Chapter 37
June 1997
Jake and his two friends silently made their way through the moonlit forest. He had been thinking about Sara but reminded himself that he needed to be attentive, so he tried to focus on what was around him. This led to his next line of thinking regarding the strangeness of what they were doing.
They weren’t police officers; they were volunteers. They had entered a forest untrained and unarmed, in the middle of the night, where a dangerous man was potentially lurking; and, stranger yet, Stanley Sr. didn’t have anyone accompanying them. It was this fact that left Jake feeling more uncomfortable than anything.
“How long are we staying out here?” Jake asked in a whisper. Phil looked back, and Jake could see his weariness as well.
“I figure we’ll cover the forest from Old Arrow Road down toward Auburn,” Stan answered. “That’s a pretty big stretch and should be enough to help Dad and Arthur out.”
“What if we find him?” Phil asked.
Stan didn’t answer at first but then replied, “If we can take him then we take him, otherwise we’ll get Dad.”
“I don’t think we should fight the guy,” Jake protested. “He has a gun.”
“I know he has a gun,” Stan said bitterly. “It’s my gun, and I want it back. Dad gave me that thing. Besides, Dad’s been training me to be a policeman, so I know how to disarm him if need be.”
“Stan!” Phil said sternly. “We ain’t fightin’ an armed criminal.”
Stan stopped walking and faced them, obviously annoyed. “This is our responsibility as men of Anderson. This guy came into our town and terrorized people we know and love, and he could return. We need to catch him to put the town’s mind at ease.”
“We ain’t trained for this,” Phil replied.
“You’re not, but I am. Don’t worry, we’re being careful enough. Everything’s fine.”
“Did you even talk to your dad?” Jake asked, having heard enough. “Something’s not adding up.”
A surprised Phil looked from Jake to Stan, but Stan didn’t budge. Phil obviously took Stan at his word and hadn’t even considered the possibility of him lying to gain their help.
“Of course I talked to him,” Stan answered in an irritated tone. “This is what he said to do.”
“Then why aren’t we accompanied by him or Arthur? And why aren’t any of the other men of Anderson out here?”
“Because Dad trusts us, and people are patrolling. They’re doing the same thing we are—just in other parts of the woods.”
“You’re lying,” Phil said angrily. “You never talked to your dad, did you?”
Stan cursed, kicked a fallen branch, and threw his hands in the air. “Yes, I did, okay? He said we could help by staying home with Mom. That’s not helping. We’re grown men now, and I’ll be joining the police force in a couple years. Dad’s just too scared I’ll get hurt.”
“And with good reason,” Phil declared as he turned to leave. “We shouldn’t be here!”
“Where are you going?”
“To find Percy. We should be with our families right now.”
Stan grabbed hold of Phil’s arm and Phil turned sharply, giving Stan a stare that would have frightened Satan himself. Jake smartly pulled Stan away.
“Phil’s right, Stan. We need to leave. Disobeying your father isn’t going to win you brownie points.”
“But he has my gun. If anyone gets hurt it’ll be my fault.”
“How would it be your fault?” Jake asked.
“Because my dad always taught me to keep the bullets separate from the gun. It’s a safety thing. He’s big on that, and I am, too. But after our last trip to the shooting range, I was tired and just threw them in with the gun. If he shoots someone, it’ll be my fault for giving him the bullets.”
Jake shook his head. “If the guy pulls the trigger, then he’s responsible, not you.”
“But Dad will be mad. He’ll call me irresponsible.”
“So what if he does?” Phil chimed in. “If bein’ unsafe with your gun is irresponsible, then own up to it like the man you’re tellin’ us you are. Now let’s go.”
Stan was reluctant to leave, but Jake put a comforting hand on his shoulder and helped him get started. Then a noise on a hill to their left stilled them. Twigs and leaves crunched, and they were suddenly afraid. Phil waved them toward a little nook along the upper banks of a small creek where a tree had fallen from the top of the bank, its roots still on top of the bank’s crest. Its branches lay broken on the dry ground past the creek. They crammed beneath the tree, away from prying eyes, and knelt silently as the footsteps drew closer.
Jake held his breath as they approached the crest of the bank and stopped right on top of them. The stranger climbed up on the tree’s roots with a grunt, and his boots scraped on the dead bark as he descended the trunk. Then he jumped, and a middle-aged, black man landed with his back to them, startling Jake. Phil covered Jake’s mouth as the man turned quickly and angled a gun at them—Stan’s gun.
“Don’t move,” the man said. “Now come on outa there.”