SACRED SECRETS

A Jacody Ives Mystery

LINDA S. PRATHER

Sacred Secrets, A Jacody Ives Mystery

Published by:  Linda S. Prather

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Copyright © 2010 by Linda S. Prather

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.  Purchase only authorized editions.

COVER:  Linda S. Prather

Other Books:  The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery

REFERENCE PAGE

PAPA LA DAS - Name used to refer to the Devil.

Piasa Bird (pronounced Pie-a-saw), is a local legend in the Alton, Illinois area. In 1673 Father Jacques Marquette, in recording his famous journey down the Mississippi River with Louis Joliet, described the "Piasa" as a birdlike monster painted high on the bluffs along the Mississippi River, where the city of Alton, Illinois now stands. According to the diary, the Piasa "was as large as a calf with horns like a deer, red eyes, a beard like a tiger's, a face like a man, the body covered with green, red and black scales and a tail so long it passed around the body, over the head and between the legs."

The creature was given its name by the Illini Indians, "The Piasa", meaning a bird that devours men.

Marie Laveau - The most famous, and one of the most powerful voodoo priestesses in New Orleans History. Born in the 1790’s, details of her parentage and origins are uncertain. Moving to New Orleans in her youth, Marie was raised as a devout Catholic. She was a feared and respected figure adept with charms and potions of all kinds.

To Caleb Gavin Fuson. Born December 7, 2008. Died December 7, 2008. A precious moment in time.

A GRANDMOTHER’S POEM

In just a short moment,

you became the softness

beneath my smile.

In just a short moment,

you became the twinkle

in my eyes.

In just a short moment,

you were my dreams

of the future.

The things we would do

The things I would teach you

The things you would teach me

In just a short moment we shared

A lifetime of love.

And then you were gone,

To sleep with the angels.

SPECIAL THANK YOU

To my son, Charles W. Prather, Jr., for writing and sharing the poetry contained in this book, and for encouraging me to write poetry.

Bob Evans Restaurant, Somerset, Kentucky, for all the coffee and that table in the back.

My friends and family, especially Coby, who have put up with my mood swings and darkness, and Joyce Coomer for all her encouragement and pushing.

"Rough wind, that moanest loud

Grief too sad for song;

Wild wind, when sullen cloud

Knells all the night long;

Sad storm, whose tears are vain,

Bare woods, whose branches strain,

Deep caves and dreary main, -

Wail, for the world's wrong!"

Percy Bysshe Shelley

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PROLOGUE

Moonlight glinted off the scalpel.

Lydia moistened her lips and swallowed, flinching at the pain. Her throat was dry, raw from her screams.

“Please. . .” she whispered.

Thud, clink, thud, clink, thud, clink. The shovel dug in rhythm to the voice. The singsong rhyme.

“Dig the hole, dig it deep, give the worms something to eat. I like the livers and the hearts, the worms can have the other parts.”

Thud, clink, thud.

Tossing the shovel he knelt beside her, gently brushing the long blonde hair from her face. “Shh. . .,” he whispered.

Insane giggles filled the night as the scalpel slashed through bone and sinew.

The sapphire-blue eyes dimmed, fading as her body jerked and her lips parted.

“Please. . .,” she whispered

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 1

Destiny.

A path that could not be altered except by the one who walked it. And few chose their own.

Billy Dawson did not walk the path he desired, but the path that had been chosen for him thousands of years before by his ancestors. A path he had always been sure of. Until now.

“He’s a good man.”

Her voice intruded on his thoughts as he maneuvered the Blazer around the sharp curves.

“It’s not my fault, Miss Charity. You know that.”

Billy could feel her presence, just as if she were sitting next to him. Feel the piercing dark eyes boring into him. She knew where he was going. What he was going to do. She even knew who he was--or what he was.

“It ain’t right.”

The sadness inside him deepened as he felt her drift away from him. He’d been alone since the death of his grandfather. Ostracized from society. Walking a path that few would understand, and most would hate him for.

Perhaps that was their bond, he thought. Miss Charity had turned her back on society. Created a new world for herself. An enigma that no one understood. And because they didn’t understand her, they feared her.

Billy understood her. The beauty of her tortured soul, torn and ravished by life. The pain. Much like the pain of the tormented souls that cried out to him in the late night hours. Seeking justice. Or simply seeking peace.

Choices had to be made. Sacrifices.

Coming into another curve Billy shifted his right foot, letting off the gas pedal, allowing the vehicle to gradually slow. His gaze drifted to the leather satchel on the seat beside him. His destiny. His grandfather had been so proud when he’d killed the buck. They’d worked side by side for days as his grandfather explained every stitch, each design, so that one day Billy could make the satchel for his own grandson. Pass on the gift.

He’d been too young to understand why his grandmother had turned away from him, hands clenched at her side, eyes brimming with tears. She had known. Even then she had known this day would come.

“He’s a good man.”

Billy cursed softly and turned his attention back to the road. He had no choice. Day by day the shadows grew darker. Heavier. More menacing. Evil was coming and there was only one way to stop it. That was why he was here. Why he’d come here two years ago.

“Please. . .,” she whispered.

Rolling down the window Billy sniffed the air hoping to clear his mind. Shut out the whispers. Winter was approaching. He could feel the wetness that clung to the breeze. An early snow would fall tonight. A thick blanket of white that would cover the blood soaked ground upon which he must stand. Blood that even now called to him.

“You cannot save them.”

The driveway to the old cabin loomed in front of him and Billy turned the Blazer slowly up the path. He couldn’t escape his destiny anymore than he could escape the whispers on the wind, or his father’s voice. Every aspect of life was just a moment in time. And time was endless. Here is where it began. Here is where it must end.

Pulling to the edge of the cabin Billy parked the Blazer. The moon was full, and beautiful. An azure-tint surrounded its edges. A perfect night. Perfect in every aspect--except he was here to call down death.

Stepping out in the crisp night air Billy removed his clothing, folded it neatly and placed it inside the vehicle. He too had known this day would come. The origins of the ritual he was about to perform went back thirty thousand years. Passed from fathers to sons. He’d performed it many times before. But it had been different then. He’d known for certain there was no good to destroy.

His skin glistened in the moonlight as he flexed his shoulders, enjoying the sensation of cold wind on his bare skin. The feathery touch of soft mist. Reaching into the Blazer he removed the satchel and shook his head as he tried once again to clear his mind of Miss Charity’s image. She was the closest thing to a mother he’d ever known. He would miss her.

Sighing heavily, Billy walked to the medicine wheel he’d prepared earlier. Choices. Sacrifices. You couldn’t stop destiny.

Waiting until the moon reached its highest point Billy removed the items from the bag carefully. Placing the ceremonial bowl at his feet he filled it with sage and lit it, standing quietly as the smoke surrounded him, purifying his body. Raising his hands he prayed. “Make my heart pure that I might walk in balance and harmony.”

Inhaling the smoke he waited for his mind to clear, body to relax, spirit to soar.

“Dammit, he’s a good man!”

An image of his grandmother passed before his eyes, replaced almost immediately by the image of his great-grandfather, smiling patiently. “There is a way.”

An ancient chant reverberated inside his head. A forbidden chant.

Picking up the sacred drum of his grandfather Billy drummed the ancient melody as he danced clockwise around the wheel, beginning and ending in the east. Creating a perfect circle. Standing in the center he raised his hands to the heavens. “Eternal spirit, earth-maker, pain-bearer, life-giver, source of all that is and all that shall be, I call upon the elder. Hear me.”

Fear rose inside him, choking him. His movements no longer his own he felt his arms float downward, head tilt back, eyes close. He became the wind, the trees, the earth beneath his feet. The joy of life. The pain of death. Sweat ran cold against his skin. His heart pounded.

“My son, what have you done?”

Falling to his knees Billy gasped for breath. His father’s voice had pulled him back, but his body was still on fire. Every muscle, every nerve screaming out in agony. He understood now why his father had forbidden him to perform this ritual. Why it was no longer taught. There was no way to be sure. No absolutes. And the price. . .his great-grandfather had not told him the price.

Moving slowly Billy reached for the satchel, every movement sending a fresh ripple of pain through his muscles as he pulled the pipe from the satchel. He held it for a moment, feeling its power, drawing on its energy to give him strength to stand. The pipe was the most sacred tool of his ancestors. Possession was an honor. An honor he would now lose. If he survived.

Hands trembling he opened the tobacco pouch, filled the pipe, lit it and inhaled deeply. The pain subsided as he breathed out small puffs of smoke, acknowledging the seven directions. The choice had been his. He’d done it for Miss Charity. She had suffered enough in this world. He could not bring himself to cause her more pain.

Raising the pipe above his head he began the prayer song, uttering the chant he’d learned from his great-grandfather. His voice rose. High. Clear. Sweet. A melody without music. A song without words.

The moon disappeared behind the clouds as the forest fell silent.

“It is done!”

The voice was old. Unfathomable. Fear kept his eyes closed, but he could hear the rushing, whistling sound in the distance as the wind rose and snow began to fall. The wolf howled as the medicine pipe disappeared from his hands.

Eager to be elsewhere, Billy gave thanks to the spirits, closed the circle and repacked the satchel. The air no longer felt crisp. Even the interior of the Blazer felt icy as he quickly donned his clothing and slammed the door against the wind.

The pain was now just a memory. One he would relive many times in the days to come. Glancing at the ridge he pulled the vehicle into gear. Soon the Shaman would dance his prayers. A man would die. A heart sacrificed to right a wrong. The dreamers would dream. An ancient battle would begin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everyone has secrets. Things they hide within the dark depths of their minds. Darkness spurred on by evil intent. They believe themselves safe, secure in the knowledge their secret is hidden far from prying eyes. But that’s never enough for the darkness. It soon grows hungry. A hunger fed only by fear. Silent screams. The rapid beat of hearts. Death.

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CHAPTER 2

“Please . . .,” she whispered.

Gavin McAllister rolled over and flipped on the bedside lamp. Sitting up he ran a hand through his thick black hair and sighed heavily. He hated the nightmares. For the past three years he’d been forced to live with the Mother’s Day killer haunting his dreams. Now, if the dreams were right--and they were always right--evil had claimed another victim.

It was only four a.m., but the night was over for him. Rising he walked to the window, parted the drapes and stood looking out over the silent streets of Richmond. It was quiet now, but soon traffic would be moving. A cacophony of horns, voices mumbling platitudes or shouting curses would rise from the streets as thousands of people rushed frantically to get to the very last place they really wanted to be. Jobs they hated. Or perhaps returning to bleak, empty structures of houses that were no longer homes.

The girl was already dead. He knew that in his heart. Still, there was something she wanted. Something she needed from him. He closed his eyes, seeing her, hearing the whispered plea for life. The sound of prayer in the dark still night.

Unanswered.

His fingers curled inward, tightening into fists. What good were his dreams if he couldn’t save her?  Couldn’t save any of them. Occasionally he could find and put an end to the evil. But it never ended. For each one brought to justice something more vile took its place. Something bolder. Stronger.

Kahil Gibran had said, “Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.”

Gavin’s mirthless laugh broke the silence of the early morning hour. If that quote were true then Jacody Ives must be one of the most massive characters ever created.

Gavin turned to gaze at the finished manuscript, “Pool of Tears”. Not his best work, but the character, Jacody Ives, bore fresh scars. Constant reminders that justice came with a price.

Letting the drapes fall back into place Gavin turned on the light and headed for the kitchen. The thing he needed most was thick black coffee. The one thing he didn’t need was to dwell on Jacody Ives. That would only pull him into the shadows of his own fractured psyche. His own evil.

His readers believed that Jacody Ives was merely a fictional character. But Gavin and those closest to him knew that wasn’t true. Jacody was always close, vigilant for a sign of weakness. A moment when the darkness overcame Gavin. The pain cut to the core.

Rob had told him the differences were subtle. Evil was like that. It wasn’t something you could see. It was soulless. The greatest magician. True master of disguise. Lying hidden in the murky depths of secrets buried in the cavernous trenches of the psyche.

Silence. Secrets. Wasn’t that what had created Jacody in the first place? His silence. His secret.

“Please . . .,” she whispered.

Wounds opened. Gavin gripped the sink, struggling to control the memories as his body trembled with rage.

Miranda.

A ragged sound escaped his lips as his body jerked in spasms of emotional pain. He’d kept the memories buried. Caged. But now his tormentor stood outside that cage, laughing as Gavin twisted away from the jagged spears--only to find there was nowhere to go. No place he could escape the memories. The soft delicate sound of her laughter. The flashing beauty of her smile. The limpid pools of her deep green eyes, darkened in passion. The way light played on her auburn curls.

Her still lifeless body. Bloody, battered and broken.

The keening wail of a dying animal filled the room as the darkness won, pulling Gavin beneath the surface to the very pits of his own hell.

Jacody Ives smiled, flexed the fingers still gripping the sink. Evil attracts evil. He’d heard its call in the nightmare. He would answer. There’d never been any other choice for him. Evil knew his name.

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CHAPTER 3

“You sure this is where you want to go, miss?”

Katie O’Connor sat gaping at the magnificent building in front of her; mind trying to grasp what her eyes told her was impossible.

“Is this 1210 Chantilly Lane?” She asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then that’s where I’m supposed to go.” Handing the cab driver a twenty, Katie quickly opened the door and stepped out of the cab. “Can you pick me up in forty-five minutes?”

“Sure thing.”

Katie couldn’t take her eyes off the building. She felt as if she’d been transported thousands of years back in time. How could she possibly have lived here the majority of her life and not known it existed. And why had Dr. Wagner never mentioned it to her. He of all people knew her passion for art, her love of gothic architecture. For years it had been the only thing that kept her alive. Gave her hope.

The house was a scaled-down replica of the mid-fifteenth-century house of Jacques Couer, right down to the two fake balcony windows with life-size statutes of a male and female servant leaning out to peer down on the street.

“Impossible,” Katie whispered, opening the gate as she mentally noted the small modifications from the original gothic appearance. It still contained the traceried window, although the tower was missing, as was the second larger entrance which had been designed for horses to enter the courtyard.

