The Vivisectionist (16 page)

Jack spoke first: “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever read, except for maybe these numbers at the end.”

“Why? It makes sense to me,” said Stephen.

“But think about it—why would he set up a light, and power for the light and then aim it into the woods?” asked Jack. “So that some random person like us would see the light and then come looking? Why not just have no light, no money, and hire someone to guard the place.”

“Well a guard would cost a lot more,” said Ben. “And a guard also means there’s something valuable, so it might have the opposite effect. People would
want
 to break into a place with a guard.”

“Okay,” said Jack, “but still, why lure people to find your money, when you could just leave the place boarded up. If a guard is suspicious, isn’t a light and this weird letter even more suspicious?”

“Yeah, that’s true,” said Ben. “But, we’re supposed to press the button. What if that does something else too?”

“So we have to assume this guy is lying?” asked Stephen. Jack and Ben nodded in agreement. “Well, then it’s simple—if he’s lying then we shouldn’t believe anything in the letter unless we confirm it ourselves.”

“Makes sense,” said Jack.

“So, we push the button and then wait until the 19th and see if more money appears?” pondered Ben.

“Right,” said Stephen. “And we also see if the place really is empty.”

“How are we going to do that without wrecking the place?” asked Jack. “Besides, maybe it’s just good enough to get seven-hundred dollars each year. That’s pretty good money for doing nothing.”

“True,” said Ben. “But he really must be hiding something good in there. Why does he want it to stand for half of fifty years?”

“I don’t think that has anything to do with what’s inside,” said Stephen. “But I still think we need to know what’s in there.”

“Hey,” said Jack, “you’re only going to be here until the seventeenth. Can you change that?”

“I don’t know.” answered Stephen. “I can call my mom tomorrow. What time is it? I guess I mean later today.”

“Yeah,” said Jack. “We should get some sleep—it’s way late.”

Exhausted, they put away the letter and money, and turned off the flashlight. For almost fifteen minutes they lay in silence, but couldn’t sleep. Eventually, Ben dug around and found the flashlight again. He opened the letter and began to re-read it.

“I think it has something to do with the land,” said Ben. “There’s something he’s trying to hide on the land—and he covered it with a hotel.”

“Could be,” said Jack. “It’s almost dawn, we should really get to sleep before my mom gets up.”

They could have slept until noon, but Jack’s mom woke them up for breakfast a few hours after they had finally gotten to sleep.

**********

They caught a huge break later that morning—Jack’s mom had to go out to run errands. Jack politely declined when she offered to take the boys along. She wasn’t concerned that they would get in trouble while she was gone. They hadn’t really stirred from the couch since breakfast. Ben wanted to go back to sleep after eating, but Jack convinced him that going back to sleep would arouse too much suspicion. With his mom leaving the house, Jack thought it would be perfectly safe for them to put their damp clothes in the dryer and take a nap.

Later that day, after they rested, they talked about the hotel again.

“Are we going back tonight?” asked Stephen.

“Damn right,” said Ben.

“I’d like to know what he meant by putting up the laser and this small puzzle,” said Jack. “Did he mean the puzzle was the laser, or did we miss another puzzle?”

“Maybe the arrow and the hatch was the puzzle,” said Stephen.

“I guess,” mumbled Jack. He was trying to remember every detail of the previous night, but it seemed too much like a dream.

**********

Leaving the house that night, they were more nervous than before. Jack paused at every noise as they put on their dark clothes and made their way to the back door. He even went back once, convinced he heard someone coming down the stairs. Once out the door, they were fine. They moved with confidence through the woods.

At the hotel, they had an argument over their next step.

Stephen said, “We still don’t know if we can trust anything from the letter. We should look through one of the windows and see if it really is empty.”

“But if we mess with the place, we might not get another delivery of money,” said Ben. “Let’s just press the button and get out of here.”

They reached a compromise: press the button, see if anything happened, and then explore the perimeter of the hotel. The porch roof creaked and seemed less stable. The laser was still on, and they found the hatch right where they remembered. It was a strange feeling—confirming their surreal memories.

“Okay, so press it,” said Jack.

Ben peered at Jack—“I thought you were going to press it.”

“Wait!” said Stephen. “What if it’s a bomb or something?”

“This is a weird time to think of that,” said Ben.

“I can’t help it,” said Stephen. “It just seems like it could be a bad thing.”

“Well then tell my mom goodbye,” said Ben as he reached out and hit the button. He pressed it all the way in—it sank more than he expected. A loud “CLICK” made them jump. Ben 
felt
 the click through his switch-finger as well.

“Hey, the laser’s out,” Stephen noticed.

“I know it was on when we came up here,” said Jack.

“Probably turned off by the button,” offered Ben.

They paused, not sure what to do next.

“Press it again,” said Jack.

“Why?” asked Ben.

“Just do it.”

“Okay,” said Ben.

Ben pushed the button again. There was no click this time so he held his finger in for a moment and then released.

“Wait,” said Stephen, “did you hear that? Do it again.”

