The Turtle Boy (5 page)

He didn't answer until he
was sure some fat black arachnid hadn't nested in his hair. When
he'd cleared the remaining strands, he grimaced and looked around.
"Sure looks like it. Unless he's hiding."

"Maybe he's
gone."

"Yeah, maybe." It was a
comforting thought. Behind them in the distance, the hungry heavens
rumbled as God made a dark stew of the sky. "Maybe he caught a
train out of here."

Kim glanced toward the
tracks, which were silent and somehow lonely without a thousand
pounds of steel shrieking over them. "Or maybe a train
caught
him
."

Before Timmy could allow the image to
form in his mind, he heard something behind him, on the other side
of the pines.

"Did you hear
that?"

Kim shook her head.

A twig snapped and they both backed
away.

"It's probably a squirrel or
something," Kim whispered, and Timmy was suddenly aware that her
hand was gripping his. He looked down at it, then at her, but she
was intent on the movement through the trees behind them. He
ignored the odd but not entirely unpleasant sensation of her cool
skin on his and held his breath. Listening.

"Maybe a deer," Kim said, so
low Timmy could hardly hear her above the breeze.

They stood like that for
what seemed forever, ears straining to filter the sounds from the
coiling weather around them. Timmy could hear little over the
thundering of his own heart. Kim was holding his hand even tighter
now. A terrifying thought sparked in his mind:
Does this mean she's my girlfriend?

"C'mon," he said at last.
"There's no one there."

She nodded and they both stepped
forward.

Timmy was filled with
confused excitement. Then, just as quickly, uncertainty came over
him. Was she waiting for
him
to let go of
her
hand? Was she feeling uncomfortable and
embarrassed now because he was holding her hand just as tightly? He
tried to loosen his fingers but she squeezed them, and a gentle
wave of reassurance flooded over him.

She wasn't uncomfortable.
She didn't want to let go. His heart began to race again but this
time for a completely different reason.

And she continued to hold his hand.
Continued even when something lithe and dark burst through the
pines in front of their faces and dragged them both screaming
through the trees.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Timmy's mother opened the
front door. Her look of surprise doubled when she saw the rage on
Wayne Marshall's face.

She stood in the doorway,
leaning against the jamb. "What on earth is going on?" she said,
crossing her arms. The gesture meant to convey that she was
prepared to dispense blame wherever it was due.

On the porch, Pete's father
still had a firm grip on the collar of Timmy's T-shirt, but he held
Kim by the hand. Timmy felt strangely jealous.

"Sandra, I found these two
snooping around back at Myers Pond," Mr. Marshall said firmly, as
if this should be reason enough for punishment. Timmy's mother
stared at him for a moment as if she didn't think so. Her gaze
shifted briefly to Kim, then settled on her son.

"Didn't your father tell you
not to go back there?"

Timmy nodded.

"Then why did you? And I
suppose you dragged poor Kimmie back with you, back into all that
mud and sludge? Look at your sandals. I only bought them last week
and you've wrecked them already." She shook her head and sighed.
After a moment in which no one said anything, she looked at Mr.
Marshall. "You can let them go now, Wayne. I don't think they're
going to run away."

But he didn't release them
and Timmy thought he could feel the man's arms trembling with
anger. In a voice little better than a growl, he said, "Sandra,
it's not safe for kids back there. I don't think I have to remind
you what happened a few years ago. I know I certainly don't want
Pete back there and it's becoming blindingly obvious that your son
has taken the role of the neighborhood Piper, leading everyone
else's kids back there to get into all sorts of
trouble."

A hard look entered Mrs.
Quinn's eyes. "Now wait just a second – "

"If you had any sense you'd
send this little pup away for the summer like I sent Pete. It's the
only way to keep them out of trouble. I mean, what was your son
doing back there on the other side of the trees? With a
girl?
Is this the kind of
thing you're letting him do behind your back?"

Timmy's mother straightened,
her eyes blazing. "Just what the hell are you saying, Wayne? That
because we don't shelter our boy and scream and roar commands at
him around the clock that we're doing a bad job? Is that what
you're saying? How about you mind your own business and let me
raise my child how I see fit? Or would that be asking too much of
you? He's eleven years old for God's sake, not a
teenager."

"Just what I expected," Mr.
Marshall said with a humorless smile. "All the time strolling
around like you're Queen of the Neighborhood, better than everyone
else. Well, I'm afraid your superior attitude seems to be lost on
your kid."

"That's rich coming from
you. At least Timmy doesn't live in fear of me."

"Maybe he damn well
should
live in fear of
you."

"Watch your language in
front of the children."

"
Fuck
the children!" He wrenched
Timmy's collar hard enough to make the boy gasp. "You don't keep a
watch on them. You don't care what happens to them. You let them
wander and that's how they get hurt. It's bitches like you that
make the world the way it is."

The trembling in his arms
intensified, spreading through Timmy and making him queasy. He
tried to pull away but the man held firm. When he looked up he saw
that Mr. Marshall's face was swollen with rage.

"Let them go."

He didn't.

Timmy's mother took a step
forward, teeth clenched. "I
said
, let them go, Wayne. Let them go
and get the hell off my property or we're going to have a serious
problem."

Mr. Marshall dropped Kim's
wrist. Timmy felt the grip on his T-shirt loosen. They went to his
mother's side. Mrs. Quinn tousled their hair and told them to go
into the kitchen. As they did, Timmy heard Mr. Marshall mutter
darkly, "We already have a problem. But I'll fix that. You'll
see."