Katie felt excitement course through her blood. Time was short, but finding this, seeing it--surely that was a good omen. She couldn’t wait to meet the owner. See the inside.

“Ms. O’Connor?”

“Yes.”

The door had opened as Katie pressed her finger against the much too modern doorbell. She felt immediately drawn to the young man in the doorway. His tawny brown eyes seemed to sparkle and his smile was infectious, causing her to smile in return.

“I’m Dr. James Arthur. Please come in.”

Katie hoped her disappointment didn’t show on her face as she stepped inside. Her imagination had run wild, seeing ancient tapestries, paintings, the mantle and fireplace. Statutes.

The house appeared empty. Plush fawn-colored carpet covered the floor, accenting the cream colored walls.

“My study is this way.”

Katie followed him down the hall and through the thick oak door. The room was bare, except for a single armchair and huge desk. Both modern. In fact, they both looked new.

Still, the room had its charm, and Katie felt herself pulled in the direction of the huge mural covering the entire back wall. The Chartres Cathedral.

“I see you share my love of Gothic architecture.”

“It’s gorgeous.” Katie stated, examining the mural for flaws in detail. “And perfect.”

Katie touched the mural. She could almost hear the bells chiming in the towers. The artist had captured not only the beauty of the cathedral, but the eschatological framework embodied therein--past, present and future all combined. Only someone who had been there, seen, touched and lived that time could have painted it that way.

Katie studied the mural more closely, noting it contained the two new transept portals that were added when the Chartres was rebuilt after the fire of 1194. Either the artist was an expert historian, or . . .

“Can I offer you something to drink?  As you can see, I’m just getting started here, so I’m afraid we’re limited to water.”

“No, thank you.” Katie lingered in front of the mural; reluctant to break the spell it had weaved around her.

“Ms. O’Connor?”

With reluctance Katie touched the mural one last time before turning to Dr. Arthur and walking to the desk.

“Could I . . .” She faltered. A copy of John Marshall’s Beautiful Fakes lay on the desk. For a moment sadness robbed her of her strength. She reached for the back of the chair to steady herself. Coincidence?  Perhaps the house. Maybe even the mural. But the book?  Not likely.

“Who are you?” she demanded, her eyes searching the handsome features, coming to rest on the tawny brown eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 4

“Please, Ms. O’Connor, have a seat. I’m sorry; I should have realized the book would upset you. It has a purpose, and I assure you, you’re perfectly safe.”

Katie studied his face, attention riveted to his eyes. Kind eyes. Eyes that said “trust me”. She sat, twining her fingers together in her lap to stop the trembling that initiated from some place deep inside her.

“Where did you get it?” Katie asked, nodding toward the book.

“Claire.”

Katie swallowed hard. She had lost touch with Claire after John’s death. No, that wasn’t really true. Claire had stopped answering her letters. Pushed Katie out of her life.

“You said the book had a purpose.”

Dr. Arthur took his seat behind the desk. “I need your help with a patient. I was hoping the book would remind you of a time when you too needed help.”

Katie picked up the book, flipped through the pages. She did remember. Depression. Vexation with her inability to do the things she loved. And then John had introduced her to ancient art. Given her life new direction. Something to live for.

Katie glanced at her watch. The cab would be returning soon. “You said on the phone that Dr. Wagner felt I might be able to help you. So, what do you want from me?”

Dr. Arthur leaned forward, eyes darkened with concern. “My patient was put on the donor list last month. I need someone to talk to her. Counsel her.”

Katie frowned, spreading her hands. “I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed. Dr. Wagner should have told you. I’m dying. Without a heart transplant I probably have less than a year. Not great credentials for offering hope to someone else.”

Dr. Arthur came around the desk, eyes animated, voice excited. “But that’s exactly why you can help me. You’ve lived with this. You know all the ropes. You, Katie, beat the odds.”

Listening to him, Katie could almost forget she was dying. Almost.

Dr. Arthur continued. “Take away the wheelchair and fifteen years and you’re looking at you. She’s scared. Angry. And damned adamant not to show either one.” The tenor of his voice dropped as he leaned towards her. “Remember what that was like, Katie?  If you don’t reach her, she doesn’t have a chance of survival.”

Katie found herself captivated by the deep brown eyes. Something there. Something she’d lost a long time ago pulled her in, wrapped itself around her. Sheltered her. She quickly did the math in her head. Twelve. His patient was twelve. The same age she’d been when she learned she had a heart problem.

Katie found herself remembering the pain in her parents’ eyes. The desperation. The end of her life, or at least the life she had wanted. Never again was she allowed to tag along on her mother and father’s archeological digs. Her art studies had offered some comfort. Her work with John. Still . . .

“Clover needs you, Katie. And I think you need her.”

“But . . .” Katie stopped, remembering her own rebellious years. Shutting people out, running from the truth. Hospitals. Needles. Pain.

Her shoulders hunched in defeat. “I’m not a counselor, Dr. Arthur, and I don’t know anything about kids.”

“You know everything you need to know.” He stated, placing his hand on her shoulder.

Katie knew she was going to regret this. Still she raised her head, met his eyes. “What do you want me to do?”

Dr. Arthur smiled that dazzling smile that lit up the room. “All you have to do is be there. Everything else will just happen. I’ve arranged for the two of you to spend the weekend at Camp Hope.”

“You’re kidding?  Camp Hope?”

“Trust me, Katie. You won’t regret this.”

“But Camp Hope?” Katie asked, hearing the sound of the horn announcing the return of her cab. He had to be kidding.

Dr. Arthur extended his hand. It was soft, warm, strong. “You’ll love it,” he whispered. “A car will pick you up tomorrow morning.”

Holding his hand, staring into his eyes, Katie believed him. She would love it. And if she didn’t watch herself she could very easily fall in love with this man.

Katie couldn’t remember letting go of his hand, exiting the house, sitting down in the backseat of the cab. It all felt like a dream.

“You okay, miss?”

“Yes, thank you.” Katie stated, her face distant and preoccupied. She was okay, wasn’t she?  Except for that strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. Like the time she’d eaten all those green apples.

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CHAPTER 5

Jacody parked in front of the FBI headquarters, mentally going over the notes he’d made on the dream. Not much to go on. A first name, guesstimate of age, hair and eye color and suspected mode of death. Still, they had found killers with less. Much less.

Climbing out of the CR-V he watched as Rob came out the front door. Evidently he’d been watching for him. Wanting to get him in and out as quickly as possible. Smiling he lit a cigarette. A nasty habit, and one Jacody used for no other reason than to annoy Rob.

Jacody felt the vein in his neck begin to throb. Rob loved Gavin, but despised him. And yet it was Gavin that was going to destroy them. Secrets did that. Gave evil access, allowing the darkness to grow. They were running out of time. Either they stood together or they died together. Jacody had accepted that. Gavin was the one who couldn’t accept the truth. Caught in the web of guilt and revulsion for what he’d done he’d closed off the anger. The pain. The violence that lurked just beneath the surface. Violence fueled by rage. The same rage that had created Jacody Ives.

Jacody smiled again as Rob eyed the cigarette, slowed his pace. Rob was a workaholic. Gavin would have chastised him for that, but Jacody understood his passion. Justice was an obsession only a few truly possessed. It was one of the few things he admired about Rob. An admiration that was reciprocated. Despise him or not, when it came to tracking killers, Jacody was the one he wanted by his side.

“What’s up?” Rob continued to eye Jacody suspiciously, noting the subtle changes in dress, hair, facial expression.

Leaning against the vehicle Jacody took a drag off the cigarette and blew smoke in Rob’s direction. “Murder.”

Rob sidestepped the smoke grimacing. “It’s eight months until Mother’s Day.” He waved his hands in front of his face. “And put that damn thing out. What if Carl saw you?”

Jacody ignored the question but tossed the cigarette. “Not him. Someone else.” He handed Rob the notes on his dream.

“Not much to go on here. What do you want me to do?” Rob asked guardedly.

“Run it though the system, see if anything comes up.”

Rob shook his head, held out the notes. “Be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

Jacody ignored the outstretched hand as he pulled another cigarette from the pack. “Let me know when you feel the prick.”

“Don’t light that damned thing. Carl will be here any minute.”

Jacody stuck the cigarette in the side of his mouth, raised the lighter. “You can’t hide me forever, Rob. Sooner or later Carl’s going to figure it out.”

Rob glowered at Jacody and began angrily pacing in front of him. “People get killed every day. What’s so special about this girl?”

“She asked.”

Jacody didn’t bother to explain and Rob didn’t ask. He’d learned in dealing with Jacody there were lines he didn’t cross. Things he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“So we find the girl, what then?”

Jacody placed the cigarette in the pack. “Then I find him.”

Rob shook his head. He’d had enough. He started back toward the building, notes clutched tightly in his right hand. “You’re gonna get yourself killed some day. And when you die, Gavin dies too, you know.”

Jacody felt his anger stir, spread out, seeking direction. “You should be so damn lucky,” he muttered under his breath.

Jacody continued to stand there long after Rob had disappeared inside the building. He didn’t have the same problem with the FBI he had with other law enforcement agencies. But that was changing. People had forgotten what the shield stood for. What the colors and symbols meant.

Jacody knew the colors and symbols by heart. He could have been a part of this--if he were real. Each color, each symbol had been designed to represent something special. Blue and the scales--justice. The endless circle of thirteen stars--unity of purpose and the original thirteen states. The laurel leaf--academic honors, distinction and fame. The branches contained forty-six leaves, representing the forty-six states in the Union when the FBI had been founded in 1908. The red in the stripes--courage, valor and strength. The white--cleanliness, light, truth and peace. And just as in the American flag, the red bars exceeded the white by one. Inspector W. H. Drane Lester had given them their motto in 1935. Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity.

Jacody jerked open the car door, his mood darkening. Even then they had forgotten honor. Everyone forgot honor.

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CHAPTER 6

“Just put the bags over there.” Katie O’Connor smiled at the young man standing patiently by the door as she took stock of the sparsely furnished cabin. Two bunk beds, a nightstand by each with a rustic door in the middle that she hoped led to a bathroom.

A quick glance told Katie that the left side of the cabin had been reserved for her. At least she hoped her side would be free from the blood-dripping posters and graphic art that was stretched wall to wall on the right side of the room. No wonder the kid was depressed.

Frank Davis set the bags on the bed, glanced around the room and grinned. “Remind me to get the name of your interior decorator. Make sure I don’t hire her.”

With a wave of his hand he was gone.

Katie sat on the bed, once again doubting her judgment in participating in this weekend. She wasn’t even sure how she’d gotten here. Everything since Friday morning was a blur. She stood up, frozen for a moment, not knowing what to do. She wasn’t a counselor. And she knew absolutely nothing about kids. Glancing around the room again she grimaced. And Dr. Arthur was wrong. She had nothing in common with her roommate, except for the fact they were both dying. Katie had lived with that knowledge for a long time. Death was closer now. More of a reality. She should have checked with Dr. Wagner before coming here. She should have . . .

“Welcome to death row.”

Katie whipped around, barely controlling the gasp that was itching its way up her throat. Closing her mouth she quickly averted her eyes from the young woman in the doorway.

The bloody posters and graphic art had not totally prepared her for their owner. Thick ebony hair cut in a pageboy surrounded a stark white face, sable eyes and black lips. A face devoid of emotion. Two days. She was in for two days of Nightmare at Camp Hope, and she was bunking with a pint sized Freddie Kruger.

Katie breathed in a small dose of confidence. She could do this. She handled hundreds of employees every day. Dealt with shady lawyers, stock brokers and politicians. It was only two days. Pasting a smile on her face she stuck out her hand and approached her roommate. “Hi, I’m Katie O’Connor.”

“Oh, crap. You’re one of those.” The wheels of the chair scraped the wood floor as the girl pushed the chair to her side of the room, turned and crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t bother unpacking. I am not spending the last few days of my life with a perky Pollyanna.”

Katie let her extended hand drop to her side as she again forced her mouth to close. She was beginning to feel like a cartoon character stuck in a bad script. Anger heated her eyes, a deep red flush rising from her neck to her face. Impertinence was something she was not used to. Turning her back on the girl she opened her suitcase and began to unpack muttering to herself.

“Take away the wheelchair and fifteen years and you’re looking at you, Katie. She’s scared. Angry. And damned adamant not to show either one. Remember what that was like, Katie?  Clover needs you. And I think you need her.”

Katie recited Dr. Arthur’s words to herself, angrily tossing clothes into drawers. Clover didn’t need anyone. And Katie certainly didn’t need her. She’d be lucky if she survived the weekend without choking the little monster.

“Hey, I told you, you’re not staying here.”

Katie exhaled slowly. As much as she hated to admit it, Dr. Arthur was right. Survival depended as much on attitude as it did on medication. The rest--well the rest was up to God. She felt the slight tremor in her hands as she placed the diary in the top drawer. Running her fingers over the raised print, she remembered how stubborn she’d been. How pissed off at the world. Her “kick them before they kick you” attitude.

She needed that attitude now. If she was going to deal with a twelve year old then maybe she needed to act like one. Closing the drawer she turned around facing Clover.

“And I’m supposed to listen to you why?” Sarcasm dripped from every word. Katie let her gaze slide over the painted face. “Halloween is still three weeks off you know.”

The air in the room vibrated with tension. Each measuring the other. Katie could feel the struggle going on inside Clover. No one had ever challenged her. No one said no to her. She’d expected Katie to pity her. Well, the hell with that. Katie reserved her pity for those who needed it, not those who wanted it.

Katie refused to look away. She was going to win this battle if it killed her. Clover uncrossed her arms, pushed the wheelchair closer to her own bed. “Okay, you can stay.”

Katie made a sound of disgust. “Yeah, I thought so.”

Finished unpacking, she sat down on the bed. The simple task, combined with the emotional strain had robbed her of precious strength. She was going to have to watch her own attitude this weekend. It was always easier for someone to pull you down than it was for you to pull them up. She’d won round one, but it was going to be a long weekend.

“I’d tell you my name, but you’d just laugh.”

