The Wildman

Chapter EIGHT

Idle Chatter





When Jeff awoke a few hours later, he didn’t feel much better, but he was surprised that his shoulders and back hadn’t cramped up. A slight jab of pain tightened the base of his neck, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d expected. His head was still a little buzzed from the rum.

It was dark outside, and a huge fire was roaring in the fireplace. All four of his friends were sitting in a semi-circle around the hearth. Flashes of bright firelight flickered across their faces and cast huge shadows on the wall.

Everyone looked cozy and peaceful as they talked softly to one another. Jeff hesitated to break the tranquility. He rolled over and, for a long while, lay there with his back to the fire and stared out the dining hall windows. It took him a few moments to realize that it was raining. Silvery rivulets of water were running down the window, and every now and then a gust of wind would rattle the panes of glass.

“Shit,” he muttered.

“You’re awake,” Tyler called out.

Jeff raised a hand and waved languidly, but that tiny motion sent a jolt of pain shooting between his shoulders.

“You alive over there?” Evan asked.

“Barely,” Jeff replied, groaning loudly when he tried to sit up. The muscles between his shoulders were like knotted ropes, and he collapsed back down. Rolling his head back and forth, he listened to the faint crackling sounds his neck made before giving it another try. This time he made it, and he forced himself to smile at his friends.

“Not used to working so hard, I guess,” he said as he placed his right hand on the back of his neck and rubbed.

“You want a massage?” Mike asked, starting to stand up and come over to him.

Jeff waved him off with a quick, “No thanks. I’ll be all right.” He sighed. “Just give me a second or two.”

“We were waiting for you to wake up before we started supper,” Evan said. He stood up without any seeming difficulty, making Jeff think he must be in a lot better shape. He walked over to the stack of supplies he’d brought and, opening the lid of the large cooler, fumbled around inside for a few seconds. Then he raised his head and looked at them.

“Okay, looks like we have a choice of hamburgers … hamburgers … or … ahh … yeah, hamburgers.”

“As long as there’s beer involved, I’m good with ‘burgers,” Mike said as he grabbed a bottle of Sam Adams from his cooler. “Anyone else?”

Fred and Tyler each nodded and took a beer from him, but Jeff waved him off. Jeff wasn’t surprised he had conked out like he had, probably as much from the rum as the exertion, but he was grateful he’d gotten a short nap because … who knew how late he’d be up tonight?

He still was suspicious of Evan’s motives. Something was going on here that he still hadn’t figured out. No matter how much he wanted to believe it was just because he felt uncomfortable with these people who were really strangers, he had an undeniable feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

“Yeah. I guess I’ll go with a hamburger,” Fred said.

“You need help cooking?” Tyler asked, but Evan waved him off and said, “I got it covered.”

Jeff kept stretching, trying to work out some of the kinks in his shoulders and back before he tried to stand up. With his back to the fire, he luxuriated in the steady warmth, but he shivered when he looked at the rain-streaked windows.

He sure as hell didn’t feel like snooping around out there in the rain. Maybe this was just a shower, and it would pass. He knew the damp chill would only make his aches and pains worse.

“Anyone got some Tylenol or something?” he asked.

Without a word, Evan opened one of his bags, fished around in it for a second, and then tossed a small plastic bottle to him. It rattled when he caught it.

“Thanks,” Jeff said even though the motion of catching it hurt. He flipped off the cap, shook out three tablets, and swallowed them dry. The thought of washing them down with rum or beer made his stomach clench.

Moving stiffly, Jeff got up and started walking back and forth in front of the fireplace, all the while rotating his shoulders and twisting his neck from side to side.

“This getting old shit really sucks,” Fred said with an expression of genuine sympathy. Jeff nodded but wasn’t sure what to say in return.

“We owe you—both you and Evan-for getting us out of that jam today,” Tyler said.

“Amen, brother,” Mike said.

“Hell, it wasn’t that bad,” Evan said with a sniff and a wave of the hand.

Jeff shrugged in spite of the pain and said, “Ahh … it was nothing.”

“Yeah,” Mike said. “Nothing … except you can barely move.”

“Like Fred said … this getting old shit is for the birds.”

“Beats the hell out of the alternative,” Evan said tonelessly. He had an armful of meat packages, which he set down on the floor close to the fire. Then he got the frying pan he had used for eggs and bacon this morning and set to work, positioning it on the grate over the coals.

