F. Wilson - Secret Circles

“You think … you think that could have been some sort of human sacrifice?”

Weezy was on her feet too, shaking her head. “Maybe one of the keepers got too close at feeding time.”

What had gone on here? No question that something with big sharp teeth had been caged in this space, but what?

His neck tingled and he did a quick turn to see if someone was watching. Just his imagination, maybe? He‟d been thinking about the captive just now and then he‟d got that sensation.

“What‟s wrong?” Weezy said.

“Nothing.”

He didn‟t want to alarm her. He walked the inside perimeter, peering out at the surrounding trees through one gap after another. No sign of anyone. Or anything.

But the sensation remained.

Thunder rumbled.

Jack shot a look at the sky and saw that the sun was gone and thunderheads were piling in the west. When had that happened? They must have been so engrossed in their digging they‟d failed to notice.

“Are you thinking about that thing that chased us last night?”

He turned to Weezy. “You mean the bear?”

“I mean the thing .”

“Yeah, I guess I am.” He cupped his hands to boost her out of the cage. “Let‟s get out of here.”

She looked relieved. “Took the words right out of my mouth. So much for this pyramid. From now on we concentrate on getting the little one back. But when we do, I‟m bringing it back here and setting it in the top of that center column—just to see what happens.”

As he boosted her up, he said, “Anyone ever tell you that you have a one-track mind?”

“Yeah. I‟ve heard that.” She squeezed between two megaliths and turned to offer her hand. “But the truth is I have a multi -track mind. It‟s just that one track‟s been getting a lot more use than the others lately.”

Tell me about it, Jack thought.

5

They beat the storm home by minutes. Jack got in just before his mother and polished off his homework before his father arrived.

The storm was over by the time he finished dinner. He threw on a green Eagles sweatshirt and announced that he was going to take a ride over to the Connells‟. Which he did: He rode his bike over to their house, into their driveway, and immediately out again.

Jack hated to lie.

He rode down Quakerton, dodging puddles as he headed for USED. He noticed half a dozen cars parked in front of the VFW, and spotted Walt standing by the front door. He wasn‟t keen on announcing his presence, but he wanted a closer look at him. “Walt?” he said, strolling up the walk.

“Huh?” Walt turned and grinned. “Hey, Jack. I hope you don‟t think you‟re gettin‟ in.”

In the light from the front of the post Jack could see that Walt‟s eyes were still clear. Did that mean he might still be “needed”?

“Nah. I don‟t smoke.”

Walt laughed. “Good one.”

More cars were pulling up and parking, more vets strolling into the post. If Mr. Bainbridge appeared and spotted Jack, he‟d for sure mention it to his father. Best to get out of sight.

He waved and headed back to his bike. “See ya.”

He rode across the street to USED where he parked in the shadows alongside the store. He watched the VFW from those shadows until cars stopped pulling up and the front door closed.

Then he stole across the street and around to the rear of the post.

The backyard was dark, making it easy to find the basement window: He simply followed the light. Someone had opened it for ventilation and air laden with cigar stink wafted out.

Jack knelt for a look and immediately felt the moisture from the wet grass soak through the knees of his jeans. Crap. He should have thought of that. He bent forward and found himself overlooking the TV set.

A motley group of mixed ages, shapes, and sizes: World War II vets in their late fifties and early sixties, fiftyish Korean survivors like his father and Mr. Bainbridge, and the Vietnam vets in their late thirties and early forties. They all had one thing in common: They‟d made it through the fire of war. The experience bonded them. They seemed genuinely to like each other.

Smoke layered the air as some stood around smiling and talking, beers in one hand and stogies in the other, while others sat at the tables shuffling cards or counting out chips.

Boys’ night out…

He spotted Mr. Vivino in the mix. Jack bet his wife and daughter were glad he was out having a good time and not beating on them. He watched him move through the crowd, grinning,

laughing, shaking hands. Mr. Politician. Mr. Freeholder-to-be.

We‟ll see about that.

Jack backed away a bit when he saw Mr. Bainbridge approach. He bent and disappeared behind the top of the TV. From this angle Jack couldn‟t see what he was doing, but guessed he‟d opened the cabinet doors. Half a minute later he rose and turned to the crowd.

“All right,” he said, holding up the cassette boxes. “Which do we want— Pizza Girls or Electric Lady ?”

Jack tried to project his thoughts through the window: Electric Lady … Electric Lady … Electric Lady …

“ Pizza Girls !” someone cried.

“Yeah!” said another voice. “ Pizza Girls !”

A chorus of “ Pizza Girls !” followed.

No-no-no-no!

“ Pizza Girls it is!”

Jack suppressed a groan as Mr. Bainbridge popped open the box and pulled out the cassette. He realized then he‟d made an awful mistake. He had no idea how long these movies ran. What if they showed only one per smoker? He should have hidden Pizza Girls behind the cabinet with the Electric Lady cassette. Then they would have had to play Jack‟s tape.

And worse, he still didn‟t know if his copying had been successful.

He wanted to kick something.

6

Jack paced the dark, narrow aisles of USED. He‟d let himself in but left the lights off so he could hang out while the film was running. Every twenty minutes or so he‟d sneak over for a peek into the basement. So far, the same every time: some watching the TV and making wisecracks, some playing cards, some in deep conversation. He‟d seen Mr. Vivino and Mr.

Bishop, the local lawyer and proud father of blubber-butt Teddy, with their heads together. They looked like they were planning a revolution.

The one thing Jack could never see was the TV screen, so he had no idea what the men were watching. At this point, he didn‟t care. He just wanted it to be over so they could move on to the main attraction.

He stopped at the store counter and grabbed the flashlight Mr. Rosen kept there. He

flashed it on one of the clocks. It had been an hour or so since the film started. He doubted it was over yet but guessed he should check again anyway. Who knew? Maybe the tape would jam and they‟d start the next film early.

Once more he hurried across the street to the rear of the post. As he peeked in the

window he spotted Mr. Bainbridge approaching the TV.

“I think that deserves an Academy Award, don‟t you?” he said to his buddies.

Some laughed, some clapped, some kept talking, and the card players barely looked up from their hands. Mr. Vivino and Mr. Bishop still plotted in the rear of the room.

Mr. Bainbridge ducked out of sight, then reappeared holding another cassette box.

“Okay!” he announced. “For our next Oscar contender we have Electric Lady !”

This was greeted by halfhearted cheers and clapping from the vets, and a silent fist pump from Jack.

Yes!

He settled onto his already wet knees and sent up a prayer that there‟d be something on that tape.

Mr. Bainbridge stuck his cigar in his mouth and pulled out the unlabeled cassette. He frowned as he turned it back and forth in his hand.