The noon sun was poised high overhead as Ronnie trudged through the woods, a backpack slung over his back. Today was an abnormally windy day for a summer, which were usually marked by still air and stifling heat. The temperature was tolerable, and the breezes that ran through the woods set the trees rocking and sighing in a way that struck Ronnie as positively marvelous. Wearing the ring, he found that he held an entirely different regard for the trees and the way that the wind moved them. It wasn't like he could see some fantastical pattern in the way it swayed back and forth, or that he suddenly understood the physics of the whole system to a greater level… it just seemed to imbue him with a greater appreciation for systems so complex. He could simply sit in meditative silence and watch such things for hours—and, over the past several days, had done precisely that.
Under the effects of the ring, everything seem magnified, in a way. It's not like his vision was zoomed in, and it wasn't like he perceived things at a greater intensity, exactly, but it was more a change in depth of perception. When he felt his own bag shift against his back, he felt what he supposed were the shifting weights of each and every chess piece tucked away within. When he heard the rustling of the trees overhead, he felt as though he could hear a million separate clicks and groans instead of the one single susurrous rasp of wind that he'd have heard normally. With every footfall, he didn't just feel hard ground or soft ground, but he truly felt a full impression of the spot of land covered by his foot, just by all the minute parts of the movement that were slowed or resisted or permitted. By the way the ankle shifted gently but then met some firm resistance as his weight shifted, he knew he'd stepped on soft dirt with something solid—perhaps a tree root—buried inches below. With the next foot fall, a nearly imperceptible resistance on the left side of the footprint that gradually leveled out let him know he'd stepped on a small, sprouting plant… he didn't even need to glance down from the drifting trees above to know his step with absolute certainty. He allowed himself to experience the forest absolutely, banishing thoughts and any distractions that might arise. He let himself be moved by the complexity of it all, and allowed his path to meander as he chased out glimpses of an eagle that glided overhead.
His wandering path meant he was somewhat slowed, and so it wasn't until 12:23 that he arrived to the familiar forest clearing… they had been aiming to meet at noon. As he closed the final steps of distance, Ronnie looked to the landmark that dominated the local geography: Castle Rock. Named for the fortress in "Lord of the Flies," it was a massive, towering thing, featuring an indentation along the top that almost served as a flat platform with raised walls around it. The boys weren't sure if it had been carved into its current shape, or if it was simply the way nature had formed the massive stone, but the imposing place quickly became a forest landmark. The rear of the stone transitioned from smooth, sloping rock to a more granular, rough-hewn stone that offered numerous footholds and handholds to climb the thing. Again, whether intentional or accidental, they couldn't be sure. Ronnie saw the boys perched up there at the top of the rock, stationed as though guards overlooking a prison. It didn't take long for one of them to see him.
"Took you long enough," called Wade from above, noticing Ronnie's arrival first.
"Apologies… think I lost track of time," Ronnie replied, shaking his head.
"Skinny isn't with you?" Shaun asked, looking behind Ronnie to the empty woods beyond.
"Was he supposed to be?" Ronnie asked.
"He hasn't showed yet, so when the both of you were late, we thought you two might have been together," Logan called down.
Logan, in the sleepless hours between last night's work and today's rendezvous, had been mutely curious about how he might handle today's conversations… and when the fingers of dread threatened to creep in, they were nothing a quick use of the Empathizer couldn't fix, keeping him level, calm, and prepared. This morning, he had withdrawn a color never before seen to him… an inky black with the faintest tendrils of deep ocean blue. Was that color guilt? Self-loathing? Remorse? Or, perhaps, could it have been commitment? Resolve? Purpose?
Now, as the boys slipped into their usual rhythm, Logan found that he could still smile convincingly and project the same air of normalcy that he'd held all through the past. Guarding secret wounds from the world for so long came with its benefits, he supposed.
"I'll climb on up," Ronnie volunteered, walking towards the rear of the rock.
"Don't bother," Logan said. "We're coming down."
One after another, the boys filed backwards down the myriad handholds until they were all back at ground level.
"Went up there to see if we could spot you guys," Shaun said.
"You didn't hear anything from Skinny about him missing out today, right?" Parker asked of Ronnie, settling to the base of the rock.
"Nope. If I had to guess, he's probably just feeling under the weather," Ronnie ventured.
"What have you got in that backpack there?" Logan asked.
"Chess board again, a deck of cards, a few books you wouldn't be interested in, and, oh!—I nearly forgot—Parker's spray-painted gun from the convenience store."
Ronnie fished the fake gun out from his bag and grimaced, noting that the gun had smeared black paint over much of the inside of his bag.
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Parker stepped forwards, pleased to see the fake weapon. "Thanks for bringing that over… my mom was asking about us being near there the other day. I think the less evidence for her to find, the better," he said, taking the plastic gun. It felt stickier than he remembered, which made him all the more eager to get rid of it. He walked over to Castle Rock's uneven rear and found a small crevasse in the rock's surface. He slipped the gun in and let it go, watching as it fell out of sight into some small eroded cubby in the rock.
"Well that's that, then," Parker said, wiping his hands on his pants. "Police evidence: discarded. Any other criminal mischief we want to get into today?"
"Weren't we planning to hero today?" Ronnie asked, settling down on a small stone.
"We were," Shaun said, "but I don't think Skinny would wanna miss out."
"Worried we'd hurt his feelings?" asked Wade.
"Worried we'd hurt ourselves," Shaun replied. "It was close enough last time when there was six of us. Five won't go any better."