“Anyone wants their buns toasted, they can do it themselves,” he said.

Jeff had caught the slight grimace Evan made when he lifted the heavy frying pan, so he knew rowing had taken its toll on him, too. But as always, Evan wasn’t going to let anyone catch him in a moment of weakness.

“I dunno,” Fred said. “Hey, Mike. You want your buns toasted?”

The way he said it, everyone else caught what seemed like veiled innuendo. Jeff felt a surge of anger at Fred and thought it was uncharacteristic of him to tease or bait Mike like that, but Mike was the first to smile.

“I dunno,” he said, lowering his voice and batting his eyelids. “But I’ll be only too glad to toast yours.”

That flustered Fred, and he looked as if he thought Mike was seriously propositioning him.

Was he so naïve he didn’t realize Mike was gay?

Fred smiled and, lowering his gaze, said mildly, “Thanks, ahh—but no.”

Evan was smiling as if enjoying a private joke as he broke the burgers out of the packages and slapped a few into the pan. As the sound and smell of sizzling meat filled the dining hall, the friends’ conversation ranged over a variety of topics—their work, their kids, where they went to college, what they planned for the future. In all of this, Jeff noticed that—like last night—Evan remained relatively aloof. It could be that he was preoccupied with preparing supper, but Jeff was thinking now was a good time for Evan to pitch his development, if that was his plan, but he worked silently.

When Tyler and Mike got into a heated discussion about how the Red Sox had choked again this year, Jeff started to feel alienated again. Excusing himself, he stepped outside, thinking he’d try to call Matt at college to see how he was doing. It would be nice just to hear a friendly voice.

When he first stepped out onto the porch, he realized the rain had let up if not stopped entirely. Huge drops still fell from the trees and plopped on the porch roof. When he looked at his phone, he saw only one signal bar, but when he stepped off the porch and moved away from the building, a second bar appeared. Heartened, he pressed the speed dial for Matt’s phone and held the cell to his ear. After the phone rang once, a loud beep sounded. He took the phone away from his ear and looked at the message on display.

NETWORK NOT AVAILABLE.

“No shit, Dick Tracey,” he muttered as he walked out from under the pines toward the beach. Maybe the signal would be better there.

The rain had, indeed, let up, and he wandered further away from the dining hall. Still, the signal bars never rose above two.

He figured the mountains were blocking the signal, or else there simply was no signal available out here.

With no cell service, what would they do if there was an emergency and they had to call for help?

One of the other guy’s phones might use a different service and pick up a better signal, but what if all of their cells were useless?

Had Evan planned ahead? Did he have a radio or a landline to call for help if they needed it?

The wind was picking up, and the moon had cleared the clouds; but off to the west, a thick bank of dark clouds was closing in, moving fast across the night sky. Leaving the shelter of the trees, Jeff walked along the shore, all too aware that—once again—he was heading toward where they had pulled Jimmy Foster out of the lake.

He hesitated and was about to turn around, but for some reason, he couldn’t change direction. He was still convinced something wasn’t quite right about this weekend, and he didn’t want to believe it had anything to do with what had happened back then. In spite of his overactive imagination, he didn’t really think Jimmy Foster’s ghost haunted the beach where he had died.

No … It was something else … something he was either not seeing … or was forgetting.

Regardless, he was still convinced his friend hadn’t drowned.

He had been murdered.

That thought kept gnawing at Jeff’s mind and wouldn’t let go.

So if Jimmy was killed, who did it?

And why?

Why hadn’t anyone been arrested and convicted?

Has someone gotten away with murder and—even more frightening—might they still be alive?

And then a terrible thought occurred to him.

What if it’s one of the men in the dining room?

What if Evan or Tyler or Mike or Fred knows more about what had happened that day than they’ve admitted?

Is this why Evan seems to be acting so strange?

And what’s the deal with Fred?

He sure seems uptight about something?

Or what if Mike or Tyler know more than they’re letting on? What if their gregarious natures are a front to hide the terrible truth they know?

What if one of them knows exactly what had happened?

Even if they aren’t the killer, what if they saw or heard something and never told anyone?

Jeff glanced at the cell phone in his hand. The signal bar was back to one, but he tried Matt’s number anyway simply because he was desperate to hear a friendly voice.

It would help reassure him.

