Secret Circles

SATURDAY

Little Cody Bockman disappeared on a rainy morning.

1

Jack dodged puddles as he pedaled his BMX along Adams Street to the Connell house.

Even though the sky was overcast now, the air felt dry. He hoped it would last. He was sick to death of rain. People were saying this could turn out to be the rainiest September on record and—

“Hey!” he shouted as he almost collided with a little kid scooting by on a red bike.

“Cody!”

The kid braked and almost fell off his bike.

“Jack! Jack! I can do it!”

“What?”

“Look! No training wheels!”

Cody Bockman was five and lived two doors down from Jack. His long hair was a blond tangle and his blue eyes sparkled with excitement. Cute kid, but a little wild man. Jack liked him except when he attached himself and followed him around like a dog. Somehow he always chose times when Jack felt like being alone.

“That‟s cool, Code.” Jack looked around. Not an adult in sight. “Your folks know you‟re out here?”

“No, but it‟s okay.”

“Yeah? You mean, if I go back and ask your mom and dad if it‟s all right for you to be cruising the streets, they‟ll say it‟s fine with them?”

Cody looked down. “Well …”

Jack put on a stern look. “You gonna go or am I gonna have to take you back?”

“I‟m goin‟!”

He turned his bike around and pedaled a wobbly path back toward Jefferson. Jack watched him a little, then continued on to the Connells‟.

Weezy‟s brother Eddie had asked him over to play Berzerk, the new game his father had bought him for his Atari 5200. The game was simple and so fun when you could trick the robots into walking into walls or shooting each other, but so nerve-racking when that deadly smiley face came bouncing through.

But no video games today. He‟d played enough during the rains. This morning he was going to drag Eddie off the couch and into the sunlight. No easy task, considering Eddie‟s weight and resistance to any activity that involved moving more than his thumbs.

As Jack glided past the unlidded garbage cans at the curb—Wednesday and Saturday were garbage days in Johnson—he noticed a couple of familiar items from Weezy‟s room in the nearer container. He stopped for a closer look and saw copies of Fortean Time s and Fate. Weezy treasured those weird paranormal magazines. Why was she throwing them out?

Maybe she was in a cleaning mood. She had all sorts of moods lately. Spin the dial and see who appeared.

Or maybe she didn‟t know. Her parents were always on her case for not being like other fifteen-year-old girls. Had they simply gone in and started tossing stuff? That wasn‟t right.

He spotted a half-folded photo, an aerial shot of the Pinelands, the million acres of woods beyond the town‟s eastern edge. He recognized the scene: an excavation of the mound where just last month he and Weezy had found a corpse and a mysterious little pyramid.

The sight of it released a flood of memories … most of them bad. He‟d blocked them out, but now they were back. The dead man was not simply dead, he‟d been murdered— ritually murdered—and his discovery had triggered other deaths, all seemingly of natural causes, but all weirdly connected. Then Jack had learned the cause, and it hadn‟t been natural at all. But he couldn‟t talk about it because he had no proof and everyone—even Weezy—would think he was crazy.

And the pyramid … shiny, black, embossed with strange glyphs … Weezy had fallen in love with it, memorizing every detail of the symbols on its sides and the weird grid inside the box that had held it. It had turned out to be older that it seemed—much older than anything man-made should be.

Then it had disappeared.

And Weezy hadn‟t been quite the same since. Jack had felt the loss too—such a neat

artifact—but not like Weezy. She‟d taken it like the loss of her best friend. But more than that, she was convinced it had been stolen and was sure she knew the culprit … all without a shred of proof.

So he couldn‟t believe she‟d throw away this photo.

He snagged it from the can and stuck it in his back pocket as he hopped up the front steps and knocked on the door.

“Door‟s open,” he heard a man‟s voice call from inside.

As Jack stepped in, Mr. Connell poked his crew-cut head around a corner and grinned. “Eddie said you‟d be coming. He‟s in the family room.”

“Is Weezy here?”

“Yeah. Hey, Weez!”

“What?” Her voice floated from upstairs.

“Jack‟s here!”

Weezy appeared at the top of the stairway in her customary black jeans and a black T-shirt. She had dark eyes and pale skin. She‟d gone a little heavier than usual on the eyeliner today. She held a book in her right hand, her index finger poked between two pages. She‟d been letting her dark hair grow and today she‟d parted it in the middle and braided it into a pair of pigtails.

“Hey, Jack. Come on up.”

“Going for the Wednesday Addams look?” he said as he took the steps two at a time.

“Well, it‟s the weekend and I‟m full of woe.”

He followed her into her room, christened the “Bat Cave” by her brother. With all the shades drawn, a dark purple bedspread, gargoyles peering down from her bookshelves, and a creepy Bauhaus poster on the wall, it lived up to the name.

“About anything in particular?”

“The usual—everything.” She belly-flopped onto the bed and opened her book.

“What‟s so interesting?”

“Just got it from the library. All about pre-Sumerian civilizations. What‟s up?”

Jack pulled the photo from his pocket and held it up. “I found this in your garbage can.”

She glanced up with a smile. “Are you Dumpster diving now?” Then her gaze fixed on the wrinkled photo. “Isn‟t that …?”

“Yeah. Never thought you‟d toss it out.”

She was up in a flash grabbing it from him.

“I didn‟t.” Her expression turned furious. “They have no right!”

As she started for her door Jack blocked her way. She had a wild look in her eyes. Jack had seen that look a few times before when she‟d lost it, and she seemed ready to lose it now.

“Easy, Weezy. Could you maybe wait on this? You‟re going to put me smack-dab in the middle of the fight.”

For a second he thought she might hit him. He didn‟t know what he‟d do if she tried. He was relieved when the look faded.

“Because you found it?”

He nodded. He didn‟t want to become a player in the ongoing tug-of-war between Weezy and her parents—mostly her father—who wanted her to be what they called “a normal girl” and what she called “a bow head.”

“You know,” she said, her voice thickening as she stalked about her room, “if they‟re so unhappy with me, why don‟t they just send me off to boarding school or something so they don‟t have to look at me?”

Jack didn‟t like that idea one bit. Who would he hang with? He tried to lighten the moment by clutching his hands over his heart and giving her his best approximation of a lost-puppy look.

“But-but-but wouldn‟t you miss meeee?”

It didn‟t work. She was off to the races. She‟d always been hard to stop once she got rolling, but almost impossible since the disappearance of the pyramid. She‟d gotten a little scary lately.

“I‟m going to be fifteen next week! I‟ve got a brain, why don‟t they want me to use it? They have no right to throw out my stuff!” She stopped her pacing. “Maybe I should pull a Marcie Kurek! That‟d show ‟em!”

Marcie Kurek was a runaway who‟d been a soph at the high school last year. She lived in Shamong. One night she said she was going out to visit a friend and never showed up. No one had seen her since.

Weezy turned and threw the photo on the floor.

Jack knew she tended to leave her stuff all over the house, a perfect invitation for her folks to dump the things they didn‟t approve of, especially anything that referred to what she called the Secret History of the World.

The Secret History was her passion—her conviction that accepted history was a collection of lies carefully constructed and arranged to hide what was really going on in the world, and conceal the hidden agenda and identities of those pulling the strings. Ancient secret societies manipulating events throughout the ages …

People—especially her family—tended to roll their eyes once she got started on it. Jack too, though not as quickly as he used to. He‟d seen and heard things last month that he couldn‟t explain … he didn‟t know if they fit into Weezy‟s Secret History, didn‟t know if they fit anywhere, or if they were even real.

Weezy was convinced that the pyramid they‟d found was connected to the Secret History. And maybe it was … this was a picture of the mound where they‟d found the body and the artifact, or rather what was left after those strange government men had dug it up in the night.

He glanced at it now on the floor and was once again struck by the strange outline. As he looked he noticed something to the right of the mound …

He picked it up for a closer look … a dark object or structure in a small clearing. He‟d never noticed it before. But then again, the photo had been in Weezy‟s possession all this time, so he‟d never had much chance to study it.

“Hey, Weez. Where‟s your magnifying glass? Or did your folks throw that away too?”

“Not funny.”

She plucked a magnifier with a two-inch lens from a shelf above her desk and handed it to him.

Jack poised it over the area in question and felt a tingle of excitement across his neck as it grew larger and came into focus.

“Oh, man, you‟ve got to see this.” He passed the lens and photo to her, then tapped the spot.

“Right there.”

He watched her brow furrow as she moved the lens up and down and around.

“Hmmph. Never noticed.” She glanced up. “Could be just a big rock.”

“Yeah? Take another look. Count the sides.”

He watched her eyes narrow to a squint as she complied, then widen. She wore an entirely different expression when she looked up this time.

“Six.”

“Yeah. Just like our pyramid.”

A light sparked in her eyes. “Actually it had seven if you count the base. But this is bigger.

Much bigger.” She frowned. “Too big for them to steal.”

Jack knew who “them” were but didn‟t want her to get started on that now.

“You got that right. Want to take a look?”

“You kidding? Of course I—”

“There you are!”

Jack turned and saw Weezy‟s portly brother standing in the doorway, twisting a Rubik‟s Cube.

He had short, sandy hair and a pudgy body, and his striped rugby shirt gave him a definite Pugsley look. Jack was tempted to remark on the Addams Family theme here in the Connell house, but held his tongue. Eddie wouldn‟t take kindly to the Pugsley comparison.

But if Cousin Itt showed up …

“Hey Eddie. I was just—”

“No Berzerk today, man,” Eddie said, looking miffed. “My dad‟s booting me out of the house.

Wants me to „enjoy the outdoors.‟ Can you believe it?” He shook his head sadly. “Boracious.”

Eddie was not a fan of the outdoors, unless it meant sitting in the shade with a copy of Uncanny X-Men

Jack pointed to the Rubik‟s Cube that had become Eddie‟s latest obsession. “Hey, anytime you want me to straighten that out for you, let me know.”

He gave a wry grin. “Yeah, right. Like you could.”

Jack shrugged. “Just trying to help the helpless.”

Eddie glanced at his sister stretched on the bed and his grin turned evil. “You too, cave girl. He wants us both out in the”—he grabbed his throat and made a strangled sound—“fresh air.”

“We were just leaving,” Jack said.

“Where to?”

“The Pines.”

Eddie shook his head. “No way. Last time I was in there with you two we found a dead guy, and pretty soon a whole bunch of guys were dead.”

Jack shrugged. “Look at it this way: How many times can that happen? Chances of finding another dead guy are almost zilch.”

“You guarantee that?”

“Let‟s go,” was all Jack said.

Nothing was guaranteed in the Pines.

2

They finally convinced Eddie to come along. Jack was leading the way off Adams onto

North Franklin when he spotted a familiar blond-haired kid on a bike.

“Hey, Cody!” Jack called. “I thought you were going back home!”

“I am! I am!”

“Did you stop off in Canada along the way?”

The kid laughed. “No!”

Jack pointed toward Jefferson Street. “Better get back before your folks find out and sell you to the circus.”

He grinned as he pedaled away. “That‟d be soooo cool!”

Jack watched him turn the corner onto Jefferson and disappear from view, then signaled Weezy and Eddie back into motion.

“You handled that like a pro,” Weezy said as they rode.

“Yeah, well, I‟m positive his parents don‟t know he‟s out here. My mother knows his folks and she says he wears them out. Never stops moving.”

She slapped Eddie on the arm. “That’s where all your energy went. Cody Bockman stole it.”

“I‟m gonna sue,” Eddie said. “No, wait. If I get it back I‟ll have to run around all the time.

Forget it!”

Jack said, “Check it out,” as he pointed to a colorful poster on one of the telephone poles.

It announced the arrival of the Taber & Sons circus. The show parked itself near Johnson for a few days every fall. Not a real full-blown circus like Ringling Brothers, just some rides, a few animals, a tent show, and a midway. The local dates had been inked in.

“Hey, it opens tomorrow,” Weezy said. “Maybe later we can go watch them set up.”

Eddie grinned. “Count me out. Watching people work wears me out.”

“Look!” Weezy cried as they approached Quaker Lake. “I‟ve never seen it so high.”

Neither had Jack. The lake was overflowing its banks and puddling near Quakerton Road. Mark Mulliner‟s canoes sat upside down at the water‟s edge. Jack doubted anyone had rented one in a while.

Mr. Rosen had been talking all week about how the ground was saturated and couldn‟t hold any more water. What ever came down had to run off somewhere, and much of it was flowing into the lake.

“It‟s all the rain,” Jack said.

Eddie said, “Your obvious-fu very strong.”

Jack had to smile. Yeah, pretty dumb thing to say. In defense, he puffed up his chest.

“That‟s „Supreme Master of the Obvious‟ to you.”

The level was even higher than yesterday when he‟d crossed the bridge on his way to Old Town. Water was pooled around some of the lakeside benches and willows.

A number of his lawn-cutting customers lived in Old Town, the original settlement that had spawned the sprawling, thousand-person metropolis of Johnson, New Jersey. But the succession of rainy days was interfering with his schedule. Yeah, he could cut wet grass, but it always wound up looking crummy, and then he‟d have to come back for a fix-up.

He‟d swung by after school yesterday to see if the lawns were dry enough to cut. They were, so he‟d raced home to get his mower. But as soon as he wheeled it out of the garage, the skies opened up again.

No mow, no pay. And the longer the grass, the tougher the job, and the longer to get it done. A vicious cycle.

As the three of them pedaled across the bridge over the lake, Jack glanced at a boxy, two-story, stucco building known around town as “the Lodge.” It belonged to the globe-spanning Ancient Septimus Fraternal Order. A very secretive bunch, tight-lipped about its activities and purposes and membership, and highly selective about who it accepted.

It had lodges all over the world. Why they‟d put one here in Johnson, New Jersey, no one knew.

Well, Weezy knew—or thought she did. She said the Lodge was here before the town, that members of the Order had settled here in prehistoric times. But that was part of her Secret History of the World, and the Septimus Order played a big role in it.

Membership was by invitation only, and this Lodge was rumored to include some of the state‟s most influential and powerful people.

Weezy glared at the building as they passed. “You want to find our pyramid, look in there.”

Jack was ahead of Eddie but could hear an eye roll in his tone as he muttered, “Here we go.”

“It‟s true,” she said.

Against his better judgment, Jack said, “Things do get lost, Weez. It happens all the time.”

“Things that are clues to the Secret History don‟t get lost, they get hidden away. The Order‟s job is to keep the Secret History secret. If we searched that place, we‟d find it.”

“Fat chance,” Eddie said. “What are you gonna do, get invited in for milk and cookies?”

“I‟ll think of something. And you‟ll come with me, right, Jack?”

Jack glanced at the Lodge‟s barred windows and figured it was safe to agree—no way they‟d ever see the inside of that place.

“If you‟re there, I‟m there.”

They passed the empty and supposedly haunted Klenke house that had been for sale ever since Jack could remember, and then the home of the town‟s supposed witch, Mrs. Clevenger. Jack had heard stories about the weird smells and noises in the Klenke place, but he‟d never been in there himself, so he couldn‟t say if they were true or not. He had, however, come into contact with Mrs. Clevenger on a number of occasions since the summer, and though she was strange and never gave a straight answer, she wasn‟t a witch. Who believed in witches and hauntings anyway?

They approached the place where Quakerton Road ended and the Pine Barrens began. Jack recognized Gus Sooy‟s pickup parked by the lightning tree. A lot of folks said Gus‟s moonshine—known as applejack—was the best in the Pinelands. Jack also recognized the guy buying from him.

So did Eddie. “There‟s Weird Walt,” he said from behind Jack. “Stocking up.”

“Hey,” Weezy called as she brought up the rear on her banana-seat Schwinn. “Don‟t call him that.”

She and Walt had a strange bond, and she always took his side.

“It‟s gotta be eighty degrees out and he‟s wearing leather gloves and you‟re telling me he‟s not weird?”

Jack glanced over to where Walt was watching Gus Sooy fill a quart bottle with water-clear liquor from one of his big brown jugs. Hard to argue against him being weird. Folks said Walter Erskine hadn‟t been right since he‟d returned from Vietnam. He said weird things and wore gloves day in and day out.

“He‟s a good guy,” Jack said as they turned onto a firebreak trail and followed it into the Pines.

Weezy moved up beside him. “How would you know?”

“He comes into the store every now and then and we talk. He—”

A helicopter, heading southeast, did its wup-wup-wup thing overhead and Weezy stopped for a moment to stare with an anxious expression.

Jack understood her reaction. A few weeks ago, late one August night, government men—at least Jack assumed they were from the government—had used black helicopters to fly backhoes into the Pines and dig up the mound where he and Weezy had found the pyramid and the corpse.

Who had told them about the mound? Who had sent them to tear it apart? These were questions he doubted he‟d ever answer.

“It‟s not black,” he said. “And it‟s not headed our way. Probably some high rollers headed for AC.”

Gambling had been legal in Atlantic City for half a dozen years now and was enormously popular.

Weezy said nothing as she pulled ahead to lead the way. She always rode point when they were in the woods. Made sense. She knew this corner of the Pine Barrens backward, forward, up and down. She never got lost.

As they rode, the forty-foot scrub pines thickened on either side, stretching their gnarled, green-needled branches overhead as they lined the path like sentinels guarding their woodland domain. Jack checked the overcast sky through the needled canopy. This was the kind of day when people got lost in the Pines and were never seen again. But no worry about that with Weezy along.

Weezy led them along the dipping, deeply puddled trail onto Old Man Foster‟s land. Foster was something of a mystery. Nobody had ever seen him or seemed to know who he was, but he kept his land heavily posted with signs warning against fishing, hunting, trapping, and trespassing.

Jack ignored them. He figured obeying the first three out of the four was good enough.

At least he wasn‟t trapping like a certain someone was doing around a spong they‟d be passing along the way.

When they reached the spong they saw Mrs. Clevenger standing with an armload of sticks. She wore her usual long black dress and a black scarf around her neck—which made as much sense in this weather as Walt‟s gloves. Her three-legged dog sat to the side, watching their approach.

The big, floppy-eared mutt had the thick body of a Rottweiler but with lots of other breeds mixed in. Its right front leg was missing as if it had never been—not even a scar.

Weezy stopped and waved. “Hi, Mrs. Clevenger. Need any help?”

“No, dear. I‟m doing fine.”

Some Piney had been setting leg-hold traps around the spong—the local term for a wet low spot—trying to catch coons and possums and such when they came for a drink. Mrs. Clevenger had been coming out regularly and springing the traps with sticks. Jack wondered what the trapper would do if he ever caught the old lady at it. What ever it was, he‟d have to get past her nameless dog, and that wouldn‟t be easy.

Eventually they reached a burned-out area deep in the Pines. They knew the place well. Maybe too well. Here was where they‟d dug up the little pyramid and the corpse.

After they‟d leaned their bikes against some trees, Jack stood in the shade and pulled out their aerial photo of the area. Judging by the position of the midmorning sun, they‟d been following the fire trail eastward. The mound lay to the right of the trail, which meant south. The strange-looking thing he‟d spotted on the photo was to the right of the mound, which meant farther south.

He pointed to the burned-out area. “This way.”

As they walked a weaving course around the blackened tree trunks, Jack saw green branchlets poking through the charred bark. Hard to kill these pines. Fires were common in the Barrens during the summer and fall, mostly the fault of campers and lightning. With all the recent rain, he doubted they‟d see any fires at all this season.

“Think anything‟s left in there?” Jack said, pointing to the ruins of the mound as they passed.

Weezy shook her head. “Look at it. It‟s not even a mound anymore.”

She had a point. The government men had left little more than a twisty-turny trench, now filled with stagnant water.

The pines thickened past the burned-out area, slowing their progress.

“This better be worth it,” Eddie said.

Jack had known it was only a matter of time before he‟d start complaining. He was kind of surprised he‟d held off this long.

