Shivers 7 (3 page)

Mr. Rose stares at the boys like he’s just explained something only a moron would have trouble understanding. He stands there at the edge of the woods, his arms crossed, waiting for an answer. Jason doesn’t say anything, just shoots a worried glance Bill’s way. Bill doesn’t know what to say, either. He’s never talked to a crazy person before.

And he’s sure that’s exactly what Mr. Rose is. A crazy person. Forget the man’s neat appearance. Forget the “Dad’s day off” wardrobe. Mr. Rose is crazy. Anyone can see that.

Even Red Rover.

Mr. Rose takes a step forward, and the little dog barks louder, baring his teeth.

Mr. Rose sighs. “I’m glad someone here will talk to me, but that’s enough from you, Rover. I already heard you bark. After all, that’s why I came back to check on you.”

Cheryl Ann’s father smiles some more, but Bill’s having none of it. “We saw you throw this dog in the lake,” he says plainly, because he can’t see any point in sugarcoating what happened. “We can’t let you have it back.”

“You boys are making a mistake.”

“No,” Jason says, and his voice doesn’t quaver at all this time. “You made the mistake, mister. You tried to drown your dog. And we saw you do it.”

“Red Rover is not my dog. I’ve already explained that to you. He belongs to my daughter, Cheryl Ann.”

“It doesn’t really matter who he belongs to,” Bill says. “As far as we’re concerned this dog is our responsibility now, and we’re going to take care of him.”

Mr. Rose shakes his head. “You boys have to listen to me,” he says. “I know it sounds strange. I didn’t believe the stories about my daughter when I first heard them myself. I didn’t believe them until I came out here to the lake a few months ago, on the anniversary of Cheryl Ann’s death. That’s when I found out that the stories were true. I heard my daughter’s voice, heard it as plain as you’re hearing my voice right now. I heard her calling for Red Rover. She had a special way of calling him.
Red Rover, Red Rover, won’t you come over....
”

“Look,” Bill says. “We’re sorry about Cheryl Ann, but—”

“I don’t care if you boys are sorry or not,” Mr. Rose says, his voice rising. “All I care about is my daughter. She wants her dog back. She loves that little guy so much, and she’s all alone now. She needs Red Rover. You boys can understand that, can’t you? You wouldn’t want my daughter to be all alone out here, would you?”

Mr. Rose waits for an answer, but he doesn’t get one.

A moment later he wipes a hand over one cheek, just below his sunglasses.

The boys can’t believe it. Mr. Rose has started to cry.

Bill doesn’t know what to say to that. Neither does Jason. He bends down and picks up Red Rover and cradles him under one arm. Then he turns his back on Mr. Rose and starts walking. Mr. Rose doesn’t make a move. After a minute, Bill follows Jason. They start along a dirt trail that traces the edge of the lake. The trail that leads back to town begins where Mr. Rose is standing, but they can’t take that one yet. First they have to go back to the other side of the lake, to the spot where they were looking for frogs. That’s where they left their camping stuff and, more importantly, their shoes. It’s a mile from the lake back to the country road that leads to town, another mile from there to their neighborhood. They’ll never make it that far barefoot.

They walk fast. It’s rough going, though. The path is rocky, and they have to watch their step. While they walk, Bill keeps glancing over his shoulder, watching Mr. Rose, all alone on that little scab of a beach.

It’s dusk now, and soon it will be dark.

Mr. Rose just stands there, not doing a thing.

Bill steps on a sharp rock and winces. He looks down. He’d better watch where he’s going. There are lots of rocks on this part of the path. If he remembers right, there are a few broken beer bottles, too.

Right now, a hunk of broken glass in his foot is the last thing he needs.

What happens next, Bill doesn’t need, either.

The next time he looks over his shoulder, he sees Mr. Rose coming after them.

And he’s running.

* * *

Bill yells a warning, and Jason turns to look.

“Jesus Chrysler!” he yells. He turns to run, the dog still cradled in his arms. Bill’s right behind him, picking up steam. A couple more steps and Bill’s shot past him. Rover’s clawing Jason’s chest, trying to break free, but Jason holds on, trying to keep his eyes on the dog and the trail at the same time. The rocks are killing his feet. Jason hates going barefoot and never does it. Bill’s always teasing him, saying that for a guy who wants to join the U. S. Marines someday he sure has tender baby feet—

Jason sees the broken beer bottle a second too late, just in time to hear a thick shard crunch under his right foot. The pain explodes up his ankle, turns his knee to jelly, and drops him as surely as if he’d been hit by a hammer. He lays there on the path, and he’s still got Rover in his arms—he’d pulled the dog to his chest like it was a football when he fell—but he can’t hold on and the terrier scrambles away and charges up the path toward Bill, who doesn’t even know that his friend has fallen.

