Ike Hamill - The Hunting Tree Trilogy

Davey spent the next hour of practice preoccupied with the ramifications of Charlotte’s death. Once he remembered the dream about her death, he started to recall the other gruesome dreams which had haunted his nights the previous weeks. If each terrible nightmare represented an actual murder, Davey wondered how many more nights he would last until the monster showed up at his door. His own death inconceivable, Davey focused on the horror of losing his mother or even his sister.

Davey still missed his dad, and he was still a little angry with him as well. His dad had turned into the terrifying, mutilated corpse on the stairs. To Davey, his dad’s transformation still seemed like a betrayal. He promised himself that he wouldn’t let something like that happen to his mother.

“THANKS FOR THE RIDE, COACH,” said Davey, getting out of the car.

The urge to hide was almost overwhelming, but Davey knew that if he didn’t show up at the Center they would alert his mother immediately and the search would commence. Pretending everything was normal, he walked through the door and checked in with the woman at the desk. Davey pushed through the interior doors and took a left to get to his assigned locker. Most of the kids arrived in the morning. Davey was one of a handful of children who only attended for the afternoon so he had the hallway to himself. With his bag stowed, Davey found his classroom and checked in with the paperback-woman before finding his way to the courtyard.

Davey scanned the courtyard and made his way to the outskirts of the younger group to take a position against the wall. Relieved, he saw that the pointing and staring from the previous day had abated. Unable to best him physically, Curtis had attempted to spread a rumor that Davey was the retarded son of a raped prostitute. The notion took hold briefly amongst the older kids, but having only one backer, it died away. Confronted at the end of the day, Davey had simply said, “Whatever.” The rumor lost its legs.

“Hi Davey.” Evan sat down next to Davey.

“Hey Evan,” Davey replied, smiling. He didn’t make eye contact.

“Whatchoo doin’?” Evan asked.

“I’m trying to think of a way out of here,” said Davey.

“Just go through the door,” Evan said, laughing. “That one there.” He pointed back towards the classroom.

“That won’t work,” said Davey. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Sure,” said Evan.

“I need to run away for a while,” he confided. “So my mom doesn’t get hurt.”

“Well then don’t go through that door,” Evan said, as if the idea had been Davey’s. “You have to wait until they start an activity and then get signed out.”

“What do you mean?” Davey turned to Evan, surprised the boy had even offered advice. He had started to think that Evan was not all there, but wondered if he had judged too quickly.

“That woman who reads the books only sticks around while Mr. Nguyen gets his lunch. She keeps a sheet in her drawer. If someone has to go home early, she marks them down on the sheet and the Mr. Nguyen knows that they’re not around.”

“How do you know about that?” asked Davey.

“I just do,” said Evan.

Davey turned to thank him for the advice, and remind him to keep the secret, but when he looked up Evan was already moving away, back to the other younger kids. Davey faced back front and saw why Evan had left—Curtis stood in front of Davey, blocking out the sun except where his blond hair appeared like a halo around his head.

Davey looked up and squinted at the older boy.

“Hey, man,” said Curtis. He sat down next to Davey and elbowed him in the side.

“What?” asked Davey, keeping his voice low and even to show his disdain.

“Sorry those kids were talking about your mother yesterday,” he said. “You’re pretty cool.”

Davey didn’t reply, he just cut his eyes over to see Curtis’s expression. The older boy had offered his hand to Davey. Wary of a trick, Davey slid a few inches away before taking the boys hand. They shook with two fast pumps and then released the grip.

“I just figured you were another d-bag like some of these other kids. That’s why I was so mean to you at first,” said Curtis.

“Okay,” said Davey.

“You wanna go throw the ball around or something?” asked Curtis.

“We only have like fifteen minutes,” said Davey.

“Yeah, I know. I meant, like, next recess,” said Curtis.

“Sure,” said Davey.

“Cool,” said Curtis.

Sensing no immediate attack, Davey relaxed a little. He figured Curtis was the type to come out swinging, and no fast attack most likely meant none was coming.

“What do you do in the mornings?” asked Curtis.

“Baseball,” said Davey.

“I used to do that,” said Curtis. “You’re lucky you’re not here. This place blows in the mornings. It’s so boring.”

“Yeah,” said Davey.

They talked for a few minutes, forging the beginning of a connection, and then Davey came up with an idea.

“Hey,” he said to Curtis, “can you help me with something?”

“Sure,” said Curtis.

DAVEY WAITED UNTIL FOUR MINUTES before the end of recess to put his plan into action. Curtis explained the protocol, and Davey followed the instructions carefully. He smacked his palm on the door and cupped his hands to the glass to spot the paperback-woman. She put down her book, walked over, and cracked the door.

“Yeah?”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” he said.

“You can hold it,” she said, glancing at the clock. “You only have five minutes.”

“I can’t. I really can’t,” he pleaded.

“Okay,” she said. “Go fast.” She held open the door and let Davey pass.

He squeezed his legs together and shuffled quickly across the long room, trying to look distressed. Davey slipped into the hall and shut the door behind himself. Back in the classroom, he heard another commotion. He knelt down below the frosted glass, and pressed his ear against the wood so he could listen to what was happening.

“Hey,” Curtis shouted into the classroom. “Hey lady, he’s trying to run away. That kid is trying to run away.”

“Whatever, Curtis,” the paperback-woman said.

Davey’s stomach flopped and he looked up and down the hallway, sure his plan would fail.

“He is,” Curtis continued, “he just left, you have to catch him.”

Short breaths were all Davey could manage, he didn’t have a word for the panic and excitement that had turned his legs to rubber. Certain the the paperback-woman would open the door at any second, he backed away slightly, looked at the frosted glass, and saw the dark blur of the woman moving behind the desk.

“If you’re messing with me, you’re not going outside for a week,” the paperback-woman addressed Curtis. Miraculously, Davey heard her voice trailing off as she moved away from the door. He reached up, still crouching on the shiny tile, and turned the knob. It took both hands to form a grip with his sweaty hands. Davey cracked the door open and saw the paperback-woman standing in the far doorway, looking over the courtyard. He wanted her to turn completely away, to be more engaged with Curtis’s subterfuge, but he also didn’t want to squander what might be his only chance.

Davey shuffled, staying low, over to the back of the desk and slid open the top drawer. Opened to page twelve, the ledger listed each student’s name. Next to the entry, a time showed when the child arrived. Flipping back through the pages, Davey found what he was looking for—an example of an entry from when a child had been extracted from the program early by a parent.

He memorized the syntax and flipped back to page twelve. Next to his name, the inscription “B/R 1:26” showed the reason for his current absence. Davey erased the entry and replaced it with “OUT/MTHR 1:26,” copied from the example on page ten. He slipped the book back into the drawer and pushed it closed.