Katie already knew her name. At least her first name. But they had to start somewhere, and at least Clover was talking to her. “What’s so funny about your name?”

Clover pushed her wheelchair closer to Katie, paused to make sure she had her full attention. “It’s Clover.”

Katie continued to look into Clover’s eyes. Meeting the challenge. She was going to win. “Clover’s a pretty name. There’s nothing funny there.”

“Is, if your last name is Bottoms.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 7

Katie chewed on her bottom lip, biting it, trying desperately not to laugh. She swallowed hard, choking on the giggle that was bubbling up, rumbling inside her chest. She could feel the heat rising from her neck to her face as her eyes misted. It was simply no use. Win, lose or draw--she had to laugh.

“You’re kidding?” Katie wiped at the tears now streaming down her face. “Clover Bottoms?”

The cabin became deathly silent. Katie was sure she had lost her. Lost any opportunity to break through the bleak countenance and find what lay beneath. The thought had a sobering effect. Her laughter stopped. The only sound her labored breathing.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I guess it’s not so funny to you.”

The thin dark lips twitched in the stark white face, eyes gleaming with something hidden. A hint of something more. Katie leaned forward in anticipation as the impish smile flared and the black lips parted in a radiant smile. “Got you, didn’t I?”

Katie swiped at the last of her tears. “Yeah, you got me. So, what’s your real name?”

“Oh, it really is Clover Bottoms. I just wanted to see if you were as prissy as you acted.”

Katie giggled and hiccupped. The sound was odd to her own ears. How long had it been since she’d laughed until she cried?  And prissy?  That was a term she was positive no one had ever used to describe her. She’d worked too hard at presenting that strong, silent image. Living while she was dying.

“Don’t go getting all happy on me, okay?  I’m dying. You’re dying. That gives us something in common. It doesn’t make us best friends. In fact, if you look at it realistically it makes us pretty pathetic. We should be doing something absolutely amazing like diving to the bottom of the ocean, bungee jumping off the tallest building, or getting boinked by some good looking guy.” Clover paused for breath, swallowed hard and stated through gritted teeth, “Instead we’re just sitting here on death row.”

Clover crossed her arms across her chest again. A sign Katie recognized and understood. A shutting in, closing off, subconscious movement to ward off the pain. Close the heart chakra and you were safe. Only it didn’t work. Had never worked, but was universally accepted as the thing to do.

Katie watched as Clover spun the chair, feeling the pain and anger in every thrust of her hands on the wheels. Clover was twelve years old. Without a heart transplant she wouldn’t see thirteen.

“You said that when you came in, ‘welcome to death row’.”

Clover parked the wheelchair next to her bed, held her head high. A proud defiant stance that under other circumstances Katie would have admired. She would have to break down that pride.

“Do you believe in God, Katie?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then you know what I’m saying is true. This is death row. We’ve been tried, found guilty and we’re just sitting here waiting for the governor to issue that final sentence--or, if we get lucky, maybe a pardon.”

Katie started to speak but stopped. In many ways Clover’s analogy made sense. She’d never seen it quite like that before, but the past fifteen years had been one appeal after another. New medications. Waiting until the final stage and sentencing--the moment when the doctor says you need a heart transplant or you’ll die. And then another wait begins. A wait that could be anywhere from a few days to a couple of years. During that time you had to live with the denial, the fear, the anxiety every time the phone rang. And worst of all, you had to live with the knowledge that for you to live someone else had to die. Katie had been on the list for a year. Her time was running out. If a suitable donor wasn’t found . . .

Katie struggled with the thoughts of her own impending death. So many things she’d wanted to do. So many still undone. She wasn’t here for her. She was here for Clover.

“How long have you been on the list?”

“What difference does it make?” Clover snapped angrily.

Katie ignored the anger. Dr. Arthur had told her Clover had been added to the list last month. She needed her to say it. Accept it. That’s why she was here. Why they were here. Tough love.

Getting up from the bed Katie started for the door. “Well, I’ve been on it for a year now, and I know I don’t have a lot of time left. I also know that I’m not going to spend what time I do have listening to you whine and feel sorry for yourself. I’m going to take a walk.”

Closing the door Katie slumped against the porch rails. Had she really been that angry, that hurt when she was twelve?  She stood for a moment, listening to the sound of the wheelchair crossing the room, a drawer opening. She checked her watch and stepped off the porch taking the trail that led to the main cabin. She wanted to be sure to give Clover plenty of time to go through her things. Read her diary. The desolate depressing pages that chronicled her early years. She’d hesitated at first. No one had ever read those pages. But somehow she’d known if she wanted Clover to open up, be real, she had to be real herself. So she’d brought her real diary. The one that bared her soul. If that didn’t reach Clover, nothing Katie said or did ever would.

Katie walked slowly, studying the countryside. Something was odd about this place. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. The leaves had fallen from the trees, leaving them bare, exposing wounded bark. A huge oak stood near the main cabin. Gnarled, twisted roots shot out in all directions. A feeling of trepidation rippled through her. The roots looked like claws. Reaching for her. Waiting to pull her down beneath the earth.

Katie shivered in the soft autumn sunlight. Why had she never heard of this camp?  She looked for additional cabins, other campers, but saw none.

She shrugged off the feeling as Frank Davis came around the side of the building carrying in groceries. “Silly,” she admonished herself. That’s what she got for loving horror movies.

Glancing at her watch she realized she’d been gone longer than she thought. Circling the old oak she took the trail back to their cabin. Dr. Arthur should have told her about the Goth thing. At least then she could have been prepared for the way Clover looked.

Frank stepped out onto the porch, waved to her. “Lunch in thirty minutes.”

“We’ll be here,” Katie yelled, waving as she picked up her pace. He was cute, and close enough to Clover’s age for her to fantasize. But boinked?  Katie laughed out loud. She would have to remember that one. Something to add to her list of things to do on death row--get boinked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your plangent cries permeate my dreams

Lest I forget

That which I have become

Slipping into the verisimiltude

I have created

A myrmidon of evil

Panoply of secrets

Pulling me down

Into the brackish water of my dreams

‘Tis but a simple deed

To expiate my sins

Simple as life

Or death

I chose this cup

Now I must drink.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 8

Father Michael felt the chasm widen. A vast wasteland of emptiness. Nothingness. He had nothing. He was nothing.

“Isn’t it beautiful, Father Michael?”

Father Peter’s words were a mere whisper, his hands longing to caress the parchment stored beneath the thick glass.

“Where . . .”

Father Peter turned to him excitedly. “A gift from your sister, Claire.”

Father Michael nodded. He’d recognized the painting immediately as one of John’s beautiful fakes. The Revelations of St. Bridget of Sweden. Two beams of light shone down from the hands of the Virgin and Christ, enthroned on the heavenly plane, joining into one single stream entering the eyes of the seated saint. Images were powerful in medieval times.

Father Michael lowered his head, closed his eyes. “Please . . .,” she whispered.

Images were still powerful.

Father Peter gushed on, his excitement uncontainable. “Of course, I know it’s a reproduction, but its beauty, its message is invaluable.”

A beautiful fake, just like me, Father Michael thought. The riving pain opened. Surging into a raging river in which he was going to drown.

The words came from the midst of the chasm. Words he’d not intended to say. “I’ve lost all hope, Father.”

The words echoed in the small study, coming from all four corners, dowsing the sun streaming from the window, fading the colors of the parchment. Gripping the heart of Father Peter with pain.

He turned, excitement of the gift still etched upon his wrinkled face. Gasping as he gazed into open wounds, vivid pools reflecting suffering. Never before had he seen such agony. His hands fluttered in front of him, mind sifting through eighty years of life, searching for words to breach the chasm. Words of comfort.

“There is always hope, Father Michael. God is our hope.”

“I no longer hear His voice, Father.” He glanced at the painting. “No longer feel His light.”

“We must pray, my son.” Father Peter walked around the desk, placing his hand on the young priest’s shoulder. “We must pray that God will guide you in your hour of need.”

Father Michael sighed, placing his hand over the knotted arthritic joints of Father Peter’s fingers. “I have prayed, Father. I pray daily that God will take this cup from me.”

Father Peter felt the trembling in the hand covering his. Felt the despair. His words came unbidden. Words he knew not the source. Words he would ponder and regret in the days to come.

“Perhaps you must take the cup and drink from it.”

Father Michael embraced him. He had the forlorn feeling of being alone in the world. And that loneliness threatened to crush him. He whispered the words that sealed his fate. “Perhaps, Father. Perhaps I must.”

# # #

Rob cast a sidelong glance at his brother, wondering why no one else saw it. The differences were more drastic now. The dark stubble, shaggy hair, haunted eyes. All the things he’d written off to imagination until the Mother’s Day killer had shown up. That was when the changes became more distinct.

Jacody interrupted his thoughts, handing the list back to him. “That didn’t take you too long, now did it?”

Rob snorted. “There’s a hundred names on there. Do you know how many people, especially kids go missing each year?”

“Yeah, according to the Missing Person’s Database, 210,000 a year.”

“Don’t be a smartass. I told you it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. That’s just the first hundred that match your description. There’s probably a couple of hundred more.” Rob stood up, shoved his chair away from the desk. A signal for Jacody to leave.

“Come on, Rob. You can do better than that. Make a few phone calls. Find the ones that can be crossed off.” Jacody grinned, searching for the nerve, striking home. “Help me find her, and maybe I’ll let Gavin come out to play.”

Rob clamped his mouth shut to keep from yelling “Go to hell!” He wanted to. Wanted to wipe that smirk off Jacody’s face. Problem was if Jacody went to hell he took Gavin with him. The sooner the bastard found what he was looking for the sooner Gavin would be back.

Sitting down he picked up the list, pushed up his shirtsleeves and reached for the phone. His voice one step above a whisper and deadly. “Get out so I can make your damn phone calls.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 9

Katie yawned and opened her eyes, startled to find Clover sitting next to her bed, studying her. “What are you doing?”

“Reading your aura.” Clover grinned, moving away from the bed as Katie sat up.

“Reading my what?” Katie tried not to gape, but Clover was even more striking without the stark white makeup. The natural paleness of her skin was enhanced by the dark hair that clung to her freshly washed cheeks. The face of an angel. “My God, you’re beautiful!”

Clover raised an eyebrow and looked at her. “You really think so?”

Katie nodded, not trusting herself to speak. This child could not die. God could not be that cruel.

“Don’t go there, Katie.” Clover wheeled the chair to her nightstand, glanced in the mirror and pushed her hair behind her ears. Picking up a deck of cards she returned to Katie’s bed. “My parents felt that way too. It’s why I wear the makeup.”

Handing the cards to Katie, Clover forced a small smile. “You understand, don’t you?”

Katie did understand. She ached to cross her arms across her own heart chakra. The makeup, attitude, anger and hate were all an act. An act to ease the pain of those around her. So that when she was gone they wouldn’t miss her quite so much. A single tear escaped and Katie brushed it away. “Yeah, I understand.”

Katie glanced at the cards she’d been unconsciously shuffling. “What are these?  And what did you say you were doing when I woke up?”

Clover giggled as only a twelve year old can giggle. The sound created a piercing pain in Katie’s stomach. She was such a sweet child. Once you got past the barriers. They’d spent the remainder of yesterday getting to know each other, trust each other, talking late into the night. Sharing the secrets that only those on death row could understand and share. But only now was she seeing the real Clover. The one hidden from the world.

“I was reading your aura. The colors around you. You were really tired last night and there was a lot of gray. It’s gone now.”

Clover took the cards from Katie, shuffled them. “These are tarot cards. They help you predict the future.”

Clover turned a card up on the bed.

“So what color am I this morning?” Katie asked, staring at the picture of a young robed figure, presumably a woman, sitting on a throne surrounded by two pillars. The High Priestess.

“You’re gold this morning.”

Katie picked up the card, studying the art work. She knew nothing about tarot cards, but the beauty of the art work was intriguing. “Is this supposed to be me?”

Clover nodded taking the card from her hand. She held it a few moments and then looked at Katie. “There are secrets in your life. Mystery in a future yet unrevealed.” Clover lowered her voice. “A man who will interest you.”

Katie giggled, caught up in the game. “Ah, but will I interest him?”

Clover shuffled the cards, turned one up on the bed. Justice.

Katie studied the young man, seated on his throne, a set of scales on his left, a raised sword on his right. Not bad looking, but a little stern.

“He covers you,” Clover stated placing the card on top of the first one. She squinted her eyes, concentrating on the image. “You will interest him, but he has a mission in life. One he cannot turn away from. One that will destroy him unless . . .” Clover stopped, picked up the cards. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

Once again Katie felt that strange knot forming in the pit of her stomach. She ignored it, reaching out to take the cards from Clover. “Oh, no you don’t. You started this, so now you’ve got to finish it. Unless what?”

Clover shrugged. “They don’t always tell me everything. I just know that unless something happens, someone or something intervenes, his mission will destroy him.

“So, tell me what I need to do to help him.”

Clover took the cards, shuffled them. “It doesn’t work that way.”

“Then what’s so good about knowing the future if you can’t change it?” Katie asked.

“You’ll see.” Clover turned up the King of Wands, held it for a moment and placed it on top of the other two. “There is another man in your life. A good man, impassioned by his beliefs. A man who will--would sacrifice himself for those he loves.”

Katie noticed the slight inflection on words. Knew that Clover had changed what she was going to say.

Clover handed her the cards. “Shuffle them and pick three.”

Katie shuffled the cards. “So are you telling me you’re psychic?”

“Everyone is psychic, Katie. Some choose to use it. Some to ignore it. Some hone it in the hopes of helping others.”

Katie continued shuffling the cards. Clover was taking this far too seriously. “So will these three tell me which one of these handsome men I’m going to boink?”

She handed the first card to Clover.

Clover held the card for a second before turning it over. Katie gasped as she looked at the heart pierced by three swords. Behind the heart were dark clouds and rain.

“The Three of Swords. Your life has been filled with delay, but soon that will be removed. The clouds are behind you, and the swords will be removed by someone you love. Your heart will mend.”

“Wow!” Katie sat up straighter, shuffling the cards. She wanted to believe. Pulling a second card she handed it to Clover.

