“Yeah,” he told Vince. “They’re shooting that Welcome to Salem ad tonight—in Peabody.”
“Close enough, I guess. I got a couple of beers. Come on out—we’ll hang in the truck, and that way we can toss ’em quick if she shows up,” Vince said.
Rocky shook his head. “My mom can smell beer a mile away.”
“Chicken!”
“Yeah, well, that and our English test is tomorrow, and I have to ace it,” Rocky said.
“Wow. Some wild and crazy hotshot you are,” Vince said.
Rocky shrugged. “You said you’re going to community college until you figure out what you want to do. Well, I know what I want.”
“NYU or Harvard,” Vince said, grinning. “Maybe Yale.”
“Notre Dame. But, hey, I’ll sit in the back of the truck and watch you down a few.”
Vince shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Vince was huge. Six-four, close to three hundred pounds. He was great to have on the football field. He might have taken it somewhere—he just didn’t have the ambition.
“I don’t get you, buddy,” Vince said, opening the back of his Ford pickup and crawling into the bed.
As he did so, another car drove up. It was an ancient Toyota. Best Jack could buy, and then only with his dad’s help.
“Hey!” Jack called. He wasn’t as big as Vince; he was lean, with wiry muscles.
“Come and join us—back of the pickup,” Vince said as Jack got out and greeted them with a grin. “Haley hasn’t got you cornered?”
“Don’t know what’s up. I think the girls were going shopping. Now hand me a beer.”
“See, Rocky? That’s what boys do when the girls aren’t around—they drink beer and watch football,” Vince said.
“There aren’t any games on,” Rocky reminded him.
“Okay, so we settle for drinking beer,” Vince said.
“School night,” Rocky said. “And I have plans to get out of this town.”
Vince looked at Jack and Rocky, grinning. “Rocky, you got it all wrong. Peabody is a great place. Close to the action in Boston when you want action. Away from people when you don’t want a crowd.”
Jack laughed. “I think you’re talking about the wheat fields of Kansas or something. We have neighbors almost on top of us.”
Vince popped a beer and lay back on one of the plastic cushions he kept in the truck for “entertaining,” as he called it, looking up at the sky. “Yeah, in some places you got old Victorian on top of old Victorian. But there’s still some wooded land available. And reasonably priced, too. I get some trust money when I graduate, and I’m buying land.”
“To do what?” Rocky asked.
“I don’t know yet—I just know I’m buying it.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have any trust money coming,” Rocky told him. He crawled up into the bed of the truck, but he didn’t lie back.
“Witch’s moon,” Jack said.
It was huge and full, Rocky noticed. The local Wiccans were probably all out forming circles or whatever it was they did.
“Werewolves a-howling,” Vince said, laughing.
Rocky frowned, listening intently. Just as Vince had spoken, he could have sworn that he did hear something. Not a howl, exactly. More like a sob.
“What was that?” he murmured.
“You hear a werewolf?” Vince laughed.
“No,” Rocky said, glancing at Vince and rolling his eyes. “But something. Shut up and listen.”
Melissa. Melissa Wilson. She was calling his name again. She was trying to tell him something.
Help me, Rocky. Help me!
“Don’t you hear her?” he demanded, looking around. His next-door neighbor’s house was close—not fifty feet away. The sound, however, seemed to be coming from farther than that. He gazed toward the playground across the street and beyond...where a small forest of pines led down to the pond.
“Hear what?” Vince demanded.
“Melissa,” Rocky said. “I could swear I hear Melissa—and she’s calling for help.”
Vince laughed. “Melissa? What the hell are you talking about? I’m the one doing the drinking and you’re hearing things? You hear anything, Jack?”
Jack shook his head. He looked worriedly at Rocky. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Rocky said. “I’m fine. I’m not hearing things. It’s Melissa, and she’s asking for help.”
“You’re crazy, man. The pressure is getting to you. Hell, you’d help yourself out if you’d have a beer,” Vince offered.
“He may be right,” Jack noted.
Rocky jumped off the bed of the truck and listened. He couldn’t really tell, but the voice seemed to be coming from across the street and...
From inside his mind.
He walked across the street, so intent he forgot to even look for traffic. Thankfully, it was a quiet neighborhood.
“Rocky, what the hell?”
Vince hurried after him, with Jack following behind.
Rocky sprinted across the grass and into the pines.
“Rocky, wait!” Vince gasped. He was bigger, but it was hard for him to run as fast. Jack was quickly catching up.
But Rocky kept going until he finally stopped in the maze of pines, holding his breath, listening.
Rocky!