“Shouldn‟t be too much farther now. According to the photo, we should hit a clearing any …”

He stopped and stared as he spotted an open area dead ahead.

“… minute.”

The clearing hadn‟t surprised him, but what stood in its center stopped him cold.

Weezy pushed past him, then stopped, saying “Oh my-god!” over and over.

Jack couldn‟t speak. The Pines were full of secrets and surprises, but this … this was over the top. Way over.

3

“What is it?” Eddie said from behind.

“Some sort of … pyramid.”

At maybe fifteen feet tall, it had nothing height-wise on the ones in Egypt, but

this was definitely a pyramid, and unlike any Jack had seen or heard of. He wondered if anyone alive today had ever laid eyes on it. Weezy finally stopped saying, “Oh my god!” and the three of them approached the pyramid. The closer they got, the odder it became.

As Jack neared he noticed it wasn‟t solid. Huge, elongated triangular stones stood in a circle, their bases buried in the sandy soil with their pointed ends jutting skyward and leaning toward each other.

“Look like Godzilla pizza slices,” Eddie said.

A typical Eddie comment. If he wasn‟t thinking about video games, he was thinking about food.

But his comment hit the mark: the structure did resemble half a dozen giant petrified pizza slices, crusts down and arranged in a circle.

A three-foot-high wall of headstone like rectangular slabs ringed the whole thing.

They marched around it in silence. One of the triangular megaliths was broken halfway up, but the undamaged points of the remaining five met and leaned against each other at the pyramid‟s apex.

“Notice, Weez? Six sides … just like our little pyramid.”

The gleaming black artifact they‟d found in the mound back there would have fit inside a softball. It too had six sides—seven if you counted the base.

Weezy nodded but said nothing. She seemed in a daze, incapable of speech or even taking her eyes off the pyramid. Jack thought he knew how she felt: She‟d lost a little piece of the Secret History, but found something much bigger. He felt it too. The strangeness, the ancient, alien feel to the structure.

They came to a broken fence stone. Without a word, Weezy stepped over it and entered the circle. Jack followed but Eddie hung back.

Jack turned to look at him. “Coming?”

Eddie looked uncomfortable. “This whole place is majorly creepacious.”

Jack agreed, but he put on a smile. “Don‟t worry. Weezy will protect you.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and stepped over the broken slab. “I should know better by now to go anywhere with you guys. You find dead bodies, you get me locked up in a police car and chased by the cops, but do I learn? Nooooo.”

“Look, Jack.”

Weezy was standing by one of the leaning megaliths, rubbing her hand over the surface. Her expression was triumphant, beaming vindication. He imagined this was what Percival looked like

when he glimpsed the Holy Grail.

“What have you got?” he said, approaching.

“Look familiar?”

With a trembling finger she traced a circle around a faint indentation in the weather-smoothed surface of the stone. Jack squinted until he could make out the full outline, then he gasped.

Recognition was like a punch in the chest.

“That‟s … that was on our pyramid!”

She nodded and jumped to the next where she again ran her hands over the surface. She seemed about to explode.

“So was this one.”

Then to the next stone.

Her voice shook. “This one too.”

They were connected. No question. “So …” he managed, swallowing hard as he stepped back for a longer look. “Is this based on our little pyramid, or was ours based on this?”

She shrugged. “Who can say? No way they‟re not connected. I mean, they‟re too much alike.

But our pyramid wasn‟t made of stone.”

Right. They‟d given it to Professor Nakamura who‟d had it analyzed at the University of Pennsylvania. No one there could say what it was made of, but it sure hadn‟t been stone. All they‟d been able to say was that it was many thousands of years old—and then it had

disappeared.

Jack stepped up to one of the megaliths and felt its surface. “Granite?”

Weezy moved up next to him. “That‟s what it feels like to me. Except …”

“Except what?”

“There‟s no granite in the Barrens, or anywhere near here.”

Jack never understood where Weezy got all her information, but he‟d learned to believe her.

She wasn‟t a bull slinger.

Eddie joined them, saying, “So that means somebody cut these pizza slices somewhere else, drove them all the way out here, and made a teepee out of them. What for?”

Jack was thinking that “teepee” was a pretty good description when Weezy said, “‟Drove‟? I don‟t think so. Can‟t you see how old these are? I‟ll bet they were dragged here on rollers.”

Jack looked at the stones and tried to imagine their weight, and the work it must have taken to carve each from a block of granite and then transport it here from wherever. He remembered Eddie‟s last question.

“But why?”

“And look,” Eddie said. “It‟s not even put together right. They left spaces between the rocks.”

“They‟ve probably shifted over the ages,” Weezy said.

Jack wasn‟t so sure about that. He‟d noticed the spaces, but they seemed pretty uniform.

Wouldn‟t shifting and settling over time have resulted in uneven gaps? These all looked to be an even ten or twelve inches apart at their bases, tapering as they went up. That couldn‟t have happened by chance.

He peered through one of the gaps. The empty space within was lit by strips of daylight streaming between the stones. Its floor lay about three feet below ground level under a couple of inches of rainwater. Jack could make out a layer of sandy soil beneath the surface. A stone column, maybe a foot in diameter and four feet high, stood in the exact center of the space.

Weezy and Eddie had moved up to gaps of their own on either side of him.

“It is a teepee!” Eddie cried. “Just like I said: a stone teepee!”

Weezy‟s voice dripped scorn. “A teepee is a place to live, so it needs a doorway—you know, one of those handy openings you use to get in and out? Plus, it‟s supposed to protect you from the weather. This flunks on both.”

“All right, Miss Know-It-All, what is it then?”

Weezy hesitated, then, “I don‟t know. But maybe if I look at it from another angle …”

To Jack‟s surprise, she turned sideways, squeezed through the gap, and jumped down to the inner floor. She landed with a splash. He noticed she was wearing old sneakers. He looked down at his own battered Converse All-Stars. They‟d been soaked before, no reason they couldn‟t get soaked again.

Jack squeezed through his gap—a tight fit but he made it—and eased himself to the floor to avoid splashing Weezy. Cool water filled his sneakers as he looked up and saw Eddie watching from outside. He made no move to join them. Jack was about to coax him in when he realized that even if Eddie wanted to join them, he couldn‟t. No way he‟d fit through the narrow opening.

Or worse, if he forced himself in, he might not be able to get out.

Jack turned in a slow circle, uncomfortable with the trapped feeling that stole over him. He saw a triangle of cloudy sky above the damaged megalith. The broken-off apex rested at an angle against its base.

What had happened? A weakness in the stone? A lightning strike? He‟d never know.

“Look,” Weezy said, pointing to the perimeter of the sunken area.

Jack saw how the sides sloped away at an angle, following the inner surfaces of the megaliths.

“How deep do you think the stones are buried?” she asked.

Jack shrugged. He had no idea, but the megaliths were even bigger than they appeared from the outside.

He heard splashing and turned to see Weezy making her way toward the short column in the center. Her speed increased until she all but leaped the last few feet.

“Jack! Look at this!”

When he joined her he found her running her hands over the top of the column.

“Look! It‟s the same shape, the exact same size!”

Jack immediately saw what she meant—a six-sided indentation in the top of the column, a perfect fit for their lost little pyramid. No doubt about it now—the two pyramids were connected.

“What do you think it did here?”

“I don‟t know but …” Anger washed across her features, leaving steely determination.

“But what?”

“Somehow, some way, I‟m going to get our pyramid back and find out.”

Jack shared her desire but couldn‟t see any way to make that happen, so he looked for a way to change the subject. He turned and pointed to the megaliths.

“Why go to all the trouble to drag these things here and set them up like this?”

Weezy shook her head. “Stonehenge was set up as a sort of solar calendar. Maybe this is something like that. Maybe the sun shines through one of these cracks and—oh my god!”

“What?”

“Our pyramid. I‟ll bet they placed it right here in the center so that at certain times of the year a shaft of sunlight hit it and …”

“And what?”

She looked at him with a lost expression. “I don‟t know. But I‟ve got to know. And I will know.”

But Jack was thinking about something else. He did a slow turn, taking in the placement of the megaliths, the spaces between, the way they were tilted inward, making them virtually impossible to climb …

He felt a little squeeze in his chest as it all came together.

“I don‟t know about sunbeams and that sort of stuff, but look around. Imagine you‟re a tiger or a lion … those openings are wide enough to toss food inside but too narrow for something big to squeeze through. I think this is some sort of cage.”

4

After a moment of stunned silence, Weezy said, “You could be right, but … but we‟re

talking a major, major project. Chiseling these huge stones somewhere and dragging them here, then somehow setting them upright with exactly the right spacing between them, all to cage a lion?”

Eddie‟s voice was hushed. “Who says it was a lion. Maybe it was the Jersey Devil.”

A glance told Jack that Eddie wasn‟t kidding. He liked to bring up the Jersey Devil as the cause of whatever couldn‟t be explained in the Pines—and there was no shortage of the unexplained here—but usually he was at least half kidding. This time, however …

Supposedly, back in the 1700s, a certain Mrs. Leeds, on learning she was pregnant for the thirteenth time, cursed the baby, saying she‟d rather bear the devil‟s child than another for her husband. Well, that child was born with the head of a horse, bat wings, cloven hooves, and a spiked tail.

At least that was one version. Jack didn‟t buy into the JD. Neither, of all people, did Weezy, who bought into just about everything else.

Weezy did believe that something strange lurked in the Barrens, and Jack couldn‟t disagree.

“Eddie,” Weezy said in her must-I-explain? voice, “this was built way before the first Jersey Devil story. It‟s got to be thousands of years old.”

“No way!”

“Why not? Stonehenge was started in something like three thousand B.C.”

Eddie shook his head. “Nuh-uh. The only people around here back then were the Lenape Indians, and they didn‟t build this.”

Jack smiled up at him. “Well, you did say it looks like a teepee.”

Eddie drew an invisible “1” in the air. “Got me.”

“Other people were here besides the Lenape,” Weezy said.

Eddie frowned. “Like who?”

“The Ancient Septimus Fraternal Order.”

“The Lodge? No way!”

“Why not? The first word in their name is „Ancient.‟”

“This is your Secret History of the World stuff that nobody believes in but you.” Eddie waved his hands. “But I don‟t want to get into that. What I want to know is, if this was a cage, what was in it? And where are its bones?”

Weezy dug the toe of her sneaker into the sand under the water, kicking up milky clouds.

“Probably under here. Who knows how much sand and dirt have blown in through the

centuries? That wall out there probably kept out a lot of it, but I bet this is a couple of feet deep.

And I also bet somewhere below is a big hexagon of granite that served as the original floor.”

As Jack watched the churned-up water, he noticed the reflection of a blotch of light. He glanced up at the opening atop the damaged megalith. He dropped his gaze to the cracked-off chunk of granite leaning against its base. He imagined an animal—a bear, a lion, or whatever—climbing upon the fallen piece and then leaping, scrabbling, clawing its way to the flat, broken surface atop the megalith. From there all it had to do was slide down the outer surface and run free.

“It escaped.”

Eddie and Weezy stared at him.

“How do you know?” she said.

Jack pointed to the opening. “Through there.”

Weezy looked up, then down at the fallen piece, then nodded. “I think you could be right.”

“That still doesn‟t answer the big question: Who would go to all the trouble to cart these stones here and set them up to cage an animal?”

Jack could not resist. “What if it wasn‟t just any animal. What if it was …” He paused, then screamed the last words. “The Jersey Devil!”

Eddie and Weezy both jumped, then Weezy laughed. “You‟ve been hanging around him too long. Weren‟t you listening? It can‟t …” But her smile faded as she said, “On the other hand …”

Eddie grinned. “Hah! Told you it was the JD.”

“No, it wasn‟t. But maybe it became the Jersey Devil.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Did you ever hear of crypto zoology?” She quickly waved a hand at Eddie. “Never mind. Look who I‟m asking. It‟s the study of strange creatures that may or may not exist.”

Jack had never heard of it, but had an idea what it was about.

“You mean like Sasquatch and the Loch Ness monster?”

She smiled and nodded. “And yeti and the kraken and a bunch of others. So, what if ancient folks—maybe early, early members of the Lodge—built this to house some weird creature? Or maybe two of them—male and female. Maybe they were sacred to them, and maybe the little pyramid sitting in the center here had some significance or some function.”

“Like what?”

“I don‟t know—yet. But what if they escaped into the wild? And what if they had offspring and their offspring had offspring? Eventually the Pilgrims came and the colonies started, and one day someone sees one of these things. And then somebody else sees it. Pretty soon someone makes up the Jersey Devil story to explain it. The story starts circulating and eventually we have a Pinelands legend.”

“But what … ?” Eddie paused and Jack saw him swallow. “What if one of those things is still around?”

Weezy grinned. “Wouldn‟t that be cool?”

“Hey, guys,” Eddie said. “Let‟s get out of here.”

“What for?” Jack said. “We just got here.”

“Because I see footprints up here. Big ones.”

5

Jack froze. He glanced at Weezy and saw her standing statue-still as well. “Where?” he said. “You mean here? Nearby?”

Eddie looked around. “Right behind me. Didn‟t notice them before—I mean, who

would with this thing sitting in front of you—but they‟re here.” He dropped to one knee and thrust his arm through the gap. “Here, Weezy. I‟ll help you up. See for yourself.” Jack blinked.

Eddie offering to give his sister a hand … he must really want out of here.

Weezy looked a little surprised too, but took his hand. Her foot slipped as she tried to climb up.

Jack instinctively raised a hand to give her butt a boost and instantly thought better of it. Not a good idea. Instead he wove his fingers and held out his interlocked hands for her to step in.

“Here.”

The sole of her wet sneaker landed on his palms and he boosted her up. Once she was out he made a point of hoisting himself up and through the gap without help.

His feet squished in his sneakers as he checked out the sandy soil. He saw their own footprints, clean and crisp in the damp sand, but where—?

And then he spotted them—a line of indistinct, oblong depressions trailing along the perimeter of the pyramid.

“I thought you meant fresh tracks,” he said. “These are old.”

“Not that old. With all the rain we‟ve been having, they wouldn‟t be there at all if they were old.”

Jack had to admit he had a point.

“They‟re kind of big,” Weezy said in a small voice.

Eddie pointed at the nearest. “‟Kind of‟? That‟s a foot long if it‟s an inch. Maybe longer. It could have been made before the last rain.” He looked around. “Let‟s not kid ourselves, okay?

There‟s something out here in the Barrens. We saw it that night when the government guys were digging up the mound.”

Jack remembered the hulking shape silhouetted through the trees. Whoever it was had made Pepe le Pew smell like a rose.

“Oh, that. Probably just some big piney who hadn‟t had a bath since Christmas. All we saw was a shadow.”

“A big shadow. I don‟t want it showing up here.”

“It won‟t,” he told him.

Eddie looked around again. “Yeah? People go missing in here every year. We all say they got lost and starved to death—”

Jack smiled. “You always say the Jersey Devil got them.”

“I‟m not kidding, Jack. What if they don‟t starve? What if something gets them and that‟s why they never make it back?”

Weezy looked at Jack. “Maybe we should go.”

“Hey, wait. The Pinelands cover a million acres. Even if there is something out there, the chances of it crossing paths with us are pretty slim.”

“I‟m not so sure about that,” Eddie said. “This cage or whatever may be special to it. Maybe it comes back here, like, regularly.”

Jack had to admit they were getting to him. He looked around and sniffed the air. Saw nothing, smelled nothing. Still …

“All right, all right. We‟ll head back.”

They retreated through the burned-out area to their bikes, with Eddie, of all people, leading the way.

“Y‟think we‟re the only ones who know about that pyramid thing?” he said once they were on their way back toward town.

Jack noticed he‟d relaxed since putting some distance between himself and the pyramid.

Weezy nodded from the lead spot. “Good chance. Otherwise people would be yakking about it all over.”

“Hard to believe no one‟s ever found it before us,” Jack said.

Weezy slowed and let his bike pull even with hers.

“Maybe the Indians knew about it. And maybe some pineys do, but they keep to themselves.

It‟s not like people are looking for it. And like you said: a million acres of woods. There are places in here no human has ever laid eyes on. Don‟t forget, that‟s on Old Man Foster‟s land. It‟s even less likely for hikers or campers to be wandering around posted property.”

“Think Mister Foster knows about it?”

“I‟d bet not. He doesn‟t seem to take much interest in his land. No one‟s ever seen him. For all we know, he‟s dead.”

“Then who‟s posting all these no-trespassing signs?” Eddie said.

Jack and Weezy answered in unison. “The Jersey Devil!”

“Fine,” Eddie grumbled. “Be like that.”

Weezy said, “No big deal to hire someone to post signs.”

Eddie looked at her. “Y‟think we should tell anyone what we found?”

“Don‟t even think about it!” Weezy cried.

“Why not? Maybe some experts can come down and figure out what it really is.”

“I‟ll tell you what they‟ll come down and do.” She was talking through her teeth and Jack could sense the fury building in her. “They‟ll dismantle it and ship it off to the Smithsonian or something. You saw what they did to our mound. What makes you think they‟ll have any more respect for that pyramid?”

“‟Our‟ mound?” Jack said with a smile, trying to cool her down. “When did it become ours?”

She gave him an annoyed look. “I know it‟s on Old Man Foster‟s land, and you know what I mean.”

That triggered a thought. “Foster … they‟ll have to get his permission first.”

Her voice rose. “Those guys who dug up our mound didn‟t have his permission! They just came in the middle of the night and did whatever they wanted to do, then left. They‟ll do the same with the pyramid!”

“Easy, Weezy.” He seemed to be saying that a lot lately. “We‟ll keep our lips zipped.”

She gave him a pointed look. “That means we don‟t tell anyone. Not even Mister Rosen, and

especially not Professor Nakamura.”

Jack figured Mr. Rosen could be trusted, but agreed about the professor. They‟d lost the baby pyramid because of him.

“Mum‟s the word.”

“Good.” She looked at Eddie. “You with us, dear brother?”

Jack tried telepathy: Agree with her. Maybe it got through, or maybe Eddie knew better from experience.

“All the way, dear sister.” He shrugged. “Besides, who‟m I gonna tell anyway?”

“It‟s like a duty,” she said. “The Barrens are special. They‟ve kept secrets for ages. We can‟t go messing things up just because we got lucky. We—”

“Goddamn you little bastids!”

The shout came from off to their left and Jack was surprised to see they‟d reached the spong already. The source of the cursing was a skinny man wearing an Agway gimme cap and bib-front overalls. He was hurrying their way, weaving among the traps Mrs. Clevenger had sprung. He snatched an upright stick from one of the traps and began waving it in the air.

He looked furious as he shouted, “I warned you „bout messin‟ with my traps!”

They‟d run into this piney before. He claimed he was Mr. Foster‟s son but Jack had a feeling Old Man Foster wasn‟t a piney.

“We didn‟t touch them!” Eddie called back, then spoke under his breath. “Least not this time.”

“Hell you didn‟t! This is the second time now I find you here with all my traps sprung! I‟m gonna teach you bastids a lesson you‟ll never forget!”

He broke into a run, whipping the stick back and forth ahead of him.

Eddie let out a wail and hit his pedals. His rear tire fish-tailed and kicked up sand as he accelerated. Jack and Weezy were close behind. As they raced away, a fist-size rock sailed through the air, narrowly missing Weezy‟s head.

A blast of rage blazed through Jack. He felt his lips pulling back from his teeth in a snarl as he looked back at the piney. The skinny man had stopped running and was screaming something incoherent as he waved the stick.

What if that rock had hit Weezy? What would he have done?

“Jack?”

Weezy‟s voice.

He looked and found her staring at him with a worried look.

“What?”

“You … you looked kind of scary just now.”

“Didn‟t you see that rock? It just missed you.”