But the call failed again, and Jeff kept walking, his feet dragging in the wet sand, leaving long, scalloped tracks behind him. When he reached the end of the beach, he turned to start back. The stretch of beach before him was all but lost in the darkness. The white sand at his feet glowed with an eerie luminescence that looked like thick ground fog, not sand. Dark water lapped against the shore, sounding like a thirsty animal, drinking. Feeling the cold and knowing more rain or snow was on the way, Jeff started back, picking up his pace.

He was halfway to the dining hall when a thought hit him so hard it staggered him.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

His voice was whisked away by the wind. He imagined it was twisting and turning like ribbons as it was carried away on the breeze.

What if I know?

His throat was raw and burning as he swallowed and looked around frantically at the night as it pressed in close around him.

What if I saw something … and I’ve blocked it out all this time?

Is that possible?

The idea unnerved him so much his body began to tremble. The ache in his shoulders got worse. The cold, sour nausea in his stomach was a memory of how he had felt that long-ago day when he had seen Jimmy’s pale white body lying on the stretcher.

He was gripped by the terror of realizing the pitifully small body was one of his friends … someone he had known for the last three or four summers … someone he had played baseball with and gone swimming with and goofed around in the tent with, and now he was dead and was never, never coming back again.

Jeff couldn’t be sure Jimmy had been murdered, but he was suddenly confronted by the thought that maybe he had seen it happen and had been so traumatized he had blocked it out of his mind entirely.

And then another even more frightening thought occurred to him. He let out a gasp loud enough to fill the night.

What if I did it?

A chill took hold of him and shook him.

“No … no,” Jeff muttered in a low, strangled voice as he staggered a few steps backwards. Raising his arms to protect himself, he shook his head violently back and forth in adamant denial.

No… This is insane, he told himself and wanted to believe.

If he started thinking like this, he should be writing horror novels instead of selling real estate. He had no reason to hurt—much less kill—Jimmy Foster.

If anything, over the years he felt guilty that he had never found out what really happened.

How was it possible, in a summer camp full of campers and staff, for a boy to wander down to the swimming area alone, dive into the water, hit his head on something under water, and drown?

How come not a single person had seen him and wondered where he was going, wandering away from the baseball game?

Someone must have seen something.

Someone must know more than they’ve told.

And what if … what if that someone is the one who cut Jimmy’s throat and threw him into the lake to make it look like an accident?

Jeff had been told by the authorities that the cut on Jimmy’s throat hadn’t been what killed him, but he had never believed it.

It was a knife wound!

Jeff couldn’t stop trembling as he looked out at the dark water and, narrowing his eyes, tried to imagine what had happened here thirty-five years ago.

“Come on, Jimmy,” he whispered. “If you’re still here, tell me … Tell me how you died.”

He jumped and let out a shrill squeal that hurt his throat when a hand clamped down on his shoulder from behind.

“Jesus!” Evan shouted, stepping back quickly as Jeff wheeled around with his clenched fists raised.

“F*ck you!” Jeff yelled. “What the f*ck are you doing, sneaking up on me like that?”

Evan shrugged innocently as he waved his hands in front of himself.

“I was—shit! I was looking for you,” he said in a high, tight voice. “I was gonna tell you the burger’s are getting cold.”

Jeff’s pulse was pounding so fast the steady thump-thump-thump made his neck and wrists ache. It took him a long time to catch his breath, but even then, chills raced up and down his back.

“What are you doing out here, anyway?” Evan asked. “It sounded like you were talking to someone. Did you actually get a cell phone signal?”

“No, I—ah, I …” Jeff let his voice drift off as he raised his hand so Evan could see his cell phone. “There’s no signal out here.”

“I didn’t think so, Evan said. “You’d better come back before you food’s ice cold … or before Mike gobbles it all.”

“He’d do that, wouldn’t he?” Jeff said, trying to inject a note of humor into the situation if only to dispel the nervousness winding inside him.

Before Evan turned to leave, though, he caught Jeff by the elbow.

“You were thinking about Jimmy, weren’t you?” he said.

Jeff’s throat closed off, and he couldn’t say a word, but he nodded.

“I know.” Evan said. “It’s a real bummer what happened, isn’t it?”

He shivered, and Jeff had the impression it wasn’t just from the cold. Still, all he could do was nod.

“Cell phone service is real spotty out here,” Evan said, sounding as if he was purposely changing the subject to something more pleasant. “It works better in the day time, for some reason.”

