The Lost Door (27 page)

They hollered and laughed as they ran through the fields, the grass tickling their legs. Each wore a holster around their waist, and each carried a toy revolver. The morning was pretty much what you’d expect from boys—rough housing and imagination abound.

By noon they had yet to capture Deadeye, so they decided to take a break for lunch. Elliott was at the kitchen table studying when they’d returned, the screen door slamming shut behind them.

“Watch that door, guys,” he said, barely looking up.

“Sorry, Elliott,” Willem responded.

Elliott finished his note and looked up. “Where have you two been all morning?”

The words spilled from Sam’s mouth in glee. “Deadeye robbed a bank and murdered a bunch of people, and we were trying to catch him! He burned farmers’ homes and we got into this big gun battle and we thought we had him but he got away! But we know we hit him ‘cause he left a trail of blood and we tracked that to the lookout. But we lost the trail there so we think he had some help and got away. We’re going to go out and look for him some more after we eat.”

“Deadeye, eh? Tall guy with a black cowboy hat?” Elliott said with a smile.

“Yeah!” Sam said.

“You know, I think I know where he might be headed.”

Sam’s eyes grew wide. “Really? Where?”

“Well,” he said, drawing out the anticipation as best he could, “I’m not positive but I’m pretty sure I heard him pass by here a while back. Headed towards town would be my guess. Something about… ice cane? Ice reams?”

“Ice cream!” Sam shouted.

“That’s it! Ice cream! Here…” Elliott stood and walked to a cabinet. Inside were bowls, plates, and glasses and, on the top shelf tucked in the back, a small canister.

“You can’t!” Willem hissed. “That’s only for emergencies. What if mom finds out?”

“It
is
an emergency. You have to stop Deadeye, don’t you? Besides, I’ll put it back the next time I get paid.” Elliott handed them each a quarter with a smile, then crouched so he was eye-to-eye with Sam. “I expect you to nab Deadeye and bring him to justice.” Sam beamed ear-to-ear as Elliott ruffled his youngest brother’s hair. “Go on now. He might not be there for long, and you don’t want to miss him.”

They were almost out the door when Willem remembered something. “One sec!” he shouted and ran from the room. He’d been meaning to drop something off at the willow tree, but every time he went that way he’d forget to take it with. Not today. He grabbed the brown paper bag from his desk, the key to the box from Elliott’s room, then joined Sam outside.

“What’s that?” Sam asked.

“I’ll show you later.”

When they got to Willow Creek Bridge, Willem handed Sammy the paper bag and jumped onto the ledge. Willem walked the length of the ledge with his arms outstretched for balance. He noted the concerned look on Sam’s face, said, “It’s alright,” and hopped down. “You want to try?”

Sam looked over the edge at the shimmering water running along its rock bed. “What if I fall?”

Willem ran back and took the bag. “Boost up.” Sam gingerly put his hands on the ledge and with Willem’s help cautiously climbed up. Willem never let his brother go, and soon Sam was standing on shaky legs.

“This is scary.” He looked down at Willem. “Promise you won’t let go?”

“Promise. Just take it slow.”

Sam took one slow step at a time, pebbles sliding out from under his feet. Halfway across the bridge the sound of a car’s engine grew, and Sam looked toward it. A black Ford slowed, the sun glistening off the polished metal. The driver, an older man with glasses, peered through the window as he passed the boys before speeding off. Shortly thereafter Sam was across and jumped down beaming with pride. “I did it! I did it!” he cried.

Willem patted his shoulder. “Nicely done. Good job.” Sam gave a toothy grin. “Come on.” Willem followed the path down to the creeks edge.

“Where are we going?” Sam asked.

“Have to make a quick stop.” They followed the embankment to the willow tree. When they were beneath it Willem handed Sam the brown paper bag.

The ground was soft and mossy beneath the canopy. Willem moved the rocks from the hole of their buried treasure. He glanced at Sam who watched him curiously as he pulled out the box wrapped in a dirty cloth.