"Skinny's parents should be out at work… what if we went back to his place and saw what's what?" asked Ronnie.
Some nodded their assent, while others shrugged their indifference. With no nay-sayers, the boys donned their backpacks and set to walking.
* * *
The boys arrived to Hampton Drive, a small offshoot of a road that featured homes a half-step above most of the middle-class residences in Boone—but still a healthy three steps below the rich, grand manors and mansions that pocked the town's outskirts. The Trent family was modestly wealthy: the mother, Michelle, was a veterinarian who earned a more-than-comfortable living, and the father, Jackson Trent Senior, worked odd jobs when he was healthy enough. This summer had been one of those periods.
The home itself featured an impressive archway between two walls of the home that led to something of an open courtyard where the front door could be found. Not wanting to risk a conversation with the parents (if either of them happened to be home), the boys opted instead to walk around the rear of the house, moving towards the window they knew marked Skinny's room. Inside, the lights were off, making it hard to peer through the window into the darkened space against the glare of daylight. Cupping his hands to the window, Ronnie peered forwards.
"It looks like the room is empty," Ronnie concluded. He then began to knock on the window anyways.
Without initially being sure why, Logan elbowed his way towards the window and peered in as well. He let his eyes trace over the posters on the wall, the ones selected by Skinny to decorate his space. He looked over at the loose objects on the desk: a silver Slinky, a desk lamp, a red pen, a picture frame angled away from the window. Logan knew that the hand that had set those objects in place would never set anything anywhere again. In a way, the room had been alive, changing every day as Skinny interacted with this and adjusted that and set those against the wall… now it was still as a mausoleum, as though the thing itself had been slain by Logan with the same revolver. In that moment, a tremendous something seemed to position itself over Logan and began to squeeze down like a vice, his ears no longer hearing his friends but instead recalling that horrid music of the cabin, the buzzing, the rattling, the pattering, the clicks. Logan couldn't stand it any longer… he backed from the silent room beyond the window and was yanked away from his internal terrors as he fell over backwards into a seated position on the ground.
The pain of his fall was a welcome thing, as it grounded him in the present outside Skinny's home and kept his mind away from that claustrophobic shack in the woods. Wade snickered. "Walk much?" he asked, offering a hand to help pull Logan to his feet.
"Well, it looks like he isn't here," Shaun said.
"Maybe the kitchen?" Ronnie offered.
The boys set out circling the home, peering into windows that marked the main rooms of the home. Through one, they saw an empty living room, lights dimmed and television set switched off. In another, the kitchen stood dark and silent, no stove burning or microwave running. In a third empty room, an adjustable bed that resembled a hospital cot sat inclined at an angle, an IV drip bag poised to its left and a small set of inscrutable machines nearby. A fourth window had the blinds closed, and so Wade walked up and pressed his ears to the glass.
"No sound inside," he declared. "Think the whole place is empty."
"Maybe he was on his way but late?" Logan asked.
"We took the most direct route from Castle Rock to here… we would've seen him," Ronnie replied.
"Maybe his mom or dad needed his help at work or something?" Shaun suggested.
Wade replied "I could totally see him as a veterinarian's assistant, wearing scrubs and putting puppies to sleep."
"He's good with animals," Shaun said, ignoring Wade's comment.
"Whoa, hold the phone, check out that set of wheels," Wade interrupted, pointing towards the street. The boys turned to see the approach of a sleek, blue car whose engine growled with obvious latent power. Wade whistled a cat-caller's whistle.
"That's not one of Skinny's parents, right?" Shaun asked, having never met the Trent parents personally.
"Dude's clearly white," Wade said, watching as the car pulled closer.
"Looks like he scuffed up his hood," Logan observed, noting a dent near the front headlight.
"Shame," Wade added, shaking his head. "A beautiful thing like that deserves to be treated right."
The car drove along without slowing as it passed the boys, Wade watching it go. "New York plates," he added. "Someone's an out-of-towner."
"Hey, Wade, is that an Empathizer in your pocket, or did you just see a nice car?" Logan joked.
"Don't act like you weren't into it, too," Wade said, turning back to the house. "That thing just oozed power and speed."
"Not the only thing oozing," Logan replied, setting Shaun and Parker giggling.
"So what's the call on Skinny?" asked Wade, gesturing to the emptied house.
"I guess we just call today a misfire," Ronnie answered. "Whatever's got him busy, it's got him busy. Meaning, no hero antics today. Maybe we just regroup tomorrow back at Castle Rock?"
The boys nodded in agreement.
"If we're going home, I pass the vet's office where his mom works… I could see if he's there and pass on the plan," Shaun volunteered.
"And I pass the gas station. I'll check by there," offered Wade.
The boys said their farewells, exchanged their handshakes and fist bumps, and split off in their separate directions. As soon as Logan was alone, he wandered off his path home and found a large tree a short distance into the woods. Slumping against its trunk, he wept openly and loudly, careless of who might hear him. His body shook and tears streaked from his eyes. Grief, anger, sadness, remorse, and tinges of regret grabbed at him all at once and squeezed with unbearable force, reducing Logan to pitiful, wet sobs. The empathizer called to him, as though it whispered in his red, ringing ears, offering its emotional bliss, its comforting silence. He fought that impulse off through gritted teeth—for a time, at least. When he finally caved to it, and withdrew batteries of hateful, self-loathing color, it wouldn't be right to say that he felt better… as always, he simply didn't feel a thing at all.