Jeff nodded and then managed to say, “So when all these people you’re selling houses to are living out here, are they going to have service?”

“We’re trying to get the phone companies to put a relay tower close to the lake,” Evan said. “The nearest one is more than fifty mile south of here.” He laughed lightly. “Can’t very well get people to move out here unless we provide all the benefits of modern civilization—cell phones, satellite TV, shopping malls.”

Jeff could tell Evan was trying to make light of the situation, as if talking about Jimmy had upset him, too, but they had more immediate concerns, like what would they do if they couldn’t get the boat started in the morning? Besides basics like food, shelter, and water, Jeff, for one, had a job to go back to. He couldn’t very well not show up for work, and the other guys had obligations and responsibilities.

Evan turned and started walking toward the dining hall, but Jeff stayed where he was for a while longer, staring out at the lake. He was embarrassed that Evan had been able to sneak up on him from behind like that without him catching even a hint he was there until he tapped him on the shoulder. And he couldn’t help but wonder if Evan had done it on purpose to scare him.

Does he have some reason he doesn’t want me wandering around here alone?

The wind was whistling in the trees overhead, and the lake was so churned up whitecaps appeared on the waves close to shore. It seemed like a hell of a storm was coming, and Jeff wondered if they’d get off the island tomorrow even if the motorboat was working. He chuckled, thinking how it was going to be a long, long time before civilization ever came to Sheep’s Head Island.

As he followed Evan back to the dining hall, Jeff could imagine all too easily that the Indian demon their counselor had told them about might still lurk out here in the forest.

Maybe, he thought that’s what I should be afraid of.

* * *

The rain picked up again shortly after Jeff got inside and was sitting down to a meal of cold hamburgers, potato chips, pickles, and beer. At least the beer was cold, but Jeff wished someone had thought to bring some wine or cider to mull over the fire.

Now that would drive away the cold.

As rain pelted the windows, a high-pitched, whistling wind blew through cracks in the window frames, sounding like someone playing the flute. The rest of the guys were filling the time after the meal gabbing about things that didn’t hold Jeff’s interest for long. After a while, he moved closer to Evan and, whispering to him, said, “So, what are we gonna do?”

Evan arched his eyebrows and said, “Do about what?”

“The boat. The engine’s dead, right?” Jeff rubbed his hands nervously together. “The way it conked out, it sounded to me like it might have given up the ghost for good.”

“Given up the ghost,” Evan repeated with a sly smile. “Now there’s an expression I haven’t heard in a while.”

“I’m serious, man.” Jeff turned to face him directly and nailed him with a harsh stare. “How much of this did you think through? Do you have a backup plan for if the engine’s f*cked? Did you make arrangements for someone to maybe check on us to make sure we’re all right out here?”

Evan stared back in silence at him for a long time. He was sitting at an angle to the fire, and the harsh firelight lit up one side of his face and cast the other side into shadow that highlighted the lines on his face, especially around his eyes.

“Don’t worry,” he said at last. “We’ll be all right. Even if we have to row the f*cker over and back a few times. Christ, if we have to, we could swim back to the mainland.”

“In this weather? I doubt it.” Jeff anger flared, and he pointed at Evan, jabbing his forefinger into his chest as he said, “You’re responsible here. Are you saying you don’t have a backup?”

Evan scowled as he swatted Jeff’s hand away from him. Clenching his fist, he was ready to throw a punch if Jeff pressed him much more.

“I said don’t f*cking worry about it.” His voice was low and even with just a hint of a tremor. “I’ve got it covered. You don’t have to worry about how we’re going to get off the island, okay?”

“So you have a spare boat somewhere, or what?”

Evan visibly relaxed as he leaned forward and, placing his hand on Jeff’s shoulder, pulled him close.

“Just relax. We’re here to have a good time. Don’t f*ck it up. We’ll deal with all that shit in the morning.”

Jeff still wasn’t satisfied, but he knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Evan right now, so he backed off and rejoined his friends around the fire. It took him a while to calm down, and he kept casting wary glances at Evan, but before long, Jeff relaxed enough to join in with the conversation.

“How about you?” Tyler asked, turning to Jeff with a look of hopeful expectation on his face.

Jeff shrugged and said, “What about me? What are you talking about?”

“The question under discussion is, what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done in your life,” Tyler said.

