F. Wilson - Secret Circles

“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.