The Vacation That Never Really Ended

I have finally concluded this story! If you have been following it all along, you may want to scroll down to "Conclusion" to read the end. Otherwise, here is the story in its entirety.

The Vacation That Never Really Ended



Photo by Scriber

Marsha Livingston felt more happy than in a long time. Free of the city and its demands for a few days and exploring the Southern coast with her two children, Betsy and Clark. The kids were quite patient with her in Savannah as she dragged them around the historic neighborhoods. They could only think of one thing. "When are we going to the island?" She glanced at them in her rear view mirror. They were happy and excited as they drove the highway through the tall and signature grasses of the region. Clark was sitting there with his diver's mask and snorkel on his face, even though the water was still about an hour's drive away. Betsy was curled up on the other side, trying to ignore her younger brother by burying her face in a Harry Potter book. Every now and then, she would look over at him and roll her eyes. "Look, children." she said sticking her hand out the window and pointing at the tall and beautiful grasses blowing in the breezes that smelled already of the sea. "This is why Savannah is called Savannah!" Betsy ignored her. Clark stuck his head out the window, his hair blowing about wildly.

The days on the island were just what Marsha needed. She relaxed on a blanket in the sun, lazily watching her children, each absorbed in their own way. Betsy looked so cute in her little swimsuit and straw hat combing the beach for sea shells. She had begged for a bikini, but mother stood firm. "Maybe next year, dear." Clark kept stomping awkwardly out into the water in his flippers only to get thrown back by the next crashing wave.

In the afternoons, when the sun was unbearably hot, they showered and visited the commercial strip of the little beach town. They tried out the local eateries, and went shopping for souvenirs. Both Betsy and Clark were horrified watching their mother indulging in oysters. "Ohh, yukk!" Clark said, making a face. Betsy watched with curiosity. They looked so slimy and ugly. But watching her mother, she sensed that this might be an important rite of passage for her. Marsha watched as her daughter timidly reached out her hand, almost touching one of them, then drawing her hand back. They won't hurt you, sweetie", Marsha said. "Some people think of them as an aphrodisiac." "What's that?" Betsy said. Marsha realized she had said a little too much. "Ummm, you know...it makes you feel good.", she said, trying to cover her tracks, even though she knew her daughter would look the word up later. Betsy made a determined second attempt. Marsha and Clark looked on as she picked up an oyster, made a face neither of them had ever seen before, and gulped it down. "You are so gross!" Clark said in disbelief. "What do you know, you little twirp!" she retorted, her face still trying to return to normal.

They went in and out of little shoppes perusing shell collections, driftwood art, beach gear and the like. They wandered into a small place called "Island Couture." Mostly racks of colorful beach attire. Betsy kept flipping through the bikinis and looking over at her mother who consistently shook her head no. It didn't help that the little old woman running the store kept saying, "You would look lovely in that, my dear." They were about to wander back out, when the woman said, "Oh you simply must see what we have in the back room. It's all the latest. Come, come. You will love it." They followed her through the rattling, beaded seashell curtain and down two steps to the door.

That was the last anyone knew of the whereabouts of Marsha, Betsy, and Clark Livingston. The old woman was the last to see them. When questioned by the detectives from the Savannah police department, she only expressed dismay and concern that anything untoward might have happened to such a sweet little family. The officer's reports made mention of the remarkable resemblance between photos of the missing persons, and the mannikin's in the woman's shoppe window. No bodies ever washed ashore, and the few leads they had went nowhere. It remains an open, but dormant file.
II
Shane Livingston sat in the detective's office at the Savannah police department patiently answering the man's questions. Until he had learned of the disappearance of his wife and children on the news, he had no idea where they had gone. He only knew they were running from him. He had told her that if she ever tried to leave, he would find her....and he would kill her. He was careful in his responses to the detective's questions, and his face offered no clues of his bitterness or anger. "She seemed happy with her job. She was taking a painting class. No, she didn't seem despondent in any way." he said, in reply to the detective's question as to his wife's mental condition. "So, she was just taking a vacation with the kids?" the man asked. Shane nodded. "The kids were quite excited about it. They had been planning it for weeks.", he answered with a smile. "So, you decided to stay at home?" the detective asked. "I had no choice, really. I had a big deadline to meet at work. So, I told them to go on without me, and have a good time." Here's the thing, Mr. Livingston," the detective said, sitting back in his chair, "your wife and children have been missing for five days now. So far, we have nothing to go on. All their belongings, clothes, suitcases, toys, were left behind in the motel room." Shane, shook his head bringing his hands to his face as though in despair. "Where are their belongings now?" he asked. "Everything is exactly as they left it in the motel room. For now, and until we have evidence to the contrary, we are treating it as a crime scene."