Jeff was taken aback by that, and he looked from face to face.

“Ole’ Mike, here, says probably the worst thing he ever did was not come out of the closet sooner, right Mike?”

“Especially to my parent,” Mike said, nodding. He looked like he was blushing, or maybe it was from the glow of the firelight. “Abso-f*ckin’-lutely. Even back when we were campers here, I knew or at least was pretty sure I was different. I wasn’t interested in girls the way the rest of you were. And my life overall would have been a helluva lot better, things would have gone a lot smoother, if I’d had the courage to let everyone know who I was … Who I am.”

“Hear, hear,” Tyler said, raising his beer bottle. “I’ll drink to that.”

They all clinked bottles and then took long gulps.

“Yeah,” Jeff said. “I agree, but seriously, even when we were kids, you knew?”

Mike was still slugging down beer, but he nodded.

Fred cleared his throat and said, “Well … you know I’m not anti-gay or anything. Honest, I’m not. But you, like, you didn’t have the hots for any of us, did you?”

Mike hesitated for a moment, then he leaned close to Fred and ran the back of his fingers across Fred’s cheek. “Only for you, Freddie boy,” he said in a low, lascivious voice, “and I’ve been hoping and praying all weekend I’d be able to get into your pants.”

“Cut the shit,” Fred said as he batted Mike’s hand away. Smiling weakly, he looked at the other guys for support.

“I’m just screwing with you,” Mike said. “I’ve been with my boyfriend for over ten years, now, and we couldn’t be happier.”

“I’m glad for you,” Jeff said, and he meant it. He had been so miserable following his divorce that he was glad to hear about any couple—straight or gay—dedicated to each other and happy together.

“How about you, Jeff?” Tyler said, turning to him and leaning forward. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

“You mean besides cheat on my taxes and beat up Girl Scouts when I see them out and about, delivering their cookies?”

That didn’t get the laugh he expected, and he realized that while he’d been talking to Evan, the others had been having a rather serious discussion. He took another swig of beer so he could compose himself.

“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “probably the worst thing I did was cheat on my wife.”

“Come on. You gotta do better than that,” Tyler said. “I mean—any of us who are married, we’ve all been tempted, right?”

“Tempted, sure,” Mike said. “But there’s a big step between thinking about doing something and actually doing it.”

“Plus,” Fred said, “you told us you couldn’t say if you had screwed any of your Hollywood starlet clients.”

“What’s a lawyer do if not screw people?” Tyler said.

“Sure.” Jeff nodded his agreement. “Everyone’s probably been tempted, but this was right after our son was born, and … I dunno … I just always felt guilty about doing it. That’s all.”

Jeff noticed that everyone, even Evan, seemed engaged in the discussion now … Everyone, that was, except Fred. He was leaning back with a beer in one hand and staring at some hazy, middle distance. A curious expression of worry and maybe trepidation was frozen on his face. The corners of his mouth were twisted downward as though he wanted to say something but was struggling to hold it back.

What if he saw what happened to Jimmy? … Is that’s what bugging him?

The thought sprang into Jeff’s mind unbidden but strong enough to make him jump. Once the idea was planted, it quickly took hold.

Is that possible? … Where was Fred during the baseball game? … Had he ever told them?

Now that he thought about it, he didn’t remember seeing Fred at the game. He’d always assumed he was, but Fred was such a lousy player no one ever wanted him on their team. Whenever they played one tent against another, Jeff’s tent lost sometimes—even with Mike on their team—and it was usually because of something Fred did or didn’t do.

What if on that particular day they had made it clear to Fred that he wasn’t wanted or needed on the ball field? What if he had wandered away from the game? What if he ended up down by the lake when Jimmy was there?

Jeff’s reading of Fred this weekend was that he was a mild mannered, withdrawn person. He might even consider him uptight, and it certainly was possible he was holding something back. All weekend, Fred hadn’t said much about anything of real substance, as if he wanted to keep things on a superficial level. And he definitely was keeping his thoughts and feelings to himself. It seemed unlikely he would have had anything to do with Jimmy’s death, but he might have seen something.

Studying him now and trying to guess what he was thinking, Jeff thought he sure looked like he had something important to say but just couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Jeff wondered if anyone else was picking up on Fred’s obvious nervousness, or was he jumping to wrong conclusions again because of things he’d been thinking about earlier.

