Back From The Dead

Chapter Two

Tim Gaines was sitting by himself on a bench in the quad at Spring Valley High School reading a book — Back From the Dead by Richard Long — when Scott Bradfield and David Bruce walked by with those two losers they hung out with, Gordon Smith and Steve Downing.

Ever since that day six years ago when Scott, David, and Steve had beaten him up in that field off Cedar Street and tried to force him to eat a dead possum, Tim had done everything he could to avoid them (and the reason they’d tried to force-feed a dead possum to him was because they were moronic pricks who thought that if you read vampire novels — Tim had just discovered Stephen King’s ‘Salem’s Lot and had been reading it in study hall that day — you were probably a vampire yourself. Complete idiocy, but that was how people who lived in this goddamn town seemed to think). Naturally, he’d told his parents what happened when he arrived home. He’d still been sobbing and throwing up in the bathroom when his mother arrived home from work and he’d collapsed in her arms, barely able to speak. When Dad got home from his job as a Web Designer in Lancaster and learned what happened to his only child, he’d been furious. He’d called the police. Ten minutes later, a squad car was parked in front of their duplex and an officer was taking a statement. “I want that little sonofabitch arrested!” Dad had said, his voice shaking.

Tim and his friends were arrested that evening. But then a strange thing happened.

They were released to the custody of their parents and the next day, when charges normally would have been filed, the Township declined to move forward on it. Steve, David, and Scott received warnings from the police and the school district had suspended them for three days. Dad had been furious and threatened to complain to the Pennsylvania State Police, but then Scott’s parents stepped in. They’d threatened to sue them if they continued pursuing what they claimed were “erroneous, false, and libelous charges” against their son. Only then had Dad backed down. The Bradfield’s were one of the wealthiest families in Spring Valley. They lived in a seventeen room mansion on ten acres of land just north of the little airport that mostly serviced private planes and the occasional corporate jet; Tom Bradfield was the CEO of a Financial Planning firm in Lancaster; his mother was a high ranking executive with a construction company. They had the available legal and financial resources to ruin the Gaines family, Dad explained to Tim a week later at the dining room table. “We can’t afford a lawsuit like this, Tim,” Dad had explained. He’d looked defeated and angry that night. So had mom. “Even though we can probably prove our case and win, the cost of doing it would be prohibitive. We’d lose everything in the process, but if we lost the case…”

Tim Gaines was a smart kid and he understood. The next morning Tim, his parents, the principal of Spring Valley Elementary School, and the School District Superintendent had a meeting. Because the School District was facing a possible lawsuit from not only the Gaines family, but from the parents of the other boys involved in the assault, they saw no choice but to allow the boys back into school. “But I want to assure you that they are being placed on new schedules that will keep them away from your son for not only the remainder of the school year, but during middle school and high school as well.” The Superintendent was a man named Dr. Roth. Tim thought he looked like a mad scientist. He was bald with wispy strands of graying hair sprouting on the sides of his head and a bushy mustache and eyebrows. “We’re going to arrange for separate transportation for your son when school lets out in the afternoon as well.”

And that was the arrangement that was made. For the past six years, Tim rarely saw Scott Bradfield, David Bruce, and Steve Miller. In the afternoon, a school administrator drove him home (his father dropped him off in the morning). And when he entered Spring Valley Middle School and, later, Spring Valley High School, he was on a different bus altogether than the three boys. Likewise, their class schedules were so different that the few times Tim did manage to catch a glimpse of his tormentors, they were either on the other side of the building, or the school itself.

Tim kept his head down, eyes to the book as the boys passed by. He knew school administrators were still on their vigilance in keeping them in check, and despite occasionally running into them at school — and very rarely after school — they had not attempted to harass or assault him again. Instead they’d relied on others to do their dirty work for them.

As the boys passed by, Gordon called down to him. “Hey Count, what’s happening?”

Tim ignored him. They’d been calling him Count Gaines ever since that incident, and despite being reprimanded by the school, the nickname had stuck and spread throughout the student body. Thanks to them, the dimmer bulbs that attended Spring Valley High School thought he was either a vampire or a warlock.

