The Girl in the Woods

Roger studied the prints again. He noticed a disturbing pattern to them. They clustered around the girl's grave. Its faint outline was still visible, even after a number of weeks, and Roger could tell that whoever came out there to the clearing had seen and examined it.

 

Something hot welled up at the back of Roger's throat. His eyes started to burn, and then his lip quivered. He tried to hold it in, but he couldn't. He was going to be in so much trouble if the wrong people found out. So much trouble.

 

He started to cry. Alone in the clearing with the cop's body at his feet and the girl's grave before him, he started to cry. The tears were hot against his face, and Roger wiped them away with the back of his hand. He took two deep breaths that sounded a little like hiccups.

 

Calm down.

 

He tried, but he wasn't sure he could.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

 

 

 

 

 

It wasn't supposed to be like this. It didn't used to be like this, not according to what his dad had told him. A man used to be able to do the things he wanted to do—needed to do—and not have to worry about suffering the consequences. But apparently things had changed.

 

When his father knew he was going to die, when the doctor gave him the speech about improving the quality of the time he had left, he approached Mr. Bolton—with Roger tagging along—about maybe helping Roger out, throwing him an odd job or two. Nothing too big or demanding, his father said, and Roger knew what that meant. Nothing that would confuse the dummy. Roger hadn't expected Mr. Bolton to follow through. Roger just didn't know how to do much. He could lift heavy things and move them around. He did okay with some basic stuff on cars. But really, he knew his skills were limited. It was nice of his dad to try, but there wasn't much to work with.

 

But Mr. Bolton surprised Roger, not by calling but by driving all the way out to the house and knocking on the door one evening about a month after his father died. When Roger looked out the front window and saw the well-dressed man from town standing on the stoop, he almost fell over in shock. What was he doing there? Had his car broken down? Was he lost?

 

He let Mr. Bolton in and tried not to notice the way his nose twitched and his mouth curled as he looked around the front room. Roger told him to have a seat on the couch, and Bolton looked down before he sat as though he thought there might have been a pile of snakes on the cushion. Roger knew he was supposed to offer the man something to eat or drink, but there was nothing much in the house. Roger still hadn't figured out the kinds of things to buy at the grocery store and keep in the house. His mother had always done that, and after his mother died, his dad had told Roger what to do as best he could. But Roger knew he had a lot to learn.

 

Mr. Bolton didn't waste any time with small talk or pleasantries. He cleared his throat and got right to business.

 

"It must not be very nice to live here alone, is it Roger?"

 

 

 

"No, sir," Roger said. "But I do my best."

 

 

 

"I bet you do."

 

 

 

Roger decided that he really didn't like Mr. Bolton. He didn't like the way the man always talked as though he were standing on a mountain looking down at the people who were listening. He also didn't like that Mr. Bolton's skin looked more tan in the winter than in the summer. But Roger also knew he had to be polite, so he nodded his head and kept listening.

 

"I know your dad explained some things to you before he died, things about the woods behind your house."

 

 

 

"Yes, sir."

 

 

 

"And he told you about the kind of meetings that used to be held there."

 

 

 

"Yes, sir."

 

 

 

"You know, several generations back, your ancestors and my ancestors used to work closely with one another. They shared the duties of running this community."

 

 

 

"Really?"

 

 

 

"Yes. My grandfather and your grandfather were quite close. Quite close. And that's why I'm here talking to you today. In a way, I feel as though we're family. We're from the same place and share the same background, even if superficially there don't appear to be any great similarities between us."

 

 

 

"Really?"

 

 

 

"Yes. And that's why I have an offer for you. An opportunity. It's the kind of thing our ancestors did for each other, back when the community was still young and people looked out for each other in a much more gentlemanly fashion than they do now."

 

 

 

"Do you have a job for me?"

 

 

 

"Yes. But it's so much more than a job. It's something to change your life. Something you probably can't even imagine."

 

 

 

And then he told Roger all about the girl. He explained that she was lonely and needed a place to live and someone to take care of her.

 

"She's been in some trouble, sure," Mr. Bolton said. "But the men of this town used to take care of things like that, we used to look out for people who were in need. Isn't that what your dad told you?"

 

 

 

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