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  “It looks like half the crop has been torn out. At the roots! Pisses me off, man.” He opened the beer can, took an enormous swallow, and sat down. “Well, I have to hurt somebody over this.” He paused, and then brightened. “Hey, I hear you and Sara from Cedar Links hooked up!”

  When I nodded, he winked and turned to Connor. “What are you doing with a girl like Julia anyways, Connor? She’s not your type.”

  “Maybe we’re coming up in the world. You should try it.”

  “Bite me. After Ruby, dating a cow would be coming up in the world.”

  We all chuckled and clinked cans: he had a point. Then Connor said, “Sonny, what do you say to camping up at the lake next weekend?”

  He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

  Our buddy Earl joined us an hour later. Earl was the human version of a dynamite stick: light his fuse and disaster would follow. He always wore a baseball cap jammed over his shaggy curls, and he was a gun nut, which wasn’t a good match with his temper. But that evening, I was happy to see him come in with his rifle slung across his shoulders. Maybe he would finally shoot that damn skunk.

  I’d first encountered the skunk almost two weeks earlier. Earl and I spent the afternoon cruising along the forest trails on our five-wheeler. I was driving. Earl saw the skunk first, planted firmly in the path ahead. He yelled at me to stop, and I did, but the sudden motion sent him flying off the vehicle. He landed on his shoulder and rolled right into the little black and white bastard, who did what all skunks do when they’re pissed off. I remembered Earl’s .22, which we’d brought along for target practice, and threw it to him, knowing that if he didn’t kill the skunk then and there we’d all be hearing about it until the score was finally settled. Before Earl could even take aim, the skunk, which was missing its left front foot, hobbled off into the bushes that lined the trail. I’d been seeing it on my property ever since: on the front lawn, beside the pool, in the garage. It seemed to stare at me with those beady black eyes, more bold than most wild animals in the presence of humans, although I knew skunks were mostly blind so perhaps I was imagining this. Either way it made me almost as nervous as the Reaper, although I couldn’t explain why.

  Earl was soaking wet and annoyed. “I can’t shoot a skunk in this shit!” He gestured toward the window, which was streaked with rain. The weather had taken a turn for the worse during dinner.

  “You can’t shoot a skunk at all!” Sonny reminded him. We laughed.

  “Nice, Sonny, thanks.” Earl laid the rifle carefully against the wall and peeled off his wet shirt and jacket. “Well, if I see that little prick here tonight, Stinky will find out that all skunks don’t go to heaven.”

  “Here, Earl, light this up for us.” Conner passed him a freshly rolled joint. We smoked it and retired to the addition, where Kevin resided. Surrounded by Kevin’s art, we sat and listened to the rain pound on the roof. This was a real powerhouse of a storm. The weather was definitely taking a turn for the worse. We were safe though, we reveled in storms such as these. I felt safe in my father’s house.

  *****

  Earl was up first on Saturday morning, being the resilient party animal that he was, so when the doorbell rang, he answered it.

  Jake Sanders was sitting on the stoop. Jake was the sort that just showed up at parties, the kind of guy you saw once in awhile, which was good considering we could only take him in short spurts. Jake was a casebook addict, strung out on my doorstep and looking for a hit. I was willing to bet that he was to blame for stealing our crop, though I would never have told Sonny that. Jake used to be one of us, one of our best friends. Then he began chasing the dragon, and now he just ate, slept and did drugs.

  His mother had been killed along with my father on the way home from their joint business venture in the next town. Our families were partners in a hardware store. Maybe that was why I felt like I should try to understand and help him instead of turn my back as so many others had. His dad turned to the bottle after the accident so there wasn’t a whole lot of support at home.

  I had come downstairs in response to the doorbell, and invited him in for coffee. When he came into the kitchen, Sonny stared him down as if sharing my suspicions about the pot theft.

  “Drink this, Jake,” I said as I poured a glass of O.J. “We were just going to kill a skunk that’s been hanging around here. Want to join us?”

  “Can I just stick around here?”

  “Sure, I’ll hang back with you.” Although too ashamed to admit it, I worried that he might steal something to feed his habit, so I waved the rest of them off to hunt the elusive skunk.