A moment later, Gordon walked back to Tim and stood in front of him. “Another vampire novel, Count?”

“This one’s about zombies,” Tim said. While the three original boys were forbidden by the school district to have any contact with Tim, this edict was not extended to their cronies. As a result, shortly after that original incident, Scott Bradfield and David Bruce had started a rumor that Tim was a devil worshipper. Of course, it didn’t help that Tim liked horror movies, horror comics, and horror novels, and that he was into goth clothing. For a brief time during seventh and eighth grade, the rumors resulted in harassment from students who didn’t even run in the same social circles as Scott Bradfield and his friends. His locker was broken into, the contents destroyed. Notes containing obscene messages were left in his folders and schoolbooks. A lame attempt at a pentagram was drawn in felt pen on the locker of a classmate and blame was laid at Tim’s feet. Unfortunately a new guidance counselor, who wasn’t aware of Tim’s history, believed the accusations and mounted a campaign of new harassment and intimidation toward him. This only encouraged some of the more straight-laced, preppy kids to pick on and harass Tim whenever possible.

“Zombies, huh?” Gordon said. “Cool!”

“Gord!” Scott called out. He and David were waiting for him, not even looking at Tim. Tim was considered beneath them in the student body hierarchy.

“Count’s teaching me about zombies,” Gordon said.

“You can learn about zombies from watching TV,” Scott said. “Come on. We’re late.”

“Later, Count,” Gordon said. He hustled over to join his friends.

Tim watched the boys retreat out of the corner of his eye. The feeling of dread he’d felt in his stomach began to subside.

This was his junior year of high school. In a few weeks he’d be out of school for the summer. In one more year he’d be finished with high school and this backwater town forever. Ever since that incident six years ago, he’d wanted to leave Spring Valley and move to an area where people didn’t judge you by the clothes you wore, or what kind of books you read. He wanted to live in a community that was more open-minded. The town he lived in, Spring Valley, in the heart of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, was very conservative. If you weren’t a born-again Christian it was assumed there was something wrong with you. Tim had considered himself an agnostic shortly after his run-in with Scott and David, but never professed this aloud. To many people in the community, if you were of any religious faith other than some mainline Christian denomination you might as well be a Satanist.

Tim sighed and tried to get back into his book, but the atmosphere of reading was gone. He marked his space, set the book down, and glanced at his watch. The one o’clock bell was due to ring in two minutes. So far he had no homework, so he could get a good hundred or more pages read tonight. He had nothing else to do. Besides, this book was getting pretty good. Richard Long was one of his favorite horror authors.

A pair of girls walked by, glanced in his direction and gave identical smirks. Tim glowered at them. Karen Henderson and Heather Watkins. Such smarmy bitches. They’d picked up the baton handed to them by Scott Bradfield and ran with it back in the eighth grade. They were responsible for spreading the rumor among the student body at Spring Valley High school that he liked to go in the woods, sacrifice cats, drink their blood, and chant to Satan on Hallowe’en. That rumor became so persistent that the police followed up on it. The officer that paid him a visit was Officer Frank Clapton, who investigated the original assault; he’d even told Tim’s dad that he was just going through the motions in the investigation because he had to — he didn’t believe the allegations personally.

Still, the fact that the accusation against him was levied was enough to infuriate his parents. That was the closest they ever came to packing up and moving.

But they couldn’t. Dad’s job in town paid pretty well and mom’s parents, who lived nearby, were getting old and sick and she felt obligated to stay near them. They didn’t want to move to York County, which was too far from his grandparents, and the area they were in now was in close proximity to them. If he could just stick it out for a couple more years–

Which he did. It wasn’t easy, but he did.

George Ulrich sauntered by and patted him on the back. “Hey man, what’s up?”

