all the terrors of the forest had congealed into this one horrifying figure.

“You’ll never make me beg,” Jeff said through clenched teeth. He stiffened his shoulders. “I know who you are … I know what you’re doing.”

“Oh, really? And pray tell. What is that?”

“No.” Jeff shook his head so hard his neck made a loud snapping sound. He flinched, thinking Ben had fired at him, and he hadn’t heard the shot that had just killed him.

“What’s that?” Ben’s voice rose. “You’re gonna have to speak up.”

Ben took another few steps closer, moving silently down the slope. Jeff chanced a quick glance over his shoulder, but all he saw was the dark, flat surface of the lake and the black angle of the launch ramp jutting out of the water. He imagined turning and running into the lake if only to confound Ben, but he knew he wouldn’t survive the shock of the cold water. He had reached his limit. Truth was, he had passed it long ago. It was a miracle he’d survived this long. He should be proud of what he had accomplished even if it meant the next few minutes were to be his last.

“I said I’m not going to beg for my life.”

Jeff’s voice sounded stronger now. Even he was surprised by the firmness and determination he managed to muster, but all it seemed to do was amuse Ben, who kept moving slowly, inexorably forward. As he got closer, Jeff saw the pistol in his hand.

“Hell, I don’t expect you to beg,” Ben said with an eerie calmness in his voice. “What’s that famous line from Goldfinger? ‘No, Mr. Bond. I expect you to die.’” Ben’s voice suddenly twisted into a shrill note. “That’s what I expect!”

When Jeff reached the bottom of the slope, he stopped on the dirt road. He shifted his weight from side to side, preparing to run … somewhere … anywhere.

“That’s my only plan, Jeff. To kill you. You’re the last one.”

“And once I’m dead … what then?” Jeff was amazed how—somehow—he found the courage to challenge Ben. He couldn’t break now. He had to go down defiant to the end.

“After you’re dead—?” Ben paused, and then a high, maniacal laughter filled the night for a few seconds before fading away with a dull echo from across the water. “After that, I could just about give a flying f*ck.” The odd flatness in his voice had returned and was tinged with a note of wistfulness.

“I know you’re doing this because you think we were somehow responsible for what happened to your brother,” Jeff said. “But don’t you see? There was nothing we could do.”

“I thought you said you weren’t going to beg,” Ben said with derisive snort.

“I’m not begging. I’m just telling you … there was nothing any of us could have done. Christ, Ben. We were kids. You can’t—”

A flash of light filled the night, followed a split second later by the report of the gun. The bullet ricocheted off the ground with a loud whine inches from Jeff’s left foot.

Jeff flinched, thinking for an instant he’d been hit, but then he realized he hadn’t …

Not yet … He’s toying with me.

He looked left and right, desperate to find someplace to hide, but he knew he didn’t have the strength to run. His only sliver of hope was the thought that Ben wasn’t immortal, either. He must be nearly as exhausted as Jeff. If he could just get away somehow …

But there was no cover within fifty feet on either side. He’d be gunned down before he took three steps.

“I know it won’t change anything if I tell you I’m sor—”

Another shot split the night. The bullet zipped past Jeff’s ear, sounding like an angry hornet before it plunked into the lake behind him.

Jeff turned to one side, hoping to make a smaller target. Maybe Ben hadn’t reloaded recently … maybe he’d run out of bullets, teasing him like this.

“It’s way f*ckin’ too late for apologies, Jeff.” Ben said, still using a low, even tone of voice that sounded perfectly rational. “When my brother died, do you know it killed my mother, too?”

“No, I—”

Another shot rang out. The bullet grazed Jeff’s left shoulder, tugging on his raincoat like someone behind him trying to get his attention.

“Shut up! I’m talking!” Ben screamed, and again his voice echoed in the night. Then he continued in his low, perfectly calm voice again. “She went into a really bad depression. Can’t you f*ckin’ blame her? Her son was dead! She started drinking heavily, and then … then she killed herself a year later. On the anniversary of Jimmy’s death, actually.”

