Scarecrow Gods (23 page)

So then why did someone come by and beat Bergen into a coma?

That was the million dollar question.

Why had they left him lying in a ditch like a piece of trash?

Danny glared at his mother standing beside him. She smiled back, her lips a tight line of concern. No nurse here. His mother could take some lessons, for at the corner of her eyes, Danny could see his own unspoken emotions. Anger mixed with fear—and a certain coldness that promised parental vengeance.

He squeezed his mother’s hand and sent a small grin of thanks her way.

A disturbance erupted from the end of the hallway opposite the nurse’s station. Bergen’s father was screaming at two policemen. One was taking down notes, the other had both hands out as if to placate the man.

“This is the third time you’ve asked me these questions. When will you find the madman who did this? When will you leave us alone and do your job?”

“Please, sir. We’ve got patrol cars in the neighborhood and a car at your house. We’re looking and have every confidence we’ll find the perpetrator.”

Bergen’s father scoffed. “How will you find this madman? What evidence do you have?”

The policemen glanced at each other. The old man read the look and pounced.

“I’ll tell you what evidence you have. None.” He stepped forward and into the policemen’s personal space. “Do you disagree?”

“Sir, we’ve canvassed the surrounding neighborhoods, but nobody saw a thing.”

“Bah! There must be someone. Someone must have seen something.”

The other policeman stopped writing. “The place where your son was found was a fair bit isolated. Unless someone was driving by at the exact time of the assault, there’s really no way for there to be a witness.”

“So you’re not so confident, yes?”

“Yes. No. I mean…shit!” exclaimed the policeman, drawing a raised eyebrow from his partner. “Listen, Sir. Although our evidence is sketchy, we’re confident we’ll catch the perpetrator. The safety of our citizens is our primary—”

“Cut the propaganda. I’m not stupid and I certainly don’t need a lecture from you. My concern is for my family and as long as there is a madman out there, they will remain in danger.”

“First, we don’t believe this was a targeted attack. We believe it was random. Second, we’ve assigned a patrol car to your family, just in case.” The policeman held out his hand so he could continue. “There will also be a police officer with your son until he recovers or until we catch the perpetrator.”

“It’s a madman, that’s who it is.”

“We can’t be sure it’s a man. The perpetrator could be a woman and we need to ensure that we don’t rule it out.”

“Are you crazy? Did your mother drop you too much as a child?”

The policemen stepped back, blinking rapidly.

“This was a crime of violence against a
child
. No woman could have done this,” said Bergen’s father. “Women are mothers and mothers love their children.”

The deputy looked like he wanted to respond, but he was too thoroughly beaten down. Danny could tell he wanted to, though. Even Danny knew that Bergen’s father was wrong. It could have been a woman. All one had to do was watch the evening news to know that mothers were as capable of atrocity as fathers. The old man was living in another world if he believed otherwise.

Danny remembered speaking with Bergen about the old man’s naïve optimism and inability to understand the wickedness of the world. He was a scholar, dedicated to the interpretation and the uncovering of the truths hidden within Jewish religious texts. His reality was
The Word
not
The World.
On the rare occasions when Bergen could get his father to watch the news or a TV show, the man was unable to discriminate between the two. For him, it was all fiction, the drive-by shootings and wars on the nightly news were the same as the comedic dramas of prime time. He refused to see the everyday violence of the world as a threat.

Bad things happen to bad people,
he said.
If it happens to you, then you must be bad.

Strange how such an intelligent, old man could so completely fail to understand. The average eight year old knew more, learning the catch phrase
Stranger Danger
until it repeated internally like a pre-pubescent self-defense mantra.

Danny returned his attention to his friend in the ICU. So small. So frail. Even with Bergen’s limp and long scar, he’d still been able to leap and dive with the best of them. Sure, he was a little slower than everyone else, but it’d never stopped him. On the contrary, it’d seemed to spark a strange competitiveness within the boy.

Bergen’s closed eyes were ringed in black and blue. His face was uneven. Except for a few stray wisps of brown, his hair was covered with a turban of white gauze. From toe to head, he was one long wound. When he woke, if he woke, he was going to be in for some serious pain.

If he woke.

Danny’s eyes began to burn. His throat tightened. He bit his lip to keep from sobbing. He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder. His mom stared at him with her
mom
-eyes and her
mom-
smile.

They turned as the elevator opened. Doug and his mother stepped off, followed closely by Greg. Doug’s mother stopped and stared wide-eyed, her eyes dodging left and right, never settling on anything. Small and dumpy, her blue and yellow flower-print dress hung off of her like a smock. Doug jammed his hands way down into his pockets and hurried to where Danny stood. He nodded to Danny’s mother, smiled grimly at Danny and faced the window of the ICU. Greg stood close to his mother his eyes following the nurses.

“Damn,” Doug whispered. “Looks like he tried to take on the whole football team.”

“Yeah,” said Danny.

“Both teams.”

“Yeah.

“And the cheerleaders.”

“Yeah.”

Doug fingered his own yellowing bruises with the fingers of his left hand.

“That wasn’t funny. I didn’t mean for that to be funny.”

“I know,” said Danny. He felt his mother squeeze his shoulder as she stepped away and headed down the hall to where Doug’s mother stood. Taller than the other woman, Danny’s mom had to lean down when Doug’s mom spoke. “He’s bad, ain’t he?”

“Yeah. He hasn’t woken up yet.”

“I just can’t believe it happened to one of us, you know?”