“I know. But the important word is „missed.‟ You looked like you wanted to kill him.”

For a second there, Jack realized, that was exactly what he had wanted to do.

“Just don‟t like people throwing rocks at my friends.”

She kept looking at him. “We are friends, aren‟t we.”

“We are. Old friends.”

“I like that.”

The fading rage was replaced by a warm glow that hung on until they found the lost man.

6

Eddie had sped on ahead, racing back to town while Jack and Weezy took their time,

talking. Or rather, Jack listening to her rattle on about the two pyramids and wonder how they fit into the Secret History. She glowed with excitement and vindication. She started talking about finding a way into the Lodge to retrieve their little pyramid. He might have said that they didn‟t even know if it was in there, but didn‟t want to interrupt her flow. She seemed happy just fantasizing about it.

Something else stopped her—a voice shouting from a distance.

“Help! Help! Don‟t leave! Please don‟t leave!”

They stopped their bikes and saw a disheveled man stumbling their way out of

the trees, waving his arms. “Please!” he cried in a dry, cracked voice. “I‟m lost! I‟ve been wandering around in circles for three days.”

Jack looked at Weezy. “What do we do?”

“Do? We help him back to town. What else?”

Good question. That pyramid and the tracks, plus the piney, had left him jumpy. Now this stranger wandering out of nowhere. He didn‟t like it.

And the guy was getting closer.

“What happened, mister?” he called.

“Lost. I‟ve got a Land Rover somewhere. Came out to do some bird-watching and got turned around and couldn‟t find my car.”

Bird-watcher? Yeah, a lot of bird-watchers in the Pines, but usually in groups. No binoculars around his neck. He could have lost them, but …

Jack was liking this less and less. He studied the man, closer now, and could see he looked maybe forty, fifty tops. He needed a shave, his shirt was torn, and his pants were filthy. His longish brown hair was all tangled.

Jack looked at Weezy. “Be ready to ride.”

“What‟s the matter, Jack? You‟re acting all strange.”

“Just being careful is all.”

Her expression turned concerned as he unlocked his bike chain and unwound it from the seat pole.

“He‟s in trouble, Jack. We‟ve got to help him.”

“We will. But of all people, you, the Queen of Conspiracies, should know things aren‟t always what they seem.”

The man stumbled onto the firebreak trail. He had a wild look in his blue eyes.

“Thank God! You don‟t know what I‟ve been through!”

Keeping a tight grip on the chain, Jack said, “You must be thirsty.”

“Like you wouldn‟t believe. Found a pond of cedar water yesterday but nothing since. You kids got anything—a soda, maybe? Anything?”

“Sorry. Come on. We‟ll lead you back.”

“Where?”

“Johnson.”

“Never heard of it. Far?”

“Couple of miles that way,” Weezy said, pointing west.

He looked at her. “I don‟t know if I can make it. Think one of you could ride into town and send a cop or an ambulance back?”

Dream on, Jack thought.

“We‟ll both go. You just wait here and—”

He waved his hands and began walking. “No-no. I don‟t want to even think about being left alone again. I‟ll make it. Besides …” He looked around. “I don‟t want to run into that thing again. Ever.”

“What thing?” Weezy said as they began to push their bikes, pacing him.

Jack positioned himself between the guy and Weezy. If he went for her, he‟d have to go through Jack. And Jack had his chain.

“I don‟t know. I heard something pushing through the brush last night and thought it was another human. I was about to give it a shout when I heard it make a sound like a hiss. Right then I knew it wasn‟t human. Or if it was, not any human I wanted anything to do with. Suddenly it seemed to catch on that I was there. It let out this ungodly screech and started charging my way.”

Jack saw Weezy‟s eyes widen—she lived for this stuff—and he knew she was thinking about the tracks around the pyramid.

“What did it look like?” she said.

“I didn‟t wait to see. I ran.”

“Obviously you won the race,” Jack said. Otherwise he wouldn‟t be here to tell his tale.

He shook his head. “I might have in my college days, but I‟m way out of shape. No, I got smart and climbed a tree.”

“And the thing couldn‟t climb?” Jack was having trouble buying into this.

“Unfortunately it could.”

Weezy said, “Then how—?”

“It was heavier than me—a good deal heavier. I was climbing as fast as I could and it was right behind me and gaining when I heard branches start to crack, then break. I kept going until branches started breaking under my own weight. I stopped—I had no choice. I looked down.”

“What did it look like?” Weezy repeated.

He shook his head again. “Couldn‟t tell you. The sky was overcast—no moon, no stars. The only thing I could see was this dark blob maybe ten feet below me, screeching and clawing at the bark. Then it stopped clawing and started shaking the tree. I tell you, I had to hold on for dear life.”

“How‟d you get away?”

“I didn‟t. I mean, I‟m here now, but not because of anything else I did. The thing howled and shook the tree for what seemed like forever. Then it finally quieted and climbed down. I prayed it would move on but it didn‟t. It dug up some sort of stone and started slamming it against the tree trunk again and again. I realized it was trying to cut it down.”

“Oh my god, you must have been scared out of your mind.”

“Scared? I damn near shit” He cut off as he glanced at Weezy. “I was the most scared I‟ve ever been in my whole life.”

Jack relaxed his grip on the chain. Maybe this guy was all right.

“So I just hung on all night, rain and all. As the sky began to lighten, the banging stopped. The thing gave the tree one last shake, let loose with one more scream, and disappeared into the trees.

But I wasn‟t going to be fooled. I stayed where I was until it was full light. I wished I could have seen the sun itself, but the dawn gave me an idea where east was, so I climbed down and started walking. I knew if I kept walking east I‟d eventually hit the Parkway.”

“But you were heading west when we saw you.”

He stopped and shook his head. “I guess I was.”

Jack pointed up at the thick low clouds. “That‟s what a vanilla sky will do to you.”

“Vanilla sky?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah. Overcast and all one color. And since the Barrens are mostly flat with no landmarks, people get lost all the time.”

“Vanilla sky …” He looked up. “That‟s why I haven‟t been able to find my way out of here.

Damn clouds. If you don‟t know where the sun is, you can‟t tell your directions.”

“That‟s why they make compasses,” Jack said.

The guy didn‟t appreciate the remark. He gave Jack a look. “I know that, kid.”

“There‟s always moss,” Weezy said.

He frowned. “Moss?”

“Sure. Check tree trunks for moss. It‟s always thickest on the north face.”

“Oh, hell!” He slapped a palm against his forehead. “I know that! Or at least I did once. How could I have forgotten? Not that it matters, because I am never, ever going in there again.”

“Did it stink?” Weezy said. “The thing, I mean?”

The man stared at her. “To high heavens. How did you know?”

Weezy glanced at Jack. “We saw something like that last month.”

“Did it come with floating lights?”

Weezy stiffened. “You saw lights?”

“Yeah. When I was parked in that tree. Two glowing blobs, like maybe the size of softballs.

They floated along the tree-tops and circled near me while that thing was bashing the trunk.”

“Pine lights,” Jack said.

“They‟re also called lumens,” Weezy added.

Jack frowned. “Where‟s it say that?”

She raised her eyebrows. “I have my sources.”

He didn‟t doubt it. Weezy read stuff hardly anyone else had even heard of.

“They‟re a kind of ball lightning,” he told the man.

He shook his head. “I can‟t buy that. These things didn‟t act like any kind of electricity I‟ve ever seen.” His expression was unsettled as he looked at Jack and Weezy. “They floated off as the rain began, but as they were hovering there, over me and the beast, I almost got the feeling they were … watching.”

7

“Oh, thank God!” the man cried as they broke from the trees and the Old Town section of Johnson came into view. “Civilization!”

“Such as it is,” Weezy muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

The man dropped to his knees and sobbed.

Jack looked away, embarrassed for him. He‟d hoped to find Gus Sooy still here so he could give the man a ride down to the highway where they could call the sheriff‟s department. But no sign of his battered old pickup. Must have sold off his applejack and gone back to his home in the Pines.

“Only a little farther,” Weezy said.

“I can‟t. I‟m all in. Go call for help. I‟ll wait here. As long as I‟m out of those damn woods and can see houses, I‟ll be okay.”

So Jack and Weezy left their bikes and started going door to door, but no one seemed to be home, including Mrs. Clevenger. They didn‟t try the Klenke house, of course.

“Where is everybody?” he asked Weezy.

She shrugged. “It‟s a nice day for a change. Maybe they‟re out catching some rays.” She got a funny look in her eyes as she stared over his shoulder. “Let‟s try … there.”

He turned and followed her gaze to the boxy, two-story white building that sat on a rise overlooking Quaker Lake—the lake it owned.

“The Lodge?”

“There‟s a car in front.”

True enough. A big gray Bentley limousine was parked by the front entrance. After the murders involving Lodge members last month, two men had moved in. The building had been there as long as anyone could remember, but no one could recall anyone ever living there. Meetings galore, yes, but no residents.

“Tell me you‟re not thinking what I think you‟re thinking.”

She glanced at him. “Of course I am. This is a golden opportunity. We have a perfectly good reason for asking to use the phone. Once we‟re inside we can look around for signs of our pyramid. Carpe diem, Jack.”

He knew that meant “seize the day.” Fine. They could seize the day, but he doubted very much they‟d carpe the pyramid.

“Okay. Let‟s do it. But I‟ll bet you we don‟t cross the threshold.”

“We have to, Jack.” Her tone tightened. “It‟s ours and they took it.”

As they approached the building, Jack realized he‟d never been this close. Someone kept it in excellent shape. The stucco walls were clean with no obvious cracks, the paint job fresh looking.

The grass needed a good trim, though. And the foundation plantings were looking weedy.

He got a closer look at the big round seal—or sigil, as Dad called it—of the Ancient Septimus Fraternal Order over the pillared front entrance.

Jack had always found its eye-crossing design vaguely disturbing. As he stared at

it he thought he saw a face appear in one of the windows above it, but it disappeared so quickly he wasn‟t sure if it had been real or a trick of the light.

“All right,” he said in a low voice. “Let me do the talking.”

“You don‟t trust me?”

“Let‟s just say you‟re not the greatest at hiding your feelings.”

He knocked on the door and realized it was steel. After ten seconds with no

response, he was reaching out for another go when it opened. A thick-bodied,

thick-necked man with reddish crew-cut hair stared down at them. He wore some sort of butler getup.

“May I help you?” he said with a German accent.

“May we come in and use your phone?” Jack said, pouring on humble politeness.

“We

need to call the police.”

“The Order‟s phones are not for public use.”

As the man started to close the door a voice from within said, “Come, come,

Eggers.” It carried just a hint of an accent. Perhaps German as well? “Someone must need help.” As the door opened wider, the butler stepped back to be replaced by a tall thin man all in white—white suit, white shirt, white tie. He had a tight-skinned face with a high forehead and a hook nose. His shiny black hair started with a widow‟s peak and was slicked straight back. His cold blue eyes fixed on Jack as his thin lips curved into a smile. Jack had seen him from a distance when he‟d moved in last month.

“You‟re the young man who found poor brother Boruff‟s body, aren‟t you.”

Jack nodded,

his mouth suddenly dry. He didn‟t like the idea of this strange man knowing things about him.

The man extended his hand. “How may we help?”

Jack thought he was offering to shake but then noticed he held a white business card between his index and middle fingers. Jack took it.

ERNST D REXLER II

Actuator

ASFO

He had no idea what an actuator did, and wasn‟t about to ask.

“We found a guy who‟s been lost in the Pines for three days. He‟s really weak

and needs an ambulance.”

Mr. Drexler stared at Jack a moment, as if processing the information. “If we could just come in and use the phone to call nine-one-one—” “By all means.” But instead of stepping aside, he turned and spoke over his

shoulder. “Eggers, call the sheriff and tell them to send an ambulance.” He turned back to Jack. “Do you know that your father was extended the privilege of joining the Order, yet he turned us down? That does not happen very often.”

“He mentioned it.”

“Did he mention why?”

“Something about too many secrets.”

“‟Too many‟?” Mr. Drexler frowned. “What an entertaining concept. Just when

does one reach the point of „too many‟ secrets? Everyone has secrets. Even you.” He turned to Weezy. “Even this young lady.”

Weezy swallowed. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“You‟re the young lady who found that

strange artifact in the Barrens, aren‟t you.”

With mention of the artifact, Weezy changed, losing her flustered look and switching to angry.

“The artifact you people stole.”

Swell, Jack thought. No way we‟ll get in now.

Mr. Drexler‟s eyebrows rose as he smiled. “Stole? And why would the Order want something you found buried in the dirt? I‟m afraid I‟ve never even read or heard a description of the object.

Would you care to describe it for me?”

“You know exactly what it looks like.”

“Do I? „Artifact‟ is such a vague term—it could be anything. But if you won‟t describe it, can you perhaps tell me what it might be used for?”

Weezy frowned. “Used?”

“Yes. What did it do?”

“It didn‟t do anything that we know of.”

“Then what possible use could it be to the Order? Why would we want to … steal it?”

Her voice rose. “Because it‟s proof that there‟s a Secret History of the World, something your order and other groups like it want to remain secret!”

As Mr. Drexler‟s smile broadened while he stared at Weezy, Jack edged to the left for a peek through the doors. He saw fringed rugs on the floor—Persian carpets?—dark, indistinct paintings on the walls, a large fireplace with a lot of curios set on the mantel above it. The one in the center looked—

Jack felt his neck muscles bunch as he took a step closer for a better view.

Eggers reappeared then, frowning at Jack as he blocked the space.

But not before Jack spotted a black object similar in size to the pyramid he and Weezy had found—the one that disappeared. This thing seemed to have a pointed top.

Their pyramid?

He hid the thrill jolting through his nerves as Mr. Drexler turned to him.

“Your friend is a most entertaining young lady. I would love to stand here and discuss her Secret History of the World and other wild imaginings, but duty calls.” He lifted his gaze and inclined his head toward a place somewhere behind them. “And besides, your lost man is up and about.”

Jack turned and saw the man staggering along Quakerton Road toward the bridge. He heard a click and turned back to see the Lodge door had closed. It appeared Mr. Drexler was done with them. Perhaps they‟d stopped being “entertaining.”

“No!” Weezy cried as she started banging on the door. Her features were tight and her eyes wild. “Open up! Let us in!”

He touched her arm. “That‟s not going to help.”

For an instant she looked as if she was going to pound on him instead of the door, then her shoulders slumped and she nodded. He was afraid she was going to cry, but she took a breath and started down the walk.

“Let‟s go.”

He‟d never seen her like this. What was with her, anyway?

8

They caught up to the lost man at the edge of the swollen lake. “Where‟re you going?”

Jack said.

“Thirsty.” He looked at them with glazed eyes, then pointed at Quaker Lake.

“Need a drink.”

“That‟s probably not such a good idea,” Weezy said. She seemed back in control

again. “Might make you sick.”

“Come on.” Jack pointed to the bridge. “Let‟s get you across. There‟s an

ambulance on the way.”

A sheriff‟s cruiser pulled up just as they reached the other side. Deputy Tim

Davis hopped out and helped the man to the car where he sat on the rear seat with his legs outside and his feet on the ground.

“The ambulance will be here in a few minutes.”

After handing him a bottle of water, with advice to drink slowly, Tim turned to

Jack. He‟d dated Jack‟s sister, Kate, in high school, so they knew each other pretty well.

“Where‟d you find him?”

“He sort of found us.”

“That‟s not answering the question.”

Jack glanced at Weezy and said, “Out by Old Man Foster‟s.”

Tim didn‟t look surprised. “That wouldn‟t be the land that‟s posted for „No

Trespassing,‟ would it?”

“Good thing we just happened by, huh?” Jack added a grin.

Tim didn‟t return the smile. He looked tense. “I suppose so. Don‟t go anywhere.

I need to talk to you two.”

“About what?” Weezy said.

“About the woods.”

“Why us?”

“Because you spend so much time there, you should be made honorary pineys.” Ordinarily he might have smiled when he said something like that, but his

expression remained grim. Jack wondered what was going on.

As Tim took out his note pad and began asking the man questions, Jack started

pulling Weezy aside to tell her what he‟d seen on the Lodge‟s mantel. But then he

heard the first question and it puzzled him.

“You didn‟t happen to see a little boy in there this morning?”

The man shook his head. “I didn‟t see anyone until I came upon these two.” Tim looked at them. “How about it? Did you see a kid?”

Jack shook his head and saw Weezy doing the same. “No, but—” But Tim had turned back to the man. He said his name was Ted Collingswood, a

broker in the Prince ton Merrill Lynch office. He‟d arrived in the Pines on Thursday, planning to spend a few days birding. He wasn‟t due back till today, so nobody would have reported him missing yet. According to his story, Jack estimated he was now at

least fifteen miles from where he‟d left his car.

By the time he started telling his tale of being chased up a tree by the “thing,”

about a dozen people had gathered. Jack shook his head, thinking how it didn‟t take

much to draw a crowd in Johnson, New Jersey, the most boring town on Earth. “Sounds like the Jersey Devil,” someone said.

Jack looked but it wasn‟t Eddie.

Tim said, “Sounds more like a bear.”

“Bear?” someone else said. “There ain‟t no bears in the Pines.” “Yes, there are,” Tim said.

“We‟ve got black bears. Not a lot, but we‟ve got

some, and this man was unlucky enough to stumble across one in the dark. Let‟s leave it at that, shall we? Let‟s not start getting all Twilight Zone about this. Bears can climb, and they‟re heavy enough to break branches a man‟s weight won‟t.”

A bear worked for Jack, maybe even explained the tracks around the pyramid. Everyone turned then at the sound of a siren as an ambulance roared up

Quakerton Road. They watched the EMTs load Mr. Collingswood into the back and roar

away.

And as it did, another sheriff‟s department cruiser pulled up and a deputy got

out. Jack didn‟t recognize him and couldn‟t read his name-tag from here. After a

whispered conversation with Tim, the new deputy leaned back against his car with his arms folded across his chest.

Tim was reaching into a button-down breast pocket of his dark blue shirt as he

approached Jack and Weezy.

“We‟ve got a serious situation here, and I‟m hoping you can help.” Uh-oh.

“Sure,” Jack said. “What‟s up?”

Tim pulled out a photo and handed it to them.

“Know who this is?”

Jack‟s stomach clenched when he saw the photo of a smiling little boy with

shaggy blond hair.

“That‟s Cody … Cody Bockman. What—?”

“He‟s missing.”

“The little guy we saw this morning?” Weezy said.

“You saw him?” Tim said.

The other deputy straightened from the cruiser and approached as Jack told of

his encounter.

“Last I saw him, he was pedaling toward his house. What happened?” “According to the father, the kid had just learned to ride his two-wheeler, and

was running it up and down their driveway this morning, going from the street to the garage in back. His dad went in to refill his coffee, and when he came back out, the kid was gone.”

“But where?” Weezy said.

“The dad ran up and down Jefferson and every other street in the neighborhood.

Not a sign of him.”

Jack drew a map in his head. Jefferson was his street. Its west end stopped at

the buffer woods along 206. The east end stopped at—

“The lake!”

Weezy‟s hand shot to her mouth. “Oh, no!”

Tim nodded, his expression even more grim. “That‟s a big worry. The good news

is, we‟ve searched the bank and haven‟t found any sign of him or his bike. Still …” “There‟s that circus too,” the other deputy said. “A bunch of trucks and trailers

and RVs arrived last night.”

“You don‟t really think he ran away to join the circus?” Weezy said. Jack‟s throat tightened as he remembered threatening to sell Cody to the circus. The deputy made a face. “Not likely, but some real shady types in that crew.” Jack said, “I kidded him about that and he seemed to think it was a cool idea.” “We‟ll check it out,” Tim said. “But they‟re setting up half a mile north on the highway. I don‟t see a five-year-old who‟s just learned to ride without his training wheels making his way anywhere near there.” He looked down at his pad where he‟d

taken notes on the lost man. “That Collingswood guy … he shows up out of nowhere

just after Cody disappears. Could be coincidence, but I don‟t like coincidences.” “I‟m sure he‟ll turn up,” Weezy said.