Shane walked out of the police station. The detective had advised him to 'stick around' in case they needed to question him further. Of course he had no plans to leave. He was hell-bent on finding them before the police did. He wandered the beach trying to second guess the workings of his wife's mind. What she would have done. This was no crime scene. They were hiding. It might turn into a crime scene. If he finds them, it definitely would become a crime scene. And by the time the officials found what remained of them, he would be long gone. He sat on a bench along the dock studying the row of charter boats bobbing in the water. The police had already questioned the captains and crews. No one had seen them.

Marsha and the children huddled in the cramped hold beneath the deck of the fishing boat as it chugged slowly through the choppy water. She had bought a few clothes for them and for herself at the shoppe back on the island. The old woman had arranged their passage on her husband's boat. "Where are we going, Mommy?" Clark said in a rather scared voice. She wrapped her arm around him. "We are going to another island, sweetie." she said, hugging him. " A wonderful island of palm trees and coconuts, and even monkeys!" "Monkeys?!" Clark exclaimed with a wide-eyed look on his face. She nodded, "Yes, lots of monkeys just like you." she said, pinching his cheek. She smiled as she looked down at her daughter sound asleep, her head resting on her lap. It would take two more days at sea. And then they would be safe. For awhile, at least.

It was simple but quite sweet, this life on the island. The children were already talking in the local broken English that to Marsha, seemed a strange mix of French and English and even had some African guttural clicks of the larynx embedded in it. Even some kind of body language seemed a part of what was spoken. Marsha found it difficult. She was in awe of her children's ability to absorb the culture. In the marketplace she depended on them to make the appropriate gestures that put an emotionality and intent in the words spoken.

All in all, she had gotten where she wanted to be. Free of Shane. The ways he had humiliated and scared her, and the children as well. It was so easy for him to sting her face with his hand. And he had struck out at the children as well. Still she kept a wary eye on the sea, and the boats that come and went, One day, she bought a gun as well as three lessons on how to use it. She felt safer here on the island than she had in a long time. Still, there would always be a certain uneasiness as long as she knew he was still out there somewhere. She kept the gun concealed from the children. She knew it would frighten them. They had been horrified that night seeing their father point a gun at her head. So, she managed to keep the gun tucked away. But close at hand.

III
The Conclusion

It was the typical kind of day on the island, sunny, breezy, a stunning blue sky, with only a few distant clouds off in the distance along the horizon. Marsha sat in the shade of the open air cafe sipping an iced coffee and Kahlua, watching the children playing down along the water's edge, mixing with some of the native youth. There was that boy again with Betsy. There were newspapers lying about from several countries. She picked up a copy of USA Today and flipped through it. There was her picture. "Georgia Woman and Children Still Missing." There was a picture of her husband as well. "Authorities report that Shane Livingston, while remaining on the island in search of his missing family, chartered a boat early yesterday morning, telling reporters only that he was going fishing and needed time to be alone with his grief." she looked at the date on the paper. It was from 3 days ago.

Marsha dropped the paper and walked quickly out onto the beach calling to her children. She knew Shane well enough to know he was on the prowl. Back in the efficiency she had rented two blocks off the water, she sat at the table with her children. "We are going to play a game." she said. "What kind of game?" Clark asked. "A game where we pretend we are secret undercover agents on a mission." "Cool!" said Clark jumping up excitedly. Betsy tilted her head to one side and looked at her mother with a frown. Marsha reached across the table and patted Betsy's hand. "Come on, Betsy play along. It will be fun." Betsy looked up at her mother and saw something urgent in her expression. "What's the mission?" she asked. "We are going to have to go deep into the interior of the island. Into the jungle, where the monkeys live." "Oh, yes! Yes!" Clark said excitedly. "You see," Marsha said, dropping her voice to a whisper, "someone is trying to steal the island chief's goblet. The golden goblet that has been handed down from one chief to the next since the beginning of time. It is our sworn duty to keep this from happening!" Marsha smiled at Clark jumping up and down in sheer boyish delight. Betsy sat there watching her mother closely.

Betsy sat on a stool in the bathroom, as her mother took the scissors to her hair. "This is about dad, isn't it?" she said as her locks fell to the floor. "Uh huh" Marsha replied. There was no fooling Betsy. She was wise beyond her years. Not old enough for a bikini, but wise beyond her years. "You are going to look so cute as a blonde." Marsha said, lathering up Betsy's hair. So Betsy became a blonde with short straight hair. Clark got a military boot camp look. Marsha sighed as she looked into the mirror at her new look. She now had auburn hair and it fell and cupped her face in some mod sorta way. "If I could lose about 20 pounds I would look just like Twiggy," she thought to herself.

It took all the next day to drive through the jungle to the other side of the island. Clark was mostly hyper, babbling on about monkeys, missions and goblets.. Marsha and Betsy did their best to make their crazy flight seem logical to him. They were all exhausted by the time they found a room in the little fishing village. It was a hot and sweaty night. The ceiling fan spun slowly overhead. Marsha found it impossible to sleep. She dressed and looked back from the doorway at her sleeping children, quietly picked up her purse and stepped out into the night air. The moon was almost full and the gentle breeze blowing felt good. She strolled out onto a rickety pier listening to the gentle lapping sounds of the water and looking back frequently to the room where her children lay sleeping.