  When Sonny, Earl, and Connor walked out the back door with loaded rifles, I poured Jake a coffee and asked, “Want something to eat?”

  He nodded, so I started cracking eggs into a bowl. Scrambled was my specialty.

  “They won’t be good like Connor’s, but I’ll do my best.” I forced a smile- why did I feel like I was babysitting a three year old?

  While I was stirring the eggs, Kevin came through the door, struggling with a massive board. “I’m taking it upstairs for a painting,” he explained.

  “That’s cool. Come back down for breakfast.”

  “Will do!” He ascended the stairs carefully, the board wobbling in his grasp. “I brought my dog- she’s just outside.”

  Hearing that, I ran out to the balcony and warned Earl and the guys that Kevin’s dog was loose. She wasn’t black and white, but she could rattle a bush or two, and accidents happen. They gave me the thumbs up before disappearing into the woods.

  Jake ate only a few bites of breakfast, and spent the rest of his visit smoking weed. I was relieved when he wandered off at around 3 o’clock, leaving me alone with Sara and Julia, who dropped by for a swim and a beer. The hunting party returned to home base soon after 4:00 p.m. Earl was pissed off that they couldn’t find old Stinky, but I just hoped that Dali, Kevin’s dog, wasn’t more successful in that department. We were debating whether or not we should risk a barbecue under the darkening skies, when rain suddenly came pelting down.

  “Again with the rain!” Julia complained. “Damn it, history had better not be repeating itself.” Last summer had been a complete washout, literally, with over 28 days of rain. The ducks had been happy, but we humans had to deal with flooded roads and backed-up sewers. Still swearing, she took Connor’s arm, and hurried inside with him.

  Sonny pulled his van keys out of his pocket. “Alright, I’m hitting the road. I have a lot of crap I gotta take care of at home. See you guys in a bit.” He pulled the magazine he had been reading over his head and jogged around the corner of the house.

  “I’m out of here too.” Earl ran after him. “Call you later, Joel.”

  I waved goodbye, then turned to Sara, who had just climbed out of the pool. “Coming in?”

  “Joel, I thought you said you loved staying out in a rain storm. Let’s stick it out for a while. Could be killer, didn’t you think?”

  Man, was this girl for me. I wished that we weren’t going separate ways come the fall. God, I was pathetic, already experiencing separation anxiety.

  We walked down to where the freshly mowed lawn met the wild, rollicking field and laid down on the grass. The rain intensified, and then thunder boomed, driving Sara to wrap herself around me. We remained open to the elements until the cold became too much and we started shivering. Springing to our feet, we raced each other into the house, where we towel-dried our hair and threw bathrobes over our swimming gear.

  Connor and Julia were lounging on the living room sofa, munching sandwiches. The news was on, and as usual it was ominous. Sara shifted uncomfortably next to me as the Grimm Reaper took center stage yet again. Before I could reassure her, the phone rang. It was my mom, calling from Australia.

  Apparently everyone down under was as obsessed with the Reaper as we were, because Mom asked me if I was holding up okay. She also wondered if I needed her to come home early. I told her that I w
asn’t bothered, and that I’d rather she enjoyed her well-deserved vacation. We discussed my exams and college applications. I told her that report cards hadn’t come in yet, and I’d cut the grass tomorrow.

  “Well, you have my number here, Joel. Call me when you have a minute. I love to hear from you. Love you.”

  “Bye, Mom. Have fun, okay? Love you too. Bye.”

  I hung up. An eerie feeling overwhelmed me.

  “What is it, man?” Connor called. “Is everything alright with your mom?”

  “Yeah, she just got a little worried about that Reaper shithead.” I pointed at the television. The most recent post from his website scrolled across the bottom of the screen. “She was wondering if she should come home.”

  My heart sank. I was suddenly nauseous and I didn’t know why.

  Chapter Four

  Sunday came and went. I wrote my first exam on Monday, and four more on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Thanks to Sara’s coaching, I thought that I did pretty well. My world seemed to be a perfect one, outwardly at least. Inside, my mind periodically raced with the anxiety the Reaper had instilled in me, in all of us. I hated him for that.