“Let‟s hope so. We‟ve been asking everyone we can find if they saw a little kid

riding a brand-new, bright red bike. Walt says he thinks he saw a kid riding a red bike into the Pines.”

“Thinks?” Weezy said. “Did the kid he saw have blond hair?”

“You know Walt. He says he wasn‟t paying much attention, and even if he was, I

don‟t know how reliable he‟d be. He was in his usual state.”

Weezy‟s expression became defensive.

“Even in his „usual state‟ he knows what‟s going on around town.” Tim shrugged and looked around. “In all fairness, with this being the first dry

Saturday in a while, and with so many kids on bikes around here, you‟d have to be

looking for a specific kid to be able to spot him.”

His gaze ranged back and forth, pausing on each of them.

“You two were just in there. Think hard: Did one of you see even a hint of a little

kid on a bike?”

Weezy shook her head as Jack said, “I know Cody. If I‟d seen him, I‟d ‟ve

grabbed him.”

Still, he felt bad now for not following him home.

Tim banged a fist on the fender of his car. “Damn! It was a long shot, but still …” “That doesn‟t mean he‟s not in there,” Jack added. “He wouldn‟t have gotten as

far in as we were. You know how those firebreaks fork left and right all the time, even close in. He could be just a quarter mile from here but totally lost.”

“And unless you know your way,” Weezy added, “or know enough to follow your

tire tracks back, you can get lost in no time.”

Jack had a sinking feeling. “And stay lost.”

He thought about the day ahead of him. He was supposed to put in a few hours at USED, but he was pretty sure Mr. Rosen would let him off if he asked—especially if it

concerned a missing child.

He turned to Tim. “We‟ll go back in and ride around to see if we can find him.” Tim shook his head. “I‟d get my head handed to me for putting even more kids

at risk of getting lost.”

Weezy looked offended. “We wouldn‟t get lost.”

Tim nodded. “I know that, and you know that, but the sheriff wouldn‟t see it that way. Besides, he doesn‟t want any more bikes in there tracking up the trails.” Jack thought that was stupid. They‟d be able to spot Cody‟s bike tracks before

anyone else. And they wouldn‟t get lost. Weezy could ride a new path and remember

everything about it, then add it to the map she kept in her head. Day or night, she

knew exactly where she was in the Pines.

Jack was less sure about himself. Certain trails he knew by heart, but he‟d never

be as at home in there as Weezy. The trails forked no matter which direction you were moving. You might try memorizing your turns on your trip in, but everything looked

different on the way back. Choose one wrong fork and you could wind up in unfamiliar territory, miles from where you planned to be.

Retracing your own tracks was the best way, and promised to be pretty easy

today—all the recent rains had smoothed out the sandy surfaces of the trails, leaving them blank, like new sheets of paper waiting for someone to write on them. Perfect for finding Cody‟s tracks.

Jack was opening his mouth to protest when a flash of light flickered to the west.

He saw the underbellies of storm clouds darkening the overcast. Thunder rumbled a

few seconds later.

Tim gave his fender an annoyed slap. “Just what we need. Another storm.

Perfect timing. Damn!” He turned to Jack. “All right, you guys, head home before it gets here.”

Shoving his smarter instincts aside, Jack said, “Let us ride in for a quick look

before the storm wipes out all the tracks.”

Tim shook his head. “No way. And you know better than that, Jack. The Barrens

are the last place you want to be in a thunderstorm.”

“But maybe we can pick up his trail. Once the rain comes through, it‟ll be gone.” “I know that, and I appreciate the offer, believe me. But I‟ve got my orders, and

even if I didn‟t, I‟d never forgive myself if I let you kids go in there and something happened. We‟ll take the cars in and cover as much ground as we can. But as for you

two …” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Home. Now. Git.”

They got.

Guilt followed Jack all the way home. He should have made sure Cody had got

back to his house. If only he‟d seen him all the way home and told his folks that he‟d been out in the street. But he‟d watched him turn onto Jefferson, and hadn‟t wanted to get him in trouble. All he could think about was that little kid out in the Pines, lost and alone. He could imagine how scared he had to be. And then to be caught in a

thunderstorm …

Poor kid.

9

That evening, Jack and Weezy were biking north on Route 206 under a clear sky.

The storm had broken hard and mean just minutes after he‟d reached his house. Mr. Rosen had called from USED to tell him not to bother coming in—the storm would keep away any potential customers. So he‟d spent the afternoon with his father and his frantic mother.

She‟d heard about Cody Bockman and hadn‟t been able to sit still. She kept wanting to get an umbrella and go out searching for him in the storm. It never reached the point where Dad physically had to restrain her, but it had gotten close.

Jack felt the same way. Maybe worse. Should have seen Cody home. The kid must have kept on riding right past his house to who knew where.

The storm blew off to the east about five o‟clock. As soon as the rain stopped, Mom dragged his father into the car to drive around, looking.

Jack had gone over to Eddie and Weezy‟s and they‟d biked toward the Pines for their own search. But a deputy had waved them off, saying they didn‟t want fresh bike tracks messing up the trails.

Jack told him they weren‟t going to find anything old after the way it had rained, but his arguments fell on deaf ears.

As they‟d ridden back through Old Town, Weezy suggested they go watch the circus set up.

Eddie begged off—not interested. Jack knew he didn‟t want to make the trip up 206.

“I think I saw the pyramid,” Jack said as they neared the field where the circus set up every year.

Weezy nearly fell off her bike as she gave him a wide-eyed stare.

“You what? W-w-when? How?”

“Today, when we were talking to Mister Drexler.”

“And you didn‟t tell me?”

“I haven‟t had a chance. And hearing about Cody pretty much blew it out of my head until now.”

“Oh, yeah. I can see that.” She brightened. “But the pyramid—you think it‟s ours?”

He realized she was changing what he said.

“I said I thought I‟d seen something that might be it. Not even sure it was a pyramid, just looked like—”

“But it could have been.”

“Yeah, but—”

She skidded to a halt. Jack stopped a few feet ahead of her.

“We‟re going back.”

He stared at her. “And do what?”

“Find a way into the Lodge and get my pyramid back. I found it and—” “We found it.”

“Okay, we found it. It‟s our pyramid. And if our pyramid is in there, we are going to get it back.”

He wished he‟d never mentioned it.

“I can‟t believe I‟m saying this to you of all people, but you‟re not thinking, Weez. Think: steel door, barred windows … even if we got in we‟d be risking more trouble than it‟s worth.”

“Not to me.”

“It‟s worth ending up in jail?”

“It‟s proof.”

“Proof of what?”

“That I‟m not crazy.”

“Nobody thinks you‟re crazy.”

Deep hurt peeked through her eyes. “Yeah, they do.”

Jack realized with a pang that she was talking about her folks, probably Eddie too.

“Well, if that‟s true, you‟ll only prove them right by getting caught trying to break into the Lodge.” That seemed to sink in, so he pressed it. “Look, let‟s give it some time, put it on a back burner. Maybe we can come up with something that won‟t land us in the backseat of Tim‟s patrol car.”

She looked away, then sighed. “Okay. For now. But promise me you‟ll find a way in, because if you think I‟m going to drop this, you‟re wrong.”

Jack had no illusions on that count.

10

A little farther north they came upon a scene of furious activity. The circus had chosen a spot halfway between the highway and the tree line that flowed into the Barrens. Seedy-looking roustabouts were rushing around, unloading trucks, assembling amusement rides, and raising tents. The show‟s one elephant trumpeted now and again as it hauled stuff through the mud; shouts and chatter and the clang of sledgehammers on spikes filled the air.

Jack guessed the storm had put them behind schedule. The field was quickly becoming a mud pie.

“They call these little circuses „mud shows,‟” Weezy said. “Now I can see why.”

“More like a mud bath. People better wear boots tomorrow.”

Weezy laughed. “Yeah. Waders.”

They stood in silence awhile, staring at the anthill activity.

Finally Weezy said, “I was thinking about what the deputy said—about Cody and the circus. He called them „shady types.‟ You think they might have anything to do with him disappearing?”

“You mean kidnapping?”

She shrugged. “I don‟t know. These mud shows usually hire their roustabouts from homeless shelters and skid-row hotels. Lots of them are alcoholics and druggies.”

Jack looked at her. “And you know this how?” When Weezy gave him a duh look, Jack said,

“Never mind. Silly question.”

Weezy had read it somewhere, which meant it was carved on her brain. She never seemed to forget anything she read.

At least she wasn‟t talking about the pyramid.

Jack watched the workers. Were they really the lowlifes Weezy had read about? Even if so, would they kidnap a kid? What for?

Jack didn‟t want to think about that.

“Hey, you two,” said a phlegmy voice to their right.

Jack saw a skinny guy walking their way. He wore a blue T-shirt with multiple salt-caked sweat rings, ripped jeans, and mud-crusted sneakers. A hand-rolled cigarette dangled from his lips.

Lank, greasy hair, an unshaven face, tattoos, an earring, and a lot of missing teeth completed the picture.

Weezy took a quick step back as the guy stopped before them. “We‟re just watching.”

“I can see that. How‟d you like to do more‟n watch? I‟m talkin‟ work. I‟m the canvas boss.

We‟re shorthanded and short on time. Give you free passes to the tent show if you help out.”

“No thanks,” Weezy said without a second‟s hesitation.

“I didn‟t mean you.” He focused on Jack. “How about you? Want some passes?”

Jack hesitated, but not because the free passes were tempting—they weren‟t. He was thinking about Cody. A circus, full of seedy types like this guy, rolls into town Friday night and the very next morning Cody goes missing.

Coincidence? Could be. Most likely was. Just like Mr. Collingswood‟s appearance. But there was always the possibility …

If Jack hired on, it would afford him a chance to look around the circus, see things in an unguarded state, before everything was set up and ready for the public eye.

No. Crazy. That was dumb boy-detective stuff. Like the guilty party—if one existed—would let Cody be seen. Besides, if the sheriff‟s department hadn‟t checked out the circus folk already, they soon would.

But it wouldn‟t hurt to mention Cody to this guy and see how he reacted.

“Nah,” Jack said, knocking back his bike‟s kickstand, “I‟ve got to get back and help search for a missing kid.”

The guy stiffened. “Missing kid? What missing kid?”

“A five-year-old boy disappeared this morning.”

He threw his cigarette down and ground it viciously into the wet ground.

“Not again!”

This wasn‟t the reaction Jack had expected.

“Again?”

“Some kid took a powder at one of our stops in Michigan during the summer.

What a mess

that was.”

“Did they find him?”

“Don‟t know. Didn‟t know nothin‟ about that kid.” He glared at Jack. “And I don‟t

know nothin‟ about this one. Don‟t know nothin‟ about nothin‟, okay? None of us do. But sure as hell you townies will think we do, just like the rubes in Michigan. Never fails. Somethin‟

goes wrong in a town while we‟re around, and we automatically get the blame.” He put his hands on his hips and stared around. “A missing kid! As if this Jonah‟s-luck weather ain‟t trouble enough, now this. Damn!

He stormed away without a backward glance.

“Well-well-well,” Weezy said. “That sure set him off.”

Jack thought he‟d looked anything but guilty. But the fact that another kid had

disappeared along their route was disturbing. Maybe that guy didn‟t know anything about it himself, but he couldn‟t very well know everything his hirelings did in their spare time.

One of the circus folk could be some sort of perv. Jack shuddered at the thought of Cody in the clutches of a child molester.

Suddenly he wanted to be home.

“Let‟s get out of here.”

11

Weezy peeled off at Adams Street and Jack continued on alone to Jefferson and home

where he found a strange car parked in the driveway. He stowed his bike in the garage and went in through the back door.

Inside he found the kitchen table set for dinner but no one there. He heard voices from the front of the house and headed that way. In the living room he found three adults and a child: his folks, plus Mr. Vivino and his daughter Sally.

“Hey, Jack,” Mr. Vivino said, rising and holding out his hand. He was heavyset with a round face and longish brown hair. “Long time no see.”

Jack gave his hand a firm shake, just as he‟d been taught to do. His father had told him wimpy men gave wimpy handshakes.

“Hi, Mister Vivino.” He turned to the five-year-old girl. “Hey, Sally. How‟s it going?”

“Okay,” she said, barely making eye contact.

And no smile. Sally used to have one of the biggest, brightest, sweetest smiles. Where had it gone?

Jack thought he knew: It left with her brother.

Weezy was pretty much Jack‟s best friend now, and Kate had been his best friend growing up.

But from age eight or nine until twelve, Jack and Tony Vivino had been near inseparable.

Then Tony died.

It started with a broken leg from just hopping over a tree trunk. No way that little jump should have broken his leg. Something was wrong.

Very wrong. He had some sort of bone cancer that had already spread through his system. They cut off his leg, filled him with drugs that made his hair fall out, and then he died anyway. Jack had cried like a baby. He went to the funeral and hadn‟t been back to the Vivinos‟ since. Hadn‟t seen any of them until last month when Mrs. Vivino and Sally, who‟d started kindergarten this year, began showing up at the school bus stop.

He remembered the old days when he‟d tickle her just to see that smile. Jack had recovered from Tony‟s death. It didn‟t look like Sally had.

“Mister Vivino‟s running for freeholder,” Mom said with a smile of her own.

People told Jack he had the same hair and eyes as his mother. She used to be thin but had added pounds the past few years. Dad didn‟t seem to mind but she was always complaining about it.

Her smile looked forced and Jack could guess why: no word on Cody Bockman.

“That‟s great,” Jack said to Mr. Vivino. “Can I ask a dumb question?”

He grinned. “The only dumb question is the one that doesn‟t get asked.”

“Okay. What‟s a freeholder do?”

Mr. Vivino laughed. “They run the county. Mister Haskins‟s unfortunate death left a gap I‟m ready to fill.”

The mention of Mr. Haskins changed the mood in the room and triggered uneasy memories.

He‟d been one of the Lodge members who‟d died so mysteriously last month. No one could say for sure whether he‟d been murdered, but it was suspected. Stuff like that just didn‟t happen around here.

Mr. Vivino cleared his throat. “His term was about to expire this year so I‟m running to take his place. I‟m here to ask your folks for their support.”

“And you‟ve got it, Al,” Jack‟s father said, rising from his chair and extending his hand.

No surprise there. His father and Mr. Vivino—his first name was Aldo but everyone called him A1—were both members of the local Veterans of Foreign Wars post. Dad‟s war had been in Korea. Tony‟s father was a Vietnam vet like Walt. They‟d both come back in one piece—at least physically—but Mr. Vivino worked for an engineering firm in Cherry Hill while Walt … well, Walt spent his time being Weird Walt.

Jack‟s dad was trim, with blue eyes and thinning hair. He held his steel-rimmed reading glasses in his free hand. Jack realized the rising, the handshake, and the promise of support were a subtle heave-ho. Dad was probably hungry.

“Mine too,” Mom said.

Jack could tell she wanted to get dinner on the table.

Thankfully Mr. Vivino picked up on it.

“Tom and Jane, I appreciate that.” He shook Mom‟s hand. “I‟d be honored if you‟d allow me to put a sign up on your lawn.”

“Sure,” Dad said. “Be our guest.”

Jack could almost hear him thinking, Anything. Justgo

Mr. Vivino shook Jack‟s hand again, then led Sally out by the hand. “Bye, Sally.”

Sally looked up and gave him a little wave as she followed her father out. Still no smile.

Jack wished he knew a way to change that. He wished something else …

“I wish I could vote,” he said as he followed his folks to the kitchen.

“So you could vote for Al?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“‟Cause he‟s Tony‟s father.”

Or should that be was Tony‟s father? he wondered.

He guessed he‟d always be Tony‟s father.

“I guess that‟s as good a reason as any to vote for a freeholder. There‟s five of them, so any bad apple that happens to land in that barrel can‟t do much damage.”

That brought Jack up short.

“You think he‟s a bad apple?”

Dad laughed. “Not at all. No, I‟m just saying the freeholder system tends to keep things running smoothly. I think Al will be a good addition.”

“Why?”

“Well, partly because of Tony. He was a good kid, and I think that says something about his father.”

Jack felt his throat constrict. He hadn‟t thought about Tony in a long time.

He remembered the long summer days they‟d spent in the Vivinos‟ backyard pool, the two of them cannon balling while an ever-smiling Sally paddled around in her floater vest.

Good times.

Then he remembered the wake and seeing Tony in his coffin looking like a shrunken wax doll.

“You miss him, don‟t you,” Dad said.

Jack nodded, unable to speak around the sudden lump in his throat.

Yeah, he missed Tony. Until this moment he hadn‟t realized how much.

12

That night he dreamed of Tony‟s wake.

Lightning strobed the sky as he ran through the rain

to the front door of the funeral home.

Inside, he pushed through a crowd of adults in dark suits and dresses. They were drinking and talking and laughing while waitresses passed among them with trays of canapés.

What‟s going on? he thought. This isn‟t a party. A kid is dead, robbed of his entire life. How can you be happy? How can you laugh?

Worse than that, they were ignoring Tony.

Jack wove through them until he came within sight of the coffin. The lights flickered as the storm lit and rattled the windows. He stopped, afraid to move closer. But he forced one foot in front of the other until he was standing by the kneeler before the coffin.

The top was open and Tony lay within, dressed in his Little League uniform with his first baseman‟s glove and a ball tucked in beside him. He‟d loved baseball.

Another flash and the lights went out. The people behind Jack went on talking and laughing as if nothing had happened. But Jack stood rooted to the spot, unable to speak or move.

Still another lightning flash, but this one kept flickering, revealing Tony sitting up in the coffin and staring at him with pitch-black eyes.

“Save them, Jack. I can’t do it, so you’ve gotta. Save them.”

And then the lights came back on, but not in the funeral home—

—in Jack‟s bedroom.

He blinked up at his mother and father standing over his bed.

“What? Where?”

“That must have been one hell of a nightmare,” his father said.

“Nightmare?”

“Screaming like a banshee.”

“Are you okay?” his mother said, concern large on her face. “You sounded so frightened.”

“I guess I was. Tony was in the dream.”

Dad nodded. “No stretch as to why you were dreaming about him.”

Yeah. Of course. Mr. Vivino‟s visit. But what had Tony meant?

“Save them, Jack. I can’t do it, so you’ve gotta. Save them.”

Save whom?

SUNDAY

1

Jack wheeled his bike past the VIVINO FOR FREEHOLDER sign stuck in his front lawn

and cruised over to North Franklin. He had no destination in mind, just wanted out of the house for a while before it started raining again. It had rained during the night, so no sense in trying to cut the sodden mess that the lawns would be. He simply rode and thought about his dream last night and the whereabouts of the little black pyramid and what the canvas boss had said about a missing kid in Michigan.

As he approached Quakerton Road, he wondered if Cody had been found. Mom hadn‟t

mentioned him. He supposed someone would have called her, but you never knew. Cody‟s folks might be so happy to have him back they hadn‟t got around to spreading the word.

No harm in hoping, he guessed.

But hope was dashed when he reached Quakerton and saw

Mrs. Bockman tacking a flyer to one of the utility poles. She wore a pinkish warm-up and sneakers.

He coasted up behind her and got a look at the poster: HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOY? across the top, and a picture of a smiling, blond-haired kid below—the same photo Tim had shown him yesterday.

Jack didn‟t know what to say besides, “Can I help?”

She started and turned. Her brown hair was messy, like she hadn‟t combed it in a while, and her eyes were baggy and bloodshot like she‟d been crying instead of sleeping.