Clover turned the card up for Katie to see. “The Queen of Cups, but she’s upside down. She’s normally a fair woman. A good woman. A woman of love. Intelligent. Virtuous. But she has secrets. Secrets that drag her into the darkness of her own mind. She is a woman who has dishonored the memory of someone she loves. She is not to be trusted.”

Katie swallowed and shuffled the cards, searching her mind for a woman that fit that description. Maybe she was taking this too seriously. Pulling the third card she handed it to Clover. A sudden draft of cold air caused her to shiver.

Clover held the card, closing her eyes as if in prayer. Sighing she turned it up on the bed.

Katie didn’t have to be psychic to know the card did not bear good news. The bolt of lightning striking the building, the flames of fire, the people jumping to their death. The Tower.

Katie tried to laugh, but the sound came out all wrong. Almost a whimper. “I guess that wasn’t the card we were looking for.”

“We can’t always choose what we want. Sometimes we have to accept what we’re given.” The wisdom of her words were far too old for a twelve year old.

Katie hated the sound of oldness, even if the words were wise. Clover was too young to have to accept death as an option. She shouldn’t be on death row. She’d committed no crimes. She’d simply been born. Katie felt her eyes misting again. Dammit, it wasn’t fair.

Clover placed her hand on top of Katie’s, gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze. “Life isn’t always fair, Katie. It’s okay.”

Katie felt her breath catch on a sob as Clover continued. “Some live, some die. We’re all just a moment in time.”

Clover leaned forward, smiled conspiratorially. “Besides,” she winked, “I’m an organ donor.”

Katie gathered Clover into her arms. Fighting the tears. The hysterical laughter that threatened her sanity.

Clover broke the embrace, took the card and held it. “The universe is sending mixed messages. You will soon experience the joys of a new life. But you will also experience adversity. You will experience loss. You will experience deception. You will have to be strong, Katie. You will have to tear down the old tower and toss out many of the things you have believed in order to build a new tower.” Picking up the Justice and King of Wands cards she continued. “You will have help along the way. But there will be confusion, and you will have to follow your heart.” Picking up the Three of Swords, Clover touched the pierced heart gently. “Follow your heart, Katie.”

Katie knew she had to lighten the mood. After all this was just a silly game. Clover wasn’t psychic, and neither was she. They were both acting as if this were a life or death matter. Taking the cards from Clover she sniffled, wiped her nose on her pajama sleeve, just like any twelve year old would do. She shuffled vigorously, spread the deck on the bed touching each card, concentrating as she’d seen Clover do.

“Okay, I’m going to pull one more card and this is going to be for you.”

Choosing a card Katie plucked it from the deck and tossed it on the bed. “Tah dah!”

Katie heard the sound of Clover’s quick intake of breath, her own gasp as her mind fought acceptance of the image of the figure astride the white horse. A young man lay prone on the ground as the King, Queen and family beseeched the rider.

Death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 10

Dr. Gorman tapped his pen against the note pad, waiting rather impatiently for Gavin McAllister to tell him why he was here. Definitely his most fascinating patient. Also his most frustrating. There was something different about him today, but he couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Perhaps it was just the clothes. All black. Just like the soulless killer Gorman knew him to be.

He cleared his throat. “It’s your money, of course, but the clock is ticking.”

Jacody crossed his legs. Uncrossed them. He’d been here many times. Always watching, listening in the background with Gavin. He’d heard the mumbo jumbo of split personalities. Laughed. Until he felt the evil growing. Clawing its way to the surface.

“You said there was a possibility of a third personality. Tell me about it.”

Gorman scribbled on the pad. “Well, of course, it’s just an educated guess. I’ve told you all along the nightmares you’re having are your own subconscious memories.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Jacody flexed his fingers. “I haven’t killed anyone.” He eyed the doctor. “Yet.”

Gorman scribbled more notes, oblivious to Jacody’s irritation. “Hypnosis, Mr. McAllister. I can access the personalities.” He looked up from the pad. “We’ll tape the session. Perhaps once you see the truth we can begin to put things back together.” Gorman stroked his chin, contemplating his next words. “Of course, you would have to atone for your sins.”

Jacody’s jaw clenched, nostrils flared, pupils dilated. He gripped the sides of the chair. He hadn’t killed anyone yet, but he sure as hell felt the urge right now.

Gorman leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head. He’d been here before. Flourished in their helplessness. His power. “Relax, Mr. McAllister. Confidentiality laws would keep me from exposing your secrets.”

Jacody reined in his temper, relaxed his body and stood up. Gorman was a waste of time. And time was something he was running out of.

“Times up, doc. Thanks, but no thanks.”

Gorman grinned maliciously. He’d gotten to him this time. Hit a nerve. “You’re right, Mr. McAllister, you’re not a killer. But one of you is. It’s just a matter of time. I’ll meet him eventually. Most likely when he’s killed again and you’re behind bars.” He leaned forward scribbling on the notepad. “Until next time then.”

Jacody slammed the door on his way out. If he had anything to do with it there wouldn’t be a next time. Unless he did decide to kill someone. In that case--Gorman was on the top of his list.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 11

“Clover, could we do the cards one more time?” Katie knew it was just a game, but she had to change what had happened this morning. Pull a different card. Clover had told her she always pulled the death card. Katie could not accept that. Would not accept it.

Clover closed her suitcase, grabbed the tarot cards and wheeled her way over to Katie’s bed. “Okay, but only if you promise not to get upset again.”

“I promise.”

Clover handed her the cards. “Okay, shuffle and think of something you want insight into. Then pick three cards.”

Katie shuffled the cards, closed her eyes and silently prayed. Show me how I can change the future for Clover.

Spreading the deck out over the bed she pulled the first card. “Why three cards?”

Clover looked at her, taking the card from her hand. “Oh, let’s see, the God attributes--omniscience, omnipresence and omnipotence. Or maybe the division of time--past, present and future.” Clover turned the card over and over in her hands. “Or maybe the sum of human ability--thought, word and deed.” An impish grin lifted the corners of her mouth. “Or it could just be animal, vegetable or mineral.” She turned up the card. The Moon.

Katie felt her spirits lift. Surely the moon wasn’t a bad card. The art work was a little dark, but hadn’t she read somewhere that the moon was a good omen?

Clover rubbed her forehead. “You want to change things you may not be able to change. Things have already been set in motion. Destinies have been chosen.”

“But I can change them, right?”

Clover’s face paled, once again devoid of emotion. “Pull another card.”

Katie ran her fingers over the cards, desperately trying to instill them with hope. She picked a card handing it to Clover.

The Devil.

“Some things are predestined. They may appear to be evil, but they’re not. Death isn’t always death, Katie. Pull your third card.”

“Why?  It isn’t going to change anything. I hate these cards.” Katie pushed the deck away from her wishing she’d never started this silly game.

Clover retrieved the cards, shuffled them. “You promised you wouldn’t get upset,” she chided. “I’ll choose your third card.” Picking a card Clover turned it up on the bed.

The Wheel of Fortune.

Katie didn’t really want to look, but found herself fascinated as Clover picked up the card and smiled. A gentle smile. One of love, understanding. Promise.

“The wheel of fortune is a card of great luck. You are about to spin the wheel, Katie. What you desire is within your reach.” Clover placed the three cards together. “You will have to accept things you don’t want to accept. Lose things you don’t want to lose. Make choices you never wanted to make. Follow your heart, Katie.”

A knock on the door interrupted them. Placing the tarot cards in a velvet drawstring purse Clover handed them to Katie. “A gift from me to you. When you need me, Katie, I’ll be there for you. I promise.”

The door opened. “You ready, Miss Clover.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Katie stood at the door watching as they drove away. Dr. Arthur had been right. She had needed Clover. The cabin felt too quiet now. Too lonely. Too much like death row.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 12

“And so it begins.” Billy Dawson flipped over the tarot card, placing it on top of the first card.

Charity Froste sighed, poured two cups of coffee and took a seat across the table from him.

“Jacody soon be on his way,” she stated, sipping the thick hot liquid. She rolled her eyes, noticing the cards. New fangled toys was what they was. She touched the medicine bag lying between her two huge breasts. Now there was real magic.

Billy didn’t look up. He didn’t need to. He could feel her disapproval. “Tools, Miss Charity. The cards, the stones, the bones, they’re all just tools.”

“Dem’ bones don’t lie,” Charity chastised him.

Billy swallowed the laugh on his lips as the wind carried the sound to their ears. A lonesome sound. A sound of pain. A sound of heartache. The sound of a lost soul.

Billy turned over the next card. The Hanged Man.

Perhaps the sound of destiny.

Tonight a soul would pass into the netherworld. The white wolf would howl its mournful song. The elder would dance and sing his prayers to God. The dreamers would dream.

“Told you dem’ bones don’t lie.” Charity eyed him suspiciously. “You called the wolf, didn’t you?”

Billy shuffled the cards, ignoring the question. She knew the answer. “We can’t be interfering, Miss Charity.”

“He’s a good man.”

“Yes, ma’am, I reckon he is.”

“Ain’t right.” Charity clutched the cup tightly. Time was running out. Night would come all too soon. A dark night.

“No, ma’am.” Billy continued to shuffle, mindful to be respectful and listen. Answering her, although it probably wasn’t necessary.

Charity studied her reflection in the coffee cup. Lost in thought. “He didn’t choose the path he’s on.”

“No, ma’am. I don’t reckon he did.” Billy pulled another card. Miss Charity was losing her accent.

“Somebody chose it for him before he was even born. It just isn’t right, I tell you. And I can’t just sit here and do nothing. I can’t just watch him die. I’m not going to do that, Billy Dawson. You can’t ask me to do that.”

Billy reached for the last card, avoiding her searching eyes. He knew what she wanted. What she needed. She was waiting for him to say something. Answer the question she hadn’t asked. Condone her interference, or condemn her actions not yet taken. He could neither condone nor condemn. He’d already interfered. Now there was nothing to do but wait.

Billy turned the last card over. The Devil grinned up at him. A male chained to his left, a female to his right. His smile a mockery of everything Billy believed in.

Lifting his head he met her gaze. There was nothing he could say to ease her pain. “I’m sorry, Miss Charity.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When lost souls crash against the reef

Their clear blood lost to sea foam

An unseen puppet master pulls

The waves grow higher

Sucking away unforeseen

Life so fragile and new

Stars cling to the sky

Fraudulent rafters of safety

When the eons of guilt have passed

So shall the foundation fall

The light of heaven crashing

All shall come to pass

The zenith of our lives

When judged by the sin of our deeds

Our celestial hosts

Will close the door on time.

Charles W. Prather, Jr

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 13

Father Michael knelt beside the cot. He had never doubted that God existed. From his earliest memories He had walked with him. Counseled him.

Until now.

The secret he carried had become an open festering wound, burning, gnawing and tearing at the fabric of his soul. And God had deserted him.

He was not even thirty years old. His whole life was ahead of him. But what kind of life would it be if he could never hear God’s voice? Feel the warmth of His love.

He prayed, “Dear God, take this cup from me.”

The night was silent. The room grew cold.

“I’m damned no matter what I do.”

Perhaps you must take the cup and drink from it.

Father Peter’s words echoed in the room. The answer was there. It had always been there. He had betrayed his vows. His people. His God.

Her blood was on his hands. He couldn’t sleep. If he slept he dreamed. If he dreamed he saw her. Heard her whispered plea for life.

He sobbed, tasting the sweet saltiness of his own blood as he bit into the hand pressed against his lips. His fate had been sealed the moment he’d taken the confession.

He continued to kneel, pray for guidance. The clock chimed four-thirty. Peace settled over him. Understanding.

Rising he left the room, entering the halls of the Abbey. Father Peter had welcomed him with open arms when he’d come here three months ago. Leaving his parish he’d taken the simple three-year vows, accepted the Benedictine scapular and hood, along with a new name. He’d come to escape the nightmares. Pray for a sign. Pray for forgiveness.

Opening the door to Father Peter’s study he flipped on the light. The painting was there. He’d known it would be. He knelt beside it, tracing the light streaming from Christ’s fingers to the saint.

Of all the paintings John had brought home this had been his favorite. He’d felt that light all his life. Hovering just above him, flowing around him, through him. This was life. Without it there was only existence.

He had not found forgiveness. The nightmares had followed, as had his tormentor. The Abbey had not been the answer he needed. It was just a building. Brick, stone, mortar and wood. It wasn’t the place that brought the closeness to God. It was the heart of the person seeking His light.

God had not turned his back on him. He had turned his back on God.

Returning to his room Father Michael removed the robe, folded it and placed it on the cot. He had been wrong to come here. He wasn’t Father Michael. He had been born Aaron Davidson. He would die Aaron Davidson.

Penning a quick note to Father Peter, Aaron placed it on top of the neatly folded robe and dressed in the black pants, black shirt and white collar he had arrived in. This was who he was.

The time had passed for regrets. He couldn’t change what had happened. He couldn’t bring her back.

Leaving the Abbey he stood on the steps, watching the misty formation of his breath. Early snows had fallen, and a river of silver led to the Heart River Basin. The view was breathtaking during the daytime. Now, in the light of the full moon it was the way he imagined Heaven to be. Pure, clean, warm, inviting. Beauty surrounded him.

Father Peter would be up soon. Come to his room to check on him, just as he had done for the last three months. Find the note. Find him.

Aaron stepped into the snow, ignoring the cold as it bit into his bare feet. His soul was damned no matter the choice. But he could save her. Free her from the perennial nightmare of his dreams. For himself--well, was it not better to languish in hell than live in it here?

The wind howled, whipping through his clothing, chilling him to the bone. It pushed him gently toward the basin. The whiteness of the valley below beckoned. So clean. So pure. Free of nightmares, demons and monsters.

He thought briefly of Claire, sadness swelling inside him, staying his steps. The wind howled in protest, pushing harder until his feet once again moved on the chosen path.

Aaron continued to trudge toward the basin, prodded onward by the rising wind. There would be questions. It would be called suicide. Aaron smiled. He knew it wasn’t. He prayed as he walked, his words a whisper of sound carried on the wind to the four corners of the earth. “Give light unto my eyes, Lord, lest I sleep in death.”