  My chief concern was for my mom. I just wanted her to enjoy herself. Managing Dad’s business had worn her out, especially with Jake’s dad constantly screwing things up. At least she could relax with Connor’s brother running the place while she was gone. He was a godsend. That was what she called him.

  Mom missed Dad terribly- that was why I liked her to get away from it all once a year and just live. But now this asshole Reaper was messing that up. God, I hoped that they would get him soon. It would be awful if he really had the means to carry out his threats. Maybe that was why the government didn’t appear to be concerned about him; maybe his claims were so ridiculous that they couldn’t possibly come to pass. That was a comforting thought.

  On Wednesday afternoon I took my mother’s car into town. I thought I might as well pick up what groceries I could for the camping weekend and save us from subsisting on the overpriced chips and hot dogs that the country stores tried to sell to campers as perfect outdoors food. When I returned home, rain began dotting my windshield. Again! “Why doesn’t it let up already?” I wondered.

  I rolled down my window and yelled up to the addition. “Hey Kev, get out here and help me unload this shit.” I saw his face press against the rain-streaked glass, followed by a thumbs-up.

  When everything was put away, Kevin led me into the addition to study his newest piece. He wasn’t happy with it. He was on a dark symbolism streak that began in school, and even though he’d been accepted to art college, he couldn’t seem to shake the dire imagery.

  “If you’re having trouble coming up with disturbing shit to paint, I should let you get inside my dreams.”

  “Do tell Joel, what sort of things are you dreaming about these days?” So I told him, and predictably, he was quite taken by the imagery of skunks and storm clouds. “Would you care if I used those? I’ve got great visuals in my head for them.”

  “Sure. You can copyright them for all I care.”

  I left Kevin frantically sketching in his book, and went out to the back yard to cut the grass, as the rain had tapered off for the moment. Just as I was starting up the ride-on lawnmower, I saw the three-legged skunk standing only thirty feet from me, staring. A shiver ripped down my spine.

  “Okay, this is really starting to freak me out,” I said aloud. He broke his stare and began hopping toward me. Jesus- was that thing rabid? I threw the mower into high gear and fled. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Stinky gaining on me. Suddenly the mower stalled. I jumped off, slipped in the wet grass, and fell on my face. It was just like something out of a bad horror movie. I looked back, and there he was, right beside me. Now I was sweating. What the hell was I supposed to do?

  Suddenly Kevin’s dog barked from the house. Stinky looked up and bolted. Blessing that dog and her future generations, I scrambled to my feet and ran into the house, where I made a beeline for the liquor cabinet and poured myself a stiff drink.

  “Do I smell a skunk?” Kevin came into the kitchen.

  “What!” I lifted my wrist to my nose and sniffed. I didn’t remember getting sprayed.

  “Whoa, relax, Joel! I’m talking about my beer. Here, smell it. I think it’s past its prime.”

  I took the bottle and inhaled. “Yikes! Yeah, that’s nasty! You must have gotten a bad bottle. Look, sorry if I freaked you out just now. I ran into old Stinky outside and he almost got me. I swear, I am having nightmares about that thing.”

  “Speaking of your nightmares, I have some roughs done for you to see. Come on up.”

  That should be interesting. We went upstairs and into the addition, where he handed me his sketchbook. Flipping through it, I suddenly stopped cold. There, on the page in pen and ink, was a scene that I’d been seeing in my dreams for almost a month.

  A cross stood alone on an empty desert terrain. The moon cast a long red shadow of the cross, like a red carpet rolling off the edge of a cliff. My face darkened. Kevin, thinking that I didn’t like it, asked if I was okay.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Kev, this one in particular is phenomenal. It’s exactly what I’ve been seeing.”

  “Thanks, man. I’m going to do huge canvas of it. I call it ‘The Path to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions.’”

  “Perfect.” I breathed deeply and willed myself to relax. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, man. Everything seems to be freaking me out lately. I think I’ll go lie down for a bit and see if that helps.”

  I left the addition, shaking my arms to release the anxiety that was creeping into my waking world, leaving Kevin with more questions than answers.

