Aric Davis - The Fort

When Luke was done eating, he put his plate in the sink and walked to the living room. His sisters were where he had left them—one on the floor, one lying across the couch—and both of their plates were empty. The soap opera was still blaring from the TV as Luke passed in front of their glassy-eyed faces to collect the dishes, and once they were retrieved, he headed back to the kitchen. Luke set the plates in the sink with his, then turned on the water and laid a towel down upon the counter so that he would have space to let them dry. Mom doesn’t work but is almost never home. Where does she go? This thought, much like the one concerning the condition of their house, was almost too black to really put much energy into. Luke felt quite certain that no matter what his mom filled her days with, it was probably better not to know.

When the dishes were done, Luke noticed a familiar smell coming from the other room. Drying his hands with the same towel he used as a drying rag, Luke walked into the living room, where he saw his sisters smoking cigarettes, flicking the ashes into their mom’s pilfered Arby’s ashtrays.

“You guys can’t smoke in the house!” Luke bellowed. “If Mom finds out you guys were stealing her cigarettes, she’ll kill you, not to mention what she’ll do if she catches you smoking in the house.”

“But she won’t catch us,” said Ashley, blowing a ring of far-too-practiced smoke from her lips. “Because we didn’t steal Mom’s cigarettes,” finished Alisha. “We told her that we smoked a few weeks ago, and she’s been buying them for us ever since.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” stammered Luke. “We’re broke. Why would Mom let you do that? Not to mention it’s terrible for you. Everybody knows that.”

“We’re not smoking a lot,” said Alisha. “That’s why you haven’t seen us smoking before.” She exhaled another blast of nicotine and tar. “Besides, Mom told us it would help us keep our figures,” said Ashley. “I’m not going to get all fat and gross. Plus, guys like girls who smoke. Mom told us that too.”

“I’m leaving,” said Luke quietly. “I’ll be back for dinner.”

“Fine,” said Ashley, her eyes already focused on the TV, her lipstick-stained cigarette dangling from her fingers. “Yeah,” seconded Alisha. “Of course you are. You’re never home unless it’s time to eat. You might be older than us, but you sure act like a kid. All you do is run around in the woods with your stupid friends. You’re totally wasting your summer.”

“All you two do is watch TV,” said Luke. “And apparently now you smell bad doing it.”

“Luke,” said Ashley. “You have no idea what we do when you’re not around.” She stubbed her cigarette in a foil ashtray and returned her focus to the television. “Yeah,” said Alisha, punching out her own butt. “We have big plans, and you don’t have a clue.”

Luke turned from them, let the door slam shut, and began to walk to the fort. When he got there he dropped his Sprite cap on the ground and began to climb the ladder. Just like the cap on the ground, he was alone in the woods.

Scott walked to the mailbox, one last thing to do before he could rejoin his friends. Lunch had been boring as usual, no one was home to talk to, and there was nothing good to watch on TV during the day. This summer sucks so far. The target was supposed to give them days of fun, but all it really did was show them that make-believe went only so far.

He watched as a police cruiser rolled slowly down the street toward him, followed closely by a matching car that was missing police markings. The cruiser slipped past him, but the other car eased to a stop across the street, even with him. The cruiser stopped too. Scott gave a look behind him, but there was no one there. The driver’s window of the car without the markings rolled down, and a younger-looking guy hung out an arm holding a wallet and a piece of paper.

“Come over here, son,” called the man in the car. “I need to ask you a couple of questions.”

Wary of the stranger, but comforted by the presence of the definitely-a-police-car idling in front of him, Scott slowly walked into the street to the car. “What can I help you with?”

The man in the car flipped open the wallet, and inside it was a picture of him, along with a silver badge. “I’m a detective with the Grand Rapids Police Department,” he said. “And right now, we’re looking for a missing girl. Seen anything odd out in the woods back there today?”

“No,” said Scott. “How did you know I was in the woods?”

The detective pointed at his shoes. They were dirty, and did sort of look like he’d been in the woods. “Oh, OK,” said Scott. “But no, I haven’t seen anything weird. I’m going back there to meet some friends, though. We can keep a lookout.”

“What grade are you in, son?” asked the detective, who made the wallet disappear and then handed Scott a black-and-white photocopy of a picture of Molly Peterson. It looked like a school photo.

“I’m going into seventh,” said Scott.

“You’re tall for your age,” said the detective. “I would have figured freshman, maybe sophomore by your build. You were not at the drive-in last night, then?”

“No,” said Scott, shaking his head. “Is Molly really missing?”

“She is,” said the detective, who pulled the photo back into the car. The hand came back with a card, which the detective pressed into Scott’s hand. It said, “Detective Richard Van Endel” and had a phone number. “If you or your buddies come across anything in those woods, call this number. It’s my direct line.”

“Do you think she’s back there?”

“I think she’s somewhere, and there’s an old trail that leads from behind the screen of that movie theater.” Van Endel shrugged. “Just keep your eyes open.”

“I will,” said Scott, as the window rolled up and the car started to move. He looked at the card in his cupped palm. Cool.

12

Detective Van Endel sat in Dr. Andrea Martinez’s office. Martinez was a leggy Hispanic woman with ample breasts and a beautiful caramel skin tone. She was also a lesbian, not currently dating, and took judo twice a week. Those who thought she was just an arm piece waiting for the right arm were sadly mistaken, and discovered as much quickly. Dr. Martinez had been working with the Grand Rapids Police Department off and on for the past few years, and Van Endel valued her counsel more than just about anyone else’s. This was not the first case he had asked for her thoughts on, and it was not going to be the last.

“So give me your first impression,” said Dr. Martinez. “Is she gone?”

“She’s gone,” said Van Endel. “But there’s more to it than that. The kids I talked to are all telling the same story, but it feels rehearsed. Not to mention, I know the shit kids get into at that drive-in. Nothing like this has ever made anyone turn tail, from what I’ve heard. I mean, a little making out goes a little too far, girl’s friends help her get away from the guy, end of story.”

“I wouldn’t treat attempted rape quite so flippantly, Dick,” said Dr. Martinez. “The number of unreported rapes in this country—in this county —is growing astronomically. There is no use debating that.” She smiled. “Especially with me.”

“I’m not treating anything flippantly,” said Van Endel. “My point is that there’s probably something illegal happening at that drive-in almost every day involving teenagers, and I just don’t see this big of a group of them freaking out over one girl getting groped and then leaving without a friend. I know they said they went back for her, but I don’t think they did. I just don’t think we’re getting even half the real story.”