F. Wilson - Secret Circles

He looked around. What to do? His first instinct was to run around to the other side of the trailer, grab his bike, and race like mad out of here. But if he tried that he risked Mr. Vivino spotting him.

Had to hide. But where?

Like last night, too early for the moon, so he had darkness on his side. He saw the big propane tank nestled against the side of the trailer. He looked under and around it but saw no space big enough to hide.

A door slammed at the Vivino house.

“I get my hands on you, I‟m gonna tear you apart!”

Oh, crap!

No place to hide on the ground, how about up? No trees—but the trailer had a flat roof.

Swinging the camcorder around so its strap encircled his throat and the cam hung between his shoulder blades, Jack hopped up on the propane tank and levered himself onto the roof where he immediately flattened himself against the damp sheet metal—just as Mr. Vivino fought his way through the hedge.

Swearing and cursing in a steady stream, he moved to the front of the trailer and started banging on the door.

“Rosen! Rosen, you nosy old bastard! Was that you? Were you peeking in my window?”

He kept pounding and shouting, but no one but Jack was listening. The only house within earshot was Mr. Vivino‟s own.

Finally he stopped, and Jack had an awful thought.

My bike!

If he searched around the other side of the house he‟d find it. He wouldn‟t recognize the BMX

as Jack‟s, but eventually he‟d find out.

But no. Muttering to himself, he headed back to his own yard. Jack didn‟t wait around as he had last night. He eased himself down to the propane tank and from there to the ground. He ran around to the other side of the trailer, grab bed his bike, and began pedaling north on 206—away from Johnson. He‟d go about a mile, then double back. He‟d look like he was returning from the circus.

The circus … He wondered if the sheriff‟s department was looking into the Michigan thing and if they‟d found anything. He was glad he‟d mentioned it to Tim. He‟d helped there.

He touched the camcorder dangling from his neck. And he could help even more here. All he had to do was find a way to let the vets see this tape at their smoker tomorrow night.

A tall order, one he had only a vague idea of how to fill.

But he‟d find a way. He owed it to Tony. But more important, he owed it to Sally and her mom.

They were the ones living through that hell.

6

Later on, back home, he hid the camcorder in his room, then went back and stuck his

head into the living room where his folks were watching Remington Steele Just another private eye show to Jack, and not a very good one, but he suspected his mother liked watching Pierce Brosnan. And Dad probably didn‟t mind looking at Stephanie Zimbalist either.

He said good night and headed for his room. He closed the door and sat on the bed. He‟d promised to meet Weezy for their equinox excursion into the Pines but didn‟t much feel like it.

After what he‟d seen to night, he wanted nothing more than to pull the covers over his head and hide. If he slept, he wouldn‟t have to think about it. But he‟d probably dream about it.

Maybe the simple, natural purity of the Barrens would clear his head.

He climbed out the

window. As he eased his bike from the garage and walked it toward the street, he wondered at the strange way events had been connecting lately.

If Weezy had never found the pyramid in the mound, Jack wouldn‟t have started digging to find another, and wouldn‟t have found the corpse. If he hadn‟t found the corpse, Freeholder Haskins might still be alive. If Mr. Haskins were alive, Mr. Vivino wouldn‟t be running for his vacant seat and wouldn‟t have visited Jack‟s house with Sally Saturday night, awakening memories of Tony. And without those memories, Jack might not have peeked into the Vivino backyard Sunday night. And if he hadn‟t done that, this tape wouldn‟t exist.

A strange sequence of events that could be traced directly back to the pyramid. So many incidents—including all those deaths—circled that mysterious little pyramid.

Where would it end? Would getting it back change things for the better? Or make them worse?

Maybe if they got it back he could convince Weezy to rebury it in the mound where they‟d found it. Put the genie back in the bottle, so to speak.

Yeah, he thought with a shake of his head. She‟ll go for that. Uh-huh.

7

They met up at the lightning tree and Weezy led him into the Pines. The bright, rising moon lit the trails while casting deep shadows beneath the trees.

“Look!” she cried after they had traveled no more than a hundred yards or so. “Lumens!”

Three pine lights, varying in size from a Ping-Pong ball to a basketball, drifted in a line along the treetops to their right, heading south.

Mr. Collingswood had mentioned them and Jack had seen some last month when those

mysterious men had been excavating the mound. No one knew what they were. He‟d heard them explained as St. Elmo‟s fire or swamp gas, even heard they were the souls of dead pineys back for a visit. Mrs. Clevenger‟s words about “odd phenomena” came back to him, and how “odd”

might be a gross understatement.

Curiosity urged him to follow, but he hesitated, hearing Walt and Mrs. Clevenger‟s warnings about being in the wrong place during the time of the equinox.

Then he saw another pair of softball-size lights skid by overhead, moving in the same direction as the others, and that clinched it.

“Let‟s go!”

Following wasn‟t easy. The firebreak trails didn‟t always match the direction of the lights, but whenever they came to a fork, they angled toward the lights. Luckily the lumens didn‟t seem to be in a terrible hurry to get wherever they were going, if anywhere. But Jack sensed a direction, almost as if they had a purpose. But of course they had no purpose. They were just balls of light.

As he and Weezy traveled, more and more lights joined the procession until they were following a couple of dozen or more. Some moved more quickly than others, zigzagging past the slower ones, like cars on a highway. They seemed to have a definite purpose now, gliding through the dark, weaving from tree to tree along the topmost branches as if following signposts.

“Jack! Isn‟t this wonderful?”

He wasn‟t so sure. He felt a gnawing sensation in his chest. Had anyone ever seen anything like this? Then he noticed the silence. The Barrens were a noisy place, with animals, birds, and insects constantly hooting and crying and chirping, the breeze rustling the bushes. All that was gone now. Even the crickets were quiet. It seemed like the whole place was holding its breath.

The good thing was he didn‟t feel threatened. The bad thing was he didn‟t know what to expect.

The thing he least expected was for their line of lights to meet up and merge with another line from the east. But it did, just up ahead of them.

They mingled awhile, then began to flow toward the south.

All except one …

A soccer-ball-size light stayed behind, then began drifting their way. Jack noticed Weezy‟s rapt expression as it neared. He felt a strange tightening in his chest. He gripped her upper arm.

“I don‟t like this.”

“I do.”

It sank to about a dozen feet off the ground and hovered before them.

“The lumen … it‟s humming, Jack! Like music.”

Jack heard a high-pitched hum. His hackles rose and his skin tingled as if the air was charged with electricity. He broke out in a cold sweat.

“Let‟s get out of here.”

But Weezy didn‟t budge, even as the lumen came closer. She reached out a hand, as if to touch it, but Jack snatched it back.