“Oh, Jack,” she said in a wavery, high-pitched voice. “Have you seen him? Have you seen my Cody?”

“No, ma‟am.” He hadn‟t meant to say “ma‟am”; it had simply popped out. Maybe because here and now, speaking to this devastated woman, it seemed right. “I haven‟t. But I can help you post those flyers.”

She hesitated. “I … I don‟t know. I need to be doing something.”

“Well, you can be looking for him while I‟m doing this. I‟ll put two on every pole in town—one facing each way.”

More hesitation as she stared at him. Then, “You were always nice to Cody, Jack. He looked up to you.”

Looked … that sounded like she didn‟t think she‟d get him back.

“We‟ll find him. Let me post those.”

“Okay. Every pole in town, both sides of the highway, right?”

“Right. Every pole.”

She seemed relieved. “Thank you, Jack.”

She finished posting the one she‟d been working on, then gave him her hammer, a container of tacks, and a box of flyers.

Jack hauled it all back to the Connell house and asked for help. Weezy was on board in a flash.

Eddie was griping about not being able to find his Star Trek electronic phasers — he‟d wanted some target practice—but even he volunteered. They got hammers from their father, split the flyers and tacks with Jack, and were on their way. Weezy took the south side of Quakerton, Eddie the north—because he was already there and wouldn‟t have to ride far—and Jack took Old Town.

As he passed the Lodge he had an idea. He coasted up the walk and knocked.

The man called Eggers, dressed in his all-purpose dark uniform, answered. He didn‟t know if Eggers was a first name or last. Not sure of his exact function either. He acted as doorman and chauffeur, but Jack wondered if he might be some sort of bodyguard too. He certainly looked powerful enough.

“May I help you?”

“Can I speak to Mister Drexler?”

Jack tried for another view of the mantel as Eggers did a Frankenstein-monster half turn and stepped back, but no luck. Mr. Drexler appeared in the doorway immediately, dressed in his usual immaculate white suit and tie.

“Yes, what is it? I hope you‟re not collecting for anything.”

“It‟s not about money. It‟s about a missing boy.”

Mr. Drexler‟s eyes turned to ice. “I‟ve heard about it. Terrible thing. You can‟t possibly think I know anything about it.”

Jack peeled off about a dozen flyers and held them out.

“No way. Why would you? I‟m just helping find him. We‟re hanging up these flyers and I wanted to know if you‟d take some.”

Mr. Drexler stared at them as if they might carry germs.

“And do what with them? Send Eggers around with a hammer and nails?”

“No, I just thought you might be able to hand them out to some of the Lodge members.”

“This is not the VFW or the women‟s club. We do not have smokers and don‟t find tea parties the least bit entertaining.”

Whoa. Talk about a cold guy. But Jack wasn‟t going to back down. He straightened his arm, pushing the flyers closer.

“Well, just in case you see any of your Lodge brothers. You know, just to help out. He‟s only five.”

Mr. Drexler hesitated a second, then snatched the stack from Jack‟s hand.

“Very well. If I see any. And now, good day.”

Some people …

As the door began to close, Weezy‟s words from last night popped into his head.

…promise me you’ll find a way in, because if you think I’m going to drop this, you’re wrong…

And with them, an idea.

“Who‟s doing your lawn?”

“At the moment, no one.” Mr. Drexler gave him an appraising look. “It occurs to me that I have on occasion witnessed you riding your bike around town trailing a lawn mower behind you.

From that may I infer that you cut lawns?”

“Um … you may. Want me to do yours?”

“The local Lodge‟s landscaper—former landscaper, I should say—has been released for

incompetence. More accurately: inattention. I believe in hiring locally, so … are you capable?”

Jack did a quick mental calculation. Lots of grass around the Lodge. Easily three times the average lawn, maybe four. What to charge … ?

“Absolutely … but it‟s a lot of property …”

“We‟ll pay you fifty dollars a week until frost halts growth. Is that sufficient?”

Sufficient? Was he kidding? Jack charged five bucks for the average forty-five-minute mow. He didn‟t know what to say.

Mr. Drexler sighed. “Very well, sixty dollars, but that is my final offer.”

Jack found his voice. “Deal.”

“Excellent.”

Mr. Drexler‟s cold blue eyes fixed on him, and for an instant Jack felt like a field mouse being eyed by a hawk. But the feeling vanished almost as soon as it came.

Rich! He was going to be rich! Plus he‟d have lots of opportunities for another peek at the mantel.

“I hope you understand,” the man added, “that includes weeding the flower beds and such.”

“Weeding? Sure.”

For sixty bucks, of course he‟d weed.

“Good. Now that we‟ve come to terms on that—you drive a hard bargain, my boy—good day.”

He closed the door and Jack walked away thinking about how flush he was going to be and how this was a foot in the Lodge‟s door. He was sure, given enough time, he could work his way inside.

He moved on and attached a flyer to every pole and tree along every street in Old Town. A lot of them already sported posters for the Taber & Son Circus. As he tacked up Cody‟s picture next to one of those he thought of the canvas boss from last night and what he‟d said.

“Again?”

Had there been a connection between the circus and the boy who had gone missing in

Michigan? If so, there definitely could be one with Cody‟s disappearance.

But what could he do? He was a fourteen-year-old kid. He could do only so much. Tacking up the flyers was something, but didn‟t seem enough.

Had to be something else. If so, he‟d find it.

2

Every so often—like today—Jack got a chance to pick a lock.

After the posters were up, he

rode down to USED to see if Mr. Rosen needed him.

“I‟m glad you‟re here,” the thin old man said as Jack came through the front door. “We‟ve got a little work to do.”

Jack had begun working here last spring. USED sold pretty much anything and everything, as long as it was used. Well, not appliances or anything like that, but all sorts of furniture, books, magazines, toys, dishes, glassware, clothes, what ever. Jack cleaned and dusted, rearranged, and manned the cash register whenever Mr. Rosen took one of his naps in the back room.

A mahogany cabinet stood on gently curving legs near the front counter. Jack hadn‟t known mahogany from pine when he started, but Mr. Rosen had taught him how to identify all the different furniture woods.

“A fellow brought it in yesterday, just as I was closing,” Mr. Rosen said. “He wasn‟t asking an arm and a leg, so I bought it. A nice piece.”

“Nice finish.”

Jack spotted a few nicks and scratches, but Mr. Rosen had taught him how to fix those.

The old man pointed to a spot by the left wall.

“I cleared a space for it over there. Help me move it already.”

Together they slid it across the floor. Just as they were shimmying it into place against the wall, the street outside lit up, followed by a rumble of thunder.

“Swell,” Jack said. “Another storm.”

At least his bike was sheltered under the store‟s front overhang.

Mr. Rosen stepped to the front window and stared out.

“Like cats and dogs it rains. Where will it all go?”

“The lake?”

He turned and looked at Jack. “And after that?”

Jack shrugged.

“I have another job for you,” he told Jack as he returned to the cabinet and tugged on its door handles. “It‟s locked and they lost the key. I‟ll need you to open it for me.”

Jack put on an evil grin and rubbed his hands together.

“Goody!”

“You like this lock picking a little too much, I think.”

“Like it?” Jack said as he headed toward the rear where they kept the kit. “I love it.”

And he did. A fair number of the old pieces came locked with no key. Mr. Rosen used to pick the locks, but his hands had become too shaky for the fine manipulations necessary. So this past summer he‟d taught Jack the technique. Every lock Jack conquered was a thrill.

“A Willie Sutton I‟ve made.”

Jack returned with the kit. “Who‟s Willie Sutton?”

“A famous bank robber. When he was asked why he robbed banks, he supposedly said,

„Because that‟s where the money is.‟”

Jack laughed. He kind of liked that.

The day grew dark outside as he inserted a tension bar into the cabinet‟s keyhole and began caressing the lock‟s internal pins with a slim, curved-tip rake. The lock hadn‟t been opened in a long time and the pins resisted movement—happy right where they were. He was just coaxing them to move when three things occurred almost simultaneously:

A sun-bright flash, followed instantly by a deafening crackle-roar, and then darkness as the lights went out.

Mr. Rosen groaned. “Another power failure already!”

“Swell,” Jack said, feeling around on the floor—he‟d jumped and dropped the rake.

He found it and was about to go looking for a flashlight when he realized he didn‟t need light.

Once the tiny tools were in the keyhole, the job was all feel.

He went back to work, teasing the pins into motion. When they were all in place, he twisted the tension bar and was rewarded with a solid click

“Got her!”

He grabbed the knobs but didn‟t pull.

“Good boy,” Mr. Rosen said, approaching with a flashlight. “Wait for me.”

This was a game they‟d begun to play and, next to the actual picking of the lock, Jack‟s favorite part. Who knew what lay within a long-locked cabinet or drawer? A skull? An ancient, forbidden book like the Necronomicon? A clue to an unsolved crime? So far he‟d been frustrated, but you never could tell. The latest could always hold a surprise.

Mr. Rosen trained the beam on the doors.

“All right. Go ahead.”

Jack pulled on the knobs and swung the doors open to reveal …

Empty shelves.

“Bummer.”

The overhead lights came on just as the front door chimed. Jack went to see who it was. He found a black-haired man in a white suit standing by the counter tapping his silver-headed black cane on the floor. Eggers stood by the door.

“Mister Drexler,” Jack said, pretty much at a loss for anything else to say. “What are you doing here?”

“Why, I came for my tango lessons. Why else would I come to a shop called USED?”

“I‟m … sorry?”

He smiled. “A terribly lame attempt at absurdist humor, I‟m afraid. But you did ask a rather inane question.”

Jack thought about that, then nodded. “I guess I did.”

“I‟m glad you see that. Please try to avoid such in the future.”

“I‟ll do my best. Anything I can help you with?”

“Yes. I was passing by and remembered I‟d been told you worked here.”

Uh-oh. Had he found someone else to do the Lodge‟s lawn?

“By who?”

“Whom. It‟s „by whom.‟ And the whom doesn‟t matter.” He turned and said, “Eggers, those passes.”

The big man stepped forward and handed Mr. Drexler a white envelope, which he in turn handed to Jack.

“Circus passes. I can imagine few things less entertaining than a circus, but I‟m sure you‟ll find

it enthralling. Share these with your acquaintances. But in the meantime, find me something …”

He looked around … “Entertaining.”

Entertaining… what did he mean by that

“Well …”

Another flash, another crash, and the lights went out again.

Just then Mr. Rosen arrived from the rear. He stopped when he saw Mr. Drexler. “I‟ve seen you around town, haven‟t I?”

Mr. Drexler produced a card seemingly from nowhere and placed it on the counter. As Mr.

Rosen reached for it, his sleeve rode up, revealing the numbers tattooed on his forearm. He saw Mr. Drexler staring at them.

“You‟ve seen such before?”

Mr. Drexler nodded but said nothing.

“You‟re too young to have been in the war, but what about your family? Which side?”

Mr. Drexler‟s eyebrows rose. “My family does not fight in wars. At least not in the kind you mean.”

Mr. Rosen picked up the business card and studied it for a few seconds.

“An „actuator‟ it says. What exactly do you actuate?”

Mr. Drexler gave one of his thin-lipped smiles. “Whatever requires it.”

And now it was Mr. Rosen‟s turn to stare—at Mr. Drexler‟s black cane.

“That looks like it‟s wrapped in leather.”

Mr. Drexler‟s smile broadened. “Leather implies bovine origin.” He held up the cane for Mr.

Rosen to see. “Nothing so proletarian, I assure you. It‟s trimmed with black rhinoceros hide.”

Mr. Rosen ran a finger along the rough surface.

“How unusual.”

“Yes, well, I‟ve never had much use for the usual.”

Jack noticed a squiggle atop the silver head.

His gut clenched. He was almost sure it was one of the symbols carved on both the big and little pyramids. He had a copy of all seven symbols hidden in his bedroom. He wished he could run home and check it out.

“You want to sell it?”

Mr. Drexler pulled the cane back. “Most certainly not. This

belonged to my father. He too was an actuator.”

After another flash and rumble, Mr. Rosen said, “Looks like we‟ll have no power for a while.

I‟m afraid I‟ll have to close up.”

Mr. Drexler nodded. “Very well. Some other time, then.”

He walked out. As the door closed behind him, Jack peeked into the envelope: four passes to the Taber circus. How did Mr. Drexler come by these? Was there a connection between the circus and the Septimus Order?

“You can‟t ride your bike in this,” Mr. Rosen said. “I‟ll drive you home.”

“Thanks, I—”

He spotted Weird Walt signaling to him through the front window. Jack stepped out to see what he wanted.

Walt wore his uniform of jeans, T-shirt, olive-drab fatigue jacket, and black leather gloves. No one Jack knew had ever seen him without those gloves. Word was he even ate dinner with them.

He had a gray-streaked beard, and today he‟d tied his long dark hair back in a ponytail, giving him a definite hippie look. His eyes had their customary semi-glaze from applejack. He‟d been a medic in Vietnam and had spent time in a V.A. mental hospital after the war. He‟d supposedly starred in a faith-healing tent show until he got kicked out for his drinking. A few years ago he landed at his sister‟s house here in Johnson.

“Hey, Jack.”

“Hey, Mister Erskine.”

He smiled through the beard. “It‟s Walt—you know that.”

“Okay.” Jack had trouble calling a guy nearing forty by his first name. “Looking for anything special?”

“Yeah, in a way. Came to give you a warning—you and Weezy.”

Uh-oh.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Stay out of the Pines for a while.”

Jack didn‟t know how to take that.

“What do you mean?”

“I know you and her—especially her—like to go traipsing around in the Barrens, and I heard about you two finding that lost guy, which is all well and good, but not around the equinox.”

Right. The autumnal equinox was sometime this week. But …

“Why not?”

“Things get a little crazy in there with the fall equinox. It‟s due on Wednesday, but the hinges start to loosen a few days before, and don‟t get back on track until a few days after. I was in there yesterday and I could feel it getting strange. Couldn‟t you?”

Jack shook his head as he shrugged. “No.”

He wondered if Walt might have been feeling an excess of applejack.

“Well, anyway, just do yourselves a favor—me too, „cause I like you kids. Haven‟t forgot how you took my back last month. Stay outa there till next week, understand?”

Jack straightened and saluted. “Understood.”

Walt returned the salute, then said, “You‟ll tell Weezy, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

“Yeah, I was gonna try to catch you guys on the street but Mrs. Clevenger said I should get in here today, right this very minute, and tell you.”

Jack thought that if Mrs. Clevenger said so, maybe he‟d better listen.

When he went back inside, Mr. Rosen was waiting. Jack spotted Mr. Drexler‟s card on the counter and remembered what it said.

“What exactly is an „actuator‟?”

“In a mechanical sense,” Mr. Rosen said, “it‟s a piece of equipment that sets things in motion.

In a man, who‟s to say?”

“A guy who sets people in motion?”

He shrugged. “More generally speaking, a man who makes things happen.”

Jack looked out the window. What was the Septimus Order‟s actuator doing in Johnson … with a cane topped with a symbol from the pyramids?

Too many connections for comfort.

3

The first thing Jack did after Mr. Rosen dropped him off was go to his bedroom where he knelt before his dresser and pulled out the bottom drawer. In the space beneath lay the Xerox copies Weezy had made of the symbols on the little pyramid—she‟d done rubbings before she‟d given it over for analysis. That was the last they‟d seen of it. She‟d made the copies as a backup—in case something happened to the originals. Good thing too: They‟d been stolen as well.

She‟d been searching ever since for clues to their meaning but had come up empty.

Jack stared at the seven symbols.

He closed his eyes and tried to picture the one he‟d seen on the

head of Mr. Drexler‟s cane. No question: the last one.

That clinched it: The Septimus Order was connected to both pyramids. Which added

weight to Weezy‟s claim that they‟d had a hand in the little pyramid‟s disappearance. If he‟d really seen a pyramid on the Lodge‟s mantel yesterday, it might be a duplicate, but Jack had a feeling in his gut it was the same one.

Big question: Tell Weezy or don‟t?

Might be better to hold off. No need in setting her off again. But he‟d have to tell her about cutting the Lodge‟s lawn—she‟d find out eventually. He hoped she didn‟t insist on an immediate plan. Lots of potential there. Better to wait and see how things developed. Play it by ear. He‟d come up with something, but it had to be good, had to be safe, had to be sure-fire or damn near.

The rain stopped shortly after that. His pent-up energy prompted him to drag his father out to the front yard for a Frisbee toss, which lasted until the disc wound up in one of the trees. His father was about to pull a ladder from the garage when the current came back on. They left the Frisbee and went to watch the game. The Eagles improved to two and one by beating the Broncos.

“Phone, Jack,” his mother called from the kitchen. “Mister Rosen.”

Mr. Rosen? he thought as he headed for the kitchen. Did he want to reopen the store?

“Jack,” Mr. Rosen said. “I can assume you’ll be

Going down to the store to pick up your bike soon?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good. When you do, please ride on down to my place. Not only did I forget to tell you that I’ll be away next week, I forgot to pay you.”

“Oh, yeah. Okay. I‟ll see you soon.”

With a couple of sources of income, especially the

nice chunk of change he‟d be getting from the Lodge, he wouldn‟t be hurting if his USED pay was late, but he figured he liked it better in his pocket than Mr. Rosen‟s.

But Mr. Rosen going away … he hadn‟t taken time off since Jack had begun working at

the store.

He left the house at a loping run and reached USED in no time. He‟d broken a good sweat along the way. The sun was out and the air dripped humidity.

He found his bike right where he‟d left it. He supposed in another town you might worry if you left your ride unchained and unwatched on the main drag, but that wasn‟t a problem in Johnson.

Locals here looked out for each other.

He hopped on and rode up 206 to Mr. Rosen‟s place. He lived on the northbound side of the highway in a trailer about halfway between the Quakerton Road blinker and the lot where the circus had set up. Right next door to the Vivino house, as a matter of fact.

As Jack approached he gave in to an impulse to pay a visit. Their two-story colonial wasn‟t part of any development. It sat alone on a big lot that backed up to an orchard, facing the highway but set back a couple of hundred feet. He saw a car sitting in the driveway so he figured they were home.

He coasted down the long driveway to the front steps where he rang the doorbell. After two tries and no answer, he decided to peek into the backyard in case they were in the pool.

As he approached the six-foot picket fence he heard Sally crying and Mr. Vivino yelling. He hesitated to reach for the gate handle. Instead he peeked through a gap between a couple of slats.

He saw Mr. Vivino and Sally standing beside the pool, while Mrs. Vivino waded in the low end.

Mr. Vivino, his belly bulging above his swim trunks, stood over Sally with his hands on his hips looking down at her.

“I asked you a question, young lady. Where is it? You wanted a pink floater tube, I bought you a pink floater tube, I blew it up for you, and now it‟s gone. Where did you leave it?”

“Right heeeeeeeere!” she wailed, rubbing her teary eyes.

Mr. Vivino made a show of looking around. “Where is it then? Do you see it? I don‟t. Show me where it is.”

“I don‟t know!”

“You don‟t? And why—?”

“For heaven‟s sake, Al!” Mrs. Vivino said from the pool. “Stop browbeating her!”

Mr. Vivino turned and stepped to the edge of the pool. His tone was low and menacing.

“Where do you get off butting in when—?”

“She‟s only five. Leave her alone.”

His face reddening with rage, he jumped into the pool and grabbed his wife by the hair.

“Shut up!” he shouted. “Shut UP!”

And then he pushed her head underwater and held it there. Sally screamed while her mother thrashed and kicked and splashed, trying to come up for air, but Mr. Vivino wouldn‟t let her. She was thin and he had an easy hundred pounds on her.

The longer he held her under, the more frantic her thrashing became. Jack overcame his shock and was reaching for the gate handle to run in there and shout at him to let her up when he finally released her.