He stood on the edge, wind whipping his hair, freezing his body. Raising his hands to Heaven he leaned forward as warmth surrounded him. The light of His love. He heard the voices of a thousand angels singing. God’s voice. He was no longer cold. No longer lonely. It would not be suicide.

It was absolution.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 14

“Dig the hole, dig it deep. Give the worms something to eat. I like the livers and the hearts. The worms can have the other parts.”

Jacody groaned, tossed and turned, hands wrapped tightly around the sheets as the dream played on like a bad movie. Glints of steel reflected by ribbons of moonlight. He was trapped in a theatre of macabre so bizarre it shocked his senses, threatening to drive him insane. He watched in horror, an innocent bystander, unable to move, to scream, to stop the madness.

The darkness pulled him closer.

He felt the cool earth beneath his back, the first tugging pull of the scalpel as it slashed at his chest. His lips moved. He heard the whispered word. “Please . . .”

The darkness pulled him closer.

He felt the cold steel held firmly between his fingers. The warmth of the blood as it gushed over his hands. The feeling of triumph as he stood holding the still beating organ in his palm. His lips twitched.

The darkness pulled him closer.

He stood in silent fascination as the beautiful sapphire-blue eyes dimmed, color fading as her body twitched in the throes of death.

The darkness pulled him closer.

“Watch me daddy!” The young girl ran through a field of daisies, her long blonde hair bouncing in the wind. She turned, pulling the blue ribbon from her hair, smiling as she let it trail behind her.

“I’m sorry, daddy. I’m so sorry.” She sat at the kitchen table, face ravaged by pain. Eyes swollen, red, pleading.

She stood at the nursery window, one hand to her lips, the other pressed tightly against the windowpane in silent goodbye as the small bundle was wheeled away from her.

Jacody groaned again as the memories of a lifetime swept through his subconscious, culminating in pain, sadness, sorrow, and finally--death. He felt her drifting away from him, heard her whisper. “My name is Lydia. Find me, Jacody. Take me home.”

Jacody found himself drifting as his hands still clutched the sheet tightly. A lifeline to hang on to. He watched as the fog parted, the young man turned and smiled at him. The wind carried his words to Jacody. “Give light unto my eyes, Lord, lest I sleep in death.”

Jacody continued to watch, frozen in time as the young man raised his arms to heaven, smiled as he leaned forward. “Absolution.”

“No-o-o . . .” Jacody jerked awake, arms outstretched, desperately trying to reach the young man. Stop him from falling. The room was silent. A dark, deadly silence.

“Damn,” he cursed under his breath. The clock struck five a.m.

# # #

Claire Davidson Marshall read the note, running her fingers lovingly over each line. “Oh, Aaron,” she whispered, “please don’t leave me. Don’t die.”

Father Peter covered her hands with his, offering what comfort he could. He knew the decision before the young woman would be hard.

“Why, Father Peter?  Why did he do this?” Claire struggled to maintain control of her emotions. To be strong. Strong for Aaron.

Father Peter patted her hands. “Only God and Father Michael can answer that question, my child.”

The doors to the operating room opened. Claire knew from the look on Simon’s face the news was bad.

“Let’s get a cup of coffee, Claire.”

Claire rose, glanced to Father Peter who shook his head, but patted her hands again. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

Claire smiled at him, reassuring him she’d be okay before following Simon down the hall to the doctor’s lounge. She sat down at a table, took the cup he extended. She knew she should say something, but if she did then it would all be true. Then she would truly be all alone.

Simon Davidson studied his daughter. Her silence betrayed her feelings. He covered her hands with his, ignoring the tug as she pulled away from him. “I’m sorry, Claire. The head injuries were just too severe.”

“He’s dead?” Claire spoke the words without feeling, her revulsion to Simon’s touch a welcome numbness.

“He’s brain dead, Claire. His heart is still beating, but technically Aaron is dead.”

Claire moved her head from left to right, refusing to accept Simon’s words. His heart was still beating. His heart--Claire touched the note inside her pocket. Somehow Aaron had known. He’d made his final wishes, asked her to carry them out. Father Peter had already made the initial call. But how could she?  How could she let them carve him up--his heart was still beating.

“Claire?”

Claire ignored him, took a sip of the lukewarm coffee, her mind racing back over the years. Aaron’s first sermon. His smile. His love of God and man. His overriding need to save the world.

He’d failed to save the world, but he could save one. That’s all he’d asked of her. Just one.

Claire faced Simon, her eyes conveying her contempt, loathing for him as a doctor and a human being. He was her father. Aaron’s father. He was a disgrace, both as a doctor and a father. He would have refused. She knew that. Aaron had known that too. That’s why the note had been addressed to Father Peter. Now Simon would have no choice. She handed him the note.

“You will take care of having his body transferred to the Sacred Heart Hospital in Spokane.” Claire bit her tongue to stop the venomous flow of words in her head from spilling out. This was not the time, nor the place.

Simon read the note, cursed silently before turning to Claire, a sickly sweet smile pasted on his face. “Organ donation is very specific. There has to be blood typing, tissue matching. The odds of Aaron’s heart going to this specific woman is one in a million, Claire. We’ll just be wasting a lot of time and money. If he isn’t a match. . . “ Simon let the words trail off, his unspoken meaning clear.

Claire stood up, her back straight, eyes wet with unshed tears. There would be time for tears later. Aaron knew what he wanted, and she was going to make damn sure he got it.

“Aaron will be transferred immediately to Sacred Heart in Spokane. They can run the tests there. It’s what he wanted.” Claire looked down on the man who had fathered her, her eyes full of hatred, her voice filled with sarcasm. “You’re a doctor, Simon. You took an oath. But that never really mattered to you did it?  Oaths. Vows. They’re all the same to you. Just callous, hollow words. You never really care who you hurt. Who you kill.”

Claire turned her back on him, moving toward the door. She needed fresh air. “It’s what I want, Simon, and I won’t stand by and let you screw it up.”

“He could die on the way there. Won’t really make any difference what anyone wants if that happens. Doesn’t matter anyway, Claire. As I said, the odds of Aaron matching this particular woman are one in a million. And even if he does match, what’s the use?  She’ll die in a year to two anyway. I’m only trying to save you more pain, honey.”

Claire felt her steps falter, a cold chill moving down her spine, descending down her legs. He sounded so smug. So sure of himself. Pretending to care. She wasn’t going to fall for his tricks. Not this time. And never again. They had been fine without him. Fine until he came back into their lives. Somehow this was his fault. She didn’t know how, but she knew Simon was behind Aaron’s unhappiness.

Claire refused to look at him. Give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d struck a nerve. She stood, hand poised over the doorknob. “You don’t know when to quit do you, Simon. You never understood Aaron, and you never will. Even at one in a million he’ll match. Katie O’Connor is one in a million. Don’t you go near Aaron again, and you stay the hell away from me.”

Opening the door she left, slamming it behind her. Damn him. He’d never cared. Why had she expected him to this time. Father Peter would help her arrange the transfer through Spokane. And Simon could go to hell where he belonged.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 15

Katie wrung her hands in her lap as the intern took another curve, maneuvering the car onto the main highway at a rate of speed that was surely against the law. Everything was moving so fast. The tearful goodbye with Clover. The trip home. She had barely gotten unpacked before exhaustion overcame her. She’d slept most of yesterday, and then the phone had rung. Now the mad dash to the hospital. What exactly had Dr. Wagner said?  We may have found you a heart. And what did that mean anyway?  Was it possible that someone was dying as they rushed to the hospital?  Could they maybe live?  Had she truly gotten a pardon from death row, or was this some cruel joke of the executioner.

“What did Dr. Wagner mean, he may have found a heart?”

The intern took his eyes from the road for a moment, smiled at Katie. “There was an accident. A young man with severe head injuries. Your age, good heart.”

“So he isn’t dead yet?  What am I supposed to do, sit around wishing he would hurry up?”

Katie knew her voice was more brusque than she had intended. But surely Dr. Wagner didn’t expect her to sit and wait for someone to die.

The intern braked, going into another curve at breakneck speed. “Actually it’s the opposite. He’s brain dead, so technically he’s already been declared dead. We just have to wait until he gets here and hope he doesn’t die on the way.”

Katie wondered if the intern had any clue how coldhearted his words sounded to her. How cruel to the family of the dying young man. A young man who had signed a donor card so that if he died someone else might live. A young man who wouldn’t get an appeal of his case. The executioner had already dropped the axe.

“How do we know he’ll match.”

Katie almost missed his words, they were spoken so low.

“We don’t.”

# # #

Jacody closed the lid on the suitcase and sat on the edge of the bed, studying the list he’d picked up from Rob. As usual Rob had worked his magic, narrowed the list of more than a hundred names down to five. Spread all across the United States, of course. Maybe he should just toss a coin?

Jacody studied the names, hoping against hope that one would reach out to him.

Lydia Mason, Johnsonville, Tennessee. Left home when she was sixteen. Now twenty-five.

Lydia Preston, Morganfield, New Hampshire. Disappeared in 2004. Twenty-eight.

Lydia Avers, Des Moines, Iowa. Seventeen.

Jacody marked her off the list. Seventeen was too young. Still that left four to deal with. Three more than he needed.

Lydia Benson, Washington, D.C., age twenty-three.

Jacody marked her off. There was something about his Lydia. Something that said small town. Something sweet and fragile.

Lydia Lynton, Columbia, Kentucky. Disappeared seven years ago. Twenty-five.

“Please . . .,” she whispered.

Okay, Columbia it was. But the next question was--where the hell was Columbia, Kentucky?

Pulling out an Atlas, Jacody studied the map of Kentucky, locating Columbia. A hundred miles from Lexington, give or take a few miles. Couldn’t be too bad could it?  Jeans, boots, cowboy hat and a rusty pickup truck and he’d fit right in. Whistling he tucked the atlas into his suitcase just as the phone rang.

“Hello.”

“It’s me. I got that information on that suicide you wanted.” Rob’s voice held a hint of irritation.

“You’re a real pro, Rob. I knew you’d come through.”

Holding the phone away from his ear, Rob slowly counted to five, reminding himself that his brother was trapped somewhere inside this asshole.

Jacody could almost feel the tension coming from the receiver. He laughed. “I’ll take care of Gavin, Rob. Now, are you going to give me the information, or are we just going to sit here?”

“Richardton, North Dakota. Priest took a high dive off the Heart River Basin about five this morning.”

Jacody felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. He didn’t believe in coincidence.

“Are you gonna stay in touch?” Rob asked, breaking the silence.

Jacody hesitated, but knew he owed it to Rob. He’d tortured the kid for days now, demanding one thing after another. “Yeah, I’ll stay in touch.”

Jacody hung up the phone, the stirring inside him leaping to a full-blown adrenaline rush. He sat for a moment, closing his eyes and letting the years disappear as he found himself once more on a snow covered highway.

The road was closed and Jacody cursed as he took the detour. He was lost, the snow was blinding and to make matters really exciting--he was almost out of gas. A man would freeze out here in a short period of time. He chuckled. That would make the demons happy. Finally got him.

The car sputtered and groaned. Jacody peered through the windshield, but was unable to see the road. “Damn,” he muttered, steering the car toward what he hoped was the side of the road. Out of gas, out of luck, and soon--out of time.

The engine died and he sat listening to the howl of the wind as snow covered the car. Wind chill factor was near twenty below. He wouldn’t last an hour out there.

Jacody reached for the glove box, pulling out the bottle of Jack Daniels he kept for emergencies. This qualified as an emergency. He’d read somewhere that alcohol either kept you from freezing, or made the process less painful.

He took the first drink, feeling it burn its way down his throat, exploding into fiery pain as it hit his empty stomach. The great detective, master of uncovering secrets would leave the world with a new one. What the hell had he been doing out here in the middle of nowhere?

Reaching into the backseat Jacody grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around himself as he took another drink. It wasn’t too bad. If you didn’t think about it.

The wind kept up a steady roar as he finished the bottle. He no longer felt the cold. In fact, he didn’t feel a thing. “Dying ain’t so bad,” he slurred as he hunched down farther into the seat. “Ain’t bad at all.” He closed his eyes letting the warm alcoholic stupor settle over him.

Charity Froste peered through the window again. She could see the car sitting less than fifty feet away. All he had to do was come another few feet. Looks like she’d have to do it all herself. Pulling her coat from the rack she shoved her arms in the sleeves, wrapping it around her huge frame before slipping on the snow boots by the door. “Could have made it a little easier on an old woman,” she muttered angrily to the empty room.

The snow had slacked off, but the wind pushed at her fiercely as she opened the door. Eyes focused on the dark shape of the car she trudged through the snow, pulling herself along one step at a time. “All he had to do was just wait. Could he do that?  No. Had to make an old woman come out in the freezing wind and save his ass. That’s what he had to do.”

Charity opened the car door and peered inside. “Jesus, sugah, you sure do stink to the heavens. Been waiting for you.”

“Huh. . .,” Jacody tried to speak, but couldn’t get the words past his swollen tongue.

“Has to do everything myself. Come on.” Charity tugged on him, getting an arm underneath his shoulder and helping him out of the car. As she’d hoped, the cold wind had a slight sobering effect.

“What the hell?” Jacody stood up, glancing down at the figure holding on to him.

“Gots to get you inside before we both freeze. Now, come on sugah.”

Charity pulled and pushed until they finally reached the house. Opening the door she let go of him, laughing as he stumbled to the nearest chair held on for a second and then sat down in the floor.

“Some hero yous’ is,” Charity mumbled as she kicked off the boots and shrugged out of her coat.

Jacody tried to grin at the huge black blob. He must have died and gone to hell. Reaching for the chair he climbed to his feet, steadied himself. Hell wasn’t too bad. It was warm. The black blob approached. His knees wobbled. He felt the floor rising up to meet him.

“Let’s get yous’ to bed. Room’s all ready for you.” Charity once again tugged him to his feet and prodded him through a set of curtains, down a hall to the first room. Jacody felt the softness of the bed underneath him. Felt himself drifting off as someone took off his shoes. He mumbled, “hell ain’t bad at all.”

