Ike Hamill - The Hunting Tree Trilogy

As he crossed back to his desk, Davey assessed the room. Everyone still seemed to be concentrating on their tasks, but he noticed the quick glances as he fetched his chair and dragged it back to the desk. Before sitting down, Davey took one last look around the room, this time noticing that Curtis had flopped his hair over his forehead, to cover the rising lump near his temple.

Curtis made one more attempt to intimidate Davey. When he noticed Davey looking at his forehead he caught his gaze and made a motion across his own neck, miming slitting Davey’s throat.

Davey stared at Curtis until the older boy looked away.

HE WAS EXHAUSTED by the time Mr. Nguyen tapped Davey on the shoulder. The little man simply pointed to the door and Davey knew what it meant—his mother had come early to pick him up. His emotional and physical stress melted away at the prospect of getting home and getting away from forced activities and older antagonists.

During their afternoon recess, Davey had admitted to himself that he might have made a mistake when he challenged Curtis. As soon as they entered the courtyard, Curtis had joined a group of boys who hadn’t been present during the confrontation. It dawned on Davey that Curtis and his friends might gang up on him in the courtyard. When one of the boys laughed at Curtis and pushed him away, Davey breathed a sigh of relief. Based on his chilly reception, Davey suspected that Curtis had as few friends as himself.

All those concerns faded into memory as Davey pushed open the front door and saw his mom’s car parked at the curb. He rode home without uttering a word. He simply looked out the car window as his mom talked on her cell phone and drove.

AT DINNER, DAVEY WAS UNSURPRISED to find his sister in a bad mood. She spent most meals either brooding or trying to find a spiteful angle of attack against her mom.

Tonight she targeted Davey.

“How was retard school, retard?” she asked between bites.

Davey didn’t respond. He simply chewed carefully and looked at the calendar on the wall. He was re-counting the number of days until Paul returned from vacation.

“Susan,” their mother scolded eventually while reading a piece of mail. “That’s an ugly word.”

“What do you care?” Susan challenged. “You sent him there.”

“It was our only choice at this late date, and it’s a perfectly fine class,” Melanie explained.

“Ashley’s brother has to go there, and he’s a total retard,” said Susan.

Melanie moved her glasses to the bridge of her nose and lowered the letter. “Susan, what did I just say?”

“You said it was your only choice,” said Susan, sneering.

“I said, don’t use that word,” said her mother.

“No you didn’t,” Susan informed her. “You said it was ugly. You never said don’t use it.”

“Well I’m saying it now.”

Through this exchange, Davey kept quiet, but made sure his chin was up and shoulders back. He sensed another challenge coming his way and he meant to greet it head-on.

“Well, Ashley’s brother can barely dress himself, and he’s older than Davey. Is that what you’re learning? How to dress yourself?”

Not detecting any direct insults or threats, Melanie tuned out the question and returned to opening her mail.

“Did you?” Susan asked again. “Are you too dumb to answer?”

“Susan…” Melanie warned.

Davey looked up and raised his eyebrows at his sister. After swallowing his mouthful, he shrugged slightly. “Whatever,” he said.

“Oh my god,” said Susan. “You’re so retarded. ”

“Susan!” Melanie raised her voice. “You could join your brother at the Career Center. Would you like that?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” said Susan. “You’ve already paid for my dance class and it’s non- refundable.”

“Keep testing me,” started Melanie, “and you’ll find out what I’ll do.”

Susan sensed truth behind the threat and shut her mouth without rebuttal. Scoring a minor victory, Melanie pressed forward. “Now apologize to your brother.”

Susan glared at Davey for several seconds before her one-word apology. “Sorry,” she said. As she spoke the word, Davey was lifting his fork with another bite of potatoes. Under the table, Susan pulled her foot back and kicked out at Davey’s shin. The velocity of her hard-shoed foot was savage, despite the day of dancing class. Davey never took his eyes from the calendar and didn’t slow the fork to his mouth, but quickly pulled his legs back, out of the way of the unseen kick.

Susan cried out as her foot connected with the hard table leg instead of her soft brother’s.

Unfolding a bill, Melanie hardly seemed to notice. “What’s wrong, honey?” she asked.

“Nothing,” said Susan, tightening her mouth to a thin line. She shot Davey another glare, but he never met her gaze.

“HELLO?”

“Morris? I think it’s him. Did you hear about the guy near Sebago?” Mike asked the phone.

“I’ll call you back,” said Morris.

Mike clicked off his phone and turned up the volume on his television. The reports lacked any real detail, but the hair stood up on the back of his neck and his instinct screamed that there was a connection. Since mid-morning, the local stations had been reporting on yet another murder in the area. According to Mike’s improving mapping skills, this new one made perfect sense in the chain that he and Morris had tracked earlier.

When the phone rang Mike nearly jumped off the couch.

“Morris?” he asked before he even had the phone all the way to his ear.

“It’s not him,” said Morris.

“What? How can you be sure?”

“I talked to my cousin,” he said. “My other cousin,” he clarified. “Says the MO is totally different. The guy was connected to some shady stuff. Someone broke through the window, took the guy off into the woods, cut him up, and buried him. This guy used tools and wore boots. They’ve ruled out a connection.”

“But its right in line,” said Mike. “How many times is someone killed around here? It’s got to be our guy. Did you find out when it happened? If it was more than a day or two ago, our guy is probably almost to the coast by now.”

“I heard it was earlier today,” said Morris. “Just a fluke that they found him so quick. If it was our guy, then he would be moving much slower than before.”

“How did they find him so fast then?” asked Mike, unwilling to renounce his suspicion.

“Don’t know,” said Morris, starting to return to his regular, more taciturn self.

“You want to go out there? See what we can find?” asked Mike.

“Nope,” said Morris. “You haven’t even paid for my gas for last time.”

“I know, I’m sorry about that,” said Mike. “Like I said, I haven’t had a chance to go to the bank, but I will really soon. You’ll get it as soon as I’ve got it.”

“Tell you what,” said Morris. “You bring by money, and we’ll go track.”

“Seriously?” Mike asked the phone, pulling it away from his head to look at it. He found it impossible to believe that Morris wasn’t as intrigued as he was at the prospect of tracking down the elusive giant. “You must want to know what this thing is?”

“Not enough to waste my time for no pay,” said Morris.

“Okay, whatever,” Mike sighed. “Thanks anyway.”

“Get my money,” said Morris.

Mike heard the phone disconnect with a click. He returned his concentration to the television and wondered how he could find the location of the latest crime. The report gave precious few details, and nobody yet on the scene. They settled for updates every thirty minutes from a reporter behind a desk in the studio. A generic map of the area took up the other half of the screen.