"Hello, Marsha" suddenly cut through the air from behind her. And then his hand on her shoulder. He spun her roughly around pulling him to her. "Don't you think its time to come home now?" he said, nuzzling his face against her neck. She fought back the tears as she nodded in resignation, turning her face into his. "Oh, Shane, I am so tired. the children are exhausted." His hand caressed her face. It felt, for a moment like the man she had married. He traced her neck with his finger tips, and then his hand slowly tightened around it. She dug frantically into her purse. He said it in a whisper, "You stupid bitch." She fired three shots point blank into his belly. He fell back and into the water. She fired the last three shots at him as he slowly sank. The children, awakening to the sound of gun fire, found their mother on the pier in a dead faint. She smiled up at their faces as she slowly slid the gun to the edge of the pier and into the water. "Are you ok, mommy?" Clark said, as he and Betsy helped their mother to her feet. She wrapped her arms around them as they walked back to the room. "Yes, I'm ok. I guess I was having a bad dream. But, it's over now." "Was it daddy?" Betsy whispered in her ear. "Uh huh" she nodded, nuzzling her face into her daughter's fragrant hair.

Why Drink Coffee When You've Got Indie Pop?

"Obviously Cold" by The Answering Machine ( Manchester, England)



"You, Me, Dancing!" by Los Campesinos ( Cardiff, Wales)



"Slow" by dEUS (Belgium) featuring guest vocal from Karin Freijer Andersson of The Knife



"Pass This On" by The Knife (Sweden) ...Karin Andersson



"The Old Days" by Dr Dog (Pennsylvania)

Knots, Conclusion of Chapter Two

Charlie, Becky, and Bob sat on the edge of their makeshift raft tied to a tree on the bank, their bare feet dangling into the water. "The trunk is under old man Sullivan's floor," Charlie told Becky excitedly. "He's got a trap door under his mattress, and the trunk is down there." "Do you think the bones are still in it?" Becky asked. "Yes" said Bob, "I was able to reach down and push on the trunk, and you could hear the bones rattling." "Did you put the mattress back just the way it was?" Becky asked. Charlie nodded. Bob said, "I think so." "Because," Becky said, "if he notices its been moved, then he will know that we know he has the bones."

"What we still don't know is who the hell's bones are those?" Charlie said. "Check it out!" Becky said digging into the pockets of her jeans cut-offs. She pulled out a crumpled yellowed newspaper clipping and carefully flattened it on her thigh with her hand. "Look," she said pointing to a headline. " WOMAN STILL MISSING". "It's from the London Daily, June 21, 1951", she said, pointing to the date at the top. She began to read the article aloud. "Authorities today have abandoned their search for Rosalie Sullivan after scouring the neighborhood and the surrounding woods for three days. Her husband, once considered a suspect, but later cleared, was released yesterday. Today however, his whereabouts is unknown. Scotland Yard has distributed photos of Mr. Johnathan Sullivan to all transit points, and it was suggested that Mr. Sullivan must still be considered a possible suspect in this case. Authorities have released the recent photograph of Mr. Sullivan, shown below, and request that anyone seeing a person of this description contact Scotland Yard immediately." Becky pointed to the picture. "It's him!" Bob exclaimed. Charlie nodded, "He wasn't as fat back then, but that's him."

"So now what are we to do?" Bob asked looking to Becky and Charlie. "Whether he knows we know where the bones are or not," Becky reasoned, "he knows we are onto something. He said he was going to kill us." They hatched a plan. they would camp out that night. They would pick a place in the woods where Sullivan couldn't find them. They would sort all this out and figure out what to do next. "Why don't we just go to the cops right now?" Bob asked. "Let me ask you one more time," Becky said, "are you sure you put everything back exactly where you found it at Sullivan's place?" Bob shook his head. Charlie shrugged his uncertainty. "Well then," said Becky, "for all we know he is onto us, and has moved the bones, and is hunting us this very moment." Charlie looked at Bob. "She's right. we would have no real evidence to prove Sullivan offed his wife." "So we can't go home." Bob muttered. "Yes," said Becky, "we have to go home and make excuses to our parents. I will tell mine that I am going to sleep over at Alison's tonight. I do that a lot anyway. And Alison will cover me if my parents call." "But, you can't let Alison in on what's really happening." Charlie said. "No,' said Becky shaking her head, but she will cover me no questions asked. I covered her last weekend." "OK,' said Charlie looking over at Bob, "we'll tell our folks we are going camping. We do that all the time, anyway." Bob nodded. "So we can just grab our gear and get on with it." "Exactly!" replied Charlie. "Don't forget to pack food," Becky said, "maybe three days worth." "Three days?" said Bob. Becky looked at him, "We are in some deep shit here. Its him against us now. We can't afford to be running tomorrow on empty stomachs."