“Trouble. That’s what yous’ is,” Charity muttered as she flipped off the light and closed the door.

“Damn.” Jacody muttered, massaging the back of his neck. Either he’d tranced out, or Miss Charity was messing with his mind. The vision wasn’t just memories. Not his memories.

You’re right, Mr. McAllister. You’re not a killer. But one of you is.

“Christ,” Jacody ran a hand through his hair, stood up. What if Gorman was right?  Miss Charity had warned him. But he’d know wouldn’t he? Dammit, he’d know if he’d killed someone.

Picking up the phone Jacody dialed Miss Charity’s number. The phone rang only once.

“They’s bad things coming. Yous’ be careful, Jacody.”

“I heard about the priest.” Jacody waited. Charity would tell him what she wanted him to know. No more. No less.

“Cabin’s ready.”

Jacody heard the click on the other end and replaced the receiver. She had been messing with him. Clearly expecting him to come there soon. She couldn’t help him. This was his battle, and one he couldn’t win on his own.

Temperatures in North Dakota were well below zero in winter. Not his idea of a place to be. Picking up the suitcase he locked the door to the apartment and headed for his car. First stop Columbia, Kentucky. Next, Richardton, North Dakota.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 16

Claire cleaned the kitchen for what seemed the thousandth time that day. She needed to stay busy. Keep her mind occupied. Her hands occupied.

She raised a hand to her hair, smoothing it back into place. She was afraid to look in the mirror. Afraid of what she would see. What she would feel. What she was becoming.

“Dammit, where are they?” she cried, tossing the dishtowel on the glossy countertop and pacing back and forth. She picked up the phone receiver, listened to the dial tone and replaced it. What if Simon had been right?  What if Aaron didn’t match Katie?  What then?

Picking up the towel she started in on the refrigerator. She wouldn’t think that way. Aaron believed his heart would save Katie’s life. She had to believe that too.

Claire stopped scrubbing, watching the snowflakes drift past the window. Aaron had loved to watch the snow. She smiled; remembering how he’d tried to catch them as a child, see the different patterns. God made every flake different, Claire. Just like us. It’s okay to be different.

Claire touched the birthmark on her face. At one time she had thought of having it removed. Aaron had convinced her that she was beautiful just as God had created her. John had told her the same thing. He’d never seemed to notice the ugly red whelp.

Claire’s eyes misted. Thoughts of John naturally brought thoughts of Katie. At first she’d been jealous of Katie’s relationship with John. But that had passed. Everyone loved Katie. Aaron. John. God.

Claire knew she had things to be thankful for. Especially Father Peter. What would she have done without him?  He had been wonderful. Taking charge he’d arranged a private flight almost immediately. Claire knew the heart had to be transplanted within four hours of death. Knew the risks. Knew Aaron might not make it there in time. Father Peter had told her not to expect to hear anything for at least six hours. Maybe longer. She glanced at the clock. It was three o’clock. The plane had left at seven this morning. They should have called her by now. She couldn’t stand this much longer.

Her mind played tricks on her as she continued to wipe the refrigerator up and down, back and forth. What if they had crashed?  Would anyone notify her?  What if Aaron died on the way?  Would they bring him back to her?  Would she be allowed to bury him?  What if . . .

The sound of the phone ringing jolted her from her reverie. Her muscles tensed, heartbeat quickened. She was terrified to answer it, and yet even more terrified not to. She reached for it.

“Hello.”

“Claire Davidson Marshall?”

“Yes, I’m Claire Marshall.”

“This is Dr. Freeman Wagner from Sacred Heart. We’ve finished the tests and I wanted to personally let you know that your brother was a perfect match for Katie. We’ll be starting the operation within the next few minutes.”

Claire clasped the receiver to her breast, relief flooding her features as she offered up a silent prayer. Thank you, God. Thank you.

“Mrs. Marshall?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I’m here.”

“Katie asked me about her donor. Of course, I told her that information could not be shared without the consent of the family. I understand you and your brother knew Katie from her childhood, and perhaps that would be comforting to her.”

“I appreciate that, Dr. Wagner, but I think it would be best if you didn’t tell Katie. At least not yet. She was very close to Aaron. In fact, they were best friends for many years.”

“All right, Mrs. Marshall. On behalf of everyone here, please accept our condolences on your loss. It’s a wonderful thing your brother is doing. Katie is a very special young woman.”

Claire thanked him again before hanging up the phone. Her pain had become a vicious fire searing her insides, robbing her of the strength to stand. She fell to her knees as sobs wracked her tortured body. Dr. Wagner didn’t need to tell her how special Katie was. She knew how special Katie was to Aaron. He had never forgotten her. Never stopped praying for her. And now Katie would live. Aaron had finally found her a new heart.

The thought did nothing to ease her pain. “Maybe tomorrow,” she whispered through the tears. Maybe then she could rejoice for Katie. Today she would grieve for Aaron.

# # #

Dr. Wagner brushed back the auburn curls, giving Katie’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “We’re starting the anesthetic, Katie. You’re going to drift off to sleep.”

“Dr. Wagner,” Katie swallowed, licked her dry lips.

“Yes, Katie.”

“Would you call Dr. Arthur, tell him to tell Clover . . .” Katie felt her eyelids closing as the drug took effect. “Tell her . . .”

“Bring the donor in now, Dr. Wagner?”

Freeman Wagner nodded as he did a quick check of all the monitors.

“Who’s Dr. Arthur?” Nurse Morse asked as she moved around the table, checking Katie’s vital signs.

Dr. Wagner shrugged, adjusted his mask. “Never heard of him.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 17

Jacody found himself once again circling the courthouse, like a mouse in a maze. He’d gone around it three times already, missing the turn that would take him to Molly’s Restaurant where hopefully he would get information on Bud Lynton.

“Crap,” he mumbled, flexing his toes, shifting in the seat. The jeans were too damn tight, and the boots felt like he imagined pointed toe high heels felt to women. Why would anyone put themselves through this torture?  His toes were killing him.

Pulling around he slowed, stopped, looked both ways and finally took what he hoped was the right road. A huge cemetery was on the left.

Jacody chuckled. Undoubtedly they got plenty of customers dying from heart attacks before they found their way out of that damn circle. Maybe it was some kind of new speed trap. The police station and jail were within spitting distance.

The map said six miles on the left. Keeping the truck below the speed limit Jacody watched his rearview mirror. The last thing he needed was a run in with the local police. He had the same effect on law enforcement he had on pompous assholes--he rubbed them the wrong way.

Nearing the six-mile marker Jacody slowed, keeping his eyes trained to the left, looking for something that resembled a restaurant. The sign out front saved him. He would never have taken the small white building for a restaurant. Pickup trucks lined the graveled lot. At least he’d gotten that part right.

Jacody parked, watched the crowd entering and leaving. None of them looked sick, so the food must be tolerable. He chuckled again. If Rob could only see him now. He’d be willing to bet Gavin had never worn blue jeans in his life. And as soon as he could, he was going to burn these damn cowboy boots.

Climbing out of the pickup he winced as his feet touched the ground. Yep, burning those damn boots was going to be a real pleasure. He walked toward the front door whistling “the things we do for love.”

The restaurant was small, round tables clumped together with barely enough room for the harried waitress to walk between. The red checkered tablecloths were missing, but the atmosphere was small town America. Clean, and the food smelled delicious.

Jacody ignored the curious glances, searching the room until he spotted exactly what he was looking for. A small table in the back. Someplace he could sit and watch without being watched. Moving through the crowd he continued to ignore the curious glances, smiling pleasantly when he happened to catch an eye.

The waitress threaded her way through the crowd, carrying coffee and cups. Sitting one in front of Jacody she filled it, popped her gum and smiled at him.

“What can I get you, honey?”

Jacody took a sip of coffee, grimaced and set it down. “How about a menu?”

The waitress laughed. “You ain’t in New York, hon. We make it strong here. Need some water?”

Jacody nodded, swallowing hard as the bitter coffee hit his stomach, making its way to his intestines. Probably burning holes as it went.

“Water would be nice. What do you recommend for breakfast?”

She looked him over, admiring the snug jeans, shiny boots and the way his hair curled just a little over his forehead. Cute and sexy. “You should probably play it safe. Toast, eggs and sausage.”

“Toast, eggs and sausage it is then.”

She left him and Jacody watched her as she stopped at several tables, bending down to speak to the patrons, her voice a mere whisper. A stranger in town was always a good topic of gossip.

Pushing the coffee away, he studied the people in the restaurant. Farmers, bankers, secretaries. All walks of life. Molly’s was a very popular place. Of course, it was the only restaurant in town.

It took only minutes before the waitress was back, plate balanced in one hand, coffee and water in the other.

“Here you go, sweetie. You need anything else, you just whistle.”

Jacody picked up the toast and nibbled on it. The eggs were over easy, just the way he hated. The sausage was links, which he never ate. He couldn’t really complain. He hadn’t told her what he wanted, but then she hadn’t asked either. Inserting a finger on each side of his mouth he whistled as loud as he could. Every eye in the restaurant turned on him as silence settled over the room. The waitress quickly made her way back to his table.

“It was only a figure of speech, honey. What you need?”

Jacody handed her the plate, turned on the charm. “Really, I’m sorry. I should have told you. I’d like my eggs scrambled and sausage patties, not links.”

Her perky smile disappeared, lips turned down. There went her tip, and George would be furious for the wasted food. Might even fire her.

Reading the despair in her face, Jacody touched her hand. “I’ll pay for both, okay?”

She shook her head, misery reflected in every movement. “You don’t have to do that, mister. It was my fault. I should have asked you.”

Jacody took the plate from her and set it on the table. “How about you just place another order and the cook never has to know?”

She hesitated.

“There’s a nice tip in it for you if I get it today.”

“I’ll be right back, honey,” she gushed.

Jacody poured water in the lukewarm coffee and took a drink. He grimaced again. The only coffee he’d ever tasted that was worse was Miss Charity’s.

“Where’d you learn to whistle like that, son?  Ain’t heard nobody do that for twenty years.”

Jacody turned his chair so he was facing the man on his right, taking in the work clothes, muddy shoes and unshaved face all in one glance. He was a big man. Heavy brows shaded the intense gray eyes studying him. The face was weathered, but kind. Jacody figured him for a farmer. It might just be his lucky day after all. Farmer’s usually liked to talk.

“I think it’s the first time I’ve done it in twenty years. Didn’t know it still worked.” Jacody extended his hand. “Jacody Ives.”

“Jeb Carpenter.” Jeb stated, clasping Jacody’s hand in a hearty shake. “You ain’t from around here, are you?  Think I’d a remembered that name.”

The waitress returned, setting another plate in front of him, placing both tickets next to it. Jacody smiled at her. “Looks perfect.”

“You need anything else you just . . .” She stopped, catching herself just in time. Face flushing she hurried back to the front counter to seat the new arrivals.

Taking a bite of eggs, Jacody washed it down with water and turned back to Jeb. No sense in beating around the bush. “I’m looking for Bud Lynton.”

Jeb scratched his beard, lit a cigarette. “Bud’s on a hunting trip.”

Cutting into the sausage, Jacody chewed it thoughtfully, took a drink of water and raised the napkin to his lips. He might as well go for broke. “How about Lydia, is she around?”

Jeb had just taken a drink of coffee. He sputtered and coughed, choking as the bitter hot liquid burned his lungs. Jacody took the cup from Jeb’s hand, pounding him on the back.

Jeb sputtered and coughed for a few more seconds, took a drink of water and wiped his eyes. “Thanks. Hell, son, Lydia ain’t been seen around here in years. What you looking for Bud for anyway?  That girl in trouble again?”

Again. So Lydia had been in trouble before. The moment of truth. Or the moment of lies.

Jacody knew a lot of people would scoff at what he was about to say. Think him crazy. Jacody studied Jeb. The lines on his face, the calloused hands. His clothes were age worn, tattered in places, but clean. There was a keen intelligence in the light gray eyes. A man who had lived, loved, worried and worked all his life. A man who would respect truth, but condemn the liar.

“I had a dream about a young woman. I think it’s Lydia. And yes, she’s in trouble again. If it was her, I need to talk to Bud.”

Jeb scratched his beard, bobbing his head in understanding. “Dreams can be powerful things sometimes. My grandma used to tell me some whoppers. All came true though. Don’t expect Bud will be back until week after next.”

Jacody looked down at the half finished breakfast. He’d go crazy here in two weeks. No, make that two hours.

“Got a small farm about twenty miles out on Jones Creek.” Jeb continued talking. “Three forty-five Jones Drive.”

Jacody wrote the address on a napkin. Lexington was less than two hours away. He could stay there. Do some research. Check out the horse farms. “Got a phone number?”

Jeb cackled. “Heck, son, Bud ain’t even got electricity.”

“Great,” Jacody mumbled. “Just great.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The heart is just an organ

Red and pulsing

Coursing with our blood

But woe unto the matters of it

For when this simple thing

Cracks from existential pressure

The world falters

And the winds shift in sorrow

What would give life

Loses its luster

This simple thing

Becomes an oppressing weight

Dragging down

Breath becomes bitter trade

Ragged and harsh

So carry lightly your words

Let them not be heavy as stone

But like the bird

Soaring into the sky

And let their warmth keep close

Never to touch the ground

Charles W. Prather, Jr.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 18

“Dig the hole, dig it deep. Give the worms something to eat. I like the liver and the hearts. The worms can have the other parts.”

Katie O’Connor woke, her scream of terror rippling through the small hospital room, competing with the sounds of shrieking monitors, blaring emergency signals. She placed her knuckles between her lips to hold back another scream, tears streaming down her face. She could feel her new heart pounding in her chest, drumming out the sounds of running footsteps. She gagged, rubbed her hands on the sheets, revulsion washing over her.

She could still feel the beat of the heart in her open palm, the sticky warm blood as it gushed from the severed organ. Another scream reverberated through the small room just as the door burst open.

“Oh, God, get Dr. Wagner in here quick.”