CHAPTER NINE

After Mr. Marshall stormed
off, Timmy's mother made the kids some lemonade and ushered them
into the living room. Timmy noticed the ice clinked more than usual
as she set the glasses down on coasters for them, her smile
flickering as much as the lights. She switched on the television
and changed the channel to cartoons.
Spider-man
twitched and swung through
the staticky skies of the city. Rain drummed impatient fingers on
the roof. Kim scooted closer to Timmy and, though pleased, the boy
guessed the image of Mr. Marshall's hands bursting from the trees
was still lingering in her mind. Those hands had terrified him too.
Even when he realized it was his friend's father that he was
looking at and not the mangled squash countenance of The Turtle
Boy, he hadn't felt much better. Or safer. Though Pete's dad had
never been the friendliest of people, it seemed he'd become a
monster since the start of summer.

They watched cartoons for a
few hours until Timmy's father came home, cheerful though soaked
from the hissing downpour. With a degree of shame, Timmy watched
his father's good mood evaporate as his mother related the day's
events. Kim shrank down further in her seat.

Eventually his father sat at the
kitchen table with a fresh cup of coffee and called him over. His
mother ferried a basket of laundry into the den and Kim watched
with fretful eyes as he swallowed and slowly obeyed.

"Your mother tells me you
were down at the pond today?"

"Yes, sir."

"Look at me when I'm talking
to you."

Timmy felt as if his chin
were the heaviest thing in the world. It was a titanic struggle to
meet his father's eyes.

"Didn't we discuss this?
Didn't I ask you to stay away from there?"

Timmy nodded.

"But you went
anyway."

Timmy nodded again, his gaze drawn to
his shoes until he caught himself and looked up.

His father stared for a
moment and then shook his head as if he'd given up on trying to
figure out some complicated math problem. "Why?"

"We were trying to find The
Turtle Boy."

He expected his father to
explode into anger, but to his surprise he simply frowned. "This is
the kid you said you and Pete saw?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then you really did see a
kid down there?"

"Yes, sir."

"Was everything you told me
about him true, even the stuff about the wound he had?"

"It was horrible. He kept
dipping it in the water. Said he was feeding the
turtles."

His father nodded and poked
his glasses back into the red indentation on the bridge of his
nose. "It sounds like one of your comic book stories, but I believe
you."

Timmy was stunned. "You
do?"

"Yes. And I think the reason
Mr. Marshall is so mad is because he's been drinking like a fish
the past few weeks. It doesn't help to have you hanging around with
his kid and making trouble."

"But I wasn't making
tr—"

"I know, but the way he sees
it you are. Wayne is going through a tough time, Timmy. His wife
passed away, he started messing with…well, with bad stuff I don't
really want to go into. He drinks too much and it's starting to get
to him, to make him crazy, so I think it would be better to avoid
him from now on."

This had never occurred to
Timmy. His mind buzzed with possibilities. "But what about
Pete?"

A sigh. "Son, I think it's
time for you to start making new friends, like Kimmie there. Now
wait – before you get upset. If you wanted to play with Pete I
wouldn't raise a hand to stop you, but I found out that Wayne put
his house up for sale this morning. And with the way things are
developing around here, he'll have it sold in a heartbeat,
especially at the low price he's asking for it. So I don't think
they're going to be our neighbors for much longer."

Timmy was appalled. "It's
not fair. Pete's my best friend."

"I know," said his father,
clamping a hand on Timmy's shoulder. "And God knows he's not having
an easy time of it either. It's not right what Wayne's putting him
through."

"What do you
mean?"

"Never mind. I'm going to
ask you now to stay away from Pete's dad, and this time I want you
to promise you'll do as I say."

Timmy was buoyed a little by
this new alliance in the dark world his summer had become. "I
promise. He scares me anyway."

"Yes, I'm sure he does. He
had no right to speak to you or your mother like he did. I'm going
to go over there and have a few words with him."

Timmy felt something cold
stir inside him, an icy current in the tide of pride he felt at his
father's bravery.

"Don't."

His father nodded his
understanding. "He's a bully, but only with kids. He'll think twice
before crossing me, I guarantee it. He owes all of us an apology
and I'll be damned if I'll let him be until I get it."

"Are you going to
fight?"

"No. That's the last thing
we'll do. You know how I feel about violence, what I tell
you
about
violence."

"But…can't you go over there
tomorrow?" Timmy gestured toward the rain-blurred kitchen window
where the storm tugged at the fir trees. "It's nasty out there.
You'll get drenched."

"Don't worry about it. I'm
not exactly bone dry as it is."

"But—"

"Timmy, I won't be long.
We'll just have a little chat, that's all."

But Timmy wasn't reassured.
The storm was worsening, buffeting the house and blinding the
windows. Lightning flashed, ravenous thunder at its heels, the
sibilance of the rain an enraged serpent struggling to find entry
through the cracks beneath the doors. It was the kind of weather
when bad things happened, Timmy thought, the kind when monsters
stepped out of the shadows to bask in the fluorescent light of the
storm, drinking the rain and snatching those foolish enough to
venture into their domain.

And his father wanted to do that very
thing.

"Why don't you wait until
the storm passes?" he asked, though he could see the resolve that
had hardened his father's face when he shook his head and downed
the dregs of his coffee.

"Timmy, there's nothing to
worry about."

Timmy didn't agree. There
was plenty to worry about, and as he watched his father stand and
steel himself against the weather and the things it hid, he felt
his legs weaken. A voice, calling feebly to him from the far side
of the sweeping desert of his imagination, told him that he would
remember this moment later, that summoning it would bring a taste
of grief and regret and guilt. And failure. It would etch itself on
his brain like an epitaph, inescapable and persistent, haunting his
dreams. He felt he now stood at the epicenter of higher forces that
revolved around him in the guise of a storm, that this little
family play was taking place in its eye, tragedy waiting in the
wings.