“I didn’t know th—”

Another shot, and this one hit Jeff’s right arm, just above the elbow. He spun to one side thinking the bullet hadn’t hit him. Either that, or he had gone into immediate shock and couldn’t feel a thing. His left hand was shaking as he reached up and felt the tear in his raincoat, but there was no blood … no wound.

Good, he thought as a sour taste flooded his mouth. I don’t want to feel it when I die.

“I got Mike and Tyler and Fred and that bastard Evan because I couldn’t get that son of a whore Mark Bloomberg before he f*cking died.”

Jeff started to say something but caught himself, knowing all it would earn him would be another shot that—this time—might not miss this time. He stared at Ben.

“A heart attack!” Ben said. “He died of a f*cking heart attack! At his age?” Again, his voice rose to a high pitch, but then it immediately dropped low again. “So it’s down to you and me, and if I’ve counted right, there are two bullets left in my gun. One for you … and one for me.”

“You don’t want to do this.”

“How do you know?”

Ben stopped his slow, steady advance and raised the gun, this time taking careful aim at Jeff. His hand was steady as he drew a bead, but before he fired—from behind Ben—Jeff saw a flurry of motion. He cringed, waiting for the muzzle flash and the sound that would reach his ears only after he was dead. But the motion at the top of the hill became clearer. For a flickering second, Jeff felt a surge of hope.

A car had appeared at the top of the hill. Its headlights were off, but it was rolling slowly forward, its tires crunching on the gravel as it came.

“You don’t want to kill me, Ben,” Jeff said, hoping to distract Ben. “Honest to God. You don’t.”

“No. Honest to God I do,” Ben said, his flat tone of voice now sounding all but dead. Nothing was going to stop him … nothing except … maybe … that car at the top of the hill.

Jeff froze where he stood. It was too late to run or hide, but he shifted his weight to one side and dropped to his knees, looking past Ben just as the car reached the crest and started rolling down the slope toward them.

Jeff narrowed his eyes, praying that Ben wouldn’t hear the tires on the gravel until it was too late. He coiled up, getting ready to leap to the side and make a run for it.

The car grew huge against the night sky as it reached the tipping point and then, moving forward, started to gather momentum on the down slope. Jeff wanted to keep talking as loud as he could to keep Ben distracted, but Ben suddenly wheeled around when the car was less than twenty feet from him.

The night exploded with two flashes as Ben fired twice at the oncoming car. There was a shattering of glass and a loud buzzing sound as the bullets ricocheted off into the night.

It didn’t do any good.

The car was moving too fast now, and Ben didn’t have enough time to get out of its path. Jeff heard and felt a loud snap in his knees when he jumped out of the car’s path. He hit the ground hard, twisting his ankle on the uneven ground. Then he went down, wincing with pain, but he watched what happened next, seeing every detail as if the world was moving in slow motion.

The car’s headlights came on, filling the night with a blinding, white glare. The twin beams pegged like searchlights Ben as he scrambled to get out of the way. Before he could, Jeff heard a loud thump and then saw Ben go down underneath the front bumper. The car heaved heavily to one side as it rolled over him, and there was a loud crunching sound of bones breaking punctuated by a short yelp that ended with a short, watery gurgle.

Jeff watched as the headlights shined out across the lake, lighting up the swirling mist with a near-supernatural glow. In the twisted strands of fog, indistinct figures shimmered and weaved above the headlight beams.

The car reached the end of the ramp, slowing down only when it plunged into the water. With a huge splash, fans of foam flew up into the sky from both sides of the car. Then, still rolling forward on the launch ramp, it went under. The headlights glowed for a moment under the water and then winked out silently, plunging the night into a dense darkness that vibrated with weird energy.

He’s dead! … He’s gotta be dead!

Jeff got up stiffly and hobbled over to the motionless figure sprawled on the ground. He pried the gun from the dead hand and tossed it aside. Then he knelt down, leaning close to check the damage.

The tires had flattened Ben’s chest. His eyes bulged from his head, two huge orbs that glistened with a weird iridescence. Thick streams of blood, as black as ink, ran from his mouth and nose. A wheezing, bubbling sound of air escaped from his crushed lungs. His left leg was twitching so badly the sneaker he was wearing flipped off.