Nurse Sally Morse rushed to the bed, pulling Katie’s hands away from her face before placing her hands firmly on Katie’s shoulders, holding her in the bed as she issued orders. “Get me 300 cc’s of Dramamine.”

Katie continued to thrash and moan, another scream on the tip of her tongue. Sally spoke to her in a quiet, soothing voice. “It’s okay, Katie. You have to calm down, breathe slowly. Come on sweetheart, work with me. Count with me. Take a deep breath. Hold it. Okay, now let it out, one, two, three, four. Good.” Katie’s eyes were huge, pupils enlarged. Wide pools of black tar. Void of comprehension. “You’re going to be fine, honey. Let’s do it again. Come on, stay with me, Katie. Breathe in, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three, four.”

Sally watched the monitor as Katie’s pressure dropped, then spiked again. The strength in the patient’s arms amazed her. This was not normal. Not normal at all. She lessened her pressure on Katie’s shoulders. “Come on, Katie, concentrate. Close your eyes.”

Taking the syringe from the aide, Sally quickly administered the drug, still talking to Katie in her quiet, soothing manner. “Everything is okay now. I’m here. You’re fine. Just relax.”

Katie willed herself to fight the fear running rampant inside her, listen to Sally’s words, relax her muscles, slow the erratic beat of her new heart. The drug was beginning to take effect. She reached for and gripped Sally’s hand tightly as drowsiness began to settle over her. She didn’t want to sleep. Couldn’t sleep. Her eyes were so heavy. Her body was growing weaker, sinking into the mattress. There was something she wanted to say. Needed to say.

Sally bent forward, close to Katie’s mouth, straining to catch the whispered words.

“Please . . .,” Katie breathed softly, “take it out.”

# # #

Jacody slowed the truck, read the sign and pulled into the parking lot of the Continental Inn. This could be fun. Or at the very least an entertaining break from sheer boredom.

Jacody read the sign again, making mental notes of visiting psychics, palm readers, tarot readers. He’d be willing to bet none of them could hold a candle to Miss Charity. Gavin had always considered this a lot of hogwash. Jacody knew different. Knew the power of the mind. He also knew the power of evil. Darkness.

One picture caught his attention, held it. Ebony eyes beckoned him. Why not?  It wouldn’t be the first time he’d followed a crazy hunch.

Jacody mingled with the locals, strolling down the aisles. People were lined up in front of tables, anxiously waiting their turn to be enlightened. Jacody laughed, wishing Carl was here as he listened to the faint dramatic tones of the readers. Mesmerizing the client.

Miss Charity would have been appalled.

One table stood by itself. Out of place. No patrons stood in front of it. No anxiously waiting clients. No purple shrouds cloaking the reader. She seemed oblivious to her lack of popularity, hands resting on the table, lips lifted in smile, ebony eyes beckoning.

Jacody pulled out the chair in front of her table. She picked up the tarot cards, shuffled them.

“You don’t seem very popular today,” Jacody commented.

“I’ve been waiting for someone.”

Her voice was sweet, lilting. Not like the melodramatic tones of the other readers.

Jacody placed his elbows on the table, leaned in. “So, how much to tell me what I want to hear?”

The ebony eyes darkened.

“I never charge.” Her lips pursed as her brows knitted together. “And I never tell people what they want to hear, Mr. Ives.”

Jacody felt the vein begin to throb in his neck. Either she was really good or . . .

“How did you know my name?”

The smile returned. “I’ve been waiting for you, Mr. Ives.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 19

Sally Morse opened the file drawer slowly, avoiding the squeak that generally met her ears. She looked around nervously. She’d be fired if she were caught. But she had to know. She shivered as she remembered Katie’s screams. Screams Hollywood would have paid dearly for. The kind that raised the hair on the back of your neck, quickened your heartbeat. Screams of terror.

But it was the whispered words that perturbed Sally, made her pull the file from the drawer. It was more than a dream. And she didn’t care what Dr. Wagner thought, she believed in cellular memory.

Sally’s face burned, humiliation washing over her as she remembered Dr. Wagner’s scathing remarks.

It wasn’t her fault life hadn’t given her the perfect figure, gorgeous hair and a winning personality that doctors loved to fawn over. Instead she’d been cursed with stringy black hair, a bean pole frame that would never have curves no matter how much she ate, and eyesight that required thick lenses. The other kids had laughed at her. She’d grown up with the taunt of “raccoon eyes” forever imbedded in her brain, like bits of jagged glass. Cutting occasionally, just enough to make her miserable. Like now.

“Dammit, I’m a good nurse, and I care about people. That counts more than big boobs and a tight ass in my book.”

Sally hesitated a scant second before opening the file. What she was doing was wrong. A violation of her oath. Yet, there were times, like now, when she felt the oath was wrong.

Her hands started to shake as she fumbled with the clasp on the folder. Angry with herself, she jerked it open. She’d never been a coward, and she wasn’t going to start now. So what if she did get caught?  Wasn’t Katie worth it?

Sally read the notes quickly. A priest?  She breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t some psychotic maniac. What harm could a priest’s memories do?  Still the absolute terror in Katie’s eyes, the whispered “take it out” made her read more. Suicide?  Why would a priest commit suicide?  “Because he did something unthinkable,” her mind whispered, causing her hands to shake even more as she closed the clasp, replaced the file in the cabinet.

Sally closed and locked the cabinet. She’d risked her career, but at least she had a starting point. Something she could look into, and maybe something she could help Katie with. Dr. Wagner was wrong. Something was wrong with Katie’s situation.

“Oh, crap,” Sally exclaimed, glancing at her watch. She was late for her meeting with Wagner. He’d be furious. Opening the door cautiously she scanned the hallway.

Sally locked the door, heading for the elevator at a quick pace. It was too quiet here. Almost like the morgue. Ominous. She turned once, hearing footsteps behind her, the soft sound of breathing. “Is someone there?”

Silence. Sally started walking again, this time her pace quicker. Reaching the elevator she pushed the button as she glanced over her shoulder down the hallway. She could see the shadow hidden within the shadows of the basement. There was someone there.

The ping of the elevator caused her to jump, but she quickly entered, hitting the button to close the doors. Only when the doors were completely closed did she dare to breathe. Pushing the button for the third floor she leaned against the wall, her thoughts frenzied. Why had someone been watching her?  And even worse, why hadn’t they wanted her to know they were there?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 20

Jacody had seen too much to be easily shocked. Life had those moments. Unexplainable moments of being in the right place at the right time. Miss Charity couldn’t help him, so she’d sent someone else.

“You have very powerful friends, Mr. Ives. Friends that love you.” She hesitated. “But they can’t save you. Only you can save yourself.”

He met the ebony gaze, held it. “Tell me something I don’t know. Have I killed someone?”

She broke the gaze, shuffled the cards. “Yes.”

# # #

“You think I’m crazy don’t you?”

Jennifer Baker smiled at the pretty young woman, reaching out to touch her hand. “No Katie, I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’ve been through a very traumatic experience. It’s not unusual, you know, that you’d experience nightmares.

“It wasn’t a nightmare. It was real. I know it was real.”

Katie shuddered. More than a week had passed, and yet she could still see it in her mind, feel the warm beating heart held in her open palm. There was more, more she hadn’t told the doctor. More she would never tell anyone.

“Dr. Wagner says you can go home tomorrow. Does that bother you?” Dr. Baker closed her notepad, signaling the end of the session.

“No.” Katie walked toward the window. She wanted Dr. Baker to leave. There was no use talking to her. She didn’t believe Katie. Dr. Wagner had not believed her either.

Dr. Baker rose, placing a card on the lunch tray. “I’d like you to call my office tomorrow and make an appointment for next week. We’ll talk about this more then.”

Katie didn’t answer, but continued to look out the window. She just wanted to be alone. The soft click of the door latch granted her wish.

Her eyes misted and she blinked back the tears. Her new heart felt strange, filling her with sadness. She wasn’t crazy, and it wasn’t a nightmare.

Nurse Morse entered, smiling. “How’s my favorite patient today?”

“It depends on who you ask, I guess.” Katie answered, turning from the window.

Sally touched her shoulder. “Let’s get you back in bed for a while. You don’t want to overdo it.”

Sally puttered around the room, plumping pillows, refilling the water pitcher. She started to speak, hesitated and plumped Katie’s pillows again.

Katie picked up the photos Dr. Baker had left. “Sally, do you think I’m crazy?”

Sally sat down on the side of the bed and took Katie’s hand. “Katie, doctors are just, well they’re just educated people who have this need to explain away things they don’t understand. I think they feel like they have to give the patient an explanation for everything. A scientific reasoning for the problem, even if there is no scientific explanation.”

Sally took the pictures, glanced at them. “What are these?”

“Pictures of an empty lot. But it wasn’t empty when I was there.”

Sally shuddered, remembering the shadow in the basement. Dr. Wagner would have her head on a platter if he ever found her talking to a patient about cellular memory. Still, if she were right the nightmares would return, as would other things. Other memories.

“Katie, please don’t tell Dr. Wagner or Dr. Baker I told you this, but you might want to look into cellular memory when you go home.”

“Cellular memory?” Katie pushed the button, raising the bed.

Sally stood up, straightened the sheets and blankets on the bed. Keeping her hands busy, but also watching the door. “It’s sort of in the iffy experimental stages of study, but there’s still some good literature out there. Especially for heart transplants. There’s even some support groups that might be able to help. Some people believe that transplant patients share the memories of their donors.”

“Sally, do you think my nightmare could be the memories of my donor?” Alarm flashed in the bright green eyes. The thought terrified Katie.

Sally hesitated, hearing the fear behind the question, seeing the horrified expression on Katie’s face. Pouring Katie a fresh glass of water she avoided meeting her eyes. “No, sweetie, I think you were just under a lot of stress.”

Sally wasn’t a good liar. She did think Katie was having her donor’s memories.

Katie lay still as Sally lowered the bed, fluffed her pillows one last time. “Get some sleep, and I’ll be back to check on you later.”

Katie fought back tears of frustration. Someone should have told her about cellular memory before the operation.

Placing her hand on her chest she felt the strong steady beat. Dr. Wagner didn’t know she’d overheard his conversation with Dr. Baker, calling her operation and recovery nothing short of a miracle. It was almost as if the heart had known her, wanted to belong to her.

A killer wanting to stay alive?  Kill again?

“No,” she whispered. She would never let that happen. She would find out everything she could about cellular memory, but she was also going to find out about her donor.

Katie looked down at the photos again. No replica of Jacques Coeur’s house stood on the lot, and according to Dr. Baker, no house had ever stood on that lot. Dr. Wagner had never heard of James Arthur. And there was no Camp Hope in Washington.

Faced with the evidence Katie knew she sounded crazy. And except for one thing . . .

Katie climbed out of bed, walked to the closet and opened her suitcase. Pulling out the velvet drawstring purse she opened it, revealing the tarot cards inside. The purse was real. The cards were real. Justice stared up at her from the deck. He was real. And he was out there somewhere on a mission. Unless Katie found him, helped him, he would die.

The thought gave her strength, purpose. She was going home tomorrow. It wasn’t a nightmare, and she wasn’t crazy.

Taking the Justice card she held it, closed her eyes. “Wait for me,” she whispered. “I’m coming.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 21

Jacody parked in front of the log cabin, taking in the silence, the seclusion, trying to see it through Lydia’s eyes. Through any young woman’s eyes.

“Go back to Columbia, Mr. Ives. There’s someone for you to find. Someone for you to save.” Long lashes lowered over the ebony eyes. “Don’t falter at the crossroads. Your instincts will be to kill, but only through saving them can you save yourself.”

“You told me I’ve already killed, so what’s the use.”

“I answered the question you asked. You are Gavin. Gavin is you. Don’t you remember?”

Jacody had remembered. It had been Gavin’s hands around George Menelaus’ throat, but the outcome had been the same. They had killed.

Like most physic readings her last words were cryptic. “Beware the wolf.”

Jacody scoffed. There were no wolves in Columbia, Kentucky and none in North Dakota. But the psychic was right about one thing. He had someone to find.

The cabin door opened.

“Bud Lynton?” Jacody called out, climbing out of the Honda.

“Yep. You must be Jacody Ives. Get out, come on in.”

Jacody climbed the steps, shook Bud’s hand, noting the strength in the long lean fingers. A man who worked with his hands.

“Come on in out of the cold.” Bud opened the door wider, revealing a sparsely furnished, but neat living room. A fire blazed in the fireplace. Kerosene lamp on the mantle.

“Have a seat. I’ll get us some coffee and then we can talk.”

Jacody walked to the mantle, picked up the picture. He knew it was her. Younger. Happier. This was his Lydia.

Bud set the coffee down and joined him at the mantle. Taking the picture from Jacody he touched her face gently, tracing the outline of her smile. “Only good thing I ever done. Best thing that ever happened to me, and I let her go.”

Jacody sat down on the sofa, picked up the cup and sniffed the coffee. Columbia had a lot of sulfur in its water. He grimaced, remembering Molly’s bitter brew.

Bud placed the picture back on the mantle, crossed to the window, a faraway look in his eyes. “Jeb told me you had a dream about a girl?”

“Yeah, I did.” Jacody sniffed the coffee again. He could really use it right now, but the memory was still fresh in his mind.

Bud laughed, reading the expression on Jacody’s face. “Drink up, son. Ain’t nothing like Molly’s.”

Jacody took a sip, followed by a larger swallow. It was good. In fact, it was the best damn coffee he’d ever tasted.

“Little moonshine takes the bitterness away, gives it a smooth taste.”

Jacody took another drink, a warm comfortable feeling flowing through him. He could get used to this.

Bud joined him on the sofa, his face serious, lined with years of hard work and worry.

“You gonna tell me about the dream?”

Jacody cleared his throat. He was. But not yet. “What did you mean when you said you let her go?”

Bud set down his coffee, that faraway look still in his eyes. “She got pregnant, gave up the baby. Small towns, you know how it is. People talk. I was ashamed.” Bud stopped talking, lowered his head. “She needed me. I wasn’t there for her so she left.” He lifted his head, met Jacody’s gaze. “I stood out there on the porch and just watched her walk away.”