“The police want to speak with him, find out who did it,” said Danny, eyeing Greg.

“Shit. That don’t matter now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you hear?” asked Doug, a grin widening his face. “They caught the bastard who done this.”

“What?”

“Hell Yeah! Someone at the hospital recognized him. You won’t believe it when I tell you, but evidently the asshole felt bad about what he done and brought him to the hospital.”

“Says who?” asked Danny.

“Says everyone. I’ll tell you, lucky thing the bastard brought Bergen in. If he hadn’t, might be looking at the electric chair instead of just plain old jail.”

“No shit. Then how come the police are still looking for someone?”

Doug’s eyes narrowed and his mouth corkscrewed around the word
police
as he repeated it. “Them police couldn’t find their way out of a paper bag with a knife. I wouldn’t be trusting them if I were you. Where there’s police it means there’s also politics.”

“I suppose.”

“Danny! I swear I’m telling you the straight stuff. Just go down to the emergency room and ask anyone who it was that brought Bergen in. Just ask them.”

Danny glanced back towards where his mother was standing to see if she’d heard. She was staring back at him, but from the look on her face, he could tell she hadn’t. He stared at Greg, and was startled to see the larger boy staring back at him. For several long seconds they locked eyes then Greg smiled and looked away. It wasn’t the usual mean smile, this one was a little sad and seemed out of place on the boy’s face. Danny remembered their attack and had feared that Bergen’s beating had been in retribution. Weird.

“So who is it?”

Doug sneered enough for his fat lips to part revealing a slice of white teeth. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Come on. Give.”

“You know, you should have figured it out for yourself, seeing as you’re the smartest of us since Bergen was taken out.”

Danny felt his anger rise. “What the hell are you talking about? Do you mean Greg?”

“No. I thought it was maybe him too, but he was over at Grandma’s all afternoon. I called to make sure, she said he was in the driveway the whole time washing his car.”

Danny flashed a short, quick smile. “So who then?”

Doug licked his lips. “Who do you hate the most around here?” he asked.

“Hate? I don’t hate anybody.”

“Come on. We all hate someone. You gotta hate someone.”

“Stop this crap, Doug. Just tell me. Enough of this hate shit.”

“What about your sister? What about the person who took her?”

An almost overwhelming urge to punch Doug came and went in a flash of red. “No one took her.”

“The person who made her leave then. The person who did something to—”

“No one made her leave. What the hell are you talking about, Doug!”

As Danny stepped in with his fists clenched, Doug stepped back and held his hands up. “Okay. Okay. Take it easy man. I’m not trying to start something here. I’m just reminding you how deep this all goes.”

Danny relaxed, but only slightly. His friend had wound him up. “Fine. So tell me already.”

“It was the Maggot Man.”

“Maggot Man? He did it?” asked Danny remembering all the rumors surrounding the old black man and his sister’s disappearance.

“I told you I didn’t like that name,” said Danny’s mother, rejoining him. “Besides, Officer Peters just informed us that Mr. Phinxs was released.”

“What?” said Doug and Danny simultaneously.

“Evidently, Mr. Phinxs came upon Bergen in the road and brought him here.”

“But that’s bull,” said Doug.

“He doesn’t go out during the day,” said Danny.

His mother’s eyes narrowed, but she made no other indication that she’d heard their remarks. “Be that as it may, he’s been released. I’m going down to the third floor and get a cup of coffee. Your father’s on his way. If you see him first, tell him I want to speak with him.”

Danny nodded all the while his mother walked down the hall. The minute she disappeared into the elevator, he spun towards his friend. “Well?”

“I don’t care what your momma or the police say,” said Doug. “I know it was the Maggot Man that done this just as I know it was Greg that done
this
,” he said pointing towards his own face. “There ain’t no way I’m gonna let Bergen down and let the bastard get away with it. Unless you want the same thing to happen to you or me or any of the others. The Maggot Man has got to pay. No. I take that back. The Maggot Man is gonna pay.”

All Danny could do was nod, his eyes upon the figure in the ICU.

CHAPTER 8

Friday—June 15th

Ooltewah, Tennessee

The night knew.

The forest understood.

Even the animals and insects seemed to refrain from their ceaseless search for food. Midnight’s full moon cast harsh edges along the long lengths of trees. The shadows behind each one were deeper, as if each great oak and hickory was an entrance to an Appalachian void where dark things crept and crawled. Bushes were interspersed along dappled moonlight, each one large enough to hide a crouching man or nightmare. Five figures flit through the shadows, winding silently throughout the congestive vegetation. Wearing the luminescence of all things good, they padded silently through ground swells of ferns and rye. The figures halted as the trees gave way to open ground.

As one beast, they sank into the weeds.

* * *

They’d run hard and long, several times doubling back so as not to be observed. This was their first rest and each felt the burn in their muscles. Several readjusted their white pointy hoods so they could better see through the eye-slits that had been jaggedly cut by imperfect, angry hands.

They were far from home.

A gleaming gray line unwound in front of them, a road that disappeared on two forested horizons. One by one, they crossed, luminescence merging then separating as they resumed their night aspect. After about a hundred yards, they stopped again. Four of them waited, while the fifth crept a few yards forward.

“Stop your whining,” whispered Clyde, reaching under his sheet to scratch beneath his arm.

“But it’s heavy,” said Eddie, leaning back so the ground supported the bulk of his backpack beneath the white sheet he wore. “I don’t want to carry it anymore. Clyde, will you—”