Knots

Charlie and Bob were out of school for the summer. It was a time for playing down along the river where the rope swing hung suspended from a high tree leaning out over the water. It was a long heavy rope that would carry them out in a big swooping arc that stopped about 15 feet up from the water. Plenty of time to let go, and do a one and a half into the murky river.. But beyond such fun, they had an adventurous project on their minds this summer. A project that had taken them up the densely wooded hillside on old man Sullivan's place. Somewhere up there, well beyond the numerous No Trespassing signs nailed to trees, was a cave. They had been up there twice. The first time they couldn't go down more than ten feet or so before the cave's entrance disappeared behind them and they were in utter darkness. They shouted down into the blackness and listened to their voices echoing back. They walked back down the hillside talking excitedly about their impending exploration of an underground world.

The second time they brought flashlights along. And lucky they did. When they reached the place they had gotten to on the first time in, it became clear that just a few feet ahead was a sheer drop off of some twenty feet or so to the cave floor. If they had continued in the darkness, they would have fallen to their deaths. They crawled to the edge of the ledge and shined their lights down into the darkness. "Water!" Charlie exclaimed,"A pool!" "Maybe an underground river.", Bob replied shining his light around into cavern below. "Look. Over there. What is that?" Charlie aimed his light in the direction of Bob's. "It's some kinda box." "A big box", Bob replied, " some kind of trunk, maybe." "How did it get there?" Charlie wondered aloud. "And what's in it?" said Bob, staring intently at this mysterious container sitting on the cavern floor just beyond the pool. "We need some rope", Charlie said. Bob nodded in agreement.

On their third trek up the hillside, they were better prepared. Backpacks with coils of rope, some sandwiches, and a thermos of iced tea. "I wonder if old man Sullivan even knows this cave is here?" Charlie said, as they tied one of the ropes to the trunk of a large tree just at the cave's entrance. They slowly descended into the mouth of the cave rope in hand. Maybe, we're the first ones." Bob replied. "Except for whoever put that box down there." Charlie reminded him. Bob nodded, "Strange Box Cave, let's call it that." "Yeh" said Charlie, "Strange Box Cave!" Near the drop off, they sat down and took the time to patiently tie knots into the second rope about every few feet. It was a trick they had learned in scouts when they went spelunking last summer. It gives you something to hold onto in descending or ascending. They secured the second rope to the first and stood looking down into the cave, and then at each other. "Ready?" " Ready!"

Charlie went first, slowly sliding down from one knot to the next, his arms and legs rubbing against the wet cave wall. "I'm down!" he shouted, waving his flashlight up toward the ledge.. "Here I come!", Bob shouted, as he grabbed the rope and eased himself over the edge. They stood alongside the pool shining their lights all about, enthralled by this huge cavern hung with shiny wet stalagtites from which water dripped slowly and steadily into the pool. It sounded like a light rain, and drops splattered their heads and shoulders as they walked slowly along the edge of the pool looking for a way to get to the other side. Charlie shivered at the coolness of the air. Outside, and some ways above them, it was a hot sweltering summer day in July. "Maybe we should wade across." Bob said, shining his light up and down the length of the pool and seeing no end in sight. They decided to sit and eat a sandwich as they rolled up their pants legs, and kicked off their shoes. "That's the box, way over there, isn't it?" Charlie said, shining his light to the other side of the pool. Bob trained his light in the same direction. "Yes, that's it!", Ready?" "Ready! "
They waded slowly into the almost icy cold water, their feet feeling along the floor of the pool. It was a fine smooth silt that squished between their toes. Once across, they walked slowly toward the box studying it. "Its got some kinda labels on it." Charlie said as they drew close to it. He bent to read one of them "Peninsular and Oriental Steam Navigation Company". Bob pointed at another large faded sticker, "This one says, 'Carriage Paid Through To King George V Dock' , and something about a cabin number, and a berth number." It was, in fact, a large old steamer trunk. It had a hard brown painted canvas surface that in places was rotting, and there were thin wooden rails along each side at the ends, and then again in the middle. Charlie picked at the hinged brass lock. "I can't get it!" Bob picked up the stainless steel thermos and began banging it on the lock as Charlie held the flashlight. You could hear the glass interior of the thermos shatter. "Its no use.", he said, nearly out of breath. "Give it to me," Charlie said. Bob held the flashlight as Charlie pounded relentlessly on the lock. Suddenly it sprang open. They sat there both breathing hard. "Ready?" Bob said, looking over at Charlie "Ready!"