Jason looks in the other direction and sees Mr. Rose running up the path, coming straight for him.

“Bill,” Jason shouts. “Hold up!”

Bill breaks stride. Stops and turns. Red Rover shoots past him like a rocket, and Bill swears.

Jason gets up as quick as he can. He tries putting weight on his cut foot, but suddenly it’s like his foot has grown a mouth, and it lets go with a scream of bloodcurdling proportions.

Jason grimaces. Gotta be he’s sliced up pretty good, but that’s the least of his worries. Mr. Rose is still coming down the path, running hard. Jason stands there, waiting, trying to brace himself. There’s not much else he can do.

He closes his eyes, just for a second.

He hears Mr. Rose’s footsteps in front of him.

And Bill’s footsteps coming from behind.

He takes a deep breath.

He opens his eyes.

* * *

Bill watches as Mr. Rose barrels into Jason. The big kid doesn’t stand much of a chance. He’s unsteady on his feet to begin with, like he twisted his ankle or something, and he starts to go down as soon as Cheryl Ann’s father hits him.

At least Jason manages to grab Mr. Rose and take him down, too. They roll off the trail, into the water, and they end up in a tangle of cattails. Mr. Rose comes out on top. He’s screaming now, but Bill can’t make out a word the man’s saying.

Bill tries to run faster, tries to hurry. He’s so intent on helping his friend that he almost steps on a busted beer bottle. He jumps it and doesn’t even break stride but he’s still about twenty feet away from Jason and Mr. Rose and he’s dancing over rocks, but he can’t miss all of them, and the ones he steps on punch his heels like nasty little fists and—

Just that fast, Bill stops cold.

It’s the look on Mr. Rose’s face that stops him. The man’s smiling, his thin lips framing gritted teeth. He’s got Jason pinned in the cattails, and he’s holding the boy’s head underwater, and Jason’s exhalations are bubbling to the surface.

“You boys
shouldn’t
have given me an argument,” Mr. Rose says, looking at Bill. “You
should
have given me that dog while you still had the chance.”

Jason’s arms thrash in the muddy water, but Mr. Rose holds him firm.

Bill’s heart pounds in his chest.

He snatches up a rock.

It’s about the size of a golf ball.

He lets fly.

* * *

Bill has never heard a sound like it. It’s awful. Like a cleaver hitting a rack of beef ribs, only worse.

Bill doesn’t see where the rock goes after it hits Mr. Rose in the forehead. He expects the man to fall over, the way bad guys do on television. But Mr. Rose just stares at him from behind his sunglasses, and pretty soon Bill wonders if the rock missed the man entirely.

No
, he tells himself.
I know the rock hit him. I heard the sound.

The same way Mr. Rose hears his daughter calling in the night?
asks a voice in Bill’s head.

No! I heard it hit him! I know I did!

And just that quick Bill knows he’s right, because just that quick he sees blood gushing from Mr. Rose’s forehead. Red streaks spill down the lenses of the man’s sunglasses. Blood washes down his nose and drips off his chin. But Mr. Rose doesn’t cry out, and he doesn’t wipe away the blood.

He releases Jason, and Bill’s friend crawls out of the muddy water coughing and gasping for air.

Mr. Rose stands up and wades out of the cattails. He climbs onto the path. And now he’s coming towards Bill. And he’s still smiling. And he pushes his sunglasses high on his nose, as if nothing has happened at all.

Bill backs off. He sees Jason gagging by the side of the lake. His friend is in no condition to help him stop Mr. Rose. So Bill dips down fast and picks up another rock. The lenses of Mr. Rose’s sunglasses are painted with blood. Bill doesn’t even know if the man can see him anymore. All he knows is that Cheryl Ann’s father is coming for him.

Mr. Rose’s Hush Puppies crunch over the same broken beer bottle that cut Jason’s foot. He opens his mouth. He’s still smiling. His teeth are red with dripping blood.

“Red Rover,” Mr. Rose says. “Red Rover. Won’t you... come...”

Mr. Rose doesn’t finish the sentence.

He finally falls.

He falls hard.