Down by the lake, the car was still moving forward, much slower now as it sank off the end of the launch ramp. It took a long time before it registered on Jeff that someone must be in that car.

* * *

Jeff hardly noticed the stinging cold as he ran down to the lake and dove in. A stream of bubbles was rising and breaking on the surface as waves lapped against the shore. In the dark, it was all but impossible to see who—if anyone—was in the car. After treading water for a second or two, Jeff took a deep breath and dove.

He couldn’t see a thing underwater, and he found the car only by accident when he slammed into it. His hands were so numb they were almost useless as he felt around for the driver’s door. It wasn’t long before his lungs were starved for oxygen. Feeling as though it was a cowardly thing to do, he placed both feet underneath him on the roof of the car and kicked off, propelling himself back to the surface.

I’m gonna die if I go back down there, he thought, but an instant later, he drew in another breath and dove.

This time he landed on the hood of the car. From there, it was easy enough to find the driver’s door. The car was still sending out streams of bubbles that broke across his face. He hoped there was an air pocket inside the car where he could get more air before he tried to drag the driver—whoever he was—out of the car and up to the surface.

One of Ben’s shots had shattered the windshield, and the car was filling up fast with water. If the person in there was still alive—if one of the bullets hadn’t already killed him—they just might have a chance.

Jeff found the door. Bracing both feet on the car frame, he triggered the latch and pulled back as hard as he could. There was an amazing amount of resistance, almost too much for him. He was about to give up and swim back to the surface when the door slowly yielded. Just about out of air, he reached inside and felt around until the driver’s hand brushed against his face. For a terrifying instant, he thought the person was already dead, but then the fingers clasped onto his forearm and squeezed.

Jesus! … He’s alive!

Reaching into the pitch-black interior of the car, Jeff wound his arms around the person. The body flopped in his arms without resistance, feeling much lighter than he’d expected. Jeff panicked when the grip on his forearm relaxed, but he got his feet beneath him, pushed off the car, and kicked hard, swimming for the surface.

His lungs were on fire. The weight of body was weighing him down, but he struggled until his head broke the surface. The rain was still pouring down, and when he threw back his head and inhaled, his mouth filled with as much water as air. Rolling onto his side, he angled his body so the driver’s head was also above the surface. White-capped waves washed over them. By the way the body hung loosely in his arms, Jeff was positive his rescue attempt had been in vain.

Maybe I’m a goner, too, he thought as he looked at the shore.

It wasn’t far away, but Jeff was convinced he couldn’t make it back to land. His strength was fading fast, but as much as he tried to prepare himself mentally for death, his body fought against the waves as he struggled toward shore. His grip on the person kept slipping, and he had to readjust it time and again, but he kept swimming until—-somehow … miraculously—his foot scraped the bottom of the lake.

He couldn’t believe he’d made it. Had he imagined feeling solid ground under his feet? He didn’t know or care. He just kept moving forward until his other foot touched something solid. It was the underwater portion of the cement launch ramp.

Sputtering and shivering, Jeff dragged the all but lifeless body out of the water and lowered him gently to the ground. He turned the unconscious man’s head to one side to keep the rain off it, and as he did, he saw who it was.

“Jesus,” he whispered.

He had no idea how Evan Pike had made it back to the mainland or into the car. He was too far gone to think about it or care.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, after a tremendous struggle to carry the unconscious man up the hill, Jeff and Evan were sitting in Evan’s car with the engine running and the heater on full blast. Evan sat behind the steering wheel, and Jeff was slumped in the passenger’s seat. Rain rattled against the roof and bounced off the hood.

Jeff had no idea how long it had taken him to get Evan to his car and get him inside. The night had an elastic quality that kept stretching and bending.

Shouldn’t it be dawn by now? he asked himself as he rolled his head to the right and looked out the side window.

Maybe this storm’s so intense it’s blocking out any hint of daylight.

He glanced at the illuminated dial of the clock on the dashboard but couldn’t believe it was accurate.

How could it be only one o’clock in the morning?

No goddamned way!

Both he and Evan were shivering in spite of the blast of warm air that filled the car and steamed the windows, erasing the night outside.

“You gonna live?” Jeff asked, rolling his head against the headrest and looking at his friend.