Their jaws dropped as they lifted the lid of the trunk and stared down on their grisly discovery. A clutter of bones, some with dried flesh on them. And a human skull of vacant black sockets. They both fell back frightened by their gruesome discovery. They jumped up and ran frantically back through the shallow water of the pool. From above, the voice of old man Sullivan suddenly boomed, "What the hell do you think you are doing?!" They shined their flashlights up the sheer wall toward the ledge. and watched in horror as Sullivan slowly pulled up the knotted rope and disappeared. Charlie reached for the cell phone in his jacket pocket, but it was dead. In a few hours, so were the flashlights. They huddled together in the blackness, in the sound of water dripping, in a hole called Strange Box Cave. Alone with the bones.

__________________________________________________________



Mrs Anderson stood by the sink washing the dishes. Charlie hadn't come home for supper. Not that unusual, really. He often wandered in late, hot and sweaty and hungry. When he and Bobby get together, there is no telling what they will get into! A faint smile came to her lips as she recalled him bursting through the doorway after that last day of school, and dropping to his knees on the living room floor. "I'm free!" he screamed. "Thank God Almighty, I am free at last!" Such a comic, such a wit! She tried to let him be as free as possible during the summer months. To let him be his kid self instead of compelling him to grow up.
The phone rang. She dried her hands on her apron and hurried to pick it up. "Audrey?", the voice said. "Oh, Anna! How are you?", Mrs Anderson said. "Audrey, is Bobby there?" "No, Anna, he and Charlie must be up to some mischief together." Anna's voice sounded strained. She was worried. Audrey tried to reassure her. "Most likely they are making their way back from the river. Boys will be boys, Anna. Charlie missed supper too. In fact, I just put a plate in the fridge for him. They'll be along soon." Anna sounded worried. "I'm sorry, you're probably right. I just get scared sometimes about these things the boys get into." Audrey empathized with a sigh. "I know, Anna. Those two are a dynamic duo, that's for sure. I will call you back when Charlie comes in, ok?" "OK", Anna said, I'll call you when Bobby gets here."

Charlie and Bob fumbled in the darkness for their back packs. Between them they had one sandwich, and three cookies. "Nobody knows where we are." Charlie said, through a mouthful of peanut butter and jelly. "Sullivan knows.", Bob replied, taking a big hungry bite out of his half of the sandwich. Charlie looked in the direction of Bob's voice, it was too dark to see him, even though they were sitting side by side. "We need to get out of here, Bobby." They each ate a cookie and then split the last one. Bob crawled on his hands and knees until he could feel the cold water of the pool. He cupped his hands and drank. Charlie followed. Bob reached out and found Charlie's shoulder. "What if we leaned the trunk up against the wall and climbed up onto it?" "Maybe." said Charlie, "But I don't think so." 'What if I climbed up on the trunk, and then you climbed up on me, could you get out?" Bob said. Charlie splashed water on his face. "I don't think, so Bobby. I think we would still be short. But we can try. "

And try they did, wading back through the water to the trunk. Fumbling in the blackness to dump the bones. Floating the trunk like a boat back to the other side. They leaned it up to the cavern wall. Bob climbed on top of it. "Ready?" "Ready", Charlie replied, as he climbed up and over Bob and stretched his hands up, standing precariously on Bob's shoulders. "We're not there yet." Charlie said jumping down and breathing hard. They both leaned back against the trunk, catching their breath. Suddenly there was a harsh sound above them. The sound of feet on loose rock. "Someone's coming." Bobby said in a whisper. There was a loud cursing voice, "God Damn it!" and then the erratic waving of a beam of light on the cavern walls. "It's Sullivan!" Charlie said, "Play dead." They laid down on the wet floor of the cave, motionless, as the light shone down on them. They listened to his maniacal mumblings. "Serves you right, trespassing on a man's land. Stupid little boys! You don't fuck with a Sullivan!"

The next moments were surreal. Sullivan turned to walk away. To leave them to die. And then stumbled. There was a shower of rocks preceding his fall that pelted the boys heads. Then there was the sound of his body hitting the cave floor. And then he was dead there next to him. The boys reached out in the darkness. There was some last gasp that guided them. It sounded like a regurgitating utterance of the word "Fuck!" Sullivan was dead.

The boys dragged him in quiet determination to the cave wall. They positioned the trunk on top of his belly, and tried again. Still too short. Bobby waded back through the cold water of the pool like a zombie. He fumbled in the blackness through the bones. He came back with the skull. They wearily staged their next ascent. Sullivan's body, the trunk, the skull, and then Bobby standing one foot on the skull and clinging to the wall. "Ready?" he said to Charlie. "Ready!" Charlie stood on Bobby's shoulders and strained up into the darkness. There it was. The ledge! And just beyond it the rope. They sat a few feet back from the ledge. "We forgot our backpacks." Charlie said. "Well", Bob replied, "You can go back and get it if you want, but I'm out of here!" "Let's go." Charlie said. They followed the rope back up to the mouth of the cave. The sun was just setting. They hiked down through the woods to the clearing where they parted company. "Mum's the word.", said Charlie extending his fist. "Mum!" said Bob as they knocked their knuckles together.

