36

The dream was more vivid than it had ever been. This time it began on the train trestle. I was standing there, holding Mary’s hand while a train bore down on us from one side, and on the other side was Old Nathaniel, carrying a burning cross. Old Nathaniel seemed as much an apparition as a physical thing, and didn’t walk or run toward us, but instead floated. The cross trailed long tongues of fire behind him. It was unclear which would reach us first, Old Nathaniel or the train, but there could be no mistaking that if we stayed put, we were trapped.

“We’ve got to jump,” I said to Mary.

“No,” she said. “The children.”

“What children?” The words were no more out of my mouth when I saw them. Briscoe and Virginia both sat a few feet to my right, their legs dangling over the side of the train trestle just as Deja had dangled hers.

I sat up with a start and sucked in a deep breath, coughing it back out.

For a moment I didn’t know where I was at all. Then Shelia spoke. “Can you feed Huckleberry?”

I stood up, stretching my sore muscles. I was far too old to spend the night swinging sledgehammers, hiding behind sofas, and—I cracked my back—crawling through fucking truck windows. Not to mention sleeping on the floor and experiencing dreams like that one. Jesus, I could still feel the panic surging through me when I’d seen Briscoe and Virginia on the train trestle.

I dug my phone out of my pocket. Dead.

“What time is it?” I asked the room. Ronnie and Martin didn’t move from their spots sitting on the couch. Only Shelia raised her head.

“Hell if I know. You’ve got the phone.”

“It just died. I need to make a call.”

“Phone’s by the computer,” she said. I walked over, gradually becoming aware that Huckleberry was barking outside.

“He’s hungry,” Shelia said. “You going to feed him?”

“Give me a second,” I said.

I picked up the phone and dialed Susan’s number. It rang for a long time before she answered. “Hello?” Her voice sounded unsure.

“It’s Earl.”

“Oh, thank God. I’ve been trying to call you most of the night.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Someone came to the house last night. They knocked on the door. Loudly. I looked out the window, but the person was…”

“What? Tell me.”

“The person was wearing a burlap sack over his head. Whoever it was was dressed like Old Nathaniel. I was going to call the police, but at that moment a rock came through the window. It nearly hit Rufus. Attached to the rock was a note.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“It said … hold on—I’ll go get it.”

A moment passed during which I closed my eyes and tried not to have a panic attack. How would I be able to find Mary and take care of Susan and those two kids?

“I’ve got it here. It says, ‘This is just a warning. Call the police and the girl dies. If your boyfriend continues messing in our business, they both die.’”

“Okay,” I said. “Can you bring the kids and pick me up? I’m in a little trouble right now.”

“Sure, but what about last night? What should I do? Rufus said to talk to you, but I’ve been calling since three in the morning.”

“I’m sorry. I was sleeping.”

“Where are you?”

“With one of Ronnie’s friends. I’ll get you the address. Hang on.”

Shelia managed to give me the address, which I relayed to Susan.

“Look, I’m going to figure this out. Just come as soon as you can.”

“Okay. Are you sure?”

“Positive. Can you put Rufus on?”

“Just a second.”

About a minute later, Rufus said, “This is getting serious.”

“You don’t know the half of it. I spent most of the night following up on some leads, and it looks like Lane’s friend Taggart Monroe is involved in some vile shit.”

“What kind of vile shit?”

I took a deep breath. “I’ve got a hunch.”

“Okay, let’s hear it.”

“Well, Ronnie and I broke into a warehouse last night that looked like it had been used to film movies. We even found some of an old script on a clipboard. This was the place Lane Jefferson used to pay his friend Pit to do security for. Anyway, someone obviously knew we were there because they called the cops. We got away, barely, but I’m thinking that was why the move was made on Susan and the kids.”

“Could be.”

“There’s more.”

“All right.”

I swallowed, dreading Rufus’s reaction. He always favored the most rational and logical approach to any situation, which was why I really dreaded telling him this next part.

“I think it’s a possibility that Mary was taken for a snuff film.”

He said nothing, but I could still hear his incredulity about the theory loud and clear. The phone line pretty much buzzed with disdain.

“Hear me out,” I said.

“I ain’t said a word.”

“I know. But I also know you can speak without saying a word.”

Again he said nothing.

“So, I found a microphone on the ground near Johnny that night. Near the place he claimed he was attacked by Old Nathaniel. And you found one too near the cave where Mary and I first saw Old Nathaniel and AOC written on the wall. And now the film warehouse. There’s just too much to ignore.”