Evan’s eyes were closed, and he looked for all the world like he was dead. The only hint of life was the faint stirring of his chest, rising and falling as he breathed. His face was as white as bone; his lips were a bruised purple that made him look like he’d been drinking grape juice. Jeff had not doubt he didn’t look any better than Evan.

“You with me, bud?” he asked, giving Evan a feeble poke that made his head loll from side to side. “Don’t punk out on me now. Not after what I’ve been through to save your sorry ass.”

“My sorry ass?” Evan said in a low, choking gargle. “Who saved … whose … sorry ass?”

“Okay. Maybe you got me there.”

Jeff chuckled and then took a deep breath as he settled his head against the headrest again. He tried to ignore the pain that made every muscle and joint ache at the slightest motion. It felt like he was being torn apart by some incredible torture device that was grinding his bones to powder.

“I can’t believe you ran my car into the lake,” Jeff said after a while. “It’s gotta be f*ckin’ destroyed.”

“Yours was closest to the ramp,” Evan said weakly, not bothering to open his eyes. “I’m surprised neither one of you heard me when I broke the side window to get inside. That’ll teach you to lock your car.”

Jeff shook his head but didn’t say anything.

What could he possibly say?

Even though Evan had totaled his car, he was right. He had saved his life, and he was grateful for that.

“We gotta get you to a hospital,” Jeff said after a long silence punctuated only by the steady sound of rain on the car and the two men’s heavy breathing. If anyone had seen the car, steamed up like that, they would have assumed a couple had driven out here to make out during the storm. Jeff found the sounds almost soothing, now that he was at least warm, if not dry.

He thought they should rest here first. Maybe sleep if they could. It was all too easy to imagine letting himself slip away into unconsciousness now, but a small, rational corner of his mind was telling him they had to get help if they both were going to live. He couldn’t get this far and then die of hypothermia.

“How’d you do it?” Jeff asked, listening to his voice drag like an old-time record on slow speed.

There was another long silence. Jeff would have been convinced Evan had died if it wasn’t for the low, soft hissing of his breathing.

“How’d I do what?” Evan finally asked. He kept his eyes closed and his head titled back.

“How in the hell did you get to the mainland before either me or Ben?”

Evan snickered softly, his shoulders shaking loosely beneath his drenched clothes.

“When he shot at me, when I was taking the boat, I dove into the water, hoping he’d think he had killed me.” Evan sounded totally exhausted. His teeth were chattering even though the car was as hot as a sauna.

“I must’ve gotten disoriented in the dark, and once I started swimming, I figured I’d be better off staying away from the island.”

“But you could have drowned. Christ, I can’t believe you didn’t drown. The water’s gotta be close to freezing.”

“I thought I was gonna drown, too,” Evan said with a shrug.

Jeff patted the pockets of his raincoat, felt the bulge of his cell phone, and took it out. The light didn’t come on when he flipped it open, and the screen was half-filled with water, making it looked like a carpenter’s level.

“No way this sucker’s gonna work,” he said as he clicked it shut and dropped it to the car floor.

Evan moaned and, opening his eyes to slits, indicated the glove compartment in front of Jeff’s knees with a feeble wave of his hand.

“Mine’s in there,” he said. “Hand it to me.”

Jeff was stunned. He gave Evan a long, slow look before he leaned forward and opened the glove compartment. The cell phone was lying on top of a registration folder and some Dunkin’ Donuts napkins.

“Why’d you leave it here?” he asked.

He didn’t like the faint stirring of suspicion he felt. As he closed his hand around the cell phone, he turned and eyed Evan carefully.

“I knew it wouldn’t work on the island,” Evan said simply. “The reception’s shit out there, but sometimes it works here.” He held his hand out and shook it impatiently. “Come on. Give it to me.”

“No,” Jeff said as he flipped the phone open and looked at the lighted screen. The battery was half-charged, and the signal strength indicator was showing three bars. It might be enough.

“I’ll dial,” Evan said, sounding more insistent.

Jeff ignored him as he thumbed the button for the directory and saw the list of Evan’s contacts. As weak as he was, Evan made a grab for the phone, but Jeff turned away from him and thumbed the directory button down … and down … until he came to the names starting with the letter F. After Feeney, Fecteau, and Fidler, he saw an entry for Foster. He tapped the button once to get the information.

