Rhett McLaughlin - The Lost Causes of Bleak Creek

On top of all that, earlier that day, he and Leif had made the gut-wrenching decision to pull the plug on PolterDog.

“But don’t you think Alicia would want us to finish it?” Leif had asked, standing in front of his bathroom mirror wearing a curly brown wig he’d found in the plastic bin in his garage labeled PROPS. He was hoping Rex would agree that he would make a suitable Alicia replacement for the remaining scenes.

“Unless we want to write in a part for a bad Richard Simmons impersonator,” Rex had said, plucking the wig off Leif’s head, “I don’t think it’s gonna work.”

“What if we find another girl to play her role?” Leif had asked. “Like how Elisabeth Shue replaced Claudia Wells as Jennifer in Back to the Future Two ?”

“First off, you’ve always put that on your long list of why the second movie sucked. Also, that’s a switcheroo in between movies. We’d be making the switch in the middle. Wouldn’t fly.” Rex had directed his gaze down to the wig in his hands. “Listen, Alicia won’t be at Whitewood forever. We can finish it when she’s out. We’ll make Sundance next year.”

He hadn’t really believed that. In truth, he’d developed an abiding sense that nothing would ever be the same.

Rex now turned in to a gravel driveway, the small wheels of his scooter grinding to a crunchy stop on the loose rocks that led to the house of Travis Bethune.

Not only was Travis the nicest person Rex and Leif had ever met, seemingly never disparaging anyone, but he had an untold number of jobs: landscaper, septic tank pumper, chimney sweep, house painter, and, most important, volunteer fireman. He traveled from job to job on his bright red moped and wore a thick black leather belt that held a walkie-talkie, two beepers, a flashlight, a large bowie knife, and a giant key ring loaded with what looked to be thirty keys or more. The teenagers around Bleak Creek regularly referred to him as Redneck Batman. He didn’t seem to mind the moniker, and Rex and Leif didn’t know if that was due to his unwavering positivity or just the general allure of being compared to Batman.

They’d met Travis a couple of years earlier, during one of Rex’s dad’s barbecue exploits; his grill fire had gotten out of control, accidentally igniting a backyard tree, and Travis was on the team who’d shown up to put it out. Rex and Leif were outside filming the fire, thinking it could be incorporated into their first movie, a messy series of comedy bits—way less cohesive and ambitious than PolterDog —entitled The Bleak Creek Boyz . Once the blaze was extinguished, Travis struck up a conversation with them. Even though they were only twelve and he was in his thirties, Travis took them seriously as filmmakers and mentioned multiple times that he’d be down to do stunts if they ever needed someone. They took him up on it right then and there, filming him jumping out of several different trees once the other firefighters left. He’d been their stuntman ever since.

Suffice it to say, when Rex realized he needed a fire extinguisher, he’d immediately thought of Travis, who’d called Rex back three minutes after he’d beeped him.

Rex walked the rest of the way up to the single-wide trailer, which Travis referred to as his “ranch-style house,” despite the wheels under the mobile home being only somewhat obscured by the wood lattice skirting. Travis opened the door before Rex even reached the front steps.

“Hey, man!” he said, flashing his signature grin. “Come on in. My casa, your casa!” Rex didn’t often see Travis without his utility belt. He seemed smaller.

“Thanks, Travis,” Rex said, hit with the smell of solder wire and bacon grease as he stepped onto the brown shag carpet. He’d only been to Travis’s house once before, as he always seemed to be out and about.

Rex had decided to make this a solo trip. Over the years, he’d learned that the best way to get his often-tentative best friend on board with an idea was to just start doing it. He was confident that if he went through the trouble of gathering the items by himself, talking Leif into meeting up with Ben again would be that much easier. He’d already retrieved three of Ben’s requests: a metal rake (from his dad’s shed), hot dogs (from the meat drawer in the fridge), and Cheerwine (from the shelves of the Piggly Wiggly).

He could have walked into Thomble and Sons Hardware and bought a fire extinguisher with the Christmas money he still had stashed in his Thundercats Lion-O piggy bank, but given the scrutiny he and Leif were already under following the barbecue incident, Rex supposed that going to Travis, the volunteer fireman, was the wiser choice.

“Glad you’re here,” Travis said. Adopting a serious tone, he added, “You know, I ain’t supposed to share the tools of the trade with laymen like yourself. But I’m willin’ to make an exception for you. Now, whatta you need it for again?”

Even though he doubted Ben would actually kill them if the secret of his forest hideout was revealed, Rex still felt it was safest to honor the forest boy’s wishes. “Uh, we’re experimenting with some mild pyrotechnics,” Rex said as genuinely as he could.

“For PolterDog ?” Travis asked.

“Uh, no. A new project. We had to stop working on PolterDog, ” Rex said. “You know, because of Alicia.”

“She quit or somethin’?” Travis asked.

“She got sent to Whitewood,” Rex said, surprised he didn’t know.

“Oh, shoot, that was her?” Travis was crestfallen. “She was part of that group makin’ the movie? The ones who bumped Mr. Whitewood?”

“Yeah,” Rex said, confused. “That group was us, Travis.”

“What!” Travis’s eyes bugged out. “Oh, wow. That’s— I shoulda guessed when I heard the movie thing. Plus, you’d think I’da seen her at Whitewood.”

Rex’s knees weakened. “Why were you there?”

“Work there,” Travis said, putting his hands on the back of one of the folding metal chairs surrounding his dining room table, looking off into the distance pensively. “I cut the grass. Once a week. I like it there. It’s peaceful.”

“What is— What’s it like inside?” Rex asked. “You think Alicia’s gonna be okay?”

“I don’t go inside, but oh, yeah, she’ll be good,” Travis said, nodding. “It’s tough, sure, but it does right by kids. Mr. Whitewood is a great man.”

Hearing that Travis worked there and had no concerns about Alicia’s well-being was by far the most reassuring thing Rex had learned about the Whitewood School.

“So what’s the new movie?”

“Oh. It’s, uh, kind of experimental.”

“You mean, like, about chemistry or somethin’?”

Rex felt horrible lying to Travis, but it was just too easy. And necessary.

“Sort of. Yeah.”

“You boys are so dang creative. A chemistry movie. That sounds awesome!”

“Yep…”

“You sure you don’t just want me to come and keep an eye on things when you do the pyro?” Travis asked. “I live for that kinda stuff.” He leaned in and spoke in a whisper, “To tell you the truth, that’s why I’m a volunteer fireman. I love to watch stuff burn.” Catching himself, he said loudly, “Of course, I love puttin’ it out, too!”

“Uh, well I don’t think you’d find this too interesting. Just sparklers,” Rex said, adding another thread to his web of white lies.

“Hmm. Yeah. That ain’t really even fire.” Travis paused, looking at the fake-wood-paneled wall. “All right, lemme get it.”

Travis got up and walked through a bead curtain to the back of his trailer. Rex stood waiting, surveying Travis’s assortment of what looked to be about a hundred California Raisins figurines on the kitchen counter. There were lots of repeats. At least twenty of the one on the skateboard.