Back From The Dead

Chapter Eighteen

When the police officer approached the vehicle, Gordon put on his best smile. “Hey officer.”

A flashlight shined in the interior of the car. When its beam hit Tim’s eyes, he squinted at the sudden intrusion of light. He didn’t recognize the officer at first. It wasn’t until he spoke that Tim placed him. It was Officer Frank Clapton. “Mr. Gaines! What are you doing with Mr. Smith at 2:30 in the morning?”

“I can explain,” Gordon said.

“I think I’d rather hear this from Mr. Gaines, if you don’t mind.” Officer Clapton stepped toward the front of the vehicle and motioned for the boys to step out of the car by wiggling his fingers. “Exit the vehicle, boys. Let’s talk.”

Gordon cast one last look at Tim that said, don’t try anything you and Chelsea are going to regret. Then they stepped out of the car and joined Officer Clapton on the sidewalk.

“Care to tell me what you’re doing driving around town past curfew?” Officer Clapton asked.

“We were just talking,” Gordon said.

“Talking?” Officer Clapton looked at Tim. “What were you talking about, Mr. Gaines?”

Tim shrugged, trying not to let his nervousness show. “Nothing much. We were just…trying to air out our differences.”

“At two-thirty in the morning?”

“It was the only time we could talk without getting hassled by Tim’s parents,” Gordon said. “They haven’t been entirely courteous to me.”

“I can’t say that I blame them,” Officer Clapton said. He looked from Gordon to Tim and when a voice cracked forth on his shoulder-mounted radio, he picked it up and spoke into it. “That’s affirmative. I’ve got both suspects out of the car and on the sidewalk.”

Suspects? Tim felt his stomach twist at the word. Was he suspected in some other wrong-doing now? Something Gordon hadn’t told him about yet?

“This is serious business, boys,” Officer Clapton said. “Not only is it four hours past curfew, but Mr. Gaines is the suspect in the Reamstown Cemetery desecration. I find it hard to believe he would be out with you, Mr. Smith, just to air out your differences.”

“It’s true,” Tim murmured softly.

Another police car pulled up behind Officer Clapton’s car, its dome lights swirling blue and red. The officer exited his vehicle and took his time joining them on the sidewalk. Tim looked down at the sidewalk, the thought of being in some kind of trouble the least of his problems. If this were any other time he would have been nervous. He would have been frightened at the thought of being in trouble. Despite the seeming severity of the situation, he was more nervous about what Gordon was going to do and how much of an influence he might wield with the police.

“So what’s it going to be?” Officer Clapton said. “You guys going to tell me the truth or do I have to call your parents, maybe take you to Brendan Hall?”

Tim looked up quickly, his stomach doing another cartwheel. Gordon only shrugged. Tim’s voice quavered as he spoke. “I’m sorry we violated curfew, but really, we were just talking. We weren’t doing anything wrong.”

The second officer approached and Tim noticed Officer Clapton nod at him. “Take Mr. Smith home. I’ll escort Mr. Gaines to Brendan Hall.”

Now Tim did begin to get scared at the implications. “Brendan Hall? Officer Clapton, please, I didn’t do anything, just take me home to my parents — ”

Officer Clapton took Tim by the elbow and gently guided him to his squad car. “Can’t do that, Tim. You’re the main suspect in the Reamstown Cemetery desecration and you’re out past curfew with the kid you tried to blame for it. I’m sorry, but I have no choice. I have to transport you to Brendan Hall Juvenile facility.”

Tim cast a glance back at Gordon, who was being led to the second squad car by the other officer. Gordon looked back at Tim and said, “Sorry, Tim. Everything will turn out okay.” The message in his eyes was completely different, though: don’t tell that cop what you saw at Scott’s house or Chelsea will be zombie meat.

Tim heard the other officer tell Gordon, “Your folks aren’t going to appreciate being woken up so late at night, Mr. Smith.”

“I guess not,” was Gordon’s reply and that was all he heard as Officer Clapton opened the rear door of the squad car and ushered him inside.

Tim’s thoughts were such a jumbled chaotic mess that he couldn’t get things straight as he sat in the rear of the squad car. Officer Clapton was talking to the other cop outside. Gordon was sitting in the back of the second squad car, his own vehicle still parked at the curb in front of them. He wondered what the officers were talking about. Were they comparing notes? Had new evidence been found that would perhaps exonerate Tim? If that was the case, why was he being taken to Brendan Hall?

The thought of spending the rest of the evening in Brendan Hall brought a heavy feeling of dread to Tim. He knew Brendan Hall was the Lancaster County Juvenile facility, and the idea of spending even an hour within its walls was unthinkable. Images of prison rape fluttered through his mind, of being beaten and tortured by seasoned juvenile criminals while his parents frantically tried to secure his release. Juvenile Hall was just another name for jail for kids, right?

Would his parents get a phone call to come immediately to Brendan Hall or would they have to wait until after eight A.M. to get him? Would he be able to call Chelsea and warn her? What happened if criminal charges were filed while he was waiting for his parents to pick him up and they weren’t allowed to get him? Suppose he had to remain incarcerated until his trial? That could take weeks, even months!