* * *

The boys move away from Mr. Rose as fast as they can. When they’re about fifty feet down the trail, Jason has to take a break. He hobbles over to a big rock by the lake’s edge, splashes water on his foot and washes the cut, which is already caked with dirt from the path. Once he gets it clean the cut doesn’t look as bad as it feels, but it’s bleeding pretty steadily.

Bill climbs up on the rock and tries to spot the place where Mr. Rose collapsed, but he can’t see the injured man—or the section of path where he fell—over the cattails.

“Don’t worry,” Jason says. “You knocked him cold. He’s not gonna move for a while.”

Bill nods, but he’s just not sure. All he knows is that he wants to get away from the lake as quickly as possible. First, he needs to get Jason to a doctor. His friend probably needs stitches in his foot. Then he needs to call the cops and tell them about Mr. Rose.

Before Bill can do any of that stuff, he and Jason have to get their shoes. They follow the trail back to the spot where they set up camp. That takes a while. Jason’s hobbling pretty bad. He practically has to hop down the trail. But Jason doesn’t complain, and he seems a little better once he gets his shoes and socks on. They’re PF Flyers. They’re almost new, and they’re white, but Bill knows they won’t be white for long. At least not the right shoe, because it’s Jason’s right foot that’s bleeding, and they’ve got a good walk ahead of them.

There’s a trail that cuts over the hills behind the lake and connects to the country road that leads back to town. It’s a little longer than the trail that runs along the shore, but neither boy wants to take that one. It would mean passing Mr. Rose, and they don’t want to take that chance.

The boys leave their camping stuff behind. They’re just about at the trailhead when they remember the dog. They haven’t seen Red Rover since Mr. Rose jumped Jason.

“We can’t just leave him here,” Bill says. “What if Mr. Rose gets hold of Red Rover before we can call the cops?”

“I don’t think the dog would go near that nut,” Jason says. “Besides, it’s getting dark. I don’t want to be around here at night.”

“What’s the matter?” Bill says. “Are you scared you’ll see Cheryl Ann’s
ghost
?”

Jason stops dead in his tracks. After everything that’s happened, he’s completely forgotten about the little girl’s ghost. He looks at his friend. All of a sudden Bill’s got a goofy grin on his face, like he finally figured out the biggest joke of all. Bill starts laughing, and so does Jason. The whole thing
does
seem pretty funny. After all, they came out here to see if they could spot a ghost, an ectoplasmic will o’ the wisp, a good old-fashioned spook. They sure didn’t see anything like that.

“I don’t even believe in ghosts anymore,” Jason says. “But I
do
believe in Mr. Rose.”

“Yeah,” Bill says. “I guess I believe in him, too.”

“Besides, I figure Red Rover can take care of himself. He’s probably long gone, anyhow. Let’s you and me get out of here.”

They start walking. Jason has a tough time of it. He can’t move very fast, even when he leans on Bill’s shoulder, but he doesn’t give up. He won’t
cry uncle
, no matter what.

A grove of eucalyptus trees separates the lake from the hill. Powdery gravel crunches under the boys’ feet as they follow an inclined path into shadows that smell clean and crisp.

At the edge of the trees, Jason stops for a break. Already, his right PF Flyer is getting red on one side, but that isn’t what’s bothering him. “Maybe we should at least try to call the little mutt,” he says. “That wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

“No,” Bill says. “That wouldn’t hurt at all.”

Both boys turn toward the lake. The sun’s gone now. The evening sky is streaked with royal purple and dark valentine red.

It’s twilight.

Bill opens his mouth to call the dog. He doesn’t even get a word out before he spots Red Rover running down the path, coming toward them like a bullet.

Below, Mr. Rose’s voice cuts through the cattails like a scythe.

“Red Rover... Red Rover... won’t you come over?”

* * *

“He’s close,” Jason says.

“Yeah,” Bill says, staring through the eucalyptus grove at the trail that leads to the hill. “Think you can run?”

Jason glances down at his bloodstained tennis shoe. He shakes his head. Then he looks toward the lake trail, watching for Mr. Rose.

“If we can’t outrun him, then we’ll have to hide,” Bill says. “Maybe we can find a good spot in the woods—“

“Maybe we don’t have to,” Jason says. Because he’s seen something that Bill missed. There’s a blackberry thicket at the juncture of the lake and hill trails. A deer run cuts into the blackberries. Both Bill and Jason have spent time in there during the last three picking seasons, only to emerge with scratched arms and snagged T-shirts and lips purple with the sweetest berries you ever tasted. Which is another way of saying that the blackberry thicket isn’t exactly easy going, but it
is
a great place to hide.