Chapter 3: Rule Number One

  The smell of frying sausages and toasting bread made Lester’s stomach growl.  Stepping into the kitchen, he found his mother humming to herself as she dished scrambled eggs onto plates.  

  Mrs. North was a beautiful woman.  She had emerald green eyes and sleek black hair, tied back into a tight ponytail that bobbed behind her as she moved.  Her cheeks were still flush from her morning run, and her workout clothes showed off broad shoulders and an athletic build.

  “Hello, sweetie,” she said, setting a plate in front of Lester and kissing his cheek as he slid onto a chair.

  Not wasting time with a reply, Lester dropped his delivery bag to the floor and began rapidly shoveling food into his mouth.  He wasn’t usually a breakfast person, but he suddenly felt famished.  Making short work of his eggs, he quickly moved on to a piece of cinnamon-raisin toast. 

  “Well, I must have done something right this morning,” his mother said.  She laughed as she watched her son cram a sausage into an already full mouth.  “If only I knew what that was.”

  Mrs. North sniffed curiously at the plate she still held in her hand before setting it on the table across from Lester. 

  A loud thud came from inside the refrigerator, followed by a muffled curse word.  Behind its open door, a tall man bent at the waist, in a passable impression of a stooping giraffe.

  “What is all this stuff in here, Patricia?”

  “It’s for Saturday, dear,” said Mrs. North.

  “Ah, right.”

   The man emerged holding a bottle of orange juice.  Upright, with his dark red hair and wire-framed glasses, Mr. North had the countenance of a stern college professor.  Albeit, a well-paid one in a fashionable dark blue suit. 

  “How was your paper route today?” Mr. North asked Lester, filling his glass.

  “Okay.  You know, the usual.”

  Lester was still buzzing with excitement from everything that had happened.  Still, he made no mention of the accident or the woman.  This morning had been strange and out of the ordinary, and Edward and Patricia North did not do strange or out of the ordinary. 

  “Oh.  I nearly forgot,” Lester said, reaching down and pulling a bundle from his bag.  “Here’s the mail.”

  Mr. North, orange juice still in his right hand, took the stack of envelopes with his left, on which he wore a thin black glove.  As the sleeve of his suit jacket pulled back, Lester caught a glimpse of the web of scars that snaked up his father’s forearm.

  “You know,” Mr. North said, frowning, “he’s not supposed to just hand it to you.” 

  “Come on, Dad,” said Lester.  “He’s just trying to be nice.”

  “His job isn’t to be nice; it’s to deliver the mail.  So it wouldn’t hurt him to do it with a bit more professionalism.”  Flipping through the envelopes, Mr. North clicked his tongue disapprovingly.  “And look, there’s a letter for the Pooles in here.”

  A familiar pattern of wrinkles appeared between Lester’s father’s eyebrows.  They were a sign he was deep in thought, irritated about something, or, as often was the case, both.

  “Dad,” Lester said, seizing the moment to change the subject.  “Saturday, the historical society is leading a hike through the forest to the old lookout tower.”

  “You already know the answer to your question,” Mr. North said without looking up.  This was one of Lester’s father’s favorite phrases, and sometimes he would say it before Lester had even opened his mouth, making him appear as though he could read minds.  “You will be busy supporting your brother’s initiation ceremony with the rest of the family on Saturday.”

  “I didn’t think anyone would notice if I weren’t there,” Lester said, wishing just once he could actually ask a question before being told no.  “I’ll only be waiting in the back with all the other underage kids.”

  “Attendance at your brother’s Drawing-In is non-negotiable.  You can goof around in the woods another time.”  His father’s voice remained calm and matter-of-fact, showing no signs of argument because there would be none.  Their conversation was over before it had really begun.

  “Who’s goofing around?  Lester?”

  A boy with hair the same shade as Mr. North’s, gave Lester’s ear a hard flick as he came into the kitchen. 

 “That’d be a first,” he said.  “The bookworm lightening up and not being so serious all the time?  I’ll believe it when I see it.”  He wrapped an arm around Lester’s neck and began grinding the knuckles of his free hand across the top of Lester’s head.