The fear and frustration welled to the surface and tears sprang to his eyes. Tim tried to quell them, but his frustration and fear only succeeded in making them flow faster. His breathing was growing rapid as his sobs took over and he fought to control those, too. If he wasn’t such a fuck up, wasn’t such an outcast, none of this would be happening!

Officer Clapton and the other cop stopped talking and Clapton crossed over to his squad car and got in. Tim forced himself to stop crying and wiped his eyes as Officer Clapton started the vehicle. “Do your parents know you’re out, Tim?”

“No.” Tim’s voice was on the verge of breaking down.

“We’ll call them when we get to Brendan Hall.”

“Okay.”

Officer Clapton pulled away from the curb and made a right down Main Street. The streets were deserted this late at night. Tim sat in the back seat behind the wire-mesh divider, trying to figure out what he could tell Officer Clapton. He’d seen enough cop shows and read enough crime fiction to know they always separated you during questioning to see who tripped up. Gordon was going to stick to his story, that they were just driving around, trying to talk through their differences. If he was smart, that’s all he would say. If Tim acted accordingly, they might get out of this. However, if Tim told the truth he wouldn’t be believed, plain and simple. They’d also check with Gordon, who would not only deny the allegations, but find a way for Scott and the other guys to get Chelsea, get his parents maybe, and then —

What adult in their right mind would believe Scott Bradfield and his friends were making zombies?

Officer Clapton made another right hand turn down Cedar Street, which ran parallel to Broad Street. He was probably going to make a right on Mill Town Road and then a left on Broad Street, which would then take them straight to Lancaster. He was finally getting some semblence of control of his thoughts and emotions when Officer Clapton spoke to him. “So can you tell me what you were doing riding around with Gordon?”

Tim shrugged. “We were just…talking. It was no big deal.”

“Two weeks ago you accused Gordon of the crime you’re under investigation for. You so much as implicated him by telling us you’d loaned him the book that was found at the cemetery. Why would you hang out with the guy you tried to throw under the bus, Tim?”

“I don’t know,” Tim said, not knowing what else to say.

“You can tell me the truth,” Officer Clapton said. Tim caught his gaze in the rearview mirror. “Gordon’s not around to intimidate you. I know what these guys have done to you throughout the years, and I know Gordon is tight with Scott Bradfield and his crew. The dean of your school is adamant you had something to do with not only that cemetery desecration, but the vandalism at the school, and he’s the main cheerleader for the investigation. I’ve always been on your side, though.”

“Have you?” Tim asked.

“Of course.” Officer Clapton made eye contact with Tim from the rearview mirror. “I always have been. I know what you’re going through is the result of religious persecution. Scott and his friends have managed to convince the entire student body of Spring Valley High that you’re some kind of devil-worshiper, and in doing so they’ve managed to paint not only a horrible picture of you, but an untrue one. I have to admit I was disappointed when that book was found at the Reamstown Cemetery. A book which not only had your name on it, but which you readily admitted owning. I really thought you were involved in the cemetery vandalism. Evidence pointed right to you despite your denial. Gordon has an alibi for that night and I know your folks claimed you were at home, but we were required to follow up. Do you understand me, Tim?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re a good kid, Tim. The principal at Spring Valley High reports no trouble from you despite the accusations against you. You get good grades. Your parents are good people. You aren’t the first kid whose been picked on and harassed by the social elite of a small community. I’ve been in touch with other law enforcement officials in other cities where similar events have happened. We’re consulting with one right now in Colorado where a high school girl suffered what you’re going through. Her parents sued the school district and the city. Received a tidy sum, too. I’d be lying if I told you I’m trying to avoid a similar action from your parents, but I also want to see justice done. I’ve been working at protecting you and keeping you out of trouble as much as the law allows me, but I can’t do my job unless you help me.” Officer Clapton made eye contact with him again. “Please, Tim. Be honest with me. What were you and Gordon really doing driving around so late for?”

Tim sighed, the urge to tell the truth so strong that he almost told Officer Clapton everything. Once again Chelsea came into his mind. The memory of her caress, her kiss, and then something worse. Chelsea lying dead on the floor of that guesthouse, those dead things crowding around her, their rotting teeth buried in the smooth flesh of her throat —

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Tim blurted.

“How will you know if you don’t come clean with me?”

Tim said nothing as Officer Clapton drove down 501 toward Lancaster. When they approached the train station, Officer Clapton said, “I think Gordon broke into that cemetery and desecrated that grave to pin it on you. I think he’s blackmailing you. Why, I haven’t quite figured out yet, but — ”

“You think I can trust you now?” Tim said, the words tumbling out suddenly as his frustration bubbled to the surface. “Nobody believes me anyway, not the dean of the school, not most of the police force, not the majority of the whole goddamn township!”

“I believe you,” Officer Clapton said.

“The whole town is out to get me!” Tim said, looking at Officer Clapton. “Don’t you get it? They’re not going to care if you believe me. Your boss probably thinks I’m guilty.”