“How ‘bout you, Fred,” Jeff said.

He didn’t miss Fred’s reaction. His left leg twitched, and his eyes widened as though he’d gotten a mild electrical shock. In the glow of the firelight, his face looked as pale as paper.

“What? What about me?” Fred’s voice sounded tight and higher than normal.

Jeff shrugged, trying to look totally casual about the discussion, but he was suddenly convinced Fred had something really important on his mind. He didn’t know the guy, so he didn’t know if would have to coax it out of him or if he would have to pressure him to confess whatever he was hiding. He knew he should let Fred keep whatever it was to himself, but Jeff didn’t want to do that … especially if it had anything to do with Jimmy’s death.

“You sure look like you got something on your mind,” Jeff said. “Is there anything you want to tell us?”

Fred bit down on his lower lip until it went bloodless as he shook his head vigorously. The tightness around his mouth and eyes indicated something definitely was bothering him. His hand started shaking as he raised his beer to take a sip. When he swallowed, his throat made a loud gulping sound.

“Come on,” Evan said. “Tell us.” He seemed not to have noticed Fred’s reaction and was just playing along with the discussion. “What’s the worst thing you ever did?”

“Could we talk about something else?” Fred asked. His voice wavered, and he had trouble looking directly at any one of them for more than a second or two. A hint of frantic desperation lit his eyes. Jeff caught it even if no one else did.

“Why’s that?” Evan asked.

There was no way Jeff could miss the sudden shift in Evan’s tone of voice as he leaned forward practically glaring at Fred, who withered visibly under such his intense stare.

“No … No reason,” Fred said. “I just think after … after all these years, maybe there’s something a bit more—you know, more interesting to talk about.”

“By the expression on your face,” Evan said, now leering at him, “I’d say you’ve got some serious shit you’re holding back.”

“No … no way,” Fred said. His voice was high and strained as he looked at the floor and shook his head in vigorous denial.

“Come on,” Tyler said, bristling at Evan. “Back off, will you? He obviously doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“Yeah,” Mike piped in. “Let’s change the subject.”

Evan turned on both of them with an angry fire in his eyes.

“No,” he said coldly. “I’m interested. And I think it would be good for ole’ Freddie-boy here to talk about whatever’s bugging him. That’s what we’re all about here, aren’t we?” He looked from person to person as though soliciting support he knew he wasn’t going to find. “We trust each other one hundred percent, don’t we? Well …? Don’t we?”

For a long, uncomfortable moment, no one said a word. The logs in the fire blazed and crackled.

“Sure we can,” Jeff finally said. He was feeling sorry about starting it all by pressing Fred the way he had. If Fred or anyone else didn’t want to talk about something, they didn’t have the right to force it out of them. “I’m just saying … if he doesn’t want to—”

“Aww, come on. What is it?” Evan said, cutting Jeff off and turning to Fred. “Did you kill someone or something? Is that it?”

Jeff like where this was going. It was just like when they were kids and, without ever talking about it or agreeing on it, somehow they all picked the one kid in the tent to heap their abuse on—the scapegoat. Usually it was someone who was new that year, but was that what Fred was now … their scapegoat? For what?

Jeff’s anger flared at Evan when he saw the wounded expression on Fred’s face. Before, he had been looking tense and worried, but now he looked like he was so scared he was about to burst into tears. His eyes glistened like wet marbles in the firelight, and the lines on his face deepened into shadow that looked like thin ink lines.

“Stop picking on him, will you?” Jeff said. “For Christ’s sake.”

But Evan ignored him as he stared at Fred, still pressuring him. Jeff wanted to tell Evan that he was acting like a bastard, that he shouldn’t be picking on Fred or anyone else like this. Why was he being so pushy about it? They should all act like adults here, not turn it into some kind of Lord of the Flies thing.

After another short, tense silence, Fred took a deep breath and let it out in a long puff as he turned to look at Evan with a steady, empty stare.

“You really want to know? The worst thing I ever did?” His voice was low and shaky. “I’ll tell you, and you’re gonna wish to God you’d never asked.”

“No. Wait,” Jeff said, waving his hands impatiently. “You don’t have to tell us anything, Fred.” He looked at the others. “This isn’t fair.”

But Jeff could see that something inside Fred had snapped. Any second now he was going to flip out and let them all have it. Jeff wished he could scream at both Evan and Fred to just shut the f*ck up, but he fell silent as he waited for the explosion.