As she straightened, gasping, choking, and gagging, he said, “Don‟t you ever, ever interfere when I‟m disciplining my daughter!” He turned and pointed a finger at Sally. “And you stop that crying!”

But Sally couldn‟t stop. All she could do was cry, “Mommeeeeee!”

Mr. Vivino climbed out of the pool and roughly dragged her by an arm toward the house.

“Stop it, goddamn it! Stop it now!”

But of course she didn‟t, and so he slapped her on her backside—Jack flinched at the sharp sound of the wet smack! —which only made her wail louder.

And as Mrs. V crouched in the pool with her hands over her face, dripping, coughing, sobbing, Jack noticed a dozen bruises on her arms.

Sickened, he forced back a surge of bile as he staggered away from the fence. His knees felt rubbery. He couldn‟t have seen what he‟d just seen. Tony‟s dad … treating Mrs. V and Sally like that. He felt as if he‟d just peeked in on someone‟s nightmare … It couldn‟t be.

But it was. He‟d seen what he‟d seen and it made him sick.

Made him angry too. Treating little Sally like that … the thought of it loosed a cold, raging darkness within him, urging him to hurt, destroy. He wished he were the Hulk—he was sure as hell furious enough to spark the transformation. He imagined himself smashing through the front door and giving Mr. Vivino a mega dose of his own medicine—bouncing him off a few walls and then playing Hacky Sack with him.

But he wasn‟t the Hulk. He was just a skinny kid and he needed to get away from here as quickly as possible so he could blow the whistle on this creep.

4

As Jack raced back toward the highway, he had two choices: turn south toward town or north to Mr. Rosen‟s. He chose the latter because it was right next door. The sooner he called the cops, the sooner he could put an end to the nightmare in the Vivino house.

He pulled into Mr. Rosen‟s yard. His trailer sat on a foundation so it looked more like a typical ranch house.

Nothing else about the house or the yard was typical, though. Half a dozen aerials of all different shapes and sizes jutted from his roof, and a huge satellite dish sat in a corner of his front yard, angled toward the sky. Weezy had jokingly said that he must be trying to receive messages from aliens. Well, being Weezy, maybe only half jokingly.

Mr. Rosen must have seen something in Jack‟s expression when he let him in.

“What‟s wrong? What happened?”

“Nothing,” Jack said as he stepped through the door.

He‟d never been inside Mr. Rosen‟s home. The front room was crammed with electronic

equipment. It could have been a Radio Shack.

“Nothing, shmo thing. You look like someone stepped on your grave.”

Jack felt he had to tell him something.

“I … I heard shouting at the Vivinos.”

“Oh, them,” Mr. Rosen said, waving a hand as he turned away. “Like cats and dogs they fight.”

“You mean it happens a lot?”

“All the time.”

“Does he beat her?”

He shrugged. “Who‟s to say? I can‟t see through walls.”

“Did you ever think of calling the police?”

He turned to face Jack. “If she‟s not calling, why should I? Maybe she thinks nothing‟s wrong.

Maybe she thinks shouting is the way marriage should be. So if I call the cops, and they come, and she tells them nothing‟s wrong, like a crazy old fool I look. No. I mind my business, just as you should mind yours.”

Probably good advice, but Mr. Rosen hadn‟t seen Sally get slapped, or her mother sobbing in the pool. No way Mrs. V thought nothing was wrong.

He remembered those summer days when she‟d always keep drinks and chips and pretzels out by the pool for them, how she‟d fix Jack lunch and tousle his hair as he bit into the thick ham-and-cheese sandwiches she made for him. He remembered how thin and hollow-eyed she became when Tony got sick, how she‟d never leave his side, how she‟d sobbed at his funeral.

Today‟s sobs mixed with the echoes of those from memory.

Maybe she was too scared to call. Maybe she needed someone to do it for her.

“Can I use your phone?”

Mr. Rosen gave him a long, appraising look, then nodded.

“I warned you, but if you must, don‟t give your name.”

“Don‟t worry.”

Jack had already decided to be invisible in this. He had a number of secrets he was keeping. He figured one more wouldn‟t hurt.

“And don‟t say where you‟re calling from. Just say you were passing by and heard screams, then hang up.”

“Won‟t they be able to trace it?”

He shook his head and pointed to an ultramodern, multiline phone on a nearby table.

“Not if you use that.”

Then he turned and walked toward the rear of the trailer.

Jack lifted the receiver and dialed 9-1-1.

“Emergency services.”

“I think a woman‟s getting beaten in Johnson. I was passing by and

heard her screaming.” He gave the Vivino address.

“May I have your name?”

Jack hung up and turned to find Mr. Rosen returning with a pay envelope in his hand.

“You made your call already?”

Jack nodded. “Short and to the point.”

“No names?”

“No names.”

He shook his head. “I applaud your willingness to do something, but it will not turn out as you hope.”

His cynicism surprised Jack. “How can you be so sure?”

He gave a sour smile. “Things rarely do.”

“Look. The deputies will come. They‟ll know someone reported a woman being beaten. They‟ll ask to speak to Mrs. Vivino. They‟ll see all those bruises and ask her about them. All she‟s got to do is point a finger.”

“And press charges.”

Jack blinked. “Charges?”

“Simply showing bruises isn‟t enough. She‟ll have to charge him with battery.”

“Well, this will be her chance.”

Mr. Rosen shook his head sadly. “You‟re a good kid, Jack, and you mean well, but you‟ve got a lot to learn about people and the way the world works.”

“I know plenty.”

But did he? When he thought about it, what did he really know? He was a small-town kid who listened to music instead of the news, and limited himself pretty much to the newspaper‟s funny pages. He watched sports and science fiction movies or shoot-‟em-ups, and read Stephen King or moldy old pulp magazines like The Spider and The Shadow

Maybe Mr. Rosen was right. Johnson, N.J., was like an island in a quiet pond. Maybe he needed to start tuning in to the world around him.

“Here‟s your week‟s pay,” Mr. Rosen said, handing him the tan envelope. “Not many hours last week, so not much money, I‟m afraid. Things wind down after Labor Day. We‟ll go into October, then I don‟t think I‟ll need you till spring. That is, if you want to come back.”

“Sure. I‟ll come back.”

He would have preferred to be independently wealthy, but if he had to work, USED was a great place, and Mr. Rosen was an easygoing boss. Plus he paid in cash, which saved Jack the hassle of applying for a Social Security number.

“Good. And as for this week …” He held out a set of keys. “Take these.”

Jack recognized the keys to the store.

“Didn‟t you say you‟ll be away?”

“That‟s right. I‟ll be visiting my nephew.” He pointed to the keys. “While I‟m out of town, I‟d like you to open the store for a few hours a day if you can. I left some change in the till in case you happen to sell anything. And if there‟s a day or two when you can‟t open up, just swing by and take a look inside.”

“Okay.” That didn‟t seem so hard.

“Oh, and keep a record of your hours there and I‟ll pay you accordingly.”

Jack stared at the keys and couldn‟t help a swell of pride. A big responsibility. But Mr. Rosen must think he was capable enough … and trustworthy enough.

“Will do.” He looked up at his elderly boss. “Don‟t worry. I won‟t let you down.”

He smiled. “If I wasn‟t absolutely sure of that, I‟d simply shut down for the week.”

Jack looked around at the roomful of electronic equipment—rows of black boxes with dials and red and green lights and glowing meters.

“Can I ask what all this is? Are you transmitting to outer space?”

“No, I‟m listening.”

Weezy‟s theory popped into his head. “To aliens?”

He laughed. “To the world.”

“Why?”

His smile faded. “To know what‟s going on. So I won‟t be surprised again. So events can‟t take me unawares as they did back in the day when I assumed everything would work out for the best.”

Jack frowned. “I don‟t under—”

His gaze abruptly shifted past Jack to the window. “Well, well. It appears your call sparked a quick response.”

Jack turned and saw a sheriff‟s department cruiser turning into the Vivino driveway.

“Now he‟ll get it,” Jack said.

The old man shook his head. “Remember what I told you: It will not turn out as you hope.”

5

To Jack‟s dismay, Mr. Rosen was right.

From where he crouched at the window at the end of the trailer‟s front room, Jack watched a deputy he didn‟t recognize knock on the Vivinos‟ front door. Mr. Vivino answered and let him in.

Not even ten minutes later the deputy was back outside and shaking hands with the bastard.

Jack strained to hear what they were saying but could catch only snatches, mostly Mr. Vivino‟s loud voice.

“Sorry you had to come out here for nothing … probably just some crank … guess I have to expect this sort of thing now that I‟m becoming a public figure … maybe a rival for the freeholder job …” He gestured toward Mr. Rosen‟s trailer and seemed to look straight at Jack, who ducked farther back from the window. “Or maybe that old coot next door.”

The deputy said something Jack couldn‟t hear but it seemed to surprise Mr. Vivino. “A boy’s voice? Now who the hell … ?”

His heart sank as he watched the deputy return to his unit and drive away.

To his credit, Mr. Rosen did not say I told you so

Instead Jack heard the echo of the wet smack of Sally‟s father‟s hand against her butt, almost felt its sting, and the anger returned.

Mr. Rosen looked at him and said, “That‟s a fierce look on your punim, young man.”

“Punim?”

Mr. Rosen paused, then gave his head a quick shake. “Sorry. I meant face. I can tuck the old tongue away in the workaday world, but it slips out at home.”

Jack figured if Mr. Rosen could detect a fierce look on his punim, he was giving away too much.

“I‟m just disappointed, is all. Is that the best they can do?”

“I‟m afraid so. And you should think it‟s for the best that you live in a country where they cannot come and drag you away simply because an anonymous caller said you did something wrong.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Don‟t guess so— know so.” The sudden sharp edge on Mr. Rosen‟s voice took Jack by surprise. “Take it from someone who once lived in such a place.”

“Where?”

He shook his head. “Doesn‟t matter now. It‟s gone. But there are other places like it in the world. Be thankful you live here.”

Jack was thankful, but that didn‟t make him any less frustrated. He couldn‟t bear to think of Sally having to go on living like that day after day. If her big brother were here, he‟d do something—maybe take a licking defending her, but he wouldn‟t have stood by and watched.

Tony, however, was gone.

But Jack wasn‟t.

He had to do something, had to find a way to bring down Mr. Aldo Vivino. The nerve of the bastard, dragging his daughter around from house to house trying to cadge votes by pretending he was the wonderful family man and loving father. Time to let the world see who he really was.

Jack had tried going through proper channels with no results. Time to try another way.

Jack‟s way.

6

After dinner, Jack, Eddie, and Weezy rode up to the circus. He found it hard riding past the Vivino house. He got steamed again thinking about what he‟d seen.

When they reached

the muddy lot, Jack tried to put Sally out of his head and enjoy the show. Wasn‟t easy.

Especially with flyers about the missing Cody all over the place.

Sally … Cody … was it just him, or was the world becoming a darker place? He didn‟t

make much progress with his Sally rage until he reached the shooting gallery. The rifles were air-powered and shot pellets instead of bullets, but they fired and that was what counted. He pretended the targets were Mr. Vivino and it took him five magazines before he scored enough hits to feel some relief. If he‟d had his own BB gun growing up, he might have scored better, but he‟d suffered through a gunless childhood.

“Let‟s hit the sideshow,” Eddie said. “They‟ve got some freaks and stuff.”

Jack had never understood the attraction of staring at deformed people, but he did want to see the motorcycle show.

“Hey, Weezy.”

Jack turned and saw Carson Toliver approaching.

Swell.

Toliver, a muscular, tanned senior with blond surfer hair, was top dog at South Burlington County Regional High School—captain and quarterback of the Burlington Badgers and last year‟s high scorer on the basketball team. Girls went gaga over the guy. Weezy was no exception.

“Hi, Carson,” she said, a giggle edging into her voice.

For some reason he seemed interested in Weezy, and any contact with him seemed to soften her brain. Jack could almost hear her IQ dropping as she gazed at him.

Toliver pointed down the midway. “C‟mon. I want to show you something.”

“Okay.”

Jack wanted to say that the three of them had always done the circus together, but bit it back.

She caught him looking at her.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said. “We‟ll catch up to you later.”

“Okay. You two have fun.”

Jeez, it was like he‟d just turned into a little brother.

He watched her and Toliver walk away for a few seconds, then turned to Eddie. “Let‟s do the bumper cars. I feel like crashing into something.”

As they waited on line, a guy with a camera came up to them. He had signs pinned front and back on his sweatshirt.

Instant Home Movies!

Only $10!

“You kids want movies of you in the bumper cars?” “We don‟t have a projector,” Eddie said.

The guy laughed. “You don‟t need one. Got a VHS player?” “Sure.”

He patted the camera. “This baby records straight to a videotape. You just take

it home and plug it into your VCR. Instant home movies! It‟s the latest thing!” He looked around. “Where are your folks?”

“Home,” Jack said.

The guy frowned. “Got ten bucks?”

Jack shook his head. “Not for a film of me and him.”

With an immediate loss of interest, the guy moved on to greener pastures.

Instant home movies, Jack thought. What‟ll they think of next?

The idea stayed with him through the bumper car ride where he slammed into everyone in sight, and followed him to the end of the midway where they came upon the traditional game of swinging a mallet and trying to ring a bell atop a board.

Three Swings for a Dollar

Jack wasn‟t interested. He knew his skinny arms wouldn‟t be able to power that ringer to the top, and the prize was a teddy bear. Who wanted a teddy bear?

The sun was gone, leaving the circus an island of light in a sea of deepening darkness. Jack glanced toward the trees bordering the field and saw two points of light in the shadow. They blinked off and then on again.

He thought he could make out a hulking shape within the dark. But then the points blinked off and never came on again.

Eyes? Had something been watching the circus from the pines? It couldn‟t have been a person because human eyes didn‟t glow like that. And what kind of animal had eyes so far off the ground?

Unless …

He shook it off. That was Weezy territory.

They entered the sideshow and ambled past the freaks.

Only half a dozen present if you counted the Siamese Twins as two: Armando the Armless Saxophonist, Corinda the Cow-faced Woman, Tiny the World‟s Fattest Man, and Peter the Pinnochio Boy who was a midget dancing around with elastic strings stretching from the ceiling to his wrists and ankles.

Jack suspected the Siamese twins were tied at the shoulder rather than truly joined. He was watching them closely, looking for evidence of fakery as they juggled—a clever act—when Eddie hurried up and grabbed his arm.

“Jack,” he said, grinning, “you‟ve got to see this thing down here. They‟re calling it a „machine‟

but it doesn‟t do anything!”

Jack followed him to a stall where an odd gizmo sat on a rotating platform under a hand-printed sign.

THE MYSTERY MACHINE

The weirdest thing Jack had ever seen: a bunch of odd-colored, odd-shaped pieces—flat, round, oval, irregular, opaque, clear like glass—haphazardly stuck together with no rhyme or reason. Like something a toddler would put together from an alien Tinkertoy set.

“Isn‟t it a riot?” Eddie said. “It just sits there.”

He was right. It simply sat and rotated on its stand. Dumb. Jack was turning

away when something caught his eye. He turned back and stared. He could have sworn

…

Nah. Impossible.

He made another move to leave when he saw it again—or thought he did. For an instant—just an instant—the upper half of one of the pieces seemed to

have faded away. It looked fine now, but Jack was sure …

He stared unblinking. If it happened again, he‟d catch it.

“What did you see?”

A thin, balding, bookish man to his left had spoken.

“Not sure,” Jack said. “More like what I didn‟t see.”

“Something faded in and out of view?”

Jack nodded. “That was how it looked.”

“I didn‟t see anything,” Eddie said.

“Only certain people can, and then only out of the corner of the eye.” “What is it?” Eddie said.

The man smiled. “A mystery.”

“Yeah, fine. But it says it‟s a machine. What‟s it do?”

“It fascinates.”

“The fading in and out of view,” Jack said. “Optical illusion, right?” The man shrugged.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps it goes somewhere.” “‟Goes‟?”

“As in: leaves here and pokes into another place.”

“What other place?”

The man‟s smile was almost sad. “That‟s the real mystery. I—” “Hey, Prather!” someone said, and the man turned.

“Yes?”

The canvas boss from last night walked up and said, “Little Taber wants t‟see

you.”

As the bookish man hurried off, the boss looked at Jack. “Want tickets to the

cycle show?”

“Well—” Jack started to say.

“You would‟ve had free passes if you‟d pitched in last night,” he said with a sharp

grin. “But now you‟ll have to buy them, won‟t you?”

Jack pulled out the passes Mr. Drexler had given him. “Not exactly.” The grin vanished.

“Where‟d you get those?”

“I‟ve got my sources,” Jack said, turning away.

“What‟s he talking about?” Eddie said.

Jack told him, keeping watch on the Mystery Machine as they walked away, but

nothing faded away this time.

Pokes into another place… yeah, right. An optical illusion and nothing more. “Any word on that kid?” the boss called after them.

Jack looked back. “Not that I heard.”

The guy shook his head in what looked like disgust. “We‟re doing our part, you

know.”

“Yeah, I saw the posters.”

As he and Eddie continued toward the main tent, Jack was doubly sure that

particular roustabout knew nothing. But that didn‟t mean somebody else here didn‟t. One of the freaks, maybe?

Instantly Weezy‟s voice was in his inner ear: Oh, sure, blame it on the freaks.

Just because they’re different doesn’t mean they’re evil.

Okay, right, sure. Different didn‟t equal evil, but that didn‟t guarantee not evil.

Maybe if you were treated badly all your life because of a twisted outside, you became twisted inside.

His imagination was running now. What if Peter the Pinnochio Boy pretended to

be a little kid—he was small enough to pass—and lured Cody into a trap and— Jack‟s mind balked at going any further.

They reached the main tent, showed their passes, and found seats. After

watching the animal show—dopey—and cycle stunts—cool—they wandered back

outside.

“Where‟s your dear sister?” Jack said as he watched some hapless father trying

to win a teddy bear for his little girl by throwing darts at balloons.

Why wasn‟t Mr. Vivino here doing that for Sally? What was wrong with him? “With Toliver somewhere, I guess,” Eddie said.

Jack had had enough so-called fun, and was ready to head home. But they

couldn‟t leave without Weezy.

“Let‟s go look. You head toward the front, I‟ll take the rear. We‟ll meet back here

in a couple of minutes.”

As he walked along he heard, “Hi, Jack.”

He turned and recognized a girl from one of his classes.

“Hi, Karina.”

What was her last name? He‟d started high school only a couple of weeks ago

and hadn‟t nailed down all the new names yet.

Haddon. That was it. Karina Haddon.

She smiled. “I figured you‟d be here, seeing as it‟s practically in your backyard.” She had a nice smile and wore her dark blond hair short, though not as short as

his sister Kate‟s. She had most of it hidden under a striped engineer‟s cap now. Her brown eyes sparkled in the lights strung overhead.

He said, “You‟re from Tabernacle, right?”

Tabernacle was the next town north on 206. Karina was always seated on the

school bus beside her friend Cristin by the time Jack boarded. Compared to other girls in the class, she tended to dress down—way down. Like bulky sweaters and loose

jeans. To night she wore a Bob Marley T-shirt.

She rolled her eyes. “My dad drove me and Cristin and he‟s been like hanging

over us.”

“Where is she?”

She looked around. “I‟m not sure …”

Just then a grinning brunette slipped through a knot of people.

“Hey, you found him,” Cristin said.

Jack saw Karina give her a shut-up look.

“Oh, uh, well, your dad‟s like having a major cow because you wandered off. He

wants to find you and skate.”

Karina turned to him and said, “Gotta run. See you in school tomorrow.” She waved and hurried off with Cristin, the two of them blabbing a hundred

miles an hour.

Hey, you found him.

Had Karina been looking for him?

Interesting, he thought as he resumed the search for Weezy.

