The Wildman (9 page)

Of course a lot of the conversation centered on Tyler and the work he did in Hollywood, representing movie stars as well as producers and directors and some screenwriters. Although he professed not to have all that important a client list and that he really shouldn’t even mention any of his clients because of confidentiality issues, he let drop a few names Jeff definitely had heard of. Frankly, he was impressed that one of their little group appeared to be quite successful in the world. He started thinking his job selling real estate in southern Maine wasn’t all that much of an achievement.

“
Ahh … It’s nothing, really,” Tyler said with a dismissive wave of the hand. “They’re just people like you and me, you know?”

“
People like you and me with a shit-load of money, you mean” Fred said, laughing before he tilted his head back and drained his fifth or sixth beer of the evening.

No wonder you’ve got a weight problem,
Jeff thought … and maybe a drinking problem, too. Fred had been knocki
ng them back hard ever since supper, and he didn’t look like he was going to be slowing down any time soon.

Maybe he’s got a good reason to drink.

“
So tell us,” Evan said, leaning forward with a lascivious leer. “You fucking any famous Hollywood stars?”

Jeff was taken aback that Evan would ask such a crude and personal question.

Maybe he wasn’t used to drinking like this, and the few beers he’d had were going to his head faster than expected. Jeff remembered Evan as always being somewhat aloof … someone who didn’t engage in the typical gross-out horseplay the others did, even as kids.

Maybe he said what he said so he could fit in a little better.

Or maybe he had a genuine prurient interested in Tyler’s sex life.

In any event, Tyler smiled and shook his head as he glanced down at the floor, clasped his hands, and said, “Can’t say that I have.”

“
Can’t say is not the same as saying you never did,” Evan said.

Tyler paused and took a sip of beer, then added, “Although I have to admit there are a few I wouldn’t mind putting the ole’ wood to, if you catch my drift.”

“
But you’re married,” Fred said.

“
I am. And happily, believe it or not,” Tyler said, but he made a poking motion with his fist that made everyone burst out in gales of laughter … everyone, that is, except Evan, who looked a little bit pissed because Tyler had made light of his question and not given him a straight answer.

“
Hey you guys,” Jeff said. “Remember those stories Mark used to tell us?” He was hoping to take the pressure off Tyler to reveal things he obviously didn’t want to talk about.

“
Don’t get started about Hobomock,” Fred said. He folded his arms across his chest and made an exaggerated motion like he was shivering. “Fuckin-A, those stories used to scare the
shit
out of me.”

“
Scarred him for life … as you can plainly see,” Tyler said with a smirking grin.

“
No. Seriously.” Fred hunched forward and turned to face the fire. “There were times when we’d be out on an overnight camping trip or whatever, and Mark would tell us one of them stories just before we went to sleep, and I’d be up all night, worrying and waiting for some Indian demon or ghost or something to come and get me.”

“
Do you remember any of the stories?” Evan asked in a hushed voice.

He had been sitting off to one side, as far away from the cigar smoke as he could get. Even now that the cigars were finished, he kept his distance. The orange firelight under-lit his face at an oblique angle, making his cheekbones and brow ridge stand out in sharp relief. Jeff thought his eyes appeared sunken, more deeply set than they did in daylight, as if they were sinking into his face. For the first time, he realized just how old Evan really looked. Time and worry had aged him like anyone else in the room, and in a dimly lit room like this, it really showed on him now that he was relaxed.

Jeff wasn’t the only one who had caught the odd note in Evan’s voice. Tyler shot him a questioning look and then glanced at Fred, whose face held an expression of increasing discomfort and maybe even fear.

Before anyone could say anything, a sudden gust of wind slammed against the dining hall, rattling the shutters on the windows and making the roof timbers creak and groan. Fine grit filtered down from the rafters, sprinkling them like pepper.

“
Wind’s picking up,” Mike said. The hollow tone of his voice perfectly suited the mood.

“
I told you,” Jeff said. “There’s a storm coming. This must be the front moving through.”

“
Don’t worry. We’ll be safe and warm in here,” Evan said. “A night like this is
perfect
for telling some of those old stories.” For some reason, when he said this, he
looked squarely at Jeff. “Don’t you think?”

“
I dunno.” Fred’s voice was low and tight. “I’m not sure I even want to remember any of them.” He sniffed with false laughter and shook his head.

“
Ah, come on,” Evan said, leaning closer to Fred so the firelight bathed his face with a rich, orange glow. “You should remember them if they scared you so much.”

Jeff shifted where he was sitting. He didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. It was one thing to get together after so long and catch up, but there was something almost mean about the way he was talking to Fred. It was like he wanted to find his weak spot and go straight for it.

What would he have against Fred?
Jeff
wondered, and one again, he questioned Evan’s motives for getting all of them together out here.

Maybe it isn’t to try to sell us on his development.

Maybe he has something else … something more sinister in mind.

He didn’t know Evan or any of these guys. How could he know what any one of them was up to?

“
I don’t think so,” Fred said, his voice strained and low. “All I remember is being scared shitless that there was something … this demon or evil spirit hiding in the woods who was gonna jump out and snatch me away.”

“
That’s the whole point of telling ghost stories, for Christ’s sake,” Tyler said. “You’re supposed to get scared.”

“
Yeah, but not so bad it scars you for life,” Fred said. “A couple of years ago, I researched it and found out Hobomock really was a Native American demon. Mark wasn’t making those stories up.”

“
And did Hobomock catch people and eat them?” Evan asked, arching his eyebrows.

He still had an odd expression that Jeff couldn’t read, and he wondered what Evan was trying to accomplish here.

