Ike Hamill - The Hunting Tree Trilogy

When he heard his sister’s discarded magazine hit the table, Davey took a gamble. He sidled down to the plant and checked the reflection in the window one last time. As quickly and as quietly as his sneakers would allow, Davey tiptoed behind the couch and made the safety of his mom’s office without being seen.

He slipped out the sliding door, closing it harder than he intended. Glancing in the window, he found he was safe—his sister and mom were deeply engaged in the kitchen. Davey moved across the side yard and crossed through the Jankovick’s yard to get to the alley between the houses.

Crouched behind the bushes, Davey dialed Paul’s number.

“Hello?” Paul answered the phone timidly.

“Hey Paul, it’s me,” said Davey.

“Jesus, Davey,” Paul said, “I thought it was your mom. You know I’m not supposed to get calls on this phone. My mom’s gonna kill me if she finds out.”

“Don’t worry,” said Davey, “she won’t find out. You don’t get charged for nighttime calls, and she’s not going to look at the bill if there are no unexpected charges.”

“Yeah, but she could,” said Paul.

“Look, I need your help,” said Davey.

“No way,” said Paul. “My mom might eventually let us hang out together after I get back from vacation, she even said so, but if she catches me helping you with something now, she’ll never forget it.”

“I’m totally serious about this,” said Davey. “If you don’t help me now I might not be around when you get back.”

“Seriously?” Paul’s voice became very small at the other end of the call.

“Yeah,” Davey said with a heavy sigh. “You know I wouldn’t joke with you about that.”

Davey waited while the phone was silent. He knew Paul and knew that his deliberation couldn’t be influenced once it began.

“Yeah, okay,” Paul said eventually, “what do you need?”

“Meet me out back your place,” said Davey, “and bring the keys to the shed.”

“How come?” asked Paul.

Davey waited again while Paul figured it out. He suspected that if he stated the request aloud, it would be easier for Paul to deny.

“No!” said Paul. “No way. Anything but that. My brother really will kill me.” Paul muffled the phone with his hand, but Davey still heard him address his mother—“Nothing, Mom. It’s my game.”

When he came back to the phone, Davey applied pressure. “You have to Paul. I wouldn’t ask unless it were life and death, you know that. Plus you owe me for that other thing.”

“This is different,” said Paul. “My brother’s gonna know it was me, and he’s my brother.”

“Paul, I’m scared,” said Davey. “I really think this is my only hope."

He waited for yet another pause until Paul came back on the line. “Okay, but you have to take the lock all the way down the street and bash it and then bring it back. Then he won’t know it was opened with a key.”

“I don’t have the time to do that,” said Davey.

“Okay, but you have to push it all the way to the corner so he doesn’t hear it start,” said Paul.

“Yeah,” agreed Davey. “I’ll do that.”

“Meet me out back in five minutes,” said Paul.

“Thanks, man,” said Davey, but the call had already ended.

BY DAVEY’S WATCH it was more like fifteen minutes before Paul arrived. Davey had slunk from yard to yard, avoiding the streetlights and triggering the occasional barking dog. His feet were muddy and his pants wet almost to the knee by the time he got to Paul’s yard. He crouched behind his friend’s backyard shed.

“Davey?” Paul whispered.

“Right here,” said Davey.

“What’s going on with you?” asked Paul.

“I can’t really explain,” said Davey. “It would take too much time. There’s a guy trying to kill me, and if I’m around here, he’ll kill my family too.”

“Whoa,” said Paul, “that’s bad.” He shifted his slippered feet and looked out across his dark yard towards his house.

“I know,” Davey nodded.

“Well, here,” he held out the keys for Davey. “I gotta get back in before my Mom catches me.”

“Which one is it?” asked Davey.

“Little round one,” said Paul. “I’ll see you later, I guess.”

“Wait,” said Davey. He wiggled the key until the lock popped open. “You better take these back.”

“Oh yeah.” Paul turned back to get the keys.

“Thanks again,” said Davey. “Have a great vacation.”

“Sure,” said Paul. He shuffled back to his house and left Davey to his task.

He could barely see inside the dark shed. Fortunately, the dirt bike was parked close to the entrance. It took most of his strength to wheel the heavy bike out into the moonlight. He wondered how he would ever keep his promise to get it to the corner. Ignoring the challenges soon to come his way, Davey focused on the easier prerequisites. He filled the bike’s empty tank with a can next to the lawn mower and hunted for a helmet. The only helmet hanging on the wall was way too big—meant for Paul’s brother.

Paul wouldn’t be old enough for his own helmet until his next birthday, if at all. The last time Davey had been allowed to try the bike, he had worn his own bicycle helmet, but he hadn’t remembered to bring it during his escape from the house.

Davey glanced around one more time, trying to think of what he had forgotten. He raised the kick stand and then put it back down, remembering to go back to the hiding place in the back of the cabinet, where Kris kept the key for his motorcycle. Before he left, Davey closed the doors to the shed and pocketed the lock. Even if there would be no sign of a break-in, at least the missing lock would point that direction, he figured. He grabbed the handlebars and set his sights on the back gate. Despite its weight, the bike rolled fairly well down the gently sloping yard.

SHE ANSWERED THE PHONE and skipped all formality, wary of any more bad news. “Did you find something wrong?” she asked.

“Pardon?” asked Mike. He glanced at the phone and confirmed the number on the display matched his vague memory of Melanie’s number.

“From the blood this morning. Was there something wrong?” she asked again.

“I’m sorry Ms. Hunter,” said Mike. “I’m a colleague of Ken Stuart’s. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

“Oh Jesus,” she said. “What is it? What’s wrong with my son?”

“Ken was attacked tonight in his home,” said Mike. “I’m afraid he didn’t make it.” Mike fought to keep his voice calm while delivering the news.

“Oh my god,” said Melanie. Her voice was unmistakably lighter than it had been a moment before. Mike figured that was natural, she must have thought he was delivering bad news about her son. He heard her shuffle the phone and guessed she was taking a seat. “What happened?”

“There’s a man,” said Mike. “He’s insane, and he murdered Ken and his girlfriend this evening. I’m afraid that your family will be his next target.”

Mike waited for her reaction, but instead heard rustling from the phone as she walked rapidly.

“I recognize your voice,” she said. “You’re that crazy guy who called yesterday, asking me if my son thinks someone is after him, aren’t you? Markley? Wasn’t that it?”

“I’m Dr. Markey, Ms. Hunter, and I’m not crazy at all,” said Mike. “I’m talking on Ken’s phone and driving Ken’s truck because I just watched him die at the hands of someone who is crazy. And if you don’t listen to me, you’re next. He’s coming right for you and your son.”

“I’m going to hang up now,” said Melanie. “I suggest that you… Oh fuck.” She let out a slow breath.