Aric Davis - The Fort

Scott couldn’t even feel good about having seen Molly. The police and her parents thought she was dead, and soon she would be, if she wasn’t already, he was sure of it. They had been given a chance to save her, and it had been taken away by adults who didn’t listen when they needed to the most.

But what am I going to do about it? Nothing, that’s what. He was going to sit in his room for the rest of the ruined summer, and that would be that. Unless, when they do find the body, they realize that it must mean we were telling the truth!

The realization of what that would mean sank in heavily. Molly would still be dead, and the best that could happen to him was that he might have some rights restored.

If he wasn’t grounded, he could go look for the guy. They’d all seen him, and Scott knew he’d recognize him from what he’d seen of his face, as well as from what he felt sure would be a serious limp.

None of it mattered. He wasn’t going anywhere. His mom had quit her job early so that she could be home with him—her choice, but his fault, according to her—and there was going to be no sneaking off to figure out what had happened. One thing did keep coming back to him, though it seemed almost impossible. What if he broke the house arrest but he and his friends figured out who had taken Molly? Could he get in trouble for that? Sure, they’d be mad at first, but they’d get over it, especially since they would have been wrong to ground him in the first place.

After imagining himself as the returning hero whose criminal past had been redeemed, Scott let the doubts fall out of his head like sand through his fingers: He was just one kid, Tim and Luke were grounded too, and they were the only people who knew that Molly was still in trouble. There was nothing that any of them could do about it, and there was nothing that was going to change that. He’d only just learned the phrase “catch-22,” but that’s what this was, and he was stuck in the middle of it. Scott lay in bed with his hands laced behind his head, wishing for the first time in his life that school would hurry up and get here already.

Tim walked to Becca’s room after getting out of the shower and getting dressed. His dad had worked him like a dog in the baking sun, making him carry load after load of pea gravel into the backyard. Tim carried so much of it that he could actually see a difference from when they had started. When he tried to point that out to his dad, he was just told that he didn’t need to talk to work. Tim discovered that his dad was right: after hearing that, he didn’t want to talk either.

He needed to talk now, though. Now he needed to ask his sister some questions.

Tim knocked on her door, and a voice answered the knocking. “What?” said Becca.

“It’s Tim. Can I come in?”

“Why? Want to lie to me or something?”

“No,” said Tim. “I just wanted to talk to you. We’re both grounded. It’s not like you have anything better to do.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know. I’m just bored. Mom and Dad are super pissed, and I don’t have anyone to talk to.”

“Go away,” said Becca from behind the door.

Tim opened his mouth to speak and then let it go. He walked back to his room and turned on the fan, then opened the window. It had cooled off, at least. Something on the windowsill caught his eye, and Tim slid the screen open. It was a Sprite cap, and a small piece of paper had been taped to it. The note said, “In the fort, next two nights.”

Tim balled up the paper and stuffed it in the trash can by his desk, and put the Sprite cap in his pocket. Luke had a plan, and Tim didn’t care what it was, he just wanted in. Anything will be better than being stuck inside all summer, and it’s not like I can get in any more trouble than I’m already in.

Tim had been tired before the shower, and even more so after talking to Becca. Now, he still felt weary but was energized as well. He checked the clock radio: it was nine thirty. Tim set the alarm for 1:30, well past the time that his parents were normally asleep, and slid the clock under his pillow to muffle the sound. He shut off his lights and lay in bed, sure that he wouldn’t sleep, but he was out in seconds.

30

Van Endel sat alone at the Shipwreck. It wasn’t a cop bar, and that was what Van Endel liked about it. Most cop bars were full of bravado, with Irish and ancient police artifacts on the walls and cops drinking too hard for men who carried a gun as part of their day job. Van Endel had no use for shoptalk, especially not after a day like today. He was going to drink a beer or two, maybe have a scotch, then call it a night.

He’d been taking it pretty easy since waking up basically drunk the night that he’d first gotten the call about Molly. He felt guilty getting too out of sorts, had even considered the shame of getting called with a major lead and being too tight to act on it. To keep himself in check, that meant bar drinking. He could cut himself off a lot easier there, for some reason, and it was nice to be out of the house and not on the job at the same time.

The first few months since Lex had left him had been tough, but Van Endel was more worried about where he was headed these days. Lex was too far in the past to be an excuse for anything anymore, yet she still really was affecting his life. He didn’t date, he didn’t do anything. It felt like all he was doing was playing the miserable-cop cliché, always just managing his drinking and finances, never being anything more than the job.

She came into his life like a storm and left like one as well. They’d started dating in college, at Michigan State University, his plan for law enforcement, hers for veterinary medicine. Van Endel had graduated, but Lex hadn’t, dropping out instead with what was to be the first of three failed pregnancies. They never talked about it later, but Van Endel knew in his soul that being a vet was something she had wanted to do, and was no longer something she still wanted for herself. Quitting for the baby that was never to be, and staying away from it for the babies that were never to be. Van Endel knew his long-suffering wife had given up on her dreams. What he didn’t know until much later was that she blamed him.

Van Endel had worn a detective’s shield for just six months when she left. It was the death knell to what Van Endel would have described as the best time of his life, had someone asked. They were doing good financially for once, even though Lex still wasn’t working, and his goal had come to fruition. Being a detective was why he had started college, it was something he’d known he wanted to be since he’d first seen reruns of 87th Precinct on TV, and later when reading books by the show’s creator, Ed McBain. The show, and mostly the books, had made him see being a cop as something that some people were just built for, and he felt sure that he was one of them. Lex’s leaving crippled that part of him.

Had she just left, that would have been one thing. He would have been bruised, but not broken. When she left, though, rage in her eyes and mouth, she’d told him how she really felt about her cop husband. She hated him for what he was. He was a pig, a phony, he was worthless to her. Van Endel hadn’t known for sure that she was using cocaine behind his back until that moment, hadn’t known that she was cheating on him. “You’re such a shitty detective,” she’d said, “that you didn’t even know.” The first of many confessions. She’d left that night, picked up by a sheepish man ten years her junior. Van Endel had left, and when he returned, the house was empty. He never even filed a police report for the stolen goods, just slowly and cheaply rebuilt his home, and who he was. Neither had turned out too well.