  My bedroom had always been a refuge for me, so I went there. After closing the door, I approached my oldest friend, who watched me from his post on my desk. Rex was not a person, though, or even a pet. My long time confidant, the one party who knew me better than my mom and Connor, was a Popsicle-stick Tyrannosaurus Rex.

  I made him for my dad at summer camp when I was six. He stood a foot high, was painted green, and represented my proudest childhood achievement. If Rex could have talked, he would have spoken volumes about my life, but he couldn’t, so I told him everything. You can’t trust your closest friend with secrets. That’s what my dad used to say. He knew how much I loved my dinosaur, so he urged me to use Rex as a sounding board whenever I needed to express my deepest thoughts or sweep out my darkest corners. “He’ll never question or judge you,” Dad said. Talking to Rex would be akin to holding a conversation with your conscience, with yourself. Of course I didn’t quite grasp the concept at the time, but Dad knew it would sink in later.

  Sitting on my couch, I looked Rex in the eyes, eyes I had chosen to colour a bright piercing red. I took a deep, concentrated, breath.

  “Something’s going on with me. This Grimm Reaper shit – the skunk, I’m on edge.”

  I picked Rex up and bounced him on my lap.

  “My nightmares – they started the day I heard about the Reaper. It’s gotta be bullshit. But I can’t shake this feeling.”

  Just as I finished my thought, Connor walked in.

  “Joel? Talking to yourself? Freak! Just stopped in to grab my bag of shit, I’m going home tonight.”

  “I’ll walk you out.” I glanced at the clock on the wall as we descended the staircase. It was only 7:30 p.m., but I was exhausted. After seeing Connor off, I returned to my room, saluted Rex, and collapsed onto my water bed, the water sloshing around me. It had seemed like a good idea when I was 12. Now it was just a noisy, nauseating pain in the ass.

  Kevin peeked in. When he saw me stretched out, his brow furrowed. “Joel, it’s only seven-thirty. Are you crashing now??”

  “I thought I might try an early night. Today’s been intense, man.”

  “Okay, I’m off to paint. See you tomorrow then.”

  He took his leave. Later, I could hear music through the walls, some
thing instrumental, a beautiful lullaby. Kevin took much of his inspiration from music. Said it helped him create. I liked it.

  *****

  I spent most of Thursday preparing for our camping weekend and involuntarily listening to the Grimm Reaper updates. The media loved this asshole because he was such a ratings booster. The more scared people got, the more they hovered around the television and radio.

  The latest news was that the Reaper had a following of religious crazies who agreed that it was time for the planet to be “cleansed.” These followers called themselves the Church of the Four Horsemen. The four horsemen of the apocalypse, no doubt. I wouldn’t disagree that the world was a ruthless place where money and self-interest took priority over everything, but it had been that way since the dawn of civilization. The only way to change things would be to rip humanity up by the roots and plant new seeds, so to speak. I just didn’t see how it was possible unless….

  The music station I was listening to while polishing the car suddenly interrupted its programming with a news flash. “This just in off the Reaper’s web page,” the announcer declared. “Money is not the root of all evil. Possessions are. We as a society strive to have more of everything. More than our neighbour, our brothers and sisters. Money buys us these possessions, and if we do not have the funds with which to purchase these material things, greed and want pushes us to steal in order to possess. In many instances one man will kill another in the attempt to possess that which he does not have.” She stopped. “I don’t know about our listeners out there, but that really hits home for me. Just yesterday a couple in my building had a break-in, and the man was beaten beyond recognition.” She paused. “Is anyone else out there starting to like this guy?” Suddenly music came back on- the management must have stepped in.

  I shook my head as I resumed polishing. “Sounds like the Church of The Four Horsemen just signed up another member.”

  When the music began to suck, I tried other stations, but half the time, I’d just catch another news broadcast about that shadowy son of a bitch. Speculation abounded on the subject of the Reaper’s identity. One theory was that he was not a single individual, but a façade created by the Chinese or North Koreans to draw attention and accusation away from themselves when they commenced nuclear warfare. Others thought that he might be the Internet face of a group of Islamic extremists. Who would know before it was too late?