  “Cut it out, Bernard!” Lester gagged.  He’d just taken a large bite of his second helping of eggs and was now straining not to choke. 

 Lester fought to break his brother’s hold.  While Bernard, two years older, muscular, and a gifted athlete, pretended not to notice.

  “Let your brother eat his breakfast in peace, please,” called Mrs. North.

  “Don’t worry, Mom,” Bernard said.  “I’m not going to hurt your favorite.”

  He let go of Lester, stole a sausage from his plate, and sat down.

  Lester noticed his mother’s cheery demeanor flicker at his brother’s comment.  Her eyes fell briefly on a framed photograph of a boy, who looked very much like an older version of himself.

  “Are we clear on Saturday?” Mr. North asked.

  “Huh?” said Lester.  “Oh, yeah.  But do I have to stay with the little kids?  It’s embarrassing.  I mean, it’s not like everyone there isn’t already part of —”

  “Uh-uh,” his father admonished, quickly cutting him off.  “You know the rules.” 

  “Never talk about Council business,” Lester said robotically, as though reading it from the back of the world’s most boring cereal box.

  Bernard snickered and stole another of Lester’s sausages.

  “And what about you?” Mr. North said, his steely gaze shifting to the other side of the table.  “Have you been studying?”

  Lester’s brother dropped the half-eaten sausage to his plate and began pushing it around with a fork.

  “You’re going to have to recite the whole thing without any notes,” Mr. North continued.  “I know public speaking isn’t your strong suit.  So ask Lester if you need some help with the memorization.”

  “I’m working on it,” mumbled Bernard.

  “See that you do.”

  Despite the difference in their ages, Lester and his brother were only a year apart in school.  A fact Bernard took as a personal insult.  It didn’t help that Lester received high honors while Bernard struggled and attended tutoring sessions for his dyslexia.

  “I know your brother would be happy to help,” said Mr. North.  “Lester’s only a couple of years away from his own ceremony.”

  “Sure,” said Lester.  Then spotting his brother’s glare, he quickly added, “You know, if you need it.”

  Bernard used his fork as a mini catapult to flick a pile of eggs across the table at Lester.  His shot went wide and he moved to reload, only to discover the space on the table in front of him empty.

  “Hey!  What’s the big idea?” he said, looking around.  

  Mrs. North, who had been on the other side of the kitchen packing lunches, now stood behind him, his plate in her hand.

  “Bernard, if you are going to throw my eggs at your brother, I’m going to assume you’re finished. And Edward,” she said, turning to Lester’s father.  “Do we really have to go into this now?”

  “Lester is nearly of age,” Mr. North said.  “It wouldn’t hurt him to begin to prepare.” 

  “True.  But it’s the kid’s first day of school.  Don’t you think this could wait?”

  Mr. North began to argue the point, then stopped.  Lester guessed he’d also seen his mother’s gaze drift once again to the photograph.

  Watching his parents resume their morning routines in silence, Lester decided not to object when neither of them noticed Bernard pull his plate across the table and continue eating.  He had lost his appetite anyway, and was relieved when the quiet of the kitchen was broken by the sound of the doorbell.

  “That must be Amanda,” Lester said, jumping to his feet.  He grabbed his backpack, a bag lunch, and a kiss from his mother.  Then he bolted from the room. 

  “We’re not done talking about this,” his father called out as the front door closed behind him.

  Outside, Lester strode quickly past the young girl standing on the front steps and began speed walking down the driveway.

  “Well, good morning to you, too!” the girl said, jogging to catch up.

  “Sorry,” said Lester, slowing his pace until she was alongside.

  Lester liked to think that he and Amanda Poole would have been best friends even if they hadn’t known each other their whole lives.  A premise that could never be proven, as their families had been neighbors and business partners for generations.  Making the two youngest from each house practically brother and sister.

  “Not done talking about what?” Amanda asked.  She was almost as tall as Lester, with hair so blonde it was nearly white.

  “What do you think?” said Lester.

  “Oh, you mean because of Bernard’s — you know?”