“Give me the goddamned phone,” Evan said.

His voice was edged with agitation, and Jeff could understand why. Listed under Foster was the first name Benjamin and a phone number with a Massachusetts area code.

“What the f*ck is this?” he whispered, but he kept his body turned away from Evan so he couldn’t see the phone’s screen.

“What the f*ck is what?”

Jeff couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His heart skipped a few beats, and in spite of the heat blasting from the air vents, his skin went deathly cold.

“You knew it was him,” Jeff said.

“Knew who was who? What the f*ck are you talking about?”

But Jeff could hear the lie in Evan’s voice. He was suddenly positive that, no matter what he said, Evan would deny knowing Ben Foster … or maybe he would insist this was a different Ben Foster.

“So what was it? Were you in cahoots with him? The two of you planned this whole thing together?”

“I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” Evan said, but he was unable to hide the edge in his voice and the frantic look that lit his eyes when he opened them and looked at Jeff.

“You knew all along he was Jimmy’s brother?”

Jeff’s body began to convulse as blinding anger filled him.

“You knew all along, and—what? You brought him out there to the island so he could get his revenge on us?”

Evan stared at him, his eyes wide, his face pale.

“He must have had an escape plan—a backup.” Jeff grabbed Evan by the collar and shook him hard enough to make his teeth clack. “Did he have another boat? Is that what happened? You both came over here to finish me off?”

“No … No … It’s nothing like that. I swear to God. I never … I never even made the connection with his name. It never crossed my mind that he might be Jimmy’s brother.”

“Bullshit!”

Jeff stared out at the dark lake and listened to his pulse, hammering in his ears.

“You’ve lost it. You’re out of your goddamned mind, man. I swear to Christ, I never—”

“You couldn’t have swum over here. The cold would have killed you for sure. I know what happened. He promised not to kill you if you gave up the rest of us? That’s it, isn’t it?”

“You’re talking crazy.”

Evan was trying to sound calm, but Jeff could see the stark terror rising in his eyes.

“In the dark—did you even know who I was? Jesus, were you trying to run me over instead Ben? Is that what happened?”

“You’ve lost your mind. Exhaustion … exposure have really gotten to you. You have no idea what you’re saying, so look. Just calm the f*ck down and give me the phone.”

Evan lunged at Jeff while, at the same time, reaching down to the floor and slipping his hand under the car seat. Jeff caught the motion, and he wasn’t surprised when Evan raised his left hand, holding a gun. Just as he was started to bring it around to aim at him, Jeff lashed out with the hand holding the cell phone. That instant, the gun discharged with a flash and a deafening thump that made Jeff’s ears ring. The passenger’s side window exploded, inches from his head.

“You lying sack of shit,” Jeff shouted as he clenched his fist and drove it with every remaining ounce of strength he had into Evan’s face.

There was a satisfying crunch of breaking teeth and bone as Evan’s head snapped back hard against the headrest. A mist of blood shot from his nose like a spray gun, and his eyes rolled back to expose the whites. Trembling with fury, Jeff clenched his fist, cocked his arm back, and punched him again … and again … and again until—finally—Evan let out a low, gurgling moan and sagged back in the car seat. His head was cocked to one side, resting an awkward angle on the car seat. Blood streamed from both nostrils and the corners of his ruined mouth. His eyes were half-opened, but they gazed sightlessly at Jeff. The whites were an odd yellow shot through with tiny broken blood vessels.

Tears filled Jeff’s eyes and streamed down his face. He muttered something unintelligible, but what he said was punctuated by sharp hitches in his chest as he reached across Evan’s chest, snapped open the driver’s side door, and pushed him out onto the gravel parking lot.

Evan hit the packed ground hard and rolled over once before coming to rest with one arm draped across his chest. Rain pelted him as he lay on his back, staring sightlessly up at the night sky.

Jeff struggled to catch his breath as he stared at the motionless figure. He had no idea if Evan was alive or dead, but he didn’t care. His body was shaking out of control as he raised his bloodstained hand in the front of his face and clenched it into a fist. The blood sticking to his fingers made a sick, squishy sound. He knew his hand was broken. The pain reached all the way to his shoulder.