Tim brightened. George was about the closest he could find to a friend in this school. He was in the same grade, was built like an athlete, and possessed handsome features that made him a chick magnet. Unlike the lettermen jocks, George did not associate with the trendy cliques and did not participate in any of the team sports or school functions. Instead, he was a member of a loose group of kids Tim hung out with that consisted of a kid named Al, who was a comic book geek, another kid named Matt, who was the school’s lone punk rocker, and a girl named Chelsea, who was an art student and who Tim had a secret crush on. George and Al were good buddies, and Tim knew they often hung out together after school. Sometimes he wished he could hang out with them, too.

“Not much,” Tim responded. They started heading to their next class. “What about you?”

“Not much.” George shrugged. “Hey, what’re you doing Friday?”

“Same as usual. Probably stay home and read or watch a movie.”

“Wanna hang out with me and Al? We were thinking of catching a movie and then grabbing a bite to eat at Freeze N Frizz afterward.”

Tim tried not to let his enthusiasm show too much. He hefted his backpack in a more comfortable position. “That sounds great. What do you want to see?”

“Hostel 3 is playing.”

“Sounds good to me!” Tim was dying to see Hostel 3, and felt another sense of vindication. Another horror movie fan!

“Cool. Hey, listen, let’s meet up tomorrow at the beginning of lunch and we’ll swap numbers. I gotta go catch my next class. Mr. Banks. English Comp.”

“Okay, man.”

“See ya!” George clapped him on the shoulder again and took off, heading toward the row of buildings on the other side of campus.

Tim watched him go for a minute, then started heading to his own class. For the first time he could remember, he felt good about himself. After years of being the butt of everybody’s jokes, of hardly having any friends, he felt he was gaining strides in his social life. He and George had been tentatively sniffing around each other for the past year when George transferred to Spring Valley High from a school in Dauphin County. His parents were new to the area; job transfer. They’d hung out together somewhat at lunch and it was during those brief, yet introspective moments when they’d discussed mutual interests when he realized they were a lot alike. They liked horror and SF, were into gaming, and the same kind of music. The only difference was that George Ulrich didn’t have six years of baggage on him, branding him as an outcast. If he’d learned about any of Tim’s history from the other kids he never revealed it, or let it affect him. Tim had known Al, Matt, and Chelsea casually since Middle School and everything seemed to just magically come together when George arrived. They started hanging out together at school. And it was shortly after that he began to really notice Chelsea. She’d always seemed to carry an aura of trouble about her. Tim could never pin anything specific to her, but the impression he had was she was not the typical clichéd fake tortured soul so many artsy kids pretended to be. It had taken Chelsea a good two months to open up to the others during their lunchtime conversations. It wasn’t until the last few weeks that Tim noticed three things about her: he really liked her as a human being, he was physically attracted to her, and she’d had some serious psychological problems in the past that had caused her to cut herself. More than once Tim caught a glimpse of scars running diagonally along her right inner forearm. The first time he noticed them it immediately made sense. Late in their tenth grade year, Chelsea had missed school for two weeks, with no explanation given for the absence. He’d wanted to ask her about it but wasn’t sure how to approach the subject. Maybe it was better if he didn’t. Besides, it didn’t matter. He liked her, and that was all that mattered.

Tim walked to class and slid into his seat in Mrs. Fegley’s Algebra class. The rest of the afternoon went by in a dreaming haze.

Through all the laughter, David couldn’t hear Scott yelling at him to stop. He hit the bum in the face again, his fists plowing two front teeth out. The bum’s face was a swollen, bloody mass of flesh. His right eye was completely swollen shut. He’d been pounding on the piece of shit the past minute or so and he was already working up a sweat. His fists and face were spattered with the man’s blood.

A hand gripped his wrist, stopping his next blow. “I said stop!” Scott yelled.

David started, suddenly back in focus. He blinked, panting with exertion.

They’d trussed the homeless guy up by a pulley they installed on the ceiling via a heavy steel hook. Dangling from thick chains at the wrists, the homeless man had been stripped to the waist. His body was a mass of contusions and heavy bruising. His left side was puffy and swollen from repeated kicks and blows. The hardwood floor he dangled above was wet with piss and blood. The bum dangled, his breathing raspy, barely conscious.