He was still silent. It was killing me. But I knew I had to get the whole theory out. Because, despite Rufus’s obvious skepticism and the fact that saying it out loud made it sound even sillier than it had been in my mind, it was the only damn thing I had. It represented a path forward. Sure it might peter out or lead me to a dead end, but at least it was somewhere to go. I’d been standing still for so long.

“What if someone was filming when Mary and Johnny were attacked? And what if that’s just one scene and they’re filming the rest later? You know how I mentioned doing some research last night? This Taggart guy is known for three things: making movies that are racist trash, being obsessed with moon cycles, and using three climaxes in his scenes.”

Rufus was still silent, but this time I meant to wait him out. After a moment he said, “You’ve lost me.”

“Okay. I guess I can see that. So, here it is. Working backward. The three climaxes. A fourteen-year-old boy has been missing since July. He’s from the trailer park right next to the cornfield. His sister thinks Old Nathaniel got him, and I tend to agree, based on what she told me. That’s one.”

“One what?”

“One climax. Pay attention.”

“Okay, I’m trying. You said there were three.”

“Mary being taken. That could be another one.”

“And the third?”

“Maybe it hasn’t happened yet. Maybe that one will involve Mary too.”

“Still not following. Even if I concede that Monroe and Jefferson are behind this, how could it involve her, if they already have her?”

“They have her, but I don’t think they’ve killed her yet.”

Silence.

“Shit, okay, maybe it’s more wishful thinking than anything, but based on the moon cycle—that’s Taggart’s other obsession, remember—the next full moon is Thursday. If he was going to do the third and most explosive climax, wouldn’t it make sense to do it on a full moon?”

“A lot of assumptions there, Earl—”

“I’ve got more.”

“Okay…”

“The rally. What night is it?”

“Thursday.”

“The night of the full moon. I think it was planned that way. If the rally is Thursday, all of the attention will be focused on downtown Riley. Taggart and Jefferson will have free reign to do as they see fit.”

I paused to catch my breath. My heart was pounding in my chest. It was a stretch. I knew that. But after saying it out loud, it felt more plausible somehow. I waited while Rufus took his sweet time to respond.

He cleared his throat. “I think it’s a pretty wild hunch, but it does have some interesting components. You need to disprove it so you can go to the next one.”

That was actually way more support than I’d expected from Rufus. I let out the breath I’d been holding. “My thoughts exactly.”

Now I just needed to figure out how to disprove it.

“Earl,” he said, “what are we going to do about Susan and these kids?”

“I’ve got an idea about that.”

“You want to share it?”

I looked over at Shelia. She was awake. “Not right now, but soon.”

“Roger that. Earl?”

“Yeah?”

“When you find out about this hunch, I want you to know I’ll be there to help you however I can.”

“I know.”

“I’m always willing and ready to talk. The only thing on my schedule is to protest Jeb Walsh on Thursday night.”

“Got it,” I said, and hung up the phone.

I couldn’t help but feel a little worse after talking to him than I had before I’d called. Without coming out and saying it, I could tell Rufus was already thinking what I feared: that Mary was dead.

Why else all the stuff about wanting to be there for me? I’m always ready and willing to talk. It sounded like what you told a person who’d just lost a loved one.

“You know who you need to talk to?”

The voice surprised me. I looked up and saw that it was Shelia. She’d obviously been paying attention to the entire conversation.

“Who?”

“My ex. One of the reasons I left him was because he was into some dark shit.”

I walked over to the chair I’d slept in and sat down. “Dark shit?”

“Yeah, he didn’t really know when to stop. Like most people have a little thing inside them that says something’s too far. You know, like it’s okay to do drugs…” She smiled sheepishly. “But selling them? That’s too far for me. I’m allowed to fuck up my own life, just not anybody else’s. Well, Frank—that’s my ex—he sold drugs and he did … other things … I couldn’t tolerate.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t even want to say, but if anybody knows about snuff films, it’s him. I’ll bet he’s seen his fair share.”

“Does this ex have a last name?”

She nodded. “Bentley. Frank Bentley.”

“Where can I find him?”

I suppose I was expecting to be given the address of some kind of out-of-the-way trailer or drug shanty kind of like this one, which explained why my mouth fell open when she answered my question.

“He’s in Sommerville Chase.”