I’ve gotta get help, he thought, but he couldn’t find the strength to move.

It would be much easier, he thought, to close the door and sit here with engine running. Even with the passenger’s window blown out, he would either warm up or else the carbon monoxide would get into his bloodstream and kill him.

Either way, what did it matter?

Nothing mattered any more, as far as he could see.

They had started out five of them—five supposed friends—and now, only he was left.

Would the police even believe his story?

Or would they suspect he had been the killer all along who had lured these four innocents out to Sheep’s Head Island to their deaths?

And in the end, what would it matter?

He had already lost everything that mattered to him—his wife, his son, his life, if you could call it a life. He didn’t sell houses. He was a paper pusher and a money grubbing moron. Although everything that had happened on the island already seemed like a terrible dream, he remembered—for a short time—he had been really alive out there. The spirit of the night had filled him some strange energy … a power that made it all too clear that his life—until this weekend—had been empty … hollow … without meaning.

No one would miss him if died now, and he was content to know he had won. He had beaten Ben Foster at his high-stakes game, so even if he died now, he could die knowing he had won.

His hand was still trembling as he relaxed his fist and reached for the steering wheel. The effort was almost too much, but he managed to shift over to the driver’s seat. Evan’s foot was still hanging inside the car, but he kicked it out onto the ground.

The rain was still coming down hard. He watched with an uncanny detachment as his hand took hold of the gearshift and slipped it into reverse. He released the emergency brake and stepped down on the gas. The tires skidded on the wet gravel, but they found purchase, and the car crept backward. He snapped on the headlights and watched them wash across the slumped body of Evan Pike, lying in the middle of the road.

“Goddamn yah,” he whispered.

His breath misted the windshield, obscuring his view for a moment as he backed the car around and shifted into drive. Then, stepping down hard on the accelerator, he squealed the tires on the gravel as he drove off into the night.

* * *

You could say it all ended when Jeff reached across Evan’s chest, opened the car door, and shoved him out onto the dirt road, but that wouldn’t be strictly accurate. Too many things happened afterward to make that particular event a clean-cut conclusion to this story.

Jeff lost any sense of time as he drove into the night, the car rattling and bouncing on the rutted dirt road. He didn’t have much—if any—awareness of where he was headed. All he knew was that he needed to find someone he could tell what happened and who might be able to help him. He also needed to get warm and put on some dry clothes and eat something substantial. Hell, even a Granola bar would do. If he didn’t eat soon, he was going to die … although that thought no longer held the terror it once had.

He was barely conscious when the car careened into the parking lot of a Rite Aid pharmacy in the town of Arden and screeched to a stop at an angle that cut across two parking spaces. One front tire was up over the curb, and he had just missed hitting a Rav4 parked nearby. After killing the engine, he opened the door and all but fell out onto the asphalt.

He was amazed he had made it this far.

His plan was to go into the pharmacy and get something to eat and drink. He had his mind set on an energy drink and Granola bar, but he never made it. Harry Shannon, the owner of the Rav 4, found him sprawled on the pavement with his legs still inside the car.

After the police cruiser and ambulance arrived and took him to the hospital, everything became a blur of bright lights and confusing sounds as dozens of people—doctors, nurses, orderlies, and policemen—hovered over him, asking too many questions. He had the impression he replied to each question in clear, sensible sentences, but then he began to have his doubts because the same people—or maybe it was different people—kept asking him the same questions, over and over again until he was ready to scream. Finally, someone shot him up with something, and he drifted off to sleep after being reassured that he was perfectly safe now.

As he faded away, he remembered being asked if he wanted someone to contact his next of kin, but he didn’t remember what he answered. As it was, Susan never showed up at the hospital that night or for the three days he was there. She didn’t get in touch until he was back home, recuperating. His parents called him and sent him a get-well card, but they weren’t able to make the trip to Maine from Florida. Matt came home one weekend, and it was great to see him. He would have stayed longer, but it was heading into midterms.