Scott hauled David back. “Jesus Christ, I can’t believe you!”

David stepped away, confused. “I thought that’s what we brought him here for?”

“We didn’t bring him here so you can kill him on the first day!” Scott yelled.

Scott and David were the only two in attendance in the guest house after the abduction. Since then, they’d pretty much left the bum alone. Scott had kept him gagged and tied up and allowed him to regain his senses. Then today after school he and David showed up to have some fun. Scott’s mistake was letting David go first.

“I want a crack at him too, you fucking asshole! Look what you did to his goddamn eye! You damn near punched it the fuck out of the socket!”

“Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” David rubbed a grimy forearm against his sweaty brow. Scott managed a grin and threw a mock punch at David. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

They left the guesthouse; Scott locked the door behind them. They could leave the homeless guy dangling there all night for all he cared. His throat was already blown out from trying to scream his way through the gag. Scott discovered that this morning when he’d gone in to check on him.

They paused at the little gazebo in the center of the well-manicured back yard. Scott sat down on the quaint oak bench and David sat down next to him. He peeled off his shirt, revealing a well-muscled abdomen. Scott leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Gordon and Steve haven’t said anything, right?”

“Nah,” David said. He looked at Scott. “They’re cool, man. I told you we’re all cool with it.”

“Yeah, but the more people know, the more of a chance we’ll get caught!”

“Not if we keep it to the four of us.”

“All I want is a week with him,” Scott said. “I want my turn in a day or two. Then we can let Gordon and Steve have a turn.”

“And no filming,” David said.

“Goddamn right. No filming the shit and posting it to Youtube. That’s how all those other assholes get caught.” He rose to his feet and David followed. “Come on, I’m hungry.”

They headed to the house. “He’s only gonna last for so long. I figure when we’re done we can bury him in the woods that border Zuck’s Farm. We’ll do it right, too. Wrap him in plastic and dig a good five foot hole, drop him in.”

David nodded. “Yeah, that’s the ticket.”

Scott led the way in to the spacious house through the breakfast nook. As they stepped inside, David was struck by the immense size of the Bradfield home. It was immaculate. Well over four thousand square feet, it had five bedrooms and five baths, a large great room with vaulted ceilings, a large kitchen, a dining room, and a four car garage. There was an indoor swimming pool off the combination mud room/laundry room near the garage. The basement was finished and contained a family room with a wet bar, a media room, guest quarters, and a small workroom where Scott’s father had woodworking tools: bandsaw, various hammers and pliers, even a goddamn chainsaw. That was a lot of house for only three people, but David lived in a house that was only slightly smaller, with his brother and sister.

Scott opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice. “Thirsty?”

“Yeah.”

David sat on one of the stools at the counter as Scott pulled down a pair of drinking glasses. As he poured the juice, Scott glanced at the clock on the wall. It was just after four P.M. “Your folks working late again this week?”

“Dad is. Not sure about Mom.” Scott handed a glass to him.

“I can’t believe your mom still works,” David said. He took a sip of his orange juice; it was freshly squeezed, just the way he liked it. “When my dad was made senior partner, Mom quit her job.”

“My mom loves this shit,” Scott said. He was standing on the other side of the counter. He took a quick gulp of orange juice. “She always has. I mean, they met at work.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Scott finished the rest of his juice in several gulps, set the glass down and sighed. “That hit the spot.”

“So…your mom’s always worked, then?”

“Pretty much. She works, does her country club shit on the weekends.”

David took another sip of his orange juice. When his mom quit her job, she said it was because she wanted to be home for when he and his sister returned from school. I don’t like the idea of you coming home to an empty house or spending the afternoons at the Rec Center, she’d said at the time. David had been hoping she’d change her mind; having mom around now was like being under the watch of the Gestapo. Ever since that day five years ago when his parents received that call from school telling them what he’d done to Count Gaines, Mom never fully trusted him again, even after he apologized a thousand times and went out of his way to be extra nice to her and shower her with presents. Now she was constantly checking up on him, calling the homes of his friends to inquire about him.