“That’s not true. Chief Landon and I have talked quite extensively about you and your situation.”

“What good is talk if you don’t do anything about it?”

“Certain procedures have to be kept. We can’t just rush in and arrest Gordon on suspicion of — ”

“But it’s okay to arrest me because some nitwit thinks I might be casting spells in the woods? Are you kidding me?”

“We have to follow procedure, Tim. When a criminal accusation is levied against a citizen we’re required to investigate. We’re compelled to be impartial and — ”

“Bullshit,” Tim muttered, his anger coursing through him. He flopped back in the seat, frustrated this was happening and unable to control his emotions. “The history speaks for itself. Scott and his friends have ruined my life and have convinced damn near everybody in Spring Valley that if a goddamn cat so much as gets mauled by a coyote, they blame me for sacrificing it to the devil. You know how many times I’ve been investigated on such bullshit claims?”

“I understand your frustration,” Officer Clapton began.

“I don’t think you do.”

Officer Clapton sighed. They were in downtown Lancaster now, heading south on Prince Street. Tim had no idea where Brendan Hall was but he figured they had to be close. “I believe Gordon dug up that grave and stole the bones of that corpse. I think he did it to frame you. I don’t know why. Only you can answer that question, Tim.”

Tim shook his head. Officer Clapton slowed down and pulled into a parking lot. A large building stood before them and Tim felt himself tense up again. They were at Brendan Hall.

Tim felt on edge. Despite wanting to confide in Officer Clapton, despite knowing that the opportunity to do so was presenting itself to him at this very moment, he was still scared for Chelsea and his family. If past events were indications of how things would turn out, the truth would be met with skepticism by most of those in authority. Gordon and his friends would deny everything and the Bradfield’s family clout would delay the search of the guesthouse, giving Gordon and Scott plenty of time to dispose of the corpses. Even with such advance crime investigation techniques like blood spatter and DNA, by the time that was gathered and a case was built against them, they’d be free to strike back. They could snag Chelsea at any time, Scott’s dad could essentially crush Tim’s parents with a lawsuit and there was no way they could afford an attorney competent enough to go up against the kind of money the Bradfield’s had at their disposal. They’d be ruined.

“We weren’t doing anything,” Tim finally said, the confession sounding false to him. “We were just talking. Trying to sort things out.”

Officer Clapton parked near the entrance and turned off the engine. He regarded Tim from the front seat. “Okay,” he said. “If that’s what you say happened, fine.”

Officer Clapton exited the vehicle and opened the passenger side door for Tim. As they walked toward the entrance to Brendan Hall, the dread that was coursing through Tim’s system solidified. “What’s going to happen now?” Tim asked, his voice cracking.

“You’ll be fine,” Officer Clapton murmured. “You’ll be in a room by yourself so you don’t have to worry. I’ll process you at the front desk and make a call to your folks, then we can talk some more in private if you want.”

“Will my parents be able to get me tonight?” Despite the trouble he felt he would be in with his folks, he wanted to see them as soon as possible.

“Yes, they’ll be able to pick you up as soon as they can get here.”

Tim heaved a sigh of relief as they entered the lobby of Brendan Hall.

As Officer Clapton led him to the administration desk, which was sealed off by bullet-proof glass, he casually asked, “By the way…do you know John Elfman? He was reported missing yesterday by his parents.”

“I didn’t know that,” Tim said, trying not to let the surprise show in his voice.

“Didn’t know him, or didn’t know he was missing?”

“Both.”

They stopped at the front desk and a civilian clerk dressed in dark slacks and a dark shirt looked up at them. Officer Clapton nodded at the clerk. “Hi, Phil. I need processing papers, please.”

“Sure thing,” Phil said. He reached beneath his desk and retrieved two forms, which he slid through to him.

Officer Clapton took the papers, retrieved a pen from his breast pocket and began filling them out. “I understand from several sources that John used to pick on you a bit. Not as much as Scott and his group, but enough to arouse interest with your guidance counselor. You’re sure you haven’t heard about his disappearance?”

“I’m sure,” Tim said, looking at the paperwork Officer Clapton was filling out. “I tried to stay away from John as much as I could. Besides, I don’t think John hung out with Scott and his group.”

“They were rivals, weren’t they?” Officer Clapton asked casually. He was filling out Tim’s name and address and began filling in the section about why he was being brought to Brendan Hall.

“I guess you could say that,” Tim said.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?”

Tim shook his head. “No.”

“Okay. If you change your mind, I’ll be on duty until noon. You can always ask a warden to talk to a detective and I can come down. I can always come to the house and talk to you and your parents. Understand?”

Tim nodded sullenly. “Yeah.”

Officer Clapton paused in filling out the paperwork, as if waiting for some outpouring of confession. Tim remained stoic and sullen, not looking at him. He just wanted to get out of here, he wanted to see his parents, wanted to warn Chelsea. He had to find some way to stop this.

“Okay,” Officer Clapton said, and he turned his attention back to the paperwork that would admit Tim to custody at Brendan Hall Juvenile Facility.