The days had been hot since the Caretaker’s appearance, and today had added a stilling humidity, a leaden front up from a tropical storm in Baja, to make sure they did not forget that they were not far from burning in Hell. At least that’s how Neil saw it, though he had always been religiously inclined. It was his turn. The Caretaker hadn’t done him any favors.
N.H. Burn Down School
Fran and Kipp were nowhere to be found. The police had returned twice to question the others, but the interviews were obviously uncoordinated. They had asked Brenda and Alison about Fran and had spoken to Tony, Neil, and Brenda about Kipp. No one had thought to quiz Joan. Why should they, the police didn’t know of the existence of their cursed group. The kidnappings were big news locally.
Neil and Tony were sitting in Tony’s room, Neil on the corner stool, Tony on the floor. The window was open and the sun had a bird’s-eye view of their heads. Both of them were sweating but neither of them was bothering with his drink. There was a lot they had to talk about but they were letting it wait. Tony wished he could shut off his mind as easily as he could his mouth. He kept rehashing the events that had brought them to their current dilemma, trying to find the turn he had missed that would have taken them all to safety. But the only exit he could see was the obvious one, Neil’s trap door: Confess and face the consequences. Now, with the Caretaker’s last threat, even that way was blocked.
“How is Brenda?” Tony asked.
“Expelled, grounded, depressed, and alive,” Neil answered.
Tony half smiled. “In order of importance?”
“No.”
“It was a joke. I’m sorry; it wasn’t funny.” He wiped at his face with his damp T-shirt. For a moment, he considered calling Alison. Their romance had been put on hold since the pints of blood—the police had confirmed that it had been human blood—had soaked through Kipp’s bed sheets. He wanted to be big and strong in front of her, and he had nothing to offer that would make him appear that way. And he wanted to be with Neil. “How’s your leg?”
“You still don’t have enough money to get it fixed?”
Neil took a sip of his orange juice and coughed. “My mother’s gone to Arkansas to visit her brother. The strain was wearing her out. I gave her what money I had.”
“How does she feel the strain we’re under?”
“She feels it,” was all Neil would say. Putting his lips to the glass for another drink, Tony could see every bone in his jaw through his pallid skin. Neil would soon be a skeleton.
If he lives that long, Tony thought, shamefully.
“You wanted to get her out of the way in case something happens to you, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing’s going to happen. I’m not leaving your side.”
Neil pressed the cool glass against his cheek and closed his eyes. “I’d rather be alone. It’s strange, but I don’t feel as afraid when I’m alone, not anymore.” He opened his eyes. “But you can give me one of your father’s guns.”
Tony nodded. He had already lifted one from his dad’s collection and hidden it under his bed. But rather than reaching for it, he picked up a Bic lighter instead, striking the flame up to maximum, as if they really needed more hot air. He was staring at the flame when he said, “It could be done.”
“No.”
“We have a small pump in the garage. I could take my car from gas station to gas station and use the pump in between stops to siphon the fuel into a bunch of old five gallon bottles we have out back. If we hit the school at, say, three in the morning, drove through first and dropped the bottles off, then came back on foot and broke a window in a classroom in each wing, and then poured the gasoline inside, it could work. When everything’s set, I could take a flare and a box of Fourth of July sparklers and make one mad dash around the campus. The place would be an inferno before the first fire truck could get there.”
“No.”
“I’ll do it myself then, dammit.”
Neil sighed, wiping his thinning hair out of his sunken eyes. “And what will you do for me when I’m in Column III?”
The question was as honest as it was fatalistic. Tony leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. The worst thing was this waiting and doing nothing . . . no, that was the second worst. Neil’s refusal to blame him ate at him more than anything the Caretaker had dreamed up. “I got you into this predicament, I’m going to get you out of it, at least for this round. I’m burning the blasted place down. It deserves it, anyway.” Neil said nothing. Frustrated, Tony threw the Bic lighter at the door, half hoping it would explode. “One word from you that night and I would have turned myself in. I swear, one word and I wouldn’t have given in to Kipp and the others.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not blaming you, don’t get that idea.” He chuckled without mirth. “How could I blame you?”
“Tony?” Neil asked suddenly. “Do you ever think about the man?”
“I think about nothing else. If we hadn’t hit him, life would be about ten thousand times rosier.”
“No, I mean think about who he was: whether he was married and had kids, what kind of music he liked, what he hoped for in the future?”
“I would like to say I do but . . . I don’t.”
Neil hugged his glass tightly. “Since the accident, even to this day, I read the paper in the morning and look for an article or picture about the man. In the days following that night, I was sure there would be something about him, at least one person looking for him. But there was nothing.”
“We were lucky.”
“No,” Neil said sadly. “It made me feel worse that no one cared for him, that only I cared.” He put his drink on the floor and tugged at his emerald ring, which could now have fit on his bony thumb. “It must be lonely to be buried in a place where no one ever goes.”
“Personally, I would prefer it.” Tony wanted to get off this morbid bent so he changed the subject to a much cheerier topic—guns. He leaned over and pulled the walnut case from beneath his bed, throwing back the lid. “This is one of my father’s favorites.” He held up the heavy black six-shooter. “It’s a Smith & Wesson .44 special revolver. The safety is here.” He pointed to the catch above the handle. “This is a mean weapon. Just be sure before you pull the trigger.” He handed the gun to Neil, along with a box of shells. Neil looked at it once with loathing before tucking it in his belt, hiding the butt beneath his shirt. “Remember to load it,” Tony added.
“You don’t think it would scare the Caretaker, empty?”
“Not if he knew it was empty.”
Neil swallowed painfully. Reality was hitting home. A tear started out of his right eye. He wiped it away and another one took its place. At that moment, Tony would have given his life to know for certain that Neil would be safe. Cowards like himself, he thought, were always heroic when it was too late to make any difference.
“I guess I should be going,” Neil said.
“Won’t you stay, please?”
“I can’t.” He took hold of the shelf and pulled himself up. It struck Tony then, only after all this time, that Neil’s leg could not possibly have simple cartilage damage.
“Thank you for everything. I won’t forget you, Tony.”
Tony stood and helped him to the door, where he hugged Neil. “Of course you won’t forget me. You’ll see me tomorrow, and the day after.”
“But if something should happen . . . ”
“Nothing will happen!”
“If it should,” Neil persisted in his own gentle way, “I want you to do something for me.”