Jack_ Secret Vengeance - F. Paul Wilson [30]
Mr. Foster offered his hand. “A pleasure meeting you, Jack, but that doesn’t mean I hope we meet again. And I say that with only the very best of intentions.”
Jack’s hand seemed to disappear inside Mr. Foster’s as they shook. On the surface he seemed to be referring to his warnings about trespassing, but Jack couldn’t escape the feeling that he might have been talking about something else.
“Company,” Mrs. Clevenger said.
Jack looked and saw Weezy stopped about a hundred feet away.
“Is that the girl?” Mr. Foster said.
Mrs. Clevenger nodded. “That’s her.”
He tapped Jack on the shoulder. “Tell her what I told you: For your own good, stay off this land.”
Jack nodded as he hopped on his bike and rode toward Weezy.
“What are you doing here?” he said when he reached her. “I thought you said—”
“My mom went out and I needed to escape the house. Who’s that?”
“Mister Foster.”
Weezy’s eyes widened as she studied the man. “He’s real?”
“And how. And I just saw the weirdest thing.”
“Tell me about it as we ride back. I need to be there when my mom gets home or she’ll think I pulled a Marcie Kurek.”
“Run away? You—”
“Can’t say I haven’t thought about it.”
“Aw, Weez—”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got nowhere to go and no way to get there.”
That was a relief.
“Okay, let’s go.”
As they rode away Jack felt six pairs of eyes on his back.
8
A violent thunderstorm swept in from the west just before dinner and knocked out the electricity. Jack looked out his bedroom window and saw that the whole town was dark. He heard a tap on his door and saw his father standing there with a flashlight.
“Can’t read, can’t watch TV,” he said. “Only one thing to do in a storm like this, don’t you think?”
Jack pumped a fist. “Lightning Tree!”
As he followed his father down the hall and through the living room, he heard his mother say, “Be careful.”
They dashed through the pelting rain to the car. After a quick drive through the eerily dark town, they parked at the end of Quakerton Road in Old Town, about a hundred feet from the Lightning Tree.
At some time in the past, before the memory of anyone living, it might have been a stately oak, but it was hard to tell now. Lightning had hit it so many times that most of its branches were gone, leaving only a tall, thick, charred trunk. It looked like a giant used wooden matchstick.
No one knew why, but something about the tree attracted lightning. It didn’t take a hit from every storm, but often enough to make the trip worthwhile. Sometimes half a dozen cars would be parked around the tree, waiting.
Theirs was alone tonight. Jack’s father used to drive him out here a lot when he was younger. Some fathers and sons went fishing or hunting together; Jack and his dad watched storms, though not so much nowadays. Maybe Dad thought Jack was too old for it, or not interested, or too busy. Maybe all that was true, but Jack felt good coming out here again. Like old times.
“We’re kind of late,” Dad said. “It might have been hit already.”
Jack squinted at the top of the trunk, a tall shadow in the dim light. “I don’t think so.”
Dad turned off the engine. “Well, if that’s true, then we shouldn’t have too long to wait.”
As they slid back in their seats, Jack figured this would be as good a time as any to ask. But how was he going to slide into the subject?
He tried, “You’ve taught me a lot, Dad.”
“Hope so. And I hope it’s worthwhile stuff.”
“Oh, it definitely is.” Here goes, he thought, taking a breath and speaking as quickly as he could without garbling the words.
“Howaboutteachingmetoshoot?”
Jack concentrated his gaze on the tree as he waited for the reaction. It took a while coming. Finally …
“Shoot? Where did that come from?”
“Oh … just talking to a kid today whose father had been teaching him to target shoot. They were looking to buy marbles for targets—that’s how good he was getting.”
“You’re getting a little old to still be wanting a BB gun.”
Still studying the tree, he said, “Yes. I agree.”
Another pause, then, “Oh, no. Not a chance.”
Finally he looked at his father and found