He found her standing by the hammer game with two other sophomore girls.

Though only four months older, Weezy was a year ahead of Jack in school. The other two were giggling as they watched Carson Toliver swing the mallet

and try to ring the bell atop the board. His muscles bulged beneath his tight T-shirt. But he wasn‟t having much luck reaching the bell. Despite pounding the pad on

the base pretty hard, he was moving the striker weight only a third or halfway up.

Weezy joined the others in calling out the labels on the levels as he reached them. Whack!

“Wimp!”

Whack!

“Dork!”

Whack!

“Nerd!”

Jack wondered why he felt such plea sure watching him fail. He was supposed to

be a pretty nice guy. He‟d never picked on Jack—never acted any way toward Jack—but

for some reason he disliked the guy.

A word popped into his head.

Jealous?

No way.

Yeah, Weezy had kissed Jack on the lips last month but that hadn‟t meant

anything. Little more than a peck. They weren‟t like that. They were friends, nothing more.

Still … nothing more he‟d like to do right now than show up Carson Toliver. As Jack watched him swing the hammer he noticed how the pad was fixed about

four inches in from the outer edge of the rocker board. With that loss of leverage, even Conan the Barbarian would have a tough time ringing the bell.

But if you just so happened to miss the pad and hit the outer edge of the board

…

He caught Weezy‟s eye and jerked his thumb toward the front end of the

midway. She nodded and held up a finger: Meet you there in a minute Maybe she didn‟t want to be seen deserting Toliver for a frosh. Or maybe she

thought Toliver was going to try again. But he threw the mallet down instead. “It‟s rigged!”

Jack stared at the sign: Three Swings for a Dollar . On impulse he pulled out a bill and waved it.

“I‟m next!”

The carny running the game took his dollar and pointed to the mallet. As Jack

picked it up he saw Weezy standing between the two snickering sophs and giving him a what-are-you-thinking? look.

He gripped the very end of the mallet handle, rested the head on the rocker pad,

then stepped back six inches. He raised it high above his head, took a breath, and

swung with everything he had—

And missed. The mallet head smacked into the mud with a gushy thok! Jack felt his face heat up as Toliver and the two other girls burst into laughter.

Weezy stood with her eyes closed, shaking her head.

The carny gave him a gap-tooth grin as he tapped the rocker pad. “Guess I

should a told ya. Y‟hit „er here, not the ground.”

They laughed louder.

Jack did his best to ignore them as he reset his grip and repeated the same

process, except this time he backed up only three inches. Again he raised it high and swung, putting his back as well as his arms into it.

The mallet head caught the outer edge of the board, sending the weight

shooting all the way to the top. As the sound of the bell rang through the air, Jack dropped the mallet.

“You don‟t get no prize,” the carny said, “because you didn‟t hit the pad. Y‟gotta

hit the pad.”

Jack didn‟t care. He‟d just wanted to see if he could do it. He shoved his hands in

his pockets and walked away without looking at Weezy and company. Didn‟t have to.

Their silence said it all. He didn‟t wait for her. It definitely would not be cool for her to walk away with the frosh who‟d just one-upped Carson Toliver.

But halfway to the entrance she appeared beside him.

“I saw what you did,” she said.

He glanced at her. She was grinning.

“And what would that be?”

“Hit the end of the board. Nerds know levers.”

Jack resented that. “Nerd, huh? I guess I left my taped glasses and pocket

protector home.”

“Maybe nerd‟s not the right word. How about misfit? You‟re into things most kids

wouldn‟t understand. Your mind works differently. I should know. I‟m the same. But

you know how to hide it.”

“I don‟t hide anything.”

Well … maybe a few things.

“Yeah, you do. You don‟t even know you do. Kids just think of you as kind of a

loner. Me … they think I‟m weird. But I‟m learning how to hide it.”

“Why?”

She glanced back at the kids she‟d left behind. “Because sometimes I wish …” “Wish you were like them?”

“Not like them, exactly. It‟s just that … sometimes I get tired of being on the outside looking in, and I start thinking it might be nice to be on the inside looking out.” “Better view?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. I‟d like the chance to compare. You ever feel that way?” Jack thought about that. It took only a second.

“No.”

“Never?”

He shook his head. “Never even occurred to me. And I‟m surprised to hear you

talking like this. It‟s not you. You always seemed so … happy with who you are.” “Happy?”

She looked away. “I don‟t know if I‟ve ever been happy.” “Sure you have.”

“Okay. Yes. I was happiest when I had the pyramid. And I was happy just now

to see you ring that bell.” She gave him a gentle punch on the shoulder. “Brain beats brawn every time, right?”

“Not every time, but it‟s got a good win-loss record.”

She heaved a theatrical sigh and slipped her arm through his as they walked. “My hero.”

He had to laugh at her unpredictability. Her warm skin tingled against his and

made for a nice end to a mostly crappy day.

I was happiest when I had the pyramid.

Really? Then Jack was going to get it back for her, one way or another.

MONDAY

1

Jack‟s father slammed on the brakes in their driveway.

“What the hell?”

He‟d been leaving for work the same time as Jack this morning and offered him a

ride down to the bus stop. He worked as an accountant for Price Water house in Cherry Hill and sometimes their departures coincided.

Now he gaped at their lawn where the VIVINO

FOR FREEHOLDER sign lay in tatters.

He stared a few heartbeats longer, then looked at Jack. “Was that like that when you came home last night?”

Jack shook his head. “Looked just fine when I rolled past.”

Very true. Jack didn‟t mention that after he‟d parked his bike in the garage he‟d walked back and torn the sign to shreds.

He noticed something and used it to change the subject.

“Hey, where‟s the Frisbee?”

They‟d left it in the oak that grew curbside and spread over the street and the front yard. But the spot where it had lodged was empty.

“Must have fallen out during the night.”

Jack scanned the front lawn. The disk was bright yellow. If there it would have been easily visible.

“Yeah, but it‟s not there.”

His father made a sour face. “Maybe whoever tore up the sign took it.” He shook his head as he gave the car some gas. “People … I‟ll never understand them. Who on earth would stop and go to the trouble to tear up Al‟s sign?”

Jack shrugged. “Someone who doesn‟t like him, I guess.”

2

Jack‟s father accelerated away toward Cherry Hill, leaving him alone at the high school bus stop. Nobody else even in sight yet.

Southern Burlington County Regional High School—known as SBC Regional or just plain SBR

for short—lay only three miles south of Johnson. Jack had wanted to ride his bike to school when the weather was decent but his folks put the kibosh on that.

His mother worried about him riding on the rutted, two-lane blacktop of Route 206. Jack had explained that he knew back roads and paths that would keep him off the highway most of the way. She hadn‟t bought it.

Dad‟s objection was that he needed the “socialization” the bus provided. Jack got the impression Dad thought he was too much of a loner and that the bus would force him to meet new kids. In other words, “socialize.”

He didn‟t know the Connells‟ reasons for not wanting their kids to bike to school, but Weezy and Eddie wound up at the bus stop every morning just like Jack.

He knew of ten kids from Johnson who went to SBR. Steve Brussard, who‟d been a good friend until the crazy events of last month, would have made eleven, but his mother had placed him in some private school for kids with problems. Of the ten, four of them either had cars—like Carson Toliver—or knew someone who did. The less fortunate remaining half dozen gathered by the vacant lot near the blinker light at the intersection of Quakerton Road and 206, in front of Sumter‟s used car lot. The cars were still there, the little red-and-yellow pennants still fluttered on their wires, but the place had been closed since Mr. Sumter‟s sudden death last month. He too had been a Lodge member.

For the previous eight years Jack had waited by the vacant lot across the street for one of the grade-school buses, heading north.

The other two corners were occupied by Joe Burdett‟s Esso station and a Krauszer‟s

convenience store. Jack figured the Krauszer‟s would come in handy for a pre-bus coffee or hot chocolate when the weather turned cold.

The lot and the shoulder were puddled from yesterday‟s rain. Cody Bockman posters clung to the poles supporting the blinker light over the intersection.

Gone almost forty-eight hours and still no sign of him. Jack had heard somewhere that if a crime wasn‟t solved in the first forty-eight hours, chances were it would never be.

So where on Earth was Cody?

Jack couldn‟t dodge the suspicion that the circus was somehow involved. In another day or two they‟d strike their tents and be on their way to the next stop. Cody might never be found.

He glanced at the sky. Clear and sunny. No rain since yesterday afternoon. If this held up, maybe he could cut the Lodge‟s lawn today.

He lowered his gaze to the elementary school bus stop across the highway and saw Sally Vivino standing with her mother. Lots of mothers there this morning. Usually they took turns driving groups of the little ones down to the stop, but this morning it seemed a lot more had decided to personally see their kids off.

Trying his best to look casual, Jack crossed the road. He wanted to see how Sally was doing.

“Hi, Mrs. V,” he said when he reached them. “Hi, Sally.”

She stood with a Cabbage Patch Kid clutched against her chest—Jack couldn‟t understand the craze around those homely dolls—and looked up at him with big brown eyes.

“Hi.”

No smile. Well, what could he expect?

“Hello, Jack,” Mrs. Vivino said. “We haven‟t spoken for a long time.”

Something in her voice … Jack couldn‟t read her expression because of the oversized

sunglasses she wore. After seeing her bruised arms yesterday, he knew why she wore long sleeves even in warm weather like this. Was she hiding a black eye as well?

“Yeah, well …” The way she was staring at him made him uncomfortable. “I‟ve wanted to stop by but …”

She nodded. “I understand. We missed you. Sally especially. She kept asking where you were.”

Now he felt really bad.

“I‟ve seen you waiting here and—”

“I‟ve seen you too,” she said. “And not just here.”

What did that mean? She seemed to be trying to make a point.

“Oh?”

“I saw you last night, riding your bike away from Mr. Rosen‟s place.”

Uh-oh.

“Yes, I, um, work for him.”

She nodded, still staring at him through those dark lenses. “I know. We had a visitor yesterday.

He came because of a call from a boy.”

Oh, crap.

He felt himself reddening. She knew! Had she mentioned it to her husband? Play dumb, play dumb.

“Um, a call about what?”

“About something he probably didn‟t understand. About something that‟s not his business, something he should leave alone and not get involved in.”

“Oh.”

He knew he was red. Had to be.

The school bus pulled up then— in the nick of time, as the saying went—and Jack backed away.

“Yeah, well, nice talking to you. Bye, Sally.”

With a quick glance at him, Sally said, “Bye,” then handed her doll to her mother and climbed on the bus.

Jack spotted Eddie and Weezy approaching the corner and hightailed it over to join them. He could feel Mrs. Vivino‟s gaze on his back.

3

The big yellow school bus lumbered into view and groaned to a stop. Jack was the last to board, right behind Weezy. Since Johnson was one of the later stops on the route, the bus tended to be near full by the time it reached them. Today was no exception. As usual, the older kids—the seniors without cars and the more popular juniors—had commandeered the back rows.

Only single seats remained at this point, so Weezy took one next to a girl Jack didn‟t know; he got waves and smiles from Karina and Cristin as he passed and wound up in a window seat next to Darren Willmon, a fellow freshman he‟d met on previous trips.

Ten minutes later their bus pulled into the parking lot and stopped in line with its brothers. As he waited to get out of his seat, Jack noticed a rusty pickup pull into a far corner of the lot. Half a dozen kids of various ages jumped out of the rear bed, all wearing odd, mismatched, ill-fitting clothes.

Piney kids. He wondered if any of them were related to the trapper by the spong. Probably.

Pineys were related in all sorts of ways. Some people said they were too closely related, like brothers and sisters getting together and having kids. Jack didn‟t know if any of that stuff was true. People liked to talk, and some people just naturally exaggerated as they went along. Like a game of telephone where what comes out at the end is nothing like what started it.

On the other hand, pineys weren‟t all that plentiful, so a piney-piney marriage could pretty much count on some sharing of family blood. The result was some kids who didn‟t look quite right.

He watched them troop into SBR‟s main building, a sprawling one-story, flat-roofed

square encased in beige brick with an open central quadrangle. Whoever had designed it must have been given blueprints of Alcatraz for inspiration. All it needed was a gun tower or two to make it look like an official prison.

Inside wasn‟t much better: A tiled, echoey central hallway ran all around the square with classrooms left and right. A hallway branched off the southeast corner to another flat square that housed the caf. A second hall came off the southwest corner to connect to the two-story gym.

The athletic field lay beyond all that.

Jack had been edgy about finding his way around when he‟d started here, but he‟d been a frosh for two weeks now and felt like the place was his.

4

“Next year at this time,” Mr. Kressy said, pacing back and forth across the front of the classroom, “we‟ll be in the heat of a presidential election.”

He was gray haired and overweight—not fat all over, just his belly. He looked pregnant. He always wore suspenders and a bow tie.

Jack had already chosen Mr. Kressy as his favorite teacher. He‟d expected civics would be deadly dull, but Mr. Kressy made it interesting. Jack wasn‟t sure how he did it, but it worked.

Maybe it was because he made them think rather than simply memorize.

“President Reagan will most certainly run for a second term on the Republican side. Word is that Jesse Jackson will announce that he‟s running for the Democratic nomination. Did anyone see the Miss America pageant on Saturday night?”

A few hands went up.

“If you did, you witnessed history of sorts: the first black woman ever to win. A black woman as Miss America, a black man running for the presidency. Times have changed, and I say it‟s about time. But Jesse Jackson is up against John Glenn, Walter Mondale, and a relative unknown named Gary Hart.”

John Glenn—an astronaut, running for president. He‟d get Jack‟s vote.

Smiling, Mr. Kressy paused and scanned the classroom.

“How many of you just thought, Ooh, an astronaut! I’ll vote for him?”

A number of hands shot up, but Jack kept his down. Almost as if Mr. Kressy could read minds.

And his tone hinted that John Glenn might not be such a good idea.

“Why?” Mr. Kressy said. “Because some scientists built a rocket and shot him into space? So what? The Russians did that with a monkey. Would you vote for a monkey?”

This got a laugh.

“Really: How does being an astronaut qualify him for president?”

Kelly Solt, a cute, heavyset blonde, raised her hand.

“It means he‟s brave.”

Mr. Kressy waved an arm. “No argument there, Kelly. The monkey had no choice, but John Glenn chose to do it, and that takes courage.”

Matt Follette grinned laconically from his perpetual slouch and said, “Maybe it just takes dumb.”

This got a laugh. Matt had already established himself as the class cynic.

Mr. Kressy didn‟t seem amused. “I think we can assume he‟s not dumb. But the country is full of brave men—lots of ex-soldiers who risked their lives so that I could stand here and lead you in a free discussion of ideas. But that doesn‟t mean every one of those brave men would make a good president.”

He looked around. “Anyone else?” He pointed toward the rear of the class. “Mr. Neolin … you look like you have something to say.”

Jack turned and saw Elvin Neolin, one of the piney kids. He was small, with ruddy skin, high cheekbones, and black hair. He looked shocked that he‟d been picked.

“Uuuh, no.”

Bulky Jake Shuett, seated to Jack‟s right, leaned over and whispered, “How about that? The dumb-ass piney can talk.”

Jack knew what he meant—this was the first time he‟d heard the boy utter a word, but …

“Doesn‟t mean he‟s dumb.”

Shuett made a face. “All those inbreds are retards.”

Jack felt that was a pretty retarded thing to say, but let it drop. Mr. Kressy‟s class wasn‟t the place to get into it. Instead he looked at Elvin and wondered if he and his fellow pineys knew about the big pyramid on Old Man Foster‟s land. Maybe, maybe not. Nobody knew everything about the Barrens.

Mr. Kressy walked to the center of the room and stood a few feet from Jack.

“Okay, another show of hands. How many still want to vote for John Glenn solely because he was an astronaut?”

No hands went up this time.

“I see. I take it that means we must find other reasons to vote or not vote for him. Since the winner will be leader of the most powerful nation on Earth, maybe we should learn what the man stands for.”

Karina raised her hand and said, “Don‟t you like what he stands for?”

“I have no idea what he stands for. At least not yet.” He wandered back to the front of the room.

“But he and all the others will be taking positions on certain issues. We‟ll hear a lot of political palaver between now and the election. I want you to listen. We have a civics book we have to study, but this is civics in action. Listen and think.”

But Jack was thinking about this afternoon … how he was going to earn sixty bucks for mowing the Lodge‟s lawn while he figured out a way to get inside.

5

“You look so hot.”

Jack glanced up and saw Weezy straddling her bike, shaking her head. “As hot as Carson Toliver?”

She gave him a puzzled look, then laughed. “In your dreams.” He didn‟t know why he‟d asked, but that wasn‟t an answer he liked. She shrugged. “You know what I mean.”

Yeah, he knew. And truth was, he felt very hot.

The grass around the Lodge was even thicker than he‟d anticipated. The mower

kept clogging, and the sun kept hammering away at him. After school he‟d changed to a T-shirt and cut-offs before coming over, but that hadn‟t helped much. He was drenched.

But worth it for sixty bucks. He‟d more than earn it this week, but have a much easier time next.

“Have you been able to look inside yet?”

The mower clogged and stalled again. Jack would have to unclog it, then start yanking on the cord to restart the motor. He felt his mood heading south. He gave Weezy a look.

“Boy, do you have a one-track mind. No. As you can see, I‟ve been a little busy.”

“Yeah, I guess. Still … every day our pyramid sits in there is like … a beehive buzzing in my head.”

There she went again, rewriting what he‟d told her. “I said I might have seen a pyramid.”

“Only one way to find out.” She shifted her gaze and stared over Jack‟s shoulder. “Is anybody home?”

Jack turned and realized she was looking at the Lodge.

“Whoa, Weez. We can‟t go snooping around here now.”

“Looks empty,” she said. “I wonder if the door‟s locked.”

He could sense her getting carried away. Didn‟t she have any brakes on that brain of hers?

“Don‟t even think about it.”

“Can we at least look in the windows?”

His voice rose as he felt his patience thinning. “Look, you need a little patience and I need to finish here before midnight.”

“Okay, okay. When you do finish, Eddie‟s waiting on you to help him reach the final round of

Death Star.”

Yeah, he‟d rather be handling an Atari 5200 joystick than soggy grass, rather be piloting the

Millennium Falcon toward the Death Star‟s power core than pushing a mower.

“Death Star? What is a Death Star? It sounds rather entertaining.”

Jack started as he looked up and saw Mr. Drexler, wearing his ever-present white suit, standing in the Lodge‟s front entrance beneath the huge sigil.

How long had he been there? Had he heard anything?

“It‟s in a movie,” Jack said. “Science fiction.”

His interest vaporized. “Oh. I don‟t like fiction.”

Weezy looked jumpy. Jack understood. Even though the Lodge had been here forever, probably before the town, maybe before the Pilgrims—long before the Indians, according to her—it was fanatically secretive and mysterious and nobody knew what to make of it. And here she‟d been talking about poking around inside it.

Giving her a keep-mum look, he left her behind and walked over to Mr. Drexler. Mainly because he was standing in the shade, but also because Jack wanted to broach a certain topic. He hesitated, then decided to go for it.

“What‟s it like inside?” Jack said, pointing to the building.

Mr. Drexler regarded him. “It is what one might call „functional.‟”

“Do you give tours?”

“Tours?” he said, his eyebrows lifting. “Tours are only for prospective members during recruitment. You are too young for recruitment.”

“But you recruited my father and gave him a tour.”

“Then you can ask him all about it.”

“He won‟t tell me much. How about it? Make an exception for the son of a recruit who turned you down?”

“That‟s hardly reason for an exception.” He sighed. “I might give you a cursory tour sometime, but not today.”

Yes!

“Can I bring a friend?”

Mr. Drexler nodded toward where Weezy waited with her bike. “By „friend‟ I suppose you mean your girlfriend, the contentious Miss Connell.”

