called me Keeler. You must be my new best friend, Davey.”
The boy squeezed out a weak smile. Keeler smiled back. This prevented his own tears from spilling down his face. The abomination was beyond his understanding. What had possessed Jeter to do this to anyone, let alone a child? Keeler couldn’t imagine the boy’s pain.
“I bet you want to go back home, yeah?”
The boy nodded.
“So you can be with your mummy and daddy?”
The boy’s mouth creased and the crying began again.
“Hey, hey, don’t cry. I’m going to get you out of here. You understand me?”
“Yes,” the boy sniffed.
“Good.” Keeler smiled. “Do you know how you ended up in the tree?”
“No.”
Not surprising , Keeler thought. How Jeter managed to place one of his victims inside his own head, let alone plant him inside a tree was beyond imagination. Keeler examined the seam where the boy and the oak joined. It was nonexistent. The boy was truly an extension of the tree. Simply cutting the tree away from the boy wasn’t an option, but what option did he have? He had to give it a try.
He reached for his ankle and pulled out his prison-made knife from his sock. Six months ago, he’d been part of a work detail that had dismantled a rusted wrought iron fence. He’d bided his time and, when he wasn’t under a screw’s scrutiny, he’d sawn eight inches off from the spiked end of a fence post. Although tipped, the spiked end was dull and he’d sharpened it. It was good enough for self-defense purposes, but it didn’t possess the scalpel qualities necessary to remove the boy from the tree. He would have to do his best.
As Keeler brought the shank up, the boy caught sight of the weapon and panicked. His eyes widened and blazed and his sniveling escalated into an earsplitting wail. Keeler stuffed the shank in his pocket and raised his empty hands to show the boy he meant no harm.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you,” Keeler shouted over the boy’s wail.
The boy’s sobs subsided.
“I have to get you out of the tree. Understand?”
The boy mumbled that he did.
“I want to try something. Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good.” Keeler smiled. “Now I want to cut you out of the tree.”
The boy started gibbering.
“Shh, now. I’ve got to try. You don’t want to spend forever trapped in there, do you?”
“No,” the boy replied after a long moment.
“If you feel any pain, let me know.”
Keeler retrieved his shank and prayed he was doing the right thing. He pressed the shank against an area of the tree about a foot away from the boy’s shoulder and dragged the makeshift knife down to score the surface.
The boy screamed the moment the shank cut into the tree flesh. Blood poured out from the six-inch gash. Keeler tossed his weapon away and tried to staunch the wound by slapping his hand over the cut. It was a feeble bandage and blood continued to pulse between his fingers.
“Oh, Christ,” Keeler stammered. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
Keeler turned out his pockets to pull out a handkerchief and stuffed it into the slash. It turned crimson immediately. He couldn’t imagine the tree bleeding to death, but the boy’s scream sure made it seem that way.
“Relax,” Keeler said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. “You’re going to be okay. Trust me.”
Keeler ripped off his denim shirt and tore at a sleeve. The tough material put up good resistance. He wished he hadn’t thrown his shank away now, but he couldn’t stop to search for it. Eventually a worn seam broke and the sleeve came away. He yanked out the sodden handkerchief and jammed in the makeshift bandage. The denim absorbed the blood flow well. He had to repack the wound twice with a fresh piece of the sleeve, but after several minutes, the
The boy squeezed out a weak smile. Keeler smiled back. This prevented his own tears from spilling down his face. The abomination was beyond his understanding. What had possessed Jeter to do this to anyone, let alone a child? Keeler couldn’t imagine the boy’s pain.
“I bet you want to go back home, yeah?”
The boy nodded.
“So you can be with your mummy and daddy?”
The boy’s mouth creased and the crying began again.
“Hey, hey, don’t cry. I’m going to get you out of here. You understand me?”
“Yes,” the boy sniffed.
“Good.” Keeler smiled. “Do you know how you ended up in the tree?”
“No.”
Not surprising , Keeler thought. How Jeter managed to place one of his victims inside his own head, let alone plant him inside a tree was beyond imagination. Keeler examined the seam where the boy and the oak joined. It was nonexistent. The boy was truly an extension of the tree. Simply cutting the tree away from the boy wasn’t an option, but what option did he have? He had to give it a try.
He reached for his ankle and pulled out his prison-made knife from his sock. Six months ago, he’d been part of a work detail that had dismantled a rusted wrought iron fence. He’d bided his time and, when he wasn’t under a screw’s scrutiny, he’d sawn eight inches off from the spiked end of a fence post. Although tipped, the spiked end was dull and he’d sharpened it. It was good enough for self-defense purposes, but it didn’t possess the scalpel qualities necessary to remove the boy from the tree. He would have to do his best.
As Keeler brought the shank up, the boy caught sight of the weapon and panicked. His eyes widened and blazed and his sniveling escalated into an earsplitting wail. Keeler stuffed the shank in his pocket and raised his empty hands to show the boy he meant no harm.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you,” Keeler shouted over the boy’s wail.
The boy’s sobs subsided.
“I have to get you out of the tree. Understand?”
The boy mumbled that he did.
“I want to try something. Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good.” Keeler smiled. “Now I want to cut you out of the tree.”
The boy started gibbering.
“Shh, now. I’ve got to try. You don’t want to spend forever trapped in there, do you?”
“No,” the boy replied after a long moment.
“If you feel any pain, let me know.”
Keeler retrieved his shank and prayed he was doing the right thing. He pressed the shank against an area of the tree about a foot away from the boy’s shoulder and dragged the makeshift knife down to score the surface.
The boy screamed the moment the shank cut into the tree flesh. Blood poured out from the six-inch gash. Keeler tossed his weapon away and tried to staunch the wound by slapping his hand over the cut. It was a feeble bandage and blood continued to pulse between his fingers.
“Oh, Christ,” Keeler stammered. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
Keeler turned out his pockets to pull out a handkerchief and stuffed it into the slash. It turned crimson immediately. He couldn’t imagine the tree bleeding to death, but the boy’s scream sure made it seem that way.
“Relax,” Keeler said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. “You’re going to be okay. Trust me.”
Keeler ripped off his denim shirt and tore at a sleeve. The tough material put up good resistance. He wished he hadn’t thrown his shank away now, but he couldn’t stop to search for it. Eventually a worn seam broke and the sleeve came away. He yanked out the sodden handkerchief and jammed in the makeshift bandage. The denim absorbed the blood flow well. He had to repack the wound twice with a fresh piece of the sleeve, but after several minutes, the
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