Witches of Rascar Pablo: Part I

Chapter 5: A Dead Body

8:03 am Friday, May 19, 1984 (PDT)
Grants Pass, Oregon

When Lucas didn’t show up at school the next morning, Jon tried convincing Paul to ditch school to go look for him.

“How do you know he’s still missing anyway?” said Paul. “Maybe they found him but he didn’t come to school today – maybe he’s back at the hospital.”

The bell rang just as Lucas’s grandmother walked through the front entrance.

“Look,” said Jon, “there’s his grandma, she’s going to the office. Ask her.”

Jon and Paul approached her, but they were intercepted by Principal Strode before they could ask her about Lucas.

“You two get to class,” said the principal.

“Wait,” said Jon, “we just want to ask…”

“What did I say,” he cut him off. “Get to class!”

Jon and Paul started toward class. Nor did Lucas’s grandmother see them on her way to the front office.

Once sure they were no longer in Principal Strode’s peripherals, Jon went to work on Paul.

“C’mon,” said Jon, “we never ditch. Plus, crazy shit’s been happening – I know I can’t sit here in school all day. Not like this. Not today. Can you?”

Paul surveyed the halls. No one was around. “My dad,” he said, gesturing at his black eye. “This is what he did for the firecrackers the other night. What do you think he’s gonna do if I get caught ditching…”

“That sucks, but… I don’t know… maybe we won’t get caught.”

“We’ll get caught for sure!” Paul said in a harsh whisper. “How are we going to find Lucas? We don’t even know where to start… and, anyway, I’m not going to take that risk just so you can… play detective.”

“They said he ran into the woods behind the hospital.”

Paul started banging his head into his locker.

“Stop!” Jon pulled him away from the locker. “Someone will hear you!”

Paul ceased. His expression went from loathing to slightly interested. “You said… the woods? Behind the hospital?”

“Yeah, so if he’s not at the hospital, maybe he’s there.”

Paul confirmed with a sigh.

”So you’ll go?”

“Fine,” said Paul. He opened his locker and pulled out a small glass jar and some pins and paperclips. “But I get to look for wasps, too.”

“C’mon. We can go out the side doors – they’re probably still unlocked.”

* * *

8:32 am Friday, May 19, 1984 (CDT)
Grants Pass, Oregon

Sheriff Wilson entered the principal’s office and greeted the secretary. Principal Strode was there, in the middle of a conversation with Lucas’s grandmother. A boy sat off to one side, rocking back and forth on the bench, mumbling as if in a trance. The Sheriff recognized him from when he’d been caught shoplifting earlier that year – it was Michael Macaluso.

“He sits and waits quietly… he sits and waits quietly…” repeated Michael, monotonously.

The Sheriff met the boy’s strenuous, bloodshot glare.

“What’s wrong with that kid?”

Principal Strode looked at Michael. “We don’t know,” he said, “he can talk, so it’s not what the other ones have. We think he must’ve taken something and fried his brain. He’s actually one of the reasons we called you.”

“Did y’all search ‘im?”

“We did. Didn’t find a thing.”

“Don’t look like no drug I ever seen,” said the Sheriff, eyeing Michael, “’n if he ain’t broke the law I can’t take ‘em nowhere. You need to just have his parents come and get ‘im. What was the other thing?”

“The other thing was, well, frankly, we can’t figure out who or what broke all the windows in the cafeteria yesterday. We were hoping you might help us get a canine out here to sniff things out a bit.”

“Is there any news about my grandson?” Lucas’s grandmother interrupted. “It’s been over a day now.”

“Ma’am,” said the Sheriff, “I assure you we’re doin’ all we can to find yer grandson.”

Michael sat up straight as if something caught his attention. Sheriff Wilson walked out of the office and toward the parking lot where his SUV was parked. Michael followed him out, paid no heed to the secretary threatening him with detention if he didn’t stay put.

“Git back in that office, boy,” said the Sheriff, pointing back toward the school.

Michael pointed at the school, mimicked the Sheriff, “Git back in that office, boy.”

“I aint kiddin’ boy.”

“I aint kiddin’ boy.”

Michael locked his demonic glare onto the Sheriff’s eyes and continued to mimic him, now without any delay, as if he knew what the Sheriff’s every next words would be.

“That ain’t funny, boy,” they shouted, simultaneously. “You best stop that!”

The Sheriff became dizzy. His legs wobbled. Michael opened his mouth and screamed and it sounded like a train skidding to a halt on its tracks. The Sheriff keeled over with his hands over his ears. The secretary came and helped him off the ground. Principal Strode took Michael by the arm.

“Are you okay?” asked the secretary.

At first the Sheriff looked confused, but then he just started toward his SUV as if nothing had happened.

“He goes to find him…” he said, “… and when he finds him… and he goes to find him… and when he finds him…” he kept repeating the phrase monotonously as he climbed into his SUV. Then he started it up and tore out of the parking lot.

Lucas’s grandmother and his brother Benny were watching the scene from the other end of the parking lot when Jon’s dad appeared.

“How are you, Mrs. Messner?” said Jon’s dad, “Any news about Lucas?”

“No,” she said, beginning to tear up again, “no word yet. I can’t help but worry. I should never have agreed to having those tests done. Nor did I care much for that doctor. What brings you here today?”

“I got a call from the school a little while ago,” he said. “Apparently Jon and Paul are both absent today. I wasn’t that far away, so I thought I’d just drive around here a bit on the off-chance I might catch them on foot. I saw you and Benny from the road.”

“Maybe they went to look for Lucas,” said Benny.