“I … I killed one of my kids,” Fred finally said, breaking the silence that had settled over them. He heaved a phlegmy sigh that rattled in his throat.

The confession hit them all like an exploding bomb. For a long time, no one said a word as Fred and Evan stared at each other. Fred had a blank stare, and his lower lip was trembling. Evan looked like—for once-he had no idea what to say.

“There! You happy?” Tears filled Fred’s eyes and ran in glistening streaks down his cheeks.

“Aww … shit, man,” Evan said, looking absolutely crest-fallen. “I didn’t mean to— Jesus, I’m sorry.”

“Shut up for once, will you just shut the f*ck up?” Fred shouted. There was pain and rage on his face, and Jeff realized he had never seen Fred like this, either as a kid or as an adult.

“How … how’d it happen?” Tyler asked, his voice laced with sympathy. “I mean … if you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.”

“Jesus, man,” Mike said as he reached out and placed a hand on Fred’s knee. Fred flinched at the touch and drew back.

“That’s gotta be …” Tyler said, but then his voice faltered because he obviously didn’t know what else to say.

Fred sniffed loudly and wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands. Jeff thought he looked diminished, somehow, and so sad and vulnerable. He wondered how Evan was taking this, but the truth was—he didn’t care.

F*ck Evan! He thought. If he feels like shit now—good! … He deserves it.

“It was our second child … our first son. We named him Alex.”

Fred’s voice hitched and closed off with a loud click. This was obviously taking a great deal of effort, but Jeff had the feeling, as tough as it was to talk about, this might be exactly what Fred needed … especially since he obviously had been bottling it inside for so long.

“He … he was born with a—uh, a brain defect.” He narrowed his eyes as though in pain and clenched his hands into fists. “I don’t want to go into all the medical bullshit, but I lived with it for so long … so goddamned long. The bottom line was, the doctors all said Alex would be severely retarded all his life, and there was no hope of a cure, so one night—one night—”

Again, his voice closed off as more tears flowed from his eyes. He leaned forward, cupping his face in his hands and resting his elbows on his knees as he sobbed. Mike moved his hand to Fred’s shoulder and patted him, but Fred gave no evidence that he noticed the touch.

“Take it easy there, buddy,” Mike cooed softly.

With his face still buried in his hands, his voice muffled, Fred continued.

“We already had a child—a girl, Lara, and she was—she is the brightest little thing you’d ever want to meet, thank God. She’s fourteen now, and she’s not giving us any trouble like you hear about from teenagers these days. But Alex … he … I just … I couldn’t face it, you know?”

Mike kept patting him on the back, and everyone—even Evan—made soft murmurs of agreement.

“So one night … when he was asleep, I … Oh, Sweet Jesus in Heaven, I’m so sorry, but I …”

He let out a barking cry that sounded like an animal that had been hit by a car. He slammed his beer bottle onto the floor, shattering it into dozens of amber shards. His shoulders were shaking violently as he leaned forward and crumpled in on himself.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Tyler said softly. “I … I’m sorry we brought this whole thing up.”

Jeff wanted to say it was his fault, but he was still angry with Evan for pressing Fred the way he had. It had been obvious he didn’t want to talk about this, and here they were, practically strangers to one another, talking about something so private and horrible as the murder of a child. There was no excuse for making anyone admit to something like that.

“I had to do it. Don’t you see?” Fred took his hands away from his face and looked at them with absolute anguish and despair etched on his face. “I smothered him in his crib with a stuffed toy—a goddamned Winnie the Pooh bear— so I … so we wouldn’t have to live with … so he wouldn’t have to live his life with something like that.”

“Oh, man. I understand completely,” Jeff whispered. “Who can blame you?”

“I … the medical examiner determined it was SIDS, you know? Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. But I’m pretty sure—I’m positive he knew I’d done it.”

“And I’ll bet he understood, too,” Tyler said. “That’s probably why, if he did suspect what really happened, he didn’t make anything of it, you know?”

Fred’s face was contorted with agony as he looked at Tyler, but a distant coldness filled his eyes … a coldness that made it all too clear to Jeff, at least, how absolutely alone he felt. No one here could possibly begin to understand what he had been through.

How could they?

How could anyone understand the torment being so bad that you were forced to suffocate your own child?