  “Yeah.”

  Lester and Amanda’s conversations often sounded to those around them as if they were speaking a secret code known only to them.

  “Do you ever think about it?” Lester asked.

  “The ceremony?  Sometimes.”

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  Their school was a short walk up Main Street, and once they were out of sight of Lester’s house, they slowed, taking their time.

  “I don’t suppose Bernard has told you anything?” Amanda asked.

  “No, but he wouldn’t.”

  “Of course not,” she said.  Then, in the same methodical tone Lester had used with his father, she added, “Rule number one.  Never talk about Council business.”

  The North and Poole families could trace their ancestors back to the founding of Giles Hollow.  In fact, the house Lester lived in predated the town itself, having been built in 1695 by some distant relative.  Since then, it had been passed down to each subsequent North descendant.  The same was true for the Pooles, who had also been among that first group to come inland.  

  In the beginning, their families had been essential to the town’s development, and members of each had sat on the Council of Founders.  The Council’s word had literally been the law in the early days, overseeing all local business and settling disputes.  Nothing, and no one, came in or out without their notice, and according to local lore, the collection of a small fee.

  As the decades passed and the population grew, things began to change.  The founding families stepped down from their role as overseers, graciously by all accounts, to make way for a more modern system of government.  No longer required to ensure the survival of their small hamlet, they went into business for themselves, and that’s when the rumors started.

  In the 1920s, during prohibition, it was said that The Council, having retained its name and reputation, ran illegal liquor down from Canada.  In the 50s, they’d purportedly moved onto gambling.  By the 1980s, as the story goes, they had cornered the market on pirated movies and music up and down the East Coast.  Each successive decade had its own theories about The Council’s shadowy activities.  The current gossip centered around an elaborate system of computer spyware and hacking.  

  Like all the best small-town scandals, nothing was ever substantiated with any actual proof.  While the modern-day version of Council Consulting, Inc.’s business model might be somewhat murky, it was a successful, tax-paying company that sponsored several local charities.

  However, a rumor repeated often, over a great enough length of time, eventually becomes indistinguishable from fact.  As a result, wherever Lester and Amanda went, their family names preceded them.  Of course, no one ever came right out and said the Norths and the Pooles were members of an organized crime syndicate.  But whether this was because they didn’t believe it or did and were too frightened to bring it up was unclear.  It wouldn’t have made any difference either way, mostly because of rule number two.  The Council, it’s business and activities, were strictly off-limits to all family members under the age of 13.  So people could have asked all they wanted, but the truth was Lester and Amanda were as much in the dark as everyone else. 

  They turned right, passed the fire station, cutting across a neatly mowed soccer field towards a row of identical gray buildings.

  The Ownby Organ Company was founded in 1904 and quickly became the biggest manufacturer of organs in the country.  It’s factory operated day and night, pumping out organs right up until the one-two punch of a fire and the Great Depression put it out of business.  Two of its three surviving buildings were later converted into the Giles Hollow Elementary School.  The third became the town’s library.

  “Hey, you guys!  Wait up!”  

  Amanda turned to see a short girl with shoulder-length jet black hair heading in their direction.  Her arms struggled to carry several books as she ran.

  “Oh, no,” Amanda said, quickly looking away.  “Here she comes.”

  “Be nice,” whispered Lester.

  “I am nice,” Amanda said, in a tone that belied her argument. 

  “Hi, Mae,” Lester said as the girl caught up to them.  “What’s going on?”

  “I have to — show you — something,” Mae wheezed.  She blew her hair out of her face and tried to keep her towering stack of books from falling over. 

  “Did you leave anything in the library?” Amanda asked, using a single finger to push one of the wayward volumes back in place, as though afraid she might catch something by touching it.

  “Oh, yeah, loads,” Mae said, apparently failing to notice Amanda’s sarcasm.  “Did you know there’s a limit to how much you can check out?”

  Amanda shot Lester a look.

  “Anyway,” said Mae, steadying the wobbling books with her chin.  “You guys have to see this.”

  She pulled her smartphone from her pocket and held it out.  “Look what I found.”