Audrey stared in dismay at her son as he walked through the back door and into the kitchen. "Charlie! Charlie! Take your shoes off! Oh, my Lord, look at your clothes! What have you been into?" "Nothin', mom", Charlie said, kicking off his muddy shoes. "Are you hungry?" she asked running her hand through his thick and muddy hair. He nodded, his head nuzzling into the warmth of his mother's breasts. as she hugged him.

He called Bobby later from his room. "There's some things mom's can't handle, right?" "Right", Bobby replied, "the river tomorrow?", he added. "Be there, or be square!", Charlie yawned.





Most of the week passed routinely, if anything about two boys with a lot of time on their hands can be considered routine. They were down to the river every day. They had the beginnings of another project of sorts. It came about when Charlie had gotten into Thor Heyerdahl's, The Voyage of the Kon-Tiki. Heyerdahl had built a raft of primitive materials, and using only the kind of knowledge that would have been available to ancient people long ago. Now Bob was reading it too! It captured their imaginations, of course. The very idea of such an adventure, and the very idea of what had happened in Strange Box Cave were the only two things they talked about. Until Becky came along.

The boys were down by the bank of the river, dragging fallen tree limbs from the nearby woods and laying them out by the water's edge. They were surprised to see her. They knew her from school. It was a small school, everybody knew everybody. She was as pretty as the rolling hills in Springtime. But neither Charlie nor Bob had ever said more than hi to her. She was really smart. In fact, it was humbling how smart she was. Nevertheless, girls are the future moms of America, and they both knew that moms or future moms can't really handle some kinds of things. "What are you doing?", she asked, as she approached them. The boys stood in agreement that they were not doing anything at all. "You must be doing something!" she insisted. The boys were acting like they were guilty of something. Trying to keep Becky from knowing of their plan to build a raft, to float it down stream to the next town, and jump a ride on a train back home.

The boys looked at her, and at one another, silently trying to each get the other's take on whether to let her into their world. She was something to look at. Her thick red hair tied back in a single braid behind her. Her fair skin covered with freckles head to toe. She walked over to the tree where the rope was tied off, and took hold of it. The boys watched as she stepped backwards up the bank to a high perch. The swing from there was intense, and as far as Bobby and Charlie knew, they were the only ones ever to do it from there. She threw her head back and let out a long wailing Tarzan cry as she swung out over the water. The boys were mesmerized. She actually pumped the swing as she neared the peak, pulling herself some 20 feet up over the water. She let go and pulled a perfect laid-out double back into the water.

Charlie and Bob looked at each other. Unbelievable. Words were not necessary, Becky was in. The three took turns on the swing daring one another to new levels. Becky and Charlie would swing out together laughing as they let go, making faces at each other as they fell to the water. Then Becky and Bob. And then, as it would go with kids this age, all three found a place to grip the rope. their screams were like a chorus to their youth, and it was abruptly cut short when the rope broke and they fell into a pile in the deep mucky mud of the river bank, just a few feet from the water. They trudged away from the river a weary threesome. Along the way, the boys spilled the plan about the raft and the train. All she wanted to know was when, and could she go.

That night the boys talked about Becky on the phone. But it didn't seem about romance so much. More of a matter of whether she could be trusted not to rat on their impending adventure. And what of old man Sullivan, and the bones? They decided to wait about that. After all, she is a girl. If she freaked out, it could screw up the whole summer.

Charlie stumbled to the breakfast table, scratching his belly and yawning. "Good morning, Charlie", his mother said watching him sit down slowly, looking like he was still not quite awake. She walked over to the table laying her hands on it and leaning forward to look at her son. "Aren't you forgetting something, Charlie?" Charlie rubbed both eyes with his fists. "Ummmm....is it somebody's birthday?", he asked. "No Charlie", she replied, "You forgot to put a shirt on before coming to the table." "Aw, mom! Its summer!" "Go put a shirt on Charlie, summer or not. And at least consider brushing your hair."

Audrey shook her head and groaned when Charlie returned wearing the same dirty t-shirt he had worn for the past three days. "Charlie, you are never going to get a girl friend dressing like that." Charlie looked at her. "Who said I was looking for a girl friend?" "Never mind" his mother replied turning toward the fridge. "Oh, I almost forgot to tell you, Becky's mom called this morning. She said that Becky, and Bobby, and you were working on some kind of project together. What are you guys up to now, Charlie?" She sat down at the table watching Charlie noisily slurping the last of the milk from his cereal bowl. He set the bowl down and stood. "Gotta go, mom!" he said, walking to the kitchen door. "But what's the project?" his mother shouted to him as the door swung open. He hesitated for a moment in the open doorway and looked back at her. "Its top secret mom, if I told you, I would have to kill you." "Oh, Charlie!" she said, "Don't talk like that!" she said. But it was too late, he was already hopping on his bike and waving goodbye.