“What is it?” Sam asked. Removing the cloth, Willem revealed the dented metal box.

“This,” Willem said with an air of suspense, “is our buried treasure.”

“Buried treasure?” Sam repeated in awe.

“Elliott showed it to me a while back.” He handed it to Sam. “Go on. Open it.”

Sam crept closer, knelt next to his brother, and gingerly took the box with its intricate design. “This was moms,” he said matter-of-factly. “She kept her sewing stuff in it.”

“Elliott found it in the trash.”

“Where’s the key?”

Willem pulled it from his pocket and handed it to Sam who unlocked and opened the lid. Inside was an old pocket watch, a family photo several years old, a green fishing lure, and other odds and ends. “What is all this stuff?”

“The watch was dads; he gave it to Elliott a long time ago. The lure is mine.” He didn’t mention that it, too, had been a gift from their father. “And that photo… do you remember it being taken?”

Sam shook his head.

Willem continued. “It was taken at Blue Gill Park. We were there having a picnic.”

They all looked so happy, each with a smile on their face. An imperfection in the photo—a small lens flare or damage of some sort—hung over his head.

Sam looked at each item in-turn before focusing on several toy cars.

“And those?” he said, pointing.

“Those,” Willem said with a smile, “are just some toy cars.” Sam looked at him surprised. “Never hurts to have some toys lying around.”

“Why are you hiding this stuff?”

“I don’t know. Elliott and I just sort of started collecting stuff. It was his idea to hide it here. Can you keep it a secret, Sam?”

There was no hesitation on Sam’s part. “Yes.”

“Good.” Willem pointed to the paper bag next to Sam. “Hand me that.”

Sam picked it up and handed it to Willem. “What is it?”

“This,” he said opening the bag, “is something special.” He reached in and pulled out a single item, one that made Sam’s eyes grow.

Willem had been holding onto it since the day they had gone with William into the woods in search of Caroline’s Cottage—the metal ring. He’d stuck it in his closet and had forgotten about it until two weeks ago when he’d uncovered it. Ever since then he’d felt an urge to hide it here.

“This I found in the woods that day with William. Do you remember?”

A nod. “Why are you hiding it here?”

Willem shook his head. “I don’t know. Just a feeling.”

Willem put it in the box; it barely fit, taking up most of the remaining room.

“Can I put something in there?”

“Sure.”

Sam dug into his pocket and pulled out a toy soldier and placed it in the box. “He’ll protect the treasure.”

Willem smiled. “Good idea, Sam.”

He took the key from Sam and relocked the box, wrapped it back up, and returned it to its hiding place. Together they covered it with rocks trying to make it look as natural as possible. Once done, they stood and Willem led Sam away. “Let’s go get that ice cream.”

“And Deadeye!”

“And Deadeye,” Willem agreed. They walked back to Willow Creek Bridge and continued on their way.

Willem and Sam were on Main Street and rounded the corner stopping at their destination, simply named The Soda Foundry. Not only did they sell ice cream and soda pop, they also sold comic books. To say The Soda Foundry was a popular destination for kids was an understatement.

Willem and Sam spent time flipping through the latest issues of Green Lantern, Superman, and Batman. They bumped into William who had recently earned the not-so-pleasant nickname Pube after his voice screeched in English class.

“Still DC with you? Really?” William asked not unkindly.

“Best writing out there,” Willem responded. “Everything with Atlas is mutant, mutant, mutant! DC has originality.”

“Originality? Please!”

“X-Men? Fantastic Four? Mutants. Spider-Man? Mutation from a radioactive spider. At least with DC you’ve got a man who gained his powers from the sun, a man who got a ring from a dying alien, and a rich guy who makes his own stuff and
no
special powers. Marvel? Mutants.” This was a long running debate between the two friends.

“Whatever. I gotta get going anyway. To be continued,” he said with a smile.