Jon’s dad regarded Benny wearily. “That sounds like something they would do,” he replied. He looked at Lucas’s grandmother. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, Mrs. Messner. I showed the results of Lucas’s EP exam to my cousin, who is a cardiologist, and he says that the exam was way too aggressive to be able to draw any conclusions. He says the amount of electricity they were using would have induced a fibrillation in anyone. I definitely would not trust those results.”

“You’ve already got the results?” she asked. “They said it would take several days.”

“I guess they were wrong. Here they are.” He handed her the results.

“Well…” she said teary-eyed, with a smile, “I suppose that’s good news. Maybe he doesn’t have arrhythmia after all.”

“After you find Lucas, you might consider taking him to a different hospital,” said Jon’s dad.

“So why the hell’s that doctor tryin’ to give Lucas an ICD if he doesn’t even need one?” asked Benny.

Jon’s dad gave Benny a look that seemed to imply that the answer was obvious.

“What, money?”

Jon’s dad continued giving him the same look, then said, “It could be that. I’m sure he gets some kind of kickback for each implant. Maybe his name is on a patent… we can’t know for certain.”

“I’m gonna kill that fucking doctor,” said Benny.

“Language!” said his grandmother.

“Do not do anything to that doctor,” said Jon’s dad. “It will not help Lucas’s situation at all – or your grandmother’s.”

“I’m sure Jon and Paul will turn up,” said the grandmother. “If they are looking for Lucas, you might try the hospital… though… I’m not sure how they would have gotten there.”

“If they’re there or anywhere around there I will find them,” said Jon’s dad. “Jon’s in big trouble.”

* * *

9:45 am Friday, May 19, 1984 (PDT)
Grants Pass, Oregon

Three Rivers Community Hospital was not far from Hidden Valley High. It took Jon and Paul less than an hour to hitchhike. The parking lot was nearly empty. Two police cars were parked near the front entrance.

“Should we just go in and start asking if they know where Lucas is?” said Paul.

They entered the hospital. Two police officers were at the front desk talking to the receptionist.

“Okay,” said Paul, “scratch that idea.”

They walked past the lobby and came upon a middle-aged woman pushing a cart filled with scrubs.

“Excuse me,” said Jon, “do you work here?”

The woman just stared at him apathetically.

“Of course she works here, stupid,” whispered Paul. He regarded the maid. “I mean, were you working here last night?”

“What do you want to know that for?”

“Well… um…” stuttered Paul.

Jon cut him off. “We were wondering if you knew anything about our friend Lucas who disappeared, or, ran away from here, or something?”

“Don’t know anything about that.” She continued pushing the cart down the hall, and then stopped and turned. “Come to think of it, someone did say something about some kid gettin’ surgery last night that might’ve ran off out the back doors. But I’m not sure if they found him or not. I didn’t hear much about it.”

A police officer approached and looked on Jon and Paul with suspicion. He nodded at the maid and she feigned a smile.

Once the officer was gone, Jon and Paul started down the hall in the opposite direction. She sighed and rolled her eyes and continued carting the load of scrubs.

They walked the halls looking for a back entrance but found none. Jon suggested they leave the building and try going around from the outside.

Paul huffed. “Yes, sir, Mr. Detective.”

The two went around the back. The hospital was situated snug against a small forest-covered mountain. They walked past rows of dumpsters filled with medical waste that were caged off behind chain-link fences. Finally they came upon what seemed to be the only back entrance.

“Maybe he did run into the woods,” said Jon.

He and Paul gaped up the mountain at the ominous wood. It seemed somehow less inviting than the woods they were used to.

The back door swung open and a janitor emerged carting out some bags of waste. The two ducked behind one of the caged-off dumpsters. Once the janitor was gone they started up the hill. Just as the wood began to thicken they came upon a phantom of a trail, where the brush was worn and matted down. On their way in, from a distance, they could see two police officers standing idle a little further up the trail, talking and laughing.

“You think they’re here because of Lucas?” asked Paul as he ducked behind a cedar and watched as one of the officers picked his blue slacks out of his butt.

“I don’t know,” said Jon, “maybe we should stay off the trail. There might be more.”

After walking for about twenty minutes, Paul tripped over a patch of blackberries and stained the sleeve of his shirt.

“Fuck,” he cursed. “Can I do one single thing without staining my shirt?”

“Do you hear that?” asked Jon.

“What?”

“I hear water.” After pushing through some thickets of ferns and manzanita, he found the source, which was a small creek.

“Nice!” Paul took off his shirt and plunged the blackberry-stained sleeve into the water.

“You’re ridiculous,” said Jon.

“Fuck you.” Paul twisted up the sleeve to ring it out. “Anyway, what happens to you if you stain your shirt? Nothing!… That’s what!”

Paul plunged the sleeve back in a second time when something caught his eye. A pale white object at the bottom of the creek, gliding by with the current.

“Look at that,” said Paul. “What is that?”

They both went down ahead of it and then stood hunched over the creek trying to make out what it was. The water became shallow and it surfaced right below Paul – the pale face of a soon-to-be rotting corpse – and he covered his mouth and dry-heaved. The pasty, colorless skin was riddled with patches of tiny red and blue veins. Its pupils were fixed and dilated and its mouth gaped open.

“Oh shit,” cried Paul.

“Holy shit!” Jon went into the bushes and came out with the branch of a dogwood. “Help me.” He wedged the branch under the leg of the corpse – it seesawed with the current, and Paul gagged and dry-heaved while trying to grab onto it.

“It’s too heavy!” said Paul.

It took all of their strength to fish the body out. It was a police officer. It had on the same uniform as the cops they saw behind the hospital.

“Look,” Jon pointed to the pink brain matter bulging from a gash in the back of the man’s head. He prodded at his jaw with the stick, trying to get it to shut, but couldn’t. “Look how stiff its jaw is – it wont even budge!”

Paul was unable to look. He turned and dry-heaved again.