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  "It's like he has more money or something. Mrs. Smeltzer's been wearing new jewelry. Barry's supposed to be getting a Yamaha Eighty dirt bike. The way Barry talks, they' ve been going out to eat and stuff a lot more often."

  "You mentioned it before. The day your grandpa… well, that day." Timmy felt a twinge of sadness at the mention of his grandfather. "Yeah, but I've noticed a lot more of it since then."

  "Maybe his dad's just trying to make up for some of the crap he's pulled. Trying to buy them off."

  "Yeah," Timmy said. "Maybe. But that still doesn't explain where he' s getting all this money. They were never poor, but he was always bitching about how the church didn 't pay him enough."

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  A flash of lightning reflected off Doug's face. "Maybe he got a raise."

  "I guess. But you'd think Barry would have said something about it. Last time the union got my dad a raise, we went to Chuck E. Cheese to celebrate."

  "Never mind all that," Doug said. "How he got the innertubes doesn't matter. How are we going to get them out of the garage without him knowing?"

  "If we think he'll have a problem with it, we'll just wait till he's busy workingor until he' s passed out inside. Then, all we gotta do is inflate them, and we can use the air pump down at the Old Forge service station for that."

  Doug's face brightened. "I can get some Hershey's bars while we're there. And they've got Sinistar and Golden Axe and Spy Hunter.

  And those cool old pinball machines like our dad 's used to play when they were kids."

  "Your dad played pinball?"

  Doug shrugged, and then started humming the theme to Spy Hunter. Timmy shook his head. "Dude, forget about all that. You want to play video games all day, or do you want to go tubing? We can float all the way from Bowman' s Woods down through Colonial Valley and into the paper mill 's pond. Then we can just walk home. Just have to make sure we don't go by Ronny or Jason' s houses. It 'll be fun. We could even take our fishing rods, and catch carp and suckers while we're floating downstream."

  "What about snapping turtles? Creek's full of them. And water snakes. You don't like snakes."

  "I'll take my 1& gun. If we see one, I'll shoot it before it even gets close."

  "If your mom lets you, that is."

  Timmy shrugged. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her. I don't see why I should have to report every little thing I do during the day. This ain't Russia."

  "Sometimes I wish my mom would ask me where I was going and what I was doing. It would be nice to know she cared."

  Timmy wasn't sure what to say. "She cares, man. She just… has a funny way of showing it." Right away, he realized how insincere he sounded.

  Doug didn't reply. He stared out at the falling rain, watching it run down the windows and pour off the roof of the Graco's shed.

  "Seriously," Timmy said, even though he didn't believe it, "you know she loves you, right?"

  Slowly, Doug looked at him. His bottom lip quivered and there was a haunted, feral look in his eyes that Timmy had never seen before. His face had gone pale.

  "That's just it. She loves me too much. She…"

  He sobbed, unable to finish. Sniffling, he turned away. His hands curled into fists, and he slammed them into his legs again and again.

  Timmy reached out his hand. "Hey."

  Doug's entire body began to tremble. He made a sound like a wounded animal.

  "She…"

  "Doug, what is it?"

  Part of Timmy was already afraid he knew the answer, and another part of him was even more afraidafraid of having those suspicions confirmed, afraid of what it might mean for his friend, and for them all. A loss of innocence, a dark passage from boyhood into the beginnings of manhood. He couldn' t articulate it, not even to himself, but the emotions were there, deep down inside, bubbling to the surface and now spilling out over the brim.

  "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

  "She… oh, God."

  Tears rolled down both of Doug' s cheeks. When he spoke, he started slowly, each word, each syllable, choked out with an agonizing slowness. But the more he talked, the faster the Page 65

  rhythm and the confirmation of everything that Timmy dreadedbecame.

  "She… she comes to me at night. In my room. When I'm sleeping. She ttouches me. Down there. And I don't want to like it. I don't want to, you knowget hard. But I do anyway. Deep down inside, a part of me does want to. I can 't help it. Can't control it. She puts her mouth on my… on my thing… and I can' t stop her. And then things start happening. I don 't like the way it feels, but I let her do it anyway." Doug shuddered at the memories, and Timmy found himself doing the same.