Jeff was ashamed of himself. All along, he had been thinking Fred had been holding back something about what had happened to Jimmy Foster. He wished there was something he could do or say something to make Fred feel even a little bit better.

“So—” Fred said, sniffing back his tears and looking at them. “Does that constitute the worst f*cking thing any of us has ever done? Does it?”

Moving slowly, he got to his feet and stood there for a long time, silently staring at the broken beer bottle on the floor. The flickering firelight shot amber rays of light through the glass and onto the worn wooden floor. After a moment, Fred hitched his pants and said, “I think I’ll take a little walk.”

“It’s gonna start raining again,” Jeff said. He didn’t like that any one would feel uncomfortable enough to be driven out on a night like this.

Moving as if he hadn’t even heard him, Fred bent down and grabbed his raincoat from his pile of clothes on the floor. His face held a curious, blank expression as he pulled his raincoat on and zipped it up to his chin. When he pulled the hood over his head and tugged the drawstrings, his face was lost in shadow.

“I just need some time to clear my head,” he said in a distant, hollow voice. “Don’t let me bum you guys out.”

With that, he walked to the side door and went outside. The screen door banged shut behind him loud enough to make Jeff jump. For a long time, everyone in the dining hall remained perfectly silent until, finally, Tyler let out a loud breath and said, “Christ on a cross.”

“Who’d a thunk it?” Mike said with a shrug.

“You had to push him, didn’t you,” Jeff said, turning to Evan. “You didn’t see how much this was bothering him?

“How was I supposed to know? I had no f*cking idea,” Evan said, shrugging as though absolutely helpless. “Honest to Christ. If I had known …”

“Yeah, well you might want to think before you open your goddamned mouth next time,” Jeff said with a snarl.

The words were out of his mouth before he realized it, and he knew he would regret them later—just as Evan seemed to regret what he had just done. But it was too late. For either of them. The anguish and pain Jeff had seen on Fred’s face and in his demeanor made him furious at Evan, and he had no doubt this would cause a rift between him and Evan for the rest of their lives.

But what did it matter?

He hadn’t had a real friendship with Evan for over thirty-five years.

Why should he give two shits what he thought now?

“I said I was sorry.” Evan cast a sullen look at Jeff. “What more do you want?”

“You can start by apologizing to Fred when he gets back,” Jeff said.

“I already apologized. I don’t think I have to—”

“Oh yes you do. Apologize again, and make goddamned sure he knows you mean it.”

Evan started to reply but stopped himself before he dug himself in any deeper. Lowering his gaze, he nodded his agreement. Only the crackling of the fire and the hissing sound of wind-blown rain, beating against the windows, broke the silence of the room.

“Uhh … Yeah … All right, then,” Tyler said as he rubbed his hands together. “Look, guys, we can’t let something like this ruin the whole weekend. Can we?”

Jeff glared at him, genuinely confused what to say or do. Once again, he cursed himself for agreeing to come out here in the first place. He should have left well enough alone. He had all the good memories he needed about being a kid here, and that’s where it should have stopped. He and Evan and the rest of them were fools to think they could recapture any of the innocence and freedom they had felt back then.

All of that was over … done … dead.

As dead as Jimmy Foster.

“I didn’t mean to upset him,” Evan said. “I didn’t know.” He moved over to the cooler and grabbed a beer. Before opening it, he glanced around at the others and said weakly, “Anyone want one?”

After a moment, Mike raised his hand and said, “Sure. Why not?”

Jeff couldn’t see how they could ignore what had just happened. Then again, they shouldn’t let Fred’s problems—as bad as they were—ruin their time here. Without saying anything, he stood up and pulled on his raincoat.

“Where are you going?” Evan asked.

“For a walk,” he said as he grabbed his small flashlight and slipped it into his pocket. “I need some fresh air.”

He started for the door, knowing what everyone else was thinking. All of them—maybe even Evan—assumed he intended to find Fred and talk to him to calm him down. And he knew they’d be content, at least for a while, to leave them alone.

He shivered as he opened the screen door and stepped out onto the porch. He clicked on his flashlight and stared at the cold lines of falling rain. He was content to let them all think whatever they wanted to because he had other plans.

He was going to use this distraction to go out to the old infirmary and have another look around.

Of course, what had happened with Fred still bothered him, but he had his own things to deal with. All evening, the feeling that something was wrong had gotten steadily worse, and now he was going to do something about it.