Page 11 of The Pact

Kevin tried to speak, but couldn’t find his voice, so he nodded.

Aaron started toward the pen. “Keep an eye on the house.”

Kevin’s heart pounded a hard rhythm as he followed. The snow was coming down harder now. He hoped it would help conceal them if the old man woke up and looked out the window.

As they neared the pen, the buck began to pace, snorting an alarm, its tail high. The closer they got, the more frantic the animal’s pacing, until it was running back and forth along the deep trench its hooves had dug over the months of its captivity.

The boys reached the pen. The buck trotted to the far corner, eyeing them warily. Aaron sidled to the gate. Sure enough, there was a padlock and chain.

“Let’s cut it,” he whispered.

The pen was about ten feet high, with chain link strewn across the top to keep the buck from jumping out. The support posts were a combination of two-by-fours and steel pipe. Taking a final look at the house, Kevin followed his friend. He was so scared he almost couldn’t breathe.

Aaron knelt and began to snip. It wasn’t easy cutting through chain link. He tossed a look at Kevin. “Over there.” He motioned to a place about four feet away. “Hurry.”

Kevin dropped to his knees and pulled the wire cutters from his pocket. His hands were so cold he almost couldn’t get his fingers around the wire cutters. It took every bit of strength he possessed to cut, but he did. Starting at the ground level, he worked his way up. Snip. Snip. Snip. Aaron finished first and came around to help him, starting at the top, working his way down.

“You see the rack on that buck?” Aaron whispered as he worked.

“Never seen anything like it,” Kevin replied.

For the span of a full minute, they didn’t speak. Kevin’s fingers ached from the exertion and cold, but he kept going. Finally, their cuts met and the chain link sprang loose and curled.

“Got it.” Taking the fence in both hands, Aaron pulled it outward, opening the pen.

“Holy cow, we did it,” Kevin said.

In tandem, the boys walked to the other side of the pen. “Go on, boy,” Kevin whispered.

Aaron raised his hands and clucked as if to a horse. “Go!”

The buck held its ground, frozen. Kevin looked into the animal’s eyes. The buck stared back, and he thought he’d never seen anything so magical. After a moment, the deer lunged across the pen, soared through the opening, and bounded into the woods.

Kevin stood there, awed by what they’d just witnessed. He was proud of what they’d done. At that moment, he felt more powerful than he’d ever felt in his life.

“That was awesome,” he whispered.

He was so caught up, he didn’t notice when the light flicked on at the back of the cabin. He didn’t even look over until he heard the door slam.

“What the hell are you punks doing out there!” roared a deep male voice.

“Holy shit!” Kevin squeaked. “Old man Henderson!”

“Run!” Aaron whispered, and they sprinted into the woods in the same direction the buck had gone.

I find John Tomasetti’s Tahoe parked on the gravel pullover when I emerge from the woods. We meet next to the Explorer. I can tell he’s tempted to greet me with a kiss, but a Holmes County deputy is parked on the other side of the road, so we settle for a quick handshake.

“Hell of a night for two boys to go missing,” he says, huddling more deeply into his coat.

I update him on our search and tell him about Kenneth O’Neil. It’s premature for me to be overly concerned that O’Neil is involved, but RSOs are always high on my list of suspects and at this point I’m bound to do my due diligence first.

“O’Neil did twelve years in Mansfield for trying to lure a ten-year-old boy into his vehicle,” I tell him. “Currently on probation. He lives just a few miles from where the boys went missing.”

Tomasetti gives me a dark look. “In that case, let’s go ruin his day.”

A few minutes later we’re in the Explorer, heading south on the township road. Snow patters the windshield, my wipers barely keeping up. Next to me, Tomasetti has the GPS pulled up on his phone.

“Gotta be it right there.” He motions toward a narrow lane that cuts into a skeletal jungle of trees.