You could say the story ended when David Blake, the police captain in Arden, and a rookie patrolman named Russell Dawkins drove out to the boat launch at the first light of dawn. The clouds had passed in the night, and the day was breaking sunny and unseasonably warm. The cops half-suspected everything Jeff had told them had been the ravings of a man delirious from exposure, because they didn’t find Evan Pike’s body where Jeff had said he’d left him for dead. No body. No footprints in the still-wet dirt of the parking lot or on the road leading down to the boat launch.

The policemen began to reassess when, further down the boat launch road, they found Ben Foster’s body and saw Jeff’s car, submerged in the lake. Dawkins spotted a few traces of blood on the road. Closer to the lake, it looked like there had once been a significant quantity of blood on the road, but the rain overnight had washed most of it away. The state Crime Investigations Unit would bring out their fancy forensics stuff later. The boat Jeff had told them he had paddled with one oar from Sheep’s Head Island was, indeed, pulled up on the shore where he said it would be. Only then did the police become concerned about what they might find when they made it out to the island.

When they did, it was much worse than either of them imagined. It sure looked to lake and Dawkins as though what Jeff had told them was true.

You could say it all ended later that winter, once the authorities concluded their investigation. By January, Jeff had recovered from the wounds he’d sustained and from the effects of exposure, but he was never the same after that. He testified at the hearings in December and then, that same week, quit his job at Bayside Realty. He sold the house in Westbrook. It was too big for a man living alone, anyway. He planned to live off his severance pay and the profit from the house sale until he decided what he wanted to do next.

At this point, you very well might think the story is over. Jeff would feel some vindication for being proven right, and he would be glad beyond belief he hadn’t become a victim or a suspect for any of the killings. You’d be perfectly justified in thinking he was satisfied when all the evidence the police found on the island validated his version of events.

But there was one key element that never came to light, and unless or until it did, Jeff, at least, would never feel as though this story was over.

It would never be over for him until they found or accounted for all of the bodies. Tyler, Fred, Mike, and Ben were all accounted for, but in spite of a rather extensive search, no one had found any trace of Evan Pike. The police did all they could with dogs and divers and search parties, but they all came up dry.

There was plenty of speculation about what might have happened to him. Some of the locals dismissed it by saying scavengers must have dragged Evan’s corpse off into the woods and finished him off. But if that were the case, why had Ben Foster’s body, in the same immediate area, been left untouched?

Other folks were convinced Evan wasn’t dead when Jeff rolled him out of the car. Maybe he had been so hurt he got disoriented and wandered down the slope and fell into the lake, where he drowned. If that’s what happened, these folks declared, his remains would most likely show up come spring, once the ice that blanketed the lake from November to April finally melted.

Other people suggested that Evan may have been conscious enough to try to walk back to town to get help, and that maybe he got lost in the woods where if not this year or next, maybe some year a hunter or a group of hikers would come across a pile of decaying bones. If they were lucky, there would be enough to identify him.

And of course there were other people who had some fairly peculiar ideas about what might have happened out there. If they’re right, then this story will never end. It wasn’t long before talk about what had happened on Sheep’s Head Island that weekend took on the charm of folklore.

Not long after ice-out that spring, when fishermen were plying the waters of the lake for rainbow trout and bass, there was talk that if you took your boat close enough to the island—especially around sunset—you might catch a glimpse of a ghost, lurking on the shore near where Camp Tapiola had once stood.

The story is, this apparition’s hair is snow white, and his long, gray beard wafts in the wind like smoke from a chimney fire. His eyes flash with murderous rage whenever anyone comes within hailing distance of the island. Some folks say it’s not a ghost at all. They say a crazy hermit, a wild man who has lost his mind, lives out there, subsisting on roots and berries and whatever animals he can catch and eat.

Of course, these stories about ghosts on the island bring to mind the death that happened out there thirty-five years before, which is when this story really may have started. There is plenty of talk—especially from older people who remember what happened back then—that maybe what they’re seeing is not an old hermit at all. It’s the ghost of a lost, lonely child who still watches and waits for his friends to come and join him.

And as long as people even half-believe such stories … as long as people repeat these tales, then you could say the story about what happened out on Sheep’s Head Island will never really be over.