  “Your phone?” asked Lester.

  “Not my phone.  What’s on it.”

  Lester eyed the sleek black device dubiously.

  “Come on,” Mae pleaded, shaking it at him.

  Relenting, he took it.

  “There’s nothing here,” said Lester tilting the phone.  “The screen’s dark.”

  “You have to slide the bar at the bottom,” said Mae.

  “Um, okay.”  Lester tapped at it with his finger, but nothing happened.

  “Do you really not know how to work a smartphone?”

  “My parents won’t let me have one,” Lester admitted. 

  “Oh,” Mae said, as though he’d just told her a relative had died.  “Well, in that case, give it here.”  She took the phone and pulled up a photograph with a few quick swipes.  “Your parents not letting you have a smartphone is medieval,” she said, holding out the image.

  The three of them leaned in close until their heads were almost touching.

  “What is it?” asked Lester.

  “It looks like a dog in a snowstorm,” said Amanda.

  “That,” Mae said, beaming with excitement, “is photographic proof of the existence of a Yeti!  You know, the Abominable Snowman?  Some climbers in Tibet took it yesterday.  If you look closely, you can just make out the fangs in its mouth.”

  “And the flea collar around its neck,” mumbled Amanda.  She jumped back suddenly as though she’d been shocked, her hand clutching her side where Lester had shot an elbow into her ribs.  “Ow!  What was that for?”

  “That’s really fascinating, Mae,” Lester said loudly, ignoring Amanda’s scowl.

  “Right?  I knew you’d appreciate it.”  Mae pocketed the phone and straightened her stack of books.  “I’ve got to go see if I can fit these in my locker before the first bell.  I’ll see you guys at school.”

  When she was gone, Amanda rolled her eyes at Lester.

  “She is so weird.”

  “I know,” Lester said.  “But that’s no excuse for being mean.” 

  “I wasn’t being mean.”

  “Were you or were you not going to tell her that photograph was fake?”

  “Not fake, just a fairly standard picture of a llama,” Amanda said.  “Besides, why does she always have to hang out with us?”

  “I guess she hasn’t made any other friends yet,” said Lester as they continued walking across the field.

  “She should try harder,” Amanda grumbled.

  Reaching the school’s main entrance, Lester and Amanda climbed the short flight of granite steps, stopping in front of a pair of thick wooden doors.

  “Are you ready for another year?” Lester asked.

  “Not really,” replied Amanda, wiping her palms on her jeans. 

  “Don’t worry.  Getting through the first day of school’s like removing a bandaid.  It’s best to rip it off in one quick motion.”

  “Sounds painful.”

  “It’s not that bad,” said Lester.  Then grinning, he added, “Though, you may experience some slight irritation.”

  Amanda laughed and punched him in the arm.  “Open the door, stupid.”

  The old building retained an overwhelmingly industrial feel, despite the passage of nearly a dozen decades.  Its uneven wooden floors, high ceilings, and tall windows had changed little over the years.  Even the original shrill whistle, once used to signal the beginning and end of each workday, remained operational to the chagrin of every student.

  The factory had been vast, and there was more space than the school needed, leaving several floors untouched, still full of dust and old organ parts.

  Packed into the main hall, once trodden by workers at the turn of the century, a swarm of kids laughed, shouted, and slammed lockers.  They buzzed about, their excitement at being back together palpable.  There were loud conversations about who had grown, who hadn’t, new glasses, removed braces, and, Lester noticed, a surprising trend of blue hair.

  Lester said goodbye to Amanda as a group of girls called out to her, and she quickly disappeared into the throng.  After a stop at his locker, he was headed to his first class when Mae appeared next to him.

  “Good luck today, Lester,” Mae said brightly.

  “Good luck?”

  “With your math test, silly.  Didn’t you say that Mrs. Q starts every year with a big review?  You didn’t forget, did you?” Mae asked with a curious tilt of her head.  “That’s funny.  I got the impression over the summer you were quite nervous about it.”

  Lester’s heart sank, and for the second time that morning, he thought he might be sick.

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