Bobby came running out of his house just as Charlie pulled up. "We've gotta talk", Bobby said in an urgent voice. Charlie jumped off his bike and let it fall to the ground. "What's up?" "The police just came by. They are going door-to-door asking if anyone has seen old man Sullivan!" "Oh, crap!" Charlie replied, "Did you say anything?" "Of course not, but some neighbor told them he had seen you and I cutting through Sullivan's pasture a few days ago. I told them we were on our way to the river." "But that's not even the way to the river", Charlie replied. "I know", Bobby said, "I think I may have screwed up. If they find the cave, they are gonna find Sullivan, and our back packs too!
We need to get our packs, Charlie." Charlie nodded.

They both jumped when they heard a voice calling to them. It was Becky on her bike. "Look" she said reaching into the wire basket on her handlebars, "I got some more rope for making the raft!" "Oh, cool!" Charlie said trying to act excited , as he and Bobby mounted their bikes. "We gotta go do something else first." he said, as they began to pedal away. "What?" Becky shouted as they waved back at her. "It's top secret" Charlie shouted, "If I told you, I would have to kill you." And away they sped.

They stopped off at Charlie's house to get a flash light and rope. Audrey watched the boys as they ran in and out of the house. "What are you doing now?" she asked. But they were gone again. She shrugged watching them speeding away on their bikes. "Oh well," she said to herself, "I guess if they told me, they'd have to kill me."

They ditched their bikes behind some bushes near the pasture and made their way nervously up the slope toward the woods. At the mouth of the cave they paused to plan their course of action. "I'll go down for the packs. You just keep a light on me.", Bobby said. "Ok" Charlie nodded, "Tie the packs to the rope. I'll pull them up, and then throw the rope back down for you." "Ready?" Bobby said, extending his fist. "Ready!" said Charlie as they knocked their knuckles together in their ceremony of solidarity.

They crept on hands and knees to the edge of the drop off and peered down. They both gasped at the same time. Sullivan's body was gone. So were their packs. And the trunk. And the bones. Suddenly from behind and above them they heard the sound of feet shuffling carefully over the rocky ground of the cave floor. They turned horrified and shined the light in the direction of the sound. The voice came as a whisper. "What are you guys doing?" It was

Knots, Chapter Two: "On the Lam...."


Charlie and Bob sat on either side of Becky along the bank of the river. They were all nervously splashing and kicking their feet around in the water. "Are you sure no one saw you go up to the cave, Becky?", Charlie asked. Becky nodded, "I think so." "If you think you are maybe sure, then you are not sure." Bobby said, turning to look at her. It was the first time he noticed she had green eyes. Becky nodded. "I'm sure that I am sure.", she said looking down at the water. "What's the big deal, anyway.", she added. At last, the boys decided to tell her what happened. At first, she didn't believe a word of it. "I looked down into the cave," she said. "I didn't see anything down there." "That's the whole point," said Charlie. "Well, if what you say is true, how could old man Sullivan climb a 20 foot wall, with what had to have been a serious head wound? Not to mention carrying a pile of bones, your back packs, and whatever else you said was down there?" She suddenly looked up and across the river, as though lost in thought. "Unless...'" she said, "Unless there is some other way out of the cave." The boys looked at each other. Becky was onto something. Bobby stood. "Either way, it means Sullivan is still alive."

It was a restless night for both the boys. Thinking about old man Sullivan. In the morning, each found his back pack thrown onto the front porch floor. After several quick phone calls, the boys and Becky met at the river alongside the half-finished raft. The boys weren't worried that the police might think they killed Sullivan anymore. They were worried Sullivan was going to kill them. "We have to find the bones.", Becky said. "If we can find the bones, we can prove Sullivan was up to no good."

The three of them lay in the tall pasture grass in view of Sullivan's place. His truck was there. They were nervous as cats, whispering and huddled close together. Charlie turned his head to look at Becky. He was distracted by the fragrance of her hair. "You don't have to do this, you know." he said. "I know.", Becky replied. Suddenly the front door of the house swung open, and there he stood. They watched as he stepped down from the porch and hobbled toward his truck with a limp. He had a white gauze bandage around his forehead, He pulled out in a cloud of dust.

"Ready?" Charlie asked. "Ready!" Bobby replied. Becky nodded. They crawled on their hands and knees for the first ten yards or so, then stood, and bolted for the house.

Charlie slowly pushed open the back door of old man Sullivan's house. "Stay here, Becky." he said turning to look at her. "Keep an eye out for Sullivan's truck." The boys walked in looking around. "This place is a dump!" Bobby said, looking at the floor strewn with dirty clothes and trash. "It stinks, too." Charlie muttered. They wandered past the kitchen noting the pile of dirty dishes, cups, glasses, beer bottles, and flies buzzing about. Strips of sticky fly paper hung all about from the ceiling like streamers, dotted with dead flies. "Let's get out of here." Bobby said, feeling sick to his stomach. "Not yet," Charlie replied. Bobby followed him through an open doorway. It was a bedroom. "Nice pad, the old man's got." Bobby said noting a bare mattress on the floor and a very dirty looking pillow. "Yeh, first class." Charlie said looking down at the stained mattress. He bent and lifted one corner of the mattress, looking under it. "Look," he exclaimed, 'A trap door!" "Help me move this mattress, Bobby!"