  "How long?"

  Doug looked at him in confusion. "How long is what?"

  "How long has it been going on?"

  "It started after my dad left. Seems like forever. Sometimes it' s all a blur. You know?

  She lost her nursing job at the private school. Dad left around the same time. Instead of getting a job as a school nurse somewhere else, Mom just stayed home and started drinking. She ' d sit there in front of the TV, just staring and crying, or lock herself inside her bedroom for twelve hours at a time. Eventually, she started staying awake all night, usually drunk, and then sleeping all day. And that was when she started coming in my room at night. Timmythe things she says.

  The things she does. They sort of feel good, and that' s the worst part of all, because they shouldn 't. You and Barry joke about them when we're in the Dugout, reading those magazine letters and stuff, but in real life… In real life, those things are horrible. You don' t want to hear those things. Not from your mother. Not from…" Tears eradicated the rest. He hung his head and sobbed into his chest. After a moment, Timmy slid out of bed and padded over to him. He sat down, hesitated, and then put his arm around his best friend. Doug stiffened, but didn 't move. They sat like that for a long time. Occasionally, Timmy would squeeze his shoulder.

  Outside, the thunder rolled. Another ominous blast rattled the windows. Both boys jumped at the noise, and then were still again.

  "That's why I put a lock on my door from the inside," Doug said, wiping his nose with his shirt. "That deadbolt? You and Barry laughed at me about it, but you didn' t understand. You didn 't know. It was to keep her out. She'd come in when I was sleeping. I'd wake up and she' d be standing there in the moonlight. Naked, sometimes. A few times she had on stuff like the centerfolds wear. Or worse, she 'd already be in the bed with me. Under the covers… doing stuff."

  Timmy nodded, sick to his stomach. He pictured Carol Keiser doing the things Doug was describing, and then immediately wished he hadn't.

  "She always made me promise not to tell. Said it was our secret, that no one else would understand, and that if I told anybody, my dad might never come back, or that they' d take her away from me, too."

  "So what did you do?"

  "What could I do? I didn't do anything. I just laid there and… took it."

  "Jesus."

  "When it was over, sometimes she'd go back to her room or out into the living room. A few times she passed out. Right there in my bed. That' s how drunk she was. Couple times, she called me by my dad 's name, and once, she called me by someone else's."

  "Who?"

  "Someone I don't know. Some guy. Harry. Who knows? Could have been an old boyfriend of hers, or maybe she was running around on my dad." Or maybe, Timmy thought, it was another kid. Someone just like you, Doug. After all, she was a school nurse at a private boy's school.

  Doug got to his feet and pulled a tissue out of the box on Timmy' s dresser. He blew his nose, then sat back down again. His hands kneaded the crumpled tissue, rolling it, then Page 66

  balling it up, and then rolling it again.

  "A few times," he continued, "she said I should have you guys spend the night more often. You and Barry. Said if I convinced you, and you promised not to tell, that she ' d let you guys do things to her, too. Let you touch her, and… stuff. I never t
old you guys, because I was afraid you might tell somebody, or that you might…" He paused, and shook his head.

  "Might what, Doug?"

  "Nothing."

  "Come on, man. You can tell me. You told me this much already."

  "And I shouldn't have. You can't tell anyone, Timmy. Not a soul."

  "I'm not going to say anything. You thought Barry and I might what?"

  "Promise you won't get mad?"

  "Sure. I promise."

  "You've got to swear it, Timmy. You've got to cross your heart and hope to die." Despite his friend's traumatic confession, Timmy found himself chuckling at this.

  "And stick a needle in my eye while I' m at it? Come on, Doug. What are we, back in Mrs. Trimmer 's fourth grade class? I swear it already. Cross my heart… and hope to die." Doug licked his lips, nervous. "I… I was afraid you guys might do it."

  "Oh, dude! You thought we'd do your mom? Man, that's sick."

  "Lower your voice." Doug reached out and clamped a sweaty hand over Timmy's mouth.

  "You'll wake up your parents."