“Hear what?” asked Jack. Jack and Ben turned to Stephen.

“I heard something behind that wall,” answered Stephen. “When you held the button in, there was a sliding noise or something.”

“I didn’t hear anything, but whatever,” said Ben. He pressed the button a third time and held it. They all held their breath and listened with all their energy. After a few moments, Ben’s shoulders slumped and he began to remove his finger from the button. Then they all heard it.

A scraping sound began somewhere inside the hotel. Jack pressed his ear against the side of the building and Ben cocked his head to try to focus the sound. It sounded like a heavy piece of metal being dragged across stone or rough concrete. After about five seconds, the sound stopped and a the same “CLICK” repeated itself.

“Sounds done, whatever it was doing,” said Ben. “But maybe we should try again?”

“Not yet—let’s think about this,” said Jack. “It really did sound like something was opening or closing in there. And I get the feeling that it was completed.”

“Yeah,” said Stephen, “it moved and finished.”

“Let’s see if anything changed,” said Jack.

The three of them poured over the section of wall they could reach from the porch roof. Inside the small wooden compartment, where the laser used to come out, and around and above—they could find no more holes, latches, or compartments.

“Now what?” said Stephen. “Are we missing something?”

“I wish we had the letter with us,” said Jack. “I think there’s more to that than we saw.”

“Let’s go see if we can look inside,” said Stephen. “I think we’re done up here.”

The hotel had engaged them now—captivated their attention. No longer tentative, they stalked around the back of the hotel looking for a way to see inside. One of the boarded up windows had a corner that was slightly exposed. Each took a turn pressing their eye up to the hole and shining a flashlight in. It was so dark in the hole that it took Ben several minutes to realize that they were only seeing a dozen inches.

“There’s concrete inside that window,” said Ben. “Check it out—there’s nothing to see.”

By holding the light up to another gap in the opening, Ben illuminated the gap between the plywood and a solid concrete wall on the other side of the window.

“What the hell?” asked Stephen. “Let’s find another.”

Along the back wall they found two more holes and confirmed the story of the first window. As far as they could tell, the windows opened to nothing more than a solid wall.

“Does this make any sense at all?” asked Jack.

**********

Eight the next morning they were up.  They figured Jack’s mom would get suspicious if they had too many mornings of sleeping late, so their plan was to get up and dressed by eight-thirty. Groggy, Jack tried to force himself to act normal. His dad was working at home that morning—catching up on paperwork.

Ben and Stephen sat at the kitchen table and poured cereal. Jack stood near the refrigerator and debated what to have. His mom walked in and sat a bag of newspapers on the counter.

“Oh, hi boys, you’re awful quiet—I didn’t know you were in here,” said Jack’s mom.

“Hey mom,” said Jack.

“Hi Mrs. Randolph,” said Ben.

“Good morning, Ben,” she said. “Do you want something cooked for breakfast?”

“No thanks. Cereal’s good,” said Ben.

Jack’s dad materialized from the door to the office. “Hey,” he said, “everyone’s here!”

“Hi dad,” said Jack.

“Jack, Ben, Stephen, I’ve got a favor to ask of you this morning,” said Jack’s dad. “I was talking to the sheriff yesterday afternoon.”

Jack studied his father for a sign of trouble and, sensing none, tossed a look of caution to Ben and Stephen who had stopped breakfast mid-chew.

Jack’s dad continued: “He’s very interested in the shells you found at the pits. He said they match the type used by the boys he suspects of killing dogs. He’d like to talk with you this morning.”

“Okay!” said Jack. “When?”

“Hand me a glass—would’ya Bub?” said Jack’s dad. “He’s coming by this morning some time, so just stay in the house until he comes by.”

Jack handed him a glass from the cabinet and his dad filled it from the sink.

“No problem, dad. We’ll just hang out in my room,” said Jack.

Jack started to head out of the kitchen towards the stairs.

“Aren’t you going to have any breakfast?” asked his mom.

“Oh yeah,” said Jack as he turned and went back to the kitchen table.

**********

Sheriff Kurtwood sat in the big chair in the living room. Rather, he sat on the edge of the big chair. When Jack was a kid he used to curl up in that chair sometimes and take a nap so he could hear his dad working in the adjoining office. The sheriff hunched forward over the coffee table, where his notebook and day-planner were open—he was flipping through his calendar.

Ben, Jack, and Stephen sat on the couch opposite the sheriff.

“So,” the sheriff began, “you said you were hiking on the fifth?”

“Yes,” said Jack. “July fifth—it was the day after we went to the fair.”

The sheriff flipped backwards to the previous page of his notebook. “Huh,” he said. He scanned down the page with his finger and tapped the page. “Your dad said your mom found the casings when she was doing laundry on Sunday. But you found them on the fifth.”

“Yeah,” reiterated Jack, “it must have been before the sixth, because I still had my sling on.” He pointed to his right arm.

“That’s right,” said Stephen. “He reached for the casings, but couldn’t get them because of his arm, so I had to get them.”