Outside, Becky was wandering about the yard, keeping her eye on the nearby road for any sign of Sullivan. She walked out to an old weathered shed and opened the door. It was dark, but she could make out a couple of makeshift tables piled with tools, plumbing pipe fittings, coils of electrical wire, all covered with a layer of dust. She jumped back, startled by a rat disappearing into a black corner. But that was when something caught her eye on the floor beneath one of the tables. It appeared to be an old photo album. She picked it up and opened it. Most of the pages were blank as she flipped rapidly through them, but suddenly a yellowed news clipping fell out and dropped to the floor. She tossed the album aside, and bent to pick it up. As she walked back out into the light to look at it, she saw Sullivan's truck slowly rumbling toward the house. She ran frantically to the house calling loudly for Charlie and Bob, who were already running out the back door. "He's coming!" she shouted. "Let's get the hell out of here!" Charlie shouted. They ran for their bikes and picked them up out of the bushes. As they looked back, Sullivan was getting out of the truck. He had a gun in his hand. "He saw us!" Bobby shouted. They pedaled hard and fast. From behind them, they heard Sullivan's booming voice. "You little bastards! I'll kill every last one of you!" Then there was the sound of two shots fired.

Just Another Dead Man Walking.

Frankie was just 24 coming back from the war. He faked his age in joining the infantry at 17. Like many, he had had enough of these stories of Hitler. And now he was back to his family in a small town in the South. Everyone embraced him, considered him a hero. He did have medals he never showed, but somehow everyone knew about them. He was thought of as a handsome young man, despite the slight limp from the shrapnel in his leg. And despite the long bayonet scar across his forearm. no one asked him about it. They couldn't have handled it if they had. He had killed some people.

He liked to walk the railroad tracks into an area known as Round Town at night. It was a short-cut to the local bars. There was one he went to and put money down on games of Pool, not caring whether he won or lost. One night though, he went off in a drunken rage when someone over-stepped some line in his mind. He nearly killed the man, picking up the bar stool he had been sitting on, and breaking it into pieces over the man's body. Instincts had taken over. He could have killed the man easily. He could have pinched that soft spot in the man's larynx with no more than a finger and a thumb. He knew how to do that. The man would have turned purple upon dying. With one swift chop of his hand to the man's nose he could have driven that bone straight up into the brain. He knew how to do that too. He hardly had to think about it. Done deal. That was what war taught him. He came to his senses in time to spare the man, but spent three nights in jail.

On this one moonless night he whistled his way down the tracks to Lucy's Bar and Grill. It was a starry night, and in his mind, he re-named the constellations after his dead friends. There is Johnny taking a knife in the back. And that one there, was Billy with his head blown off. He ran into some woman named Annie at the bar. She was a red-head with freckles and already drunk when he bought her a beer. He could tell she was married, yet there alone. She kept rubbing her fingers along the scar on his arm. They fucked on the back of someone's truck in the alley behind the bar. He staggered home along the tracks, half-whistling, half-humming, half singing, in a slurred drunken voice. He never made it home.

The local newspaper the next morning had a story of a drunk run over by a train. In the coroner's report however, it was noted he also had a bullet in the back of his skull.

Gina

She was Aunt Gina to me. I was but 6 or 7, when she took care of me in her apartment. She was always nice to me, but different from my other aunts. She didn't baby-talk me. Sometimes she didn't talk at all. She would pace about in a pale pink slip, and smoke cigarettes. She was tall and skinny. A lot of times, her hair was up in curlers. I liked to watch her paint her fingers and her toes. Sometimes she asked me to blow on these, so as to get them dry. I knew someone was coming to see her. I would beg to stay up. "Please, Aunt Gina?" She would grab me and tickle me, and make lipstick marks on my face. Then she would dress in front of me. I was too young to be sexual, and yet knew, somehow. she lived in a world I would soon understand. I watched her put her dark red lipstick on, it made her lips look bigger. I watched her stretch her nylons up over her skinny legs. She worked with her hair forever. Taking curlers out and brushing, fluffing. Last of all, was the dress. "Come here , Jake.". she said holding out her ams. I fell into them, of course. She smelled like flowers. She took me by the hand, and led me to my room. She tucked me into bed. Bending to kiss my forehead. "I love you, baby," she said.

In the darkness, I heard them fucking. I heard the sound of Gina hysterically laughing, and then it turned to sobs. I heard a door slam. I stumbled out of bed, and to the doorway. Just in time to see Aunt Gina put a bullet in her head. According to the police report, I was found crying and holding her dead head in my hands.