“That sucks,” Scott said.

David nodded. That pretty much echoed his sentiment.

“So…we cool?” Scott asked. He was looking at David as if he were trying to get a read on him.

David finished his juice and set the empty glass down on the counter. “Yeah, we’re cool.”

“I’m going to keep Rebecca away from the house.” Rebecca was Scott’s gorgeous, and incredibly nosy, girlfriend. It was a minor miracle Rebecca wasn’t along last night. She was known for dropping by Scott’s house unexpectedly to check up on him.

“She still doesn’t know about the Intercourse incident, right?”

“Hell no!”

David grinned at the memory of the Intercourse incident. Late last summer, just before school started, he, Gordon, and Scott had gone cruising around in Intercourse, a small town about fifteen miles away. Intercourse was a big tourist attraction, drawing thousands of people a year to its quaint streets and shops run by the Amish. There was actually a big Amish population in Intercourse, with the majority of them living on farms in the surrounding countryside. On the day in question, with David driving, they’d cruised around the town until they found their likely target — a young Amish man on a bicycle. As they drove by, Scott leaned out the car window and pushed the man down. They’d sped away, sputtering laughter. They’d done the same thing to a pair of female Amish sect members, also on bikes. This time Scott had pushed one down, causing her to topple into her friend, knocking them both to the ground in a tangle of Amishflesh, blue ankle-length dresses and bicycles. They’d laughed all the way home.

There’d been no witnesses to what they’d done. The incidents had even received mention in the local paper the next day.

In a way that’s what started it all.

Scott had wanted to go cruising for some bum-bashing ever since. The uproar over the assaults on the three Amish had been loud in the local media, and for a brief time David was afraid the cops would come knocking on his door. Fortunately for them, their victims had been unable to provide accurate descriptions and the authorities never came poking around. Besides, they had a clear alibi. David was at Scott’s house that day watching movies all night with Rebecca and Gordon. Scott’s parents had seen them when they left earlier that evening for a shindig at some fancy Country Club. They’d still been there when they came home, shortly before midnight. Besides, all four were at the top of their class academically and socially, and they were involved in various youth groups at their local churches. Scott was even President of an off campus Spring Valley High School Students for Christ social club that met every Wednesday in the basement of the Grace Baptist church on Main Street.

They’d remained on the straight and narrow ever since they’d gotten into trouble by beating up the Gaines kid.

Or so everybody seemed to think.

“Okay…I see what you mean,” Scott said. He was leaning against the opposite counter where his mother prepared the occasional meal. “It’s still gonna be my ass in a sling if we get caught.”

“If you’re afraid of getting caught, let’s kill him now.” David was slightly taken aback the minute that was out of his mouth. Had he just said that? Yes, he had.

“Nah, I don’t want to kill him now,” Scott said. “It’s gotta be like we planned it. I mean, what fun is offing him real quick? That’s why we got him in the first place, right?”

“Right.”

“And we got tired of driving out of the area to other neighborhoods and picking fights with other guys, right?”

“You got that right.” Ever since that incident involving the Amish, he and Scott, occasionally joined by Gordon and Steve, in various vehicles, had ventured out of Lancaster County to pick fights with people. It didn’t matter who — some guy taking out the trash, a pedestrian in a quiet section of town. If it looked like they could take him, the guys would jump out and pound the shit out of him for as long as possible, then get the hell out of there. The first three times they’d set off on random beatings like this they’d stomped the shit out of four different guys. Last time, though, they met their match. Some skinny little fuck with glasses they set upon turned out to be a martial arts expert. They got the hell out of there before serious damage was done to their respective selves.

“So we’re safe,” Scott said. “That homeless guy is so fucked up he ain’t gonna be in any condition to scream or run. My parents never venture out there, and what we’re doing is staying between us. We’ll be fine.”

Steve nodded. He looked at Scott, realization dawning in him. “Only thing is…what do we do after he’s dead and buried? What then? Get another one?”

Scott frowned. “Damn, you’re right. You got a good point there.”