Willem and Sam walked to the back of the store where the ice cream was. “What flavor are you getting?” Sam asked as they stared through the glass display. “I’m getting chocolate!”

“You always get chocolate.”

“It’s because I love it!”

There were only two real flavors to choose from—he didn’t consider strawberry a flavor. He could follow his brother’s lead or go with vanilla. Today felt like a chocolate day, so follow Sam he did. “Two chocolate cones,” he said to Mr. Taylor when the middle aged man approached. He paid and they took their cones.

They wandered the town aimlessly before ending up at Blue Gill Park. They played on the seesaws then chased some lounging mallards. One of the picnic tables caught Willem’s eye, the table where the photo in the lockbox had been taken. Happier times—it seemed like so long ago.

When they approached Willow Creek Bridge Sam tugged at his brother’s hand. “Can I try again?” he asked.

“Go for it. Want help?”

Sam looked at the ledge, determination in his eye. “No. I can do it all by myself.”

“Alright. Just be careful.”

Sam peeked over the ledge, timidness now creeping into his movements.

“You don’t have to do this,” Willem said even though he sensed Sam’s determination.

Willem stayed close as Sam put both hands on the ledge and boosted himself up, first one knee and then the other. He got one foot under himself and tentatively stood, arms outstretched. Once at full height be began to smile. “I’m doing it!” he shouted proudly. “I’m doing it, Willem!”

“Great job, Sam! Now start across… slowly. No need to rush.”

Sam put one foot in front of the other, slowly making his way across, and Willem paralleled him on the street ready to grab him if the need arise.

Willem was so focused on his brother that he didn’t hear a car fast approaching. It wasn’t until it was almost on top of them that he turned to look. The car swerved toward him as the driver laid on the horn. Four teenage boys hooped and hollered out the window as they flew past, well over the speed limit, forcing Willem to jump back. The car then swerved back into its lane.

“Assholes,” he said as he watched after.

The brake lights lit up and the car screeched to a stop.

“Willem? What’s going on?”

The cars reversed.

“I don’t know,” Willem said keeping his eyes on the car. Bobby jumped out of the back seat.

“Well look who we have here,” Bobby said as he strode to Willem. Behind him three older boys got out. Bobby stopped a foot from Willem, eyed him up, and snorted. “I knew I’d finally get a go at you if I waited.” He looked around, arms outstretched. “Here we are and not a soul around! You ready for payback?”

Willem was nervous. “Payback? It’s been three years, Bobby. You still sore over that?”

Bobby pointed to his crooked nose. “See this? And this?” He opened his mouth showing the hole where two teeth had been. “Yeah… I’m still sore.”

He could feel a dampness under his arms, his face growing warm. Could Bobby really have held a grudge for this long? “Are you serious? We were kids!”

“There are always consequences for our actions; my dad says that all the time. Today you finally get yours.”

“Come on, Bobby. I’ve got my brother here…”

Bobby glanced at Sam for only a second.

“Can we do this another day?” Willem asked. He looked at the older boys who had moved closer. “Just you and me.”

He tried to duck but was too slow. He hadn’t expected Bobby to throw the first punch without warning. His teeth rattled and his jaw throbbed, pain shooting through his legs as his knees slammed onto the concrete.

“Willem!” his brother screamed.

He tried to stand, but before he could Bobby’s foot connected with his gut. Wind exploded from his lungs—he wanted to puke. A punch to a kidney.

“Leave him alone!” he heard a tiny voice scream through the ringing in his ears.

Another kick, then a third punch to the side of his face as he tried to look up. Gravel bit into his palms and face.

He lay there, curled up in a ball, waiting. What was Bobby waiting for? Was it over?

He heard tires peel out, an engine disappearing into the distance. Willem tried to push himself up but couldn’t. He hurt. So fast! The fight couldn’t have been more than twenty seconds yet he felt like he’d been beaten for hours.