“She‟s not my girlfriend.” Though she could be contentious as all get-out. “But yeah.”

“I would hope she wouldn‟t think she was going to find her precious missing artifact inside.”

“Who, Weezy? Not a chance. So how about it?”

“I suppose.”

Yes!

As Mr. Drexler turned away and closed the door, Jack hurried back to where Weezy waited.

“We‟re going on a tour of the Lodge,” he whispered.

Her eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. “Oh my god, I can‟t believe it. When?”

“Not sure yet, but I‟ll bug him till he gives in. Operation Pyramid is on!

6

“I‟m going out for a little bit,” Jack said. Dinner was over and he was feeling restless. His father looked up from where he sat sipping an after-dinner beer with Mr. Bainbridge, a fellow Korean War vet.

“Okay, Jack. Homework done?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Just going for a ride.”

“Don‟t be too long.” He raised a hand. “Oh, Mom says you‟re cutting the Lodge‟s lawn?”

“Those nuts?” Mr. Bainbridge said.

Jack nodded. “Mister Drexler‟s paying me sixty bucks.”

Dad‟s eyebrows shot up. “Sixty!” Then his eyes narrowed. “He just came out and offered you sixty bucks?”

“No. It was less at first but—”

“You negotiated more?”

“Well …” Jack couldn‟t really call it negotiating. He‟d hesitated and Mr. Drexler had interpreted that as dissatisfaction with the initial offer of fifty.

Dad smiled. “Good for you.”

Mr. Bainbridge laughed and slapped his thigh. “Damn, Jack! Maybe I should take you with me next time I buy a car!”

Outside, Jack looked around his front yard. Too dark to see anything now. He‟d scoured the whole area this afternoon, looking for that Frisbee. The bushes, the street, the neighbors‟

yards—not a sign of it. All he could think of was some dog had come along and run off with it.

He hopped on his bike and accelerated. Yeah, he was off on a ride, but he had a destination in mind: the Vivino house.

He‟d thought about Sally while he was mowing the Lodge‟s lawn, during dinner, and through his homework. He knew it was crazy, but he had to go check on her.

Dusk was fading to night as he cut past the Bainbridge house on his way to the highway. He spotted a dark figure rocking on the front porch. Weird Walt, no doubt. His sister was married to Mr. Bainbridge and he lived with them.

Down on Quakerton he passed USED. All looked quiet there. He hadn‟t given a thought to opening it today because Mr. Rosen always kept it closed on Mondays.

He rode up 206 to Mr. Rosen‟s place and leaned his bike against the side of the trailer. Then he crept into the Vivino yard and up to the house. His heart jumped, then sank when he heard Sally screaming.

He stole to the side of the house and followed the sound to one of the kitchen windows. He suppressed a gasp when he peeked in and saw Mr. Vivino holding his wife in an arm lock. Her expression looked agonized but she wasn‟t saying anything. Her husband seemed to be doing all the talking but Jack couldn‟t hear what he was saying over Sally‟s screams.

“Stop it, Daddy! Stop-it-stop-it-stop-it!”

Unable to watch, Jack reeled away from the window and ran back to his bike. When he reached it he stood panting—not from exertion, from rage.

This couldn‟t go on. Mr. Vivino had to be stopped. But that didn‟t seem doable unless Mrs. V

stopped covering for him.

Had to be another way. Had to be.

As he rolled his bike back toward the highway, he saw the lights from the circus up the road. He rode up there, looking for distraction, but when he reached the entrance he found he had no interest in wandering the midway again.

So he turned around and headed slowly back to town. A fog was rolling in so he switched sides and rode against the traffic to see what was coming, all the while cudgeling his brain for a solution. He considered talking to his dad about it. But what could he do? Go up to Mr. Vivino and say, My son’s been spying on your family and says you’ve been mistreating Cathy and Sally Like that would do a lot of good—especially if Mrs. V said nothing was wrong. Everything seemed to hinge on her.

Or maybe he should just mind his own damn business. Yeah, that was exactly what he should do.

But he knew he couldn‟t.

7

Jack pedaled through the foggy town, still unable to think of a solution. Instead of turning off on North Franklin, he followed Quakerton Road toward the lake to see how it looked in the fog.

Well, it looked like … fog, and nothing but fog; the mist had grown impenetrably thick over the surface, masking the lake and its shores. The fully lit Lodge seemed to float above it, like a boxy cruise ship. He‟d never seen it so lit up, so he crossed into Old Town for a closer look. He found perhaps a dozen cars parked around it.

Well, well, well. Was the Septimus Order throwing a party?

An unbidden image of Mr. Drexler dancing around with a lampshade on his head made

Jack cringe.

Curious, he leaned his bike against the curb and wandered across the lawn. The cars parked on the gravel driveway were of all types, ranging from limousines to pickups. About a dozen feet from the building, he paused. He really shouldn‟t be here. If he got caught he‟d probably lose the lawn job and the sixty bucks a week that went with it, plus the chance at a tour of the place.

Nope, not worth the risk.

With an effort he turned and was starting back toward his bike when he heard a faint, high-pitched cry—like a child‟s voice. He froze and waited, listening. He heard the breeze whispering through the pines and rustling the leaves of the maples that lined the street, but no—

There. Again. The high-pitched cry.

Cody? Could it be … ?

He did a slow turn, trying to identify the direction it had come from. The fog diffused the sound, making it seem to come from everywhere at once. The only place near enough for a source was the Lodge.

Jack headed back toward the building. He didn‟t see any choice but to take a look. If Cody was in there …

He didn‟t want to think about it.

Lowering to a crouch, he eased up to one of the front windows and peered between the bars into a room with a huge fireplace. No one in sight, and the spot where he thought he‟d seen the pyramid wasn‟t visible from this angle. He heard the cry again. It seemed to come from around the corner.

Staying low, he slipped along the stucco wall toward the rear of the building. There he peeked into another large room, this one crowded with men gathered around a large table. The familiar sigil of the Ancient Septimus Fraternal Order was painted on the ceiling, looking down on the table like a watchful alien eye. Some of the men wore suits, some dressed more casually, but all were avidly staring at something on the table. Jack couldn‟t see what it was because they blocked his view.

His gut twisted as he imagined them torturing Cody in some foul secret rite. And then someone stepped away, leaving a gap that revealed what was so interesting. Jack recognized it immediately.

The Mystery Machine from the circus sideshow.

And now he spotted its owner, the thin man the canvas boss had called “Prather.” Mr. Prather appeared to be explaining something about the gizmo to the Lodge members, and they all seemed fascinated. Then the man who‟d moved away stepped back, blocking Jack‟s view again.

He backed away from the window. More evidence of a connection between the Order and the Taber & Sons circus. But so what? It didn‟t mean anything unless the circus was involved with Cody‟s disappearance.

And if that cry hadn‟t come from Cody, then who—?

Jack jumped as a sound broke the silence from directly to his left, louder and higher pitched than the previous cries. He looked and saw nothing at first, then a pair of eyes flashed as they caught the light from the window.

A cat … a fat tabby looked up at him and made that sound again. From farther away, through the fog, Jack imagined it could have sounded like a frightened child. He chased it away and stood listening.

All quiet.

He gave up and headed back to his bike.

8

Mr. Bainbridge was leaving just as Jack got home. He could tell from his eyes he‟d had more than a couple of Dad‟s Carling Black Labels.

“Gonna make it to the smoker on Thursday?” Mr. Bainbridge asked his father.

Jack knew that “the smoker” was the monthly get-together at the VFW post where they drank, played cards, and showed porno movies.

Dad shook his head. “Not my cup of tea, Kurt. You know that.”

“Yeah, but we finally got rid of those old eight-millimeters. We‟ve got a VCR now and we can rent all sorts of new stuff.” He laughed. “All in living color!”

Dad gave him a tolerant smile and waved. “You boys have fun.”

Mom walked in as he left. She held a dish towel. “That was Kate on the phone. She was talking to Tim and he says they‟re stalled on Cody. The state police are involved now. They had a search party in the Pines today and they‟re planning on going back tomorrow. They dragged the lake and found nothing. They‟re also searching the cornfields and the orchards. There‟s so many places he could be.” She twisted the towel and looked about to cry. “His poor parents. Think what they must be going through.”

“He‟s got to be somewhere.”

As soon as the words left his mouth Jack wanted to kick himself for saying something so ridiculously obvious. Of course Cody was somewhere. Everybody was somewhere. Question was: Wherever he was, was he alive?

It seemed less and less likely to Jack that this was going to have a happy ending.

9

That night Jack dreamed he was at the Taber & Sons circus, showing off for Karina at the ring-the-bell game. Tony Vivino was nowhere in sight this time, but his mother and Sally were, and he wondered why until he realized that Mr. Vivino‟s head had replaced the ringer weight. He swung the mallet in a mighty arc that sent Mr. V‟s head to the top and rang the bell. The instant-home-movie guy from the bumper cars was taping it all and everyone was having a great time until Cody Bockman showed up with Mr. Prather‟s Mystery Machine and dissolved

everyone with the disintegrating ray it created.

TUESDAY

1

After Mr. Kressy‟s class, Karina went through the caf line with Jack and they joined a table with Eddie and a few other kids. As he pulled up a chair Jack noticed Elvin Neolin approaching. They made brief eye contact and Jack started to wave him over. He didn‟t know any of the pineys and Elvin seemed like an okay guy. Shy as all get-out, but maybe Jack could draw him out … see if he knew anything about a pyramid in the Pines.

But Jake Shuett raised a hand in a stop signal. “Don‟t even think about it, piney. We don‟t eat with inbreds.”

Elvin‟s gaze dropped and he veered away.

Karina slammed her hands on the table. “What?

Matt Follette and Erik Burns looked up from their food and Eddie stopped fiddling with his Rubik‟s Cube.

Jake looked surprised. “Hey—”

Karina jabbed a finger at his face from across the table. “Don‟t you ever say „we‟ when I‟m around. I‟m not part of you, I‟m not like you, and I don‟t want to be included with you.”

She began putting her food back onto her tray.

Jack watched Elvin approach another table occupied by fellow pineys, then turned to Jake.

“That was pretty cold, Shuett. And you don‟t speak for me either.”

“What is it with you two?” Jake said. “He‟s a piney. They‟re retards. He‟s probably going to marry his sister just like his daddy did.”

Karina‟s eyes blazed. “Mostly they‟re just poor. Some don‟t have electricity or running water, but that brother-sister stuff is garbage.”

“What did you say to Elvin?” said a new voice.

Jack looked up and saw a tall skinny kid with long, unruly brown hair. His clothes were too small, leaving his gangly arms sticking out of his sleeves and his cuffs above his ankles. He had one blue eye and one brown. His mismatched gaze was fixed on Jake.

Jake seemed to shrink for an instant, then he puffed up. He had ten or fifteen pounds on the new kid. He picked up a ketchup pack and casually began shaking it down.

“Who wants to know?”

“My name‟s Levi Coffin.”

Jake snickered. “Coffin? Is that a made-up name like Sid Vicious?”

He looked around the table. If he was expecting a laugh, he was disappointed. Jack was feeling acutely uncomfortable.

“It‟s an old Quaker name,” Levi said. “And I‟m asking if you called El an inbred.”

Jake tried to stare him down. “Yeah. I did. What‟re you going to do about it?”

The guy didn‟t flinch. “Just wanted to make sure.”

With that he turned and walked away.

Jack wondered if a threat had been issued.

Jake‟s laugh sounded forced. “Another piney loser.”

Just then his ketchup pack exploded, spraying his shirt-front with crimson sauce.

As he cursed and grabbed for a paper napkin, he must have knocked against his plate, because it spilled his burger and cole slaw onto his lap.

Everyone at the table burst out laughing as he jumped from his seat and danced around, wiping himself off.

“Man, I don‟t believe this!”

Karina grinned as she picked up her tray and stepped away from the table.

“Talk about an inbred retard!”

Jake reddened. He looked like he wanted to say something but couldn‟t think of anything. He hurried from the caf, probably headed for the boys‟ room.

Karina sat down again. “Well, if he‟s leaving, I‟ll stay.”

Jack leaned back and looked at her, then at Levi Coffin, reseating himself with the other pineys, then at the retreating Jake Shuett.

What a weird chain of events. He had the strangest feeling that something had happened here, something more than what he‟d seen. But what?

He shrugged it off and looked at Karina. She was something else.

He gave her a smile. “Next time, don‟t hold back—tell Jake how you really feel.”

Her returning smile was warm as she looked him in the eye. “Sometimes keeping quiet is just like agreeing. Thanks for backing me up.”

Karina struck him as a thinker, like Weezy. He liked that. And she‟d even been in his dream last night—

The dream—it fast-forwarded through his head. No way he could tell her he‟d been dreaming about her—especially not in front of this crew. Be cool if he could somehow get hold of the videotape that circus guy had been recording in the dream. He could show Karina. Then again, it had been so weird it might scare her off.

He stiffened.

Videotape …

… show the videotape.

“Jack?” Karina said. “Something wrong?”

“Hmmm? No. Just had an idea.”

A very cool idea about something that waited—he hoped—at USED. He prayed Mr. Rosen

hadn‟t sold it.

2

School seemed to drag for an eternity. As soon as Jack got home he grabbed the keys to USED and raced to the store.

As long as I‟m here, he thought as he unlocked the front door, might as well open for business.

He shut the door and flipped the CLOSED sign to OPEN. Then he headed straight for the rear of the store.

Where was it? Where had he put it?

There—he recognized the gray carrying case. He pulled it out and unzipped it to reveal a video camera. Mr. Rosen had bought it off a guy last month. Expecting a quick turnover, he‟d put it in the window, but no one had seemed interested. Eventually he‟d had Jack move it back into the store to make room for something else in the scarce window space.

Lucky for me, Jack thought.

Because he had a use for it.

He thumbed through the manual, found the charger in a side pocket of the case, and plugged it into the wall. He planned to study the manual during the charging period, but the bell above the front door jangled.

A customer?

He walked forward and recognized Mark Mulliner. Jack assumed the woman carrying the baby behind him was his wife.

“Hey,” Mark said with an easy smile. “Got any screwdrivers? Dropped mine in the lake.”

Jack glanced out the window and saw a pickup with canoes piled in the bed. Mark rented them out at the lake during the summer.

“End of the season for the canoes?” he said as he pulled a plastic bucket full of old tools from under a shelf and set it on the counter.

Mark started sorting through the screwdrivers and pliers and such.

“Yeah. Temperature‟s right but the rain‟s a killer.”

Jack glanced at the dark-haired baby girl. He waved and she smiled, showing a couple of brand-new teeth.

“Say hello, Poppy,” said her mom.

“Here we go,” Mark said, holding up a long flat-head screwdriver. “This‟ll do.”

He paid for it and they left just as Weird Walt came in.

“Hey, Jack. I thought Mister Rosen said he was gonna be in New York this week.”

He leaned on the counter, close enough so Jack could smell the applejack on his breath. The number of people who‟d seen Walt completely sober was about the same as those who‟d seen him without gloves.

Jack explained that he‟d promised to open the store now and then while Mr. Rosen was away.

“That‟s cool. Hey, whatta y‟ think about finding that bike?”

“What bike?”

“The little kid‟s—Cody Bockman‟s.”

Jack‟s neck tensed. “They found it? Where?”

“Not too far into the Pines, on Old Man Foster‟s land.”

He didn‟t know if he wanted an answer to his next question.

“They find anything else?”

Walt shook his head. “Nah. But the sheriff‟s organizing a big search party tomorrow morning.

Everybody fourteen and up who wants to join is supposed to gather at the lightning tree at oh-eight-hundred, rain or shine.”

“But shouldn‟t we be worrying about the equinox?” Jack said, remembering the warning Walt had given him the other day.

Walt looked confused for a few seconds, then the light dawned. “Oh, yeah. But this‟ll be a big group, and it‟s during the day. The real equinox ain‟t due till after sundown.”

“Okay, then,” Jack said. “Count me in. No, wait—I‟ve got school.”

“Sheriff says any kid who joins the search is excused from school.”

Jack raised a fist. “I‟m there.”

But that was tomorrow. He had something important he had to do to night.

3

“Subcontracting?” Jack, squatting as he weeded the foundation beds on the Lodge‟s north flank, looked up to see Mr. Drexler, again all in white—didn‟t he own any other color? Weezy squatted beside him, helping.

It had rained again last night, but that didn‟t interfere with weeding. They each used a short spade to dig under the weeds and help pull them out by their roots. They‟d shake off the excess soil, toss them into a plastic bag, smooth out the mulch, and move to the next.

“I‟m a volunteer,” Weezy said with a pasted-on smile and a sticky-sweet tone. She was helping solely as an excuse to hang around the Lodge in case the tour materialized. Jack knew the effort it took her to make nice-nice with someone from the Order, but he‟d warned her that mouthing off could queer everything.

“Really? Why would one volunteer for such hot, dirty, menial labor?” The smile

remained. “It‟s what friends do.”

“I‟d think a true friend would pay you at least minimum wage.”

“Oh my,” she said, cocking her head and sounding like Glinda the Good Witch of

the North, “friends don‟t take money from friends.”

Jack didn‟t know how long she could

keep up the façade, so he jumped to what mattered most.

“Are we getting our tour today?”

Mr. Drexler frowned. “Tour? What ever are you talking about?”

Jack looked at Weezy and saw her eyes narrowing.

“Yesterday you said you‟d give us a tour of the Lodge.”

“I believe I said „might.‟ But I continue to have doubts about including Miss Connell. I don‟t want to worry about her opening cabinets and drawers in search of her lost artifact.”

Jack gave her a be-cool look as he said, “Oh, that won‟t be a problem. Right, Weez?”

He sent up a silent prayer that she‟d be able to play along. If this tour meant anything to her, she‟d rein in the emotions that tended to run wild where the pyramid was concerned.

But she surprised him by staying perfectly cool—at least on the outside.

“I wouldn‟t think of it, Mister Drexler. I promise to keep my hands in my pockets. You can even handcuff me if you want.”

He shook his head and turned away. “I‟m having serious second thoughts about this. I‟m rescinding my offer.”

Weezy‟s eyes ignited and her lips pulled back, baring her teeth as she started to rise to her feet.

Jack pulled her back with a warning look. He was just as surprised, disappointed, and angry, but all might not yet be lost. If she detonated, however …

Mr. Drexler turned back just as suddenly as he‟d turned away.

“By the way, I understand you discovered the artifact within a box. Was it locked?”

Weezy had her head down, stabbing her little spade into the dirt like an Aztec priestess cutting out a heart.

“No,” Jack said, “just hard to open.”

He leaned forward. “Who opened it?”

“Me.”

The blue eyes narrowed. “Really. How interesting.”

“Yeah. Seemed I was the only one who could. Oh, yeah, and Mister Brussard could too. But he‟s, you know …”

“Yes. The late Brother Brussard …” He stared at Jack for what seemed like a long time, then motioned to him and Weezy. “Follow me now if you wish that tour.”

Mr. Drexler moved toward the rear of the Lodge. Baffled, Jack glanced at a very

shocked-looking Weezy. But the shock turned to wild anticipation as she sprang to her feet and started after him. Jack held her back a second.

“Remember,” he whispered. “I only thought I saw the pyramid. If we don‟t see it inside, stay cool.”

She nodded and followed Mr. Drexler. Jack brought up the rear, wondering what had made him change his mind.

He led them through the rear door that opened into some sort of mud room.

“Only members are allowed entrance through the front.”

“Why is that?” Jack said.

“Because that is the way it has always been.” He gestured to the next room, a small kitchen with a stove and a fridge, but old-fashioned. “Antiquated, yes. A holdover from the days when the Lodge had residents. Eggers and I have used it on occasion, but it is by and large a vestigial space.”