  He removed his hand, and put his finger to his lips as a reminder. Outside the window, blue lightning flashed across the sky, making it daylight for a brief instant.

  "Sorry," Timmy said. "But man, dude, I mean… how could you think something like that about us? We'd never do that to you. It' s disgusting. It would be like doing that Jane Fonda chick that Mr. Messinger down at the newsstand thinks is so hot. Yeah, like maybe thirty years ago she was. Gross!

  Your Mom 's like… old. And she's your mom, for Christ 's sake."

  "I know, I know," Doug whispered, ashamed. "But I was… jealous, I guess. I know that sounds weird, I mean, what with all she was doing to me. But despite all that, she' s still my mother. I still want her to love me. Just not in that way. I thought that if you guys did it with her, that she might not love me at all anymore."

  He started to cry again. Timmy sat there in stunned, silent disbeliefand despair. There was a word for what Doug had been forced to do with his mother, and that word was incest.

  Timmy had read about it. It was disgusting. But as sick and as wrong as it was, some part of Doug still loved his mother. He was more worried about her leaving him than he was about the vile things she was doing to him.

  "It was nice," Doug said. "Being here tonight, with your mom and your dad. Eating hamburgers and playing games and watching moviesit felt so real. It felt like a regular family must feel, you know? I wish I had that."

  Timmy nodded.

  "You're a lucky guy, Timmy. I know you're still sad about your grandpa, and I know you argue with your parents sometimes, but you don't know how good you' ve got it. You should be grateful, man."

  "I am," Timmy said. "Believe me, I am."

  "I don't want to go home tomorrow. I wish I could stay here."

  "Well, look. When we get up in the morning, let's talk to my parents about it. Maybe we can"

  "No!" Doug's shout was lost beneath the thunder, but both of them paused anyway, Page 67

  listening to see if it had awoken Timmy's parents.

  "No," Doug said again, whispering this time. "You promised that you wouldn't tell anybody. You can't. Nobody else can know. Not even Barry." Timmy felt torn. On the one hand, he wanted to tell his parents. This was too big for him to try and keep it bottled up inside. His parents would be able to help. He was worried about Doug, worried about what this would do to him emotionally. Obviously, it had already had some effect. Maybe his parents would let Doug stay with them.

  But on the other hand, he 'd made a promise to his friend, and he couldn't just break it. He didn't want Doug to be mad at him.

  While he struggled with these conflicting emotions, Doug excused himself and crept down the hall to the bathroom. Timmy heard him running water in the sink. His mother snored softly and his father farted in his sleep. The lightning flashed again, but the storm ' s power seemed to be lessening. The rain slowed to a drizzle, and the thunder was distant now, muted.

  Doug came back into the room and tried to smile. He shut the door behind him.

  "Sorry. I'm done crying now."

  He sat back down, and Timmy squeezed his shoulder one more time.

  "It'll be okay, Doug. You'll see. It'll all be okay." But in his heart, Timmy knew that nothing would ever be okay again. It was a long time before dawn arrived, and Timmy was still awake when the first rays of sunlight crept over the horizon.

  Chapter Nine

  When they got up for breakfast the next morning, they were surprised to learn that Timmy's father hadn' t yet left for work. His truck was still in the driveway, and they heard him talking to Timmy 's mother in hushed, serious tones. Timmy' s first thought was that someone else in their family had died, maybe one of his aunts or uncles. His second thought was that maybe his father was sick. If that were so, it would have to be something very serious. Randy Graco had gone to work with the flu and a high fever before. He 'd even gone in every day when he broke his leg while out deer hunting four years ago. Things like illness didn' t stop him when it came to putting food on the table.

  "Wonder what's happening?" Timmy said.

  Doug didn't respond. He' d woken taciturn and withdrawn, and Timmy wondered if perhaps he was regretting telling the truth about what was happening between him and his mother.

  "You okay, Doug?"

  "Didn't sleep too good."

  "Yeah, me either." Timmy pulled a clean pair of socks from his top dresser drawer.

  "Listen, about last night"

  "Let's not talk about it right now."

