F. Wilson - Secret Circles

“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.