Was he trying to make himself feel better, more important by finding and picking at Fred’s obvious bad childhood memories?

Why do something like that?

Is it just to make himself feel more important?

Is this his way of establishing that he still is the one in charge … that h
e
had
been-and always
would
be—the Alpha male?

“
I doubt it,” Jeff said, hoping to diffuse the awkward situation, “but if we’re gonna dredge up horrible memories, what say we raise a glass and toast the memory of Jimmy Foster?”

He had poured himself a tall glass of rum and raised it while lowering his gaze and saying, “To the memory of a good guy … Jimmy Foster … who should be here with us tonight.”

“
Amen,” Mike said.

“
Hear … hear,” Tyler said, and everyone raised whatever glass or beer can they were holding, clinked them, and took a sip. Jeff noticed Evan’s reluctance to join in, and he saw the cold, angry light that glowed in his eyes.

Jeff narrowed his eyes for a moment and let the rum burn its way down into his belly. Then he cleared his throat and said, “It’s just so fucking weird to think how so much has happened since the last time we were all here together.”

He didn’t like to feel as though he was belaboring the obvious, but right now … at this particular moment in this particular place … he was almost overwhelmed by a sense of time past … of opportunities taken and lost … of lives that had intersected for one brief moment and then drifted apart for whatever reasons.

And now—here they all were—back together.

At least most of us,
he thought, and in some strange way, it felt as though even Jimmy was sitting here w
ith them.

Feeling the way he did, Jeff could just about convince himself nothing that had happened in any of their lives in the intervening years had meant anything. What difference had any of their lives made to the world? The darkness and the sound of the wind blowing against the old building and the faint, rhythmic sound of the waves against the shore all contributed to create a strange feeling of timelessness and how sad and pitiful and dispensable any one human life was.

Or maybe he felt this way because of the more than usual amount of rum he’d drunk tonight.

Whatever it was, he had a deep sense of contentment and well-being, as being here in this place with these people was where he really belonged.

“
So …? No one remembers any of those stories Mark used to tell?” Mike asked.

Drawn from his reverie, Jeff opened his eyes and looked at his friend. His vision was blurry, but now that he thought about it, there was something about the expression on Evan’s face that he found irksome. It struck him as odd that he would suddenly be filled with anger at Mike.

Did he feel protective of Fred, who had already made it clear that he wanted no part of telling any of the stories that had given him nightmares as a child?

Or was it much simpler than that?

Maybe there was something about Evan he just didn’t like. Just because they’d been friends years ago didn’t mean he had to like him or Mike or Tyler or anyone now.

“
I remember one story,” Evan said, “but it wasn’t one about Hobomock. It was about the guy with the hook for a hand. Remember that one?”

Everyone except Jeff grunted and nodded. Jeff still eyed Mike in the flickering firelight, trying to figure out why he’d had such a sudden, violent reaction to what was, in truth, a fairly innocent suggestion. All they were doing was reminiscing, and the stories their counselor used to tell was just a part of it.

What the hell was the big deal?

“
I remember that one,” Fred said, his eyes glazing over as he stared at the flames. “They didn’t scare me anywhere near the way the Hobomock stories did.”

“
So tell us that one if you remember it so well,” Evan said.

Jeff noticed that Evan had moved a bit closer to Fred, and, he felt protective of Fred. He tensed, wondering if Evan was suddenly going to attack Fred or something. He shouldn’t purposely be poking and prodding him like this. No one should.

Wondering why he was getting so paranoid, Jeff heaved himself up from the floor, stretched, and rolled his head to loosen the stiffness in his neck.

Maybe he just needed to move around some.

He’d been sitting in the same position for a couple of hours now. At his age, the floor wasn’t very comfortable.

“
I’m glad you told me to bring one of them egg-shell sleeping pads,” Jeff said to Evan.

There was still some undefined tension in the air, and Jeff decided even if he was just imagining in, he had to
do
something
t
o shift gears.

“
I gotta take a whiz,” he said, shivering as he looked down the hallway that led to the side entrance they had never used as campers. They had always entered the dining hall using the lakeside door.

“
Too bad the plumbing’s not working in the old crapper,” he said. “I’m not too keen about freezing my ass.”

Evan gave him an irritated look as he shook his head. “Be thankful you don’t have to shit in the woods like a bear.”

“
Or the Pope,” Mike piped in, eliciting a few faint chuckles from the others.

“
Help yourself to the rum while I’m gone,” Jeff said as he placed the half-empty bottle on the floor within easy reach.

With a stirring of trepidation, he walked down the hallway to the exit. The screens in the door were long gone, but Evan—probably in the last few days when he was out here getting things ready for them—had nailed a thin sheet of plywood across the gaps. The spring that drew the door shut was rusted a rich brick red. It twanged loudly when Jeff pushed the door open and stepped out onto the small, covered porch.

“
Watch your step out there,” Evan called out. “The wood on the landing’s getting kinda punky.”

Kinda punky?
Je
ff thought as he walked carefully across the porch to the steps. The floorboards sank beneath his weight, and rusted nails made loud creaking sounds as they pulled from the rotting wood. The sound set his teeth on edge, and he felt much safer once he stepped down onto the ground. But as he looked around, a deeper chill grabbed him by the scruff of the neck.

Other than the faint glow of firelight coming from inside the dining room, there was absolutely no light anywhere. The smell of wood smoke drifted in the air and was pleasant enough. The sound of waves breaking on the shore was so familiar and comforting he loosened his shoulders and relaxed a bit. Still, there was an unaccountable tension twisting inside him.