  After getting dressed, the boys walked into the living room, and immediately, Timmy noticed the grim expression on both his parent' s faces. His father looked shocked, and his mother was pale. At first he was afraid they 'd overheard Doug' s latenight confession, but then he realized that they were both staring at the television, which was tuned to the local news. They hadn 't even looked up to acknowledge the boys' presence.

  "What's going on?" Timmy asked. "What's wrong?" Randy looked up from the newscast and blinked in surprise. "Hey guys. Good morning."

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  "Don't you have to work today, Dad?"

  "I'm going in late. Wanted to talk to you guys first."

  "Did you boys sleep okay?" Elizabeth sipped from a coffee mug. "Or did the storm wake you up last night?"

  "We heard it," Timmy said. "Sounded pretty bad. Is that what's on the news?"

  "No," she said quickly, glancing at her husband. "It's just…" She shook her head and took another sip of coffee.

  "Just what?"

  "Maybe you two better sit down," Randy said, waving his hand at the couch. Shit, Timmy thought. They did overhear us last night.

  Doug shuffled his feet. "Um, are we in trouble, Mr. Graco?"

  "No, Doug. Not at all." He gave a short, uncomfortable laugh. "But we do need to talk."

  Timmy and Doug took seats on opposite ends of the couch. Timmy glanced at the television.

  A reporter was standing alongside a road. There were woods behind him, and a car parked along the side next to the trees. The entire area had been roped off with yellow police tape. Timmy frowned.

  "What's going on, Dad?"

  Randy stood up and turned off the television. Then he turned to his wife. "Hon, can you get me some more coffee?"

  "Sure." Elizabeth got his mug and disappeared into the kitchen. Randy leaned forward in his chair, folded his hands together, and stared at them both without speaking. He seemed to be considering something. Timmy and Doug both twitched nervously. Randy opened his mouth to speak, but the phone rang, interrupting him. In the kitchen, Timmy heard his mother answer it.

  "Hello?… Oh, hi Brenda Yes, Randy and I were just watching it on the news… Terrible." Randy cleared his throat. Timmy and Doug turned their attention back to him.

  "Boys," he said, "I don't know how to say this, so I'm just going to say it. I know you' ve had some trouble in the past with Ronny Nace an
d Jason Glatfelter and Steve Laughman. I know they 're not exactly friends of yours, butwell, there's been some bad news." Timmy twitched, wondering if his parents had found out about Ronny's stolen bike, and what they'd done with it.

  Doug looked relieved. "Are they finally in jail for something?"

  "No. They're missing."

  In the kitchen, Elizabeth told Brenda goodbye and then hung up the phone.

  "Missing?" Timmy glanced at the blank television screen. "Like they ran away?" His father shook his head. "I guess it's a possibility, but the police don' t seem to think so. Their parents reported them missing this morning. Another woman is missing, too. An adult. Deb Lentz. They found her car abandoned out near Porter 's Sawmill. And there's even speculation that maybe Karen Moore and her boyfriend didn't run off, either."

  "A serial killer?"

  "I don't know, Timmy." Randy Graco scowled. "That's a little extreme, don't you think?

  Ask me, you've been reading too many comic books."

  "But it could be."

  "Yeah, sure it could. I guess. But they don't know that yet. All they know is that there are a lot of people missing all of the sudden. That doesn't mean it' s a serial killer. Where do you get this stuff? I wasn 't thinking about serial killers and monsters when I was twelve. I was busy playing football."

  That's because you didn't get clobbered every time you played, Timmy thought to Page 69

  himself.

  And you didn' t live next door to a monster or down the road from one, either. The bad people aren 't just in my comics. They're in the real world, too. Elizabeth returned with two fresh mugs of coffee for Randy and herself. Then she sat back down in the rocking chair.

  "That was Brenda," she told her husband. "She and Larry are going to do the same thing with their kids."

  Nodding, Randy sipped coffee.

  "Do what with us?" Timmy didn't like the sound of thiswhatever it was.

  "Well," his mother said, picking up where Randy had left off, "the reason your father stayed home this morning was because we wanted to talk to you about this. We' ve discussed it, and came to a decision. Your father and I think it might be best if you stick close to home for the next few days. You too, Doug."