The rest of the walk out was in silence and without incident. Denny was happy to see the sunlight streaming into the cavern. He was beginning to feel like a mole after a few hours with only a flashlight providing light. They decided to cover up the entrance the way they found it and they marked a few of the trees near the cave. Billy pulled the bloody sock from his knee and tied it to the branches above the entrance so they could find it again if they wanted to. Not that Denny could think of any reason he would ever want to go back in there.
They made their way back to the building shell and found that they had no desire to explore where the door led, not today anyway. Billy bandaged up his knee, which had bled all over his lower leg and sneaker, and was still bleeding pretty good. “Might need a couple of stitches, maybe we better head back.” They moved the door back into place and scattered a few rocks over the slab. “Maybe we can come back up here tomorrow and check this out.” Billy said, sounding half-hearted.
“I don’t know. I think my mother has a bunch of stuff for me to do,” Denny lied. The sight of all those bones had thrown a good scare into him. He had conjured up images of being trapped down there and his flashlight giving out. In the total darkness he would hear splashing as something crawled out of the water and slithered toward him. He felt once again like he was back in his cellar that day when the water started gurgling. He shook his head to try and rid himself of such thoughts and cursed himself for being such a wimp.
“Actually, my dad mentioned something about making sure I’m around tomorrow too.”
Denny heaved a sigh of relief. He was off the hook and wouldn’t have to lie again about having things to do. “Let’s get going and get that knee taken care of. Besides, I’m starving.” They gathered up their equipment and started the hike back, Billy limping noticeably. The trip had been exciting, Denny thought, a lot more exciting than I had planned. A different kind of exciting, anyway.
(17)
Paul Greymore checked himself in the mirror one last time. Enough stalling, he thought, it’s time to go. He had anguished over everything in preparation for tonight. Half an hour over which pants, finally choosing a pair of jeans. Should he bring wine? Flowers for Mrs. Cummings? What if Joe wasn’t home? The only quick decision was the long sleeve shirt, and that wasn’t a decision at all.
He finally left the rectory and started the cross-town walk to the Cummings’ house. Father McCarthy was on an overnight retreat in western Massachusetts and wouldn’t be back until late the next evening, leaving Paul to find his own way around. The night was still, the warm air heavy. Not even the slightest breeze moved through the trees. The town itself was as still as the air. In spite of the heat, there were no kids outside playing, no parents sitting on their porches having a beer or a smoke. Doors were shut tight, holding back whatever dangers existed in Haven, then Greymore realized he was the danger they feared. He reached the walkway and hesitated for only a moment before going up to the porch. Taking a deep breath he knocked on the screen door. The seconds stretched endlessly until a face appeared in the door. The boy’s eyes widened at the sight of Paul before he composed himself. “Can I help you?”
Paul took a step back, blinking. It wasn’t the boy’s reaction that startled him, he had seen that a thousand times. It was the fact that he was face-to-face with the same twelve year old boy that had become his best friend a lifetime ago. It took Paul a second to figure out that this must be Joe’s son. “Is your dad home, son? I’d like to speak with him for a minute.”
“Sure, I’ll go get him.” The boy bounded off into the house and Paul turned to look out over the road as he gathered his thoughts. He and Joe had been close and suddenly lost all contact after the trial. He decided right then and there that if Joe sent him away tonight, he would leave Haven forever.
“Can I help you?” This time it was the adult version of the face he knew so well that greeted Paul.
Paul turned to face his old friend. “Hi, Joe.”
“Paul, I’d heard you were… back, but I didn’t expect to hear from you.” The words stung Paul with their cold ambivalence.
“I’ve been fixing up the old place and I thought I should stop by when I heard we were going to be neighbors…” His words trailed off. This was going worse than he feared. He could feel the awkward silence building like a summer thunderhead.
“Neighbors? You mean you’re actually staying in Haven? I thought you were just fixing it up to sell…” He couldn’t read the expression on Joe’s face. Was it fear?
This was it. The final humiliation. To have his ex-best friend believe that he killed all those people. He could never stay here now. He felt his eyes begin to fill up and his face redden. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”
Then anger began to replace his shame. Anger that after everything else he lost, the list would include his friend Joe. The boy that had accepted him unconditionally when all the others turned away from his ugly face. It wasn’t fair. “Just explain one thing, Joe. Why did you testify for me and then never answer any of my letters once I went to prison?”
Joe’s face shrunk into a portrait of confusion. “Letters? Paul, I sent you dozens of letters but you never answered them. I finally drove up there one day but they said you were refusing visitors.”
Paul was stunned. He staggered over to the porch swing and slumped down, holding his head in his hands. Someone must have intercepted all of his mail, in both directions, except for McCarthy’s. Crawford! He had taken away seventeen years of Paul’s life and now to find out he had also stolen seventeen years of friendship. It was just too much.
Joe stepped out onto the porch and sat beside him. “Paul, I’m sorry. After you never answered my letters and refused to see me… I didn’t know what to think.”
The both sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts.
Joe spoke again. “Paul, there are stories that you almost killed the Crawford boy on your first day back. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“Good, I can’t stand the little bastard.”
Paul looked up and saw his old friend smiling. He couldn’t help but to smile back. “Crawford must have had them stopping my mail from getting in or out. Joe, that means I’ve never really thanked you for testifying for me. It meant a lot to me.”
“A hell of a lot of good it did.” Both men burst out laughing and Joe reached out to shake Paul’s hand. Then Joe’s face clouded. “My God, Paul, if only I had tried harder to contact you. All these years…”
Paul shook his head. “Crawford wouldn’t let it happen, no matter how hard you tried. I realize now just how much he hates me and how much he’s taken from me. He’s actually the reason I’m here, he stopped by to welcome me back to Haven… so to speak.”
Joe stood up and pulled Paul up with him. “Come on in and meet the family, Paul. They’ve heard so much about you for the past seventeen years it’s only fair.”
(18)
Denny sat in the stifling confines of his bedroom brooding over another silent dinner with his mother. He had tried to engage her with stories of him and Billy in the caves and what they found. He knew most parents, normal parents, would freak out when they found out their kid was messing around at an old army base or in some underground caves, but she didn’t bat an eye. He was actually hoping for a lecture on the dangers he had put himself in, hoping for any reaction, but tonight she was gone. Now, even after writing in his journal, he still wasn’t ready for sleep.