Bud reached for his coffee cup. Moonshine did more than warm the body. It also numbed the senses. “That was seven years ago.”

Jacody emptied his cup, noting the slight buzz in his head. Good stuff, but it carried a powerful wallop. He’d known the moment he saw the picture that Lydia was the girl in his dream. Hearing about the baby clinched it.

“Have you heard from her since she left?”

Bud reached under the coffee table and brought up an old shoebox tied with a blue ribbon. Untying the ribbon he opened it, took out a stack of envelopes. “Didn’t hear nothing for the first six years. Then about a year ago she started writing. Wrote me every month. Always different towns, different stories. Six months ago she called me down at Molly’s. Wanted to come home. Said she was coming home.”

Jacody took the letters, studied the post-marks. The last one was from Denmark, Colorado. Dated April 15. “Can I take these with me?”

Bud fought to control his emotions, but his voice shook as he asked the question Jacody had dreaded hearing. Dreaded answering. “She’s dead ain’t she?  That’s what you seen in your dream.”

Jacody nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. Bud’s pain was a tangible presence in the room.

Bud retied the ribbon, placed the box back beneath the coffee table. “If you think they’ll help you find her, take ‘em.”

Standing up Bud walked back to the window. “She’d a stayed if I’d a asked her to. But I had my pride.” His shoulders slumped. “You get old you realize pride ain’t so important. Family’s important. Somebody to love. Somebody to love you.”

Turning he faced Jacody, eyes pleading. “Seems like you’re pretty good at finding people, Mr. Ives. You can see I ain’t got much, but if you could find my little girl and bring her home I’d give you everything I got.”

Jacody felt the rage building as Bud’s pain penetrated the shell around him. Bud Lynton had grown up in a time where a man’s word and his handshake were all that were needed to seal a deal. Jacody extended his hand. “I’ll find her, Mr. Lynton. And I’ll bring her home.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 22

Jacody left the cabin, the cold night air clearing the last remnants of pain and moonshine from his head. Leaving only the burning rage.

Bud had remembered the exact date and time of Lydia’s call, and knew Molly’s number. Reaching for his cell phone Jacody dialed Rob.

“Gavin?”

Jacody gritted his teeth at the sound of hope in Rob’s voice. The kid would tolerate him, but he sure as hell didn’t like him. Jacody sighed. If Gavin didn’t wake up, something was coming he’d like even less. “Afraid not, kid. Need your help again.”

“Where are you?” Rob asked.

Jacody grinned, taking in the picturesque countryside around him. “Depends on who you ask. Some would call it heaven. Some would call it hell. A little place called Columbia, Kentucky.” Truth was getting to be a habit. One he’d have to watch.

“Did you find her?”

“No, but I found her father.”

Rob chuckled. “You must be slipping, Jacody. Took you two weeks?”

Jacody ignored the jib. “She called him six months ago. That’s where you come in. I need to trace that call. See where it originated from.”

“Let me grab a pen.”

Jacody slowed to take the slight curve around the graveyard and found himself once again circling the courthouse. A few more cups of Bud’s coffee and he could have enjoyed this. Hell, maybe this was why Bud laced the coffee with moonshine.

“Okay, give me the information.”

Jacody relayed the date, time and number where the call had been received.

“Give me fifteen minutes,” Rob stated, hanging up the phone.

Jacody parked near the jail and sat listening to the sounds of children playing in the distance. It was only eight-thirty and yet the town was already closed down. Nobody on the streets but the kids getting in that last few hours of frolicking before bedtime.

The clock on the courthouse ticked loudly, measuring the seconds as he waited. The phone rang.

“Yeah.” Jacody held the phone in place with his shoulder, pen posed, ready to write down the information.

“Richardton, North Dakota.”

Jacody dropped the pen and note pad. “You sure about that, Rob?”

“Positive. You think it’s got anything to do with the priest’s suicide?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell going to find out.”

# # #

Sally Morse jumped as the teapot shrieked from the kitchen and the phone rang. She laughed shakily as what her grandmother called the chilblains tickled down her spine.

“Hello?

“Sally?”

Sally recognized the voice immediately. She should have kept her mouth closed. Done her job and minded her own business.

“Hello, Katie. How are you?”

“I’m still having the dreams, Sally. I need to know who my donor was.”

The chilblains deepened, spreading from her spine down her legs. Her feet felt like blocks of ice. “I can’t tell you that, Katie. I’ll lose my job.”

“No one will ever know you told me. I promise. Please, Sally, help me.”

Sally closed her eyes, seeing the shadowy figure in the basement. Hearing the sound of soft breathing down her neck. Her fingerprints were all over that file, and the file was missing.

The doorbell rang and Sally breathed a sigh of relief. Talk about clichés, she really was being saved by the bell.

“Someone’s at the door, Katie. I can’t talk right now.”

“Call me back, please,” Katie pleaded.

“I’ll call you back.”

Sally replaced the receiver, groaning out loud. She’d started this mess, so she’d have to deal with it. The doorbell rang again.

“I’m coming.” She yelled wiping her sweaty hands on her uniform. She stopped at the door and peered through the peephole. You didn’t open your doors to just anyone after dark.

Sally didn’t recognize the man, but he looked harmless enough. Actually he was rather attractive in an old fashioned way. Wiping her hands again, she fluffed the stringy hair, wishing she’d had time to change clothes. Opening the door she smiled into the light-blue eyes. “Can I help you?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 23

Claire placed a single white rose on the gravestone. An ingrained part of her morning ritual. Make coffee, clean the house, buy roses, visit Aaron. She had nothing else to do, and she needed to talk to him.

“I hear Katie is doing fine, Aaron. She’s been released from the hospital. Everything is just like you wanted it to be.”

Bending down she placed a second rose at the base of the headstone, tenderly touching the earth. “I’m doing okay. I miss you though.” Claire wiped her eyes.

“Claire?”

Claire stood up, wiped her hands on her pants. “When did you get back?”

“I caught a late night flight. This isn’t healthy, Claire.”

Claire laughed, facing him. “For whom, Simon?  You or me?”

“It’s just . . .”

Claire walked away from him. Knowing he would follow. He didn’t belong here. “I know, Simon. People are talking. Can’t have the town doctor with crazy family members, can you?”

“Claire, sweetheart, let me help you. You don’t have to be alone.”

“Like you helped Aaron?”

“Claire, honey, let me explain. . .”

Claire spun around, eyes flashing blue fire as the pain enveloped her. “Explain what, Simon?  Explain why you walked away from us all those years ago?  Explain where you were when our mother called you on her death bed?” She paused for breath, gazing at the tombstone. “Explain why you killed Aaron?”

He seemed to shrink in front of her eyes. Shoulders hunched, chin tucked in toward his chest. She sneered, her face a mask of hatred. “I don’t need your explanations, Simon. I have my grief.”

Claire wiped her eyes and walked away from him, head held high, back straight. There had been a time when she had hoped they could mend the gulf between them. Now, with Aaron gone it didn’t really seem to matter anymore.

“And what if she comes here, Claire?  How are you going to feel then, seeing her walk around with Aaron’s heart beating in her chest?”

Claire stopped, the thought of Katie coming here registering. Warmth spread through her for just a moment. Simon was scared. Afraid of something. The air between them crackled with tension. She turned, looked at him. The man she had worshipped. Loved. Cried at night for. No, he was still the same old Simon. He wasn’t afraid. He didn’t want Katie here because he didn’t want to be reminded of Aaron. Simon never had trouble letting go. He just didn’t like to be reminded of what he’d let go of.

“There’s nothing in the world that would make me happier than seeing Katie again,” Claire stated, making her voice sugary sweet, “except maybe standing over your grave.”

Simon watched her drive away, lips twitching, blue eyes glowing with madness. “Feel the hate, Claire. Get mad, my little one. Our time will come. You’ll always be Daddy’s little girl.”

# # #

“You aren’t listening to me.” Katie slammed her fist on the desk. “I don’t need to see Dr. Baker. I’m not crazy.

“Nobody thinks you’re crazy, Katie. Cellular memory is a lot of malarkey. There’s absolutely no scientific proof to support it.”

Katie wanted to scream. She couldn’t believe he’d simply shoved aside the literature she’d downloaded. Refused to listen. Not scientific. Katie knew she was right. Dr. Armour was right.

“What about Dr. Pert?  You can’t say that isn’t scientific. She studied cellular memory through chemistry. Her findings supported what other scientists had already concluded, that every cell in our body has its own mind, and if you transfer tissues from one body to another, the cells from the first body will carry memories into the second body.”

“I’m not going to tell you who your donor was, Katie.” Dr. Wagner scribbled a note and closed her file.

Katie slammed Dr. Pert’s literature down in front of him. “Her studies showed that the brain and body send messages to each other through short chains of amino acids known as neuropeptides and receptors.” Katie glared at him, quoting Dr. Pert. “Previously known to exist exclusively in the brain, these acids have been found in places all throughout the body, especially in major organs such as the heart.”

Dr. Wagner stood up. “Call Dr. Baker, Katie. Make an appointment.”

Katie picked up the literature, flipping through the pages angrily. “What about Dr. Armour?  He’s a neurocardiologist. He also studied cellular memory through chemical terms. Dr. Armour calls the heart’s intrinsic nervous system the little brain in the heart.”

Dr. Wagner sighed, sat down again. “I’m familiar with Dr. Armour, Katie. I’ve read his books. The nerve connections Armour talks about are severed in the operation and don’t reconnect for a long time. If ever. So it doesn’t matter if the heart is a little brain, there’s no nerve conductors to carry memories to the recipient’s brain.”

Closing her eyes, Katie swallowed hard, holding back the tears threatening to fall. She needed the identity of her donor, but Wagner wasn’t going to give it to her. The hospital wouldn’t give it to her. Sally had been her only hope, but that had been a dead end too. Sally hadn’t called her back, wasn’t answering her phone, and when Katie had called the hospital this morning they told her Sally had taken an emergency vacation. All she needed was the name. She could do the rest.

“Katie, look at me.” Dr. Wagner’s voice was soft. Katie opened her eyes. He smiled at her. “I want you to go talk to Dr. Baker. Your operation was a huge success. You’ve been given a second chance. Very few people get a second chance at life.”

Katie wiped away a tear and smiled as she stood up. “Thank you, Dr. Wagner. I promise you, I won’t waste it.”

Closing the office door behind her, Katie leaned against it. She hadn’t lied to Dr. Wagner. She just hadn’t told him the truth. The dreams had changed. Not as graphic. But they came every night. The sapphire-blue eyes begging, pleading with her. “My name is Lydia. Find me. Take me home.”

Katie shoved her hands into her pants pockets to keep from turning around and pounding on the door again. She wasn’t going to waste her new life. If her donor wasn’t a killer then someone he knew was. Someone out there had the answers, and Katie was going to find them. And then she was going to find Lydia.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 24

“Hey, you gonna work all night?” Carl Jackson poked his head into Rob’s office, scowling at his partner.

“Maybe.” Rob snarled, running a hand across his eyes. He’d spent the last four hours staring at computer screens of useless information.

“What’s got your shorts in a bind?” Carl groused, closing the door and lighting a cigarette.

“Dammit, Carl, go smoke up your own office. You know how the Chief is about smoking in the building.”

Taking a seat Carl took a good look at his partner. Wrinkled shirt, dark smudges under his eyes. Hair temper. Something was sure chewing on the boy’s craw. “You got trouble, Rob, I got trouble.”

“Not this time.”

Carl made himself comfortable in the chair, propped his feet on the desk and took a deep drag on the cigarette. “You still got that ashtray, or you want me to drop them on the floor?”

Rob jerked the top drawer open, rummaging until he found the ashtray, slamming it across the desk. “I want you to leave.”

The words stung. Carl’s hands twitched slightly as he took his feet off the desk, stubbed out the cigarette and stood up.

Rob sighed, rub his eyes again. The old man’s silence was stronger than the angry outburst he’d expected. More meaningful. Partners didn’t have secrets. “Sit down, Carl.”

Rob waited until Carl sat back down, lit a cigarette. He didn’t know where to start. How to explain the gut feeling he had about what was going on with Gavin.

“So, what’s the famous detective into this time?” Carl asked, flipping ashes into the ashtray.

Rob gaped at him.

“You look like shit. Either you had a fight with Cory, or a run in with Jacody Ives.” Carl took another drag off the cigarette. “Figured you’d be blubbering on my shoulder if it was Cory.”

Rob continued to look at him, incredulous.

“So, what’s our dark knight into this time?”

Rob spread his hands, shook his head. “Damned if I know. I thought it was just a missing girl, but it’s starting to look like a serial killer.”

Carl sat up straighter. “Our boy?”

Rob shook his head again, picked up his jacket and stood up. “Another one.”

“Damn.”

Carl stood up, stubbed out the cigarette. The word said it all. There was always another one.

# # #

Katie fidgeted, walking from room to room, turning on the lights. Her apartment had been designed for beauty and comfort. The only things money could easily buy. And money was all she had. Inmates on death row didn’t make friends. She laughed, the sound a cross between a snort and a sob. If she didn’t find something to do she was going to go crazy. Work. She needed to work.

Turning on the computer Katie pulled up her e-mail, deleting the junk. Only one message looked promising. Katie double clicked, read the message, her body going numb, blood draining from her face. She’d never believed in coincidence. Forgotten Times magazine wanted her to do an article on the Chartres Cathedral.

Pushing back from the computer she stared at the message as her mind retraced the cab ride, the house, the study, the mural on the wall. Her conversation with Dr. Arthur. Clover. If she wasn’t crazy, then the answers had to be here somewhere. Pulling up Google she typed in Dr. James Arthur.

“Great,” she muttered. The first page held entry one through ten of 2,410,000.

Katie typed in Clover Bottoms, tapping her fingers lightly on the desk as she waited. She wanted to laugh, cry or simply scream as the screen came up revealing one through ten of 1,600,000.

Katie scanned down through the entries. Most related to development centers and slavery in the Clover Bottoms. There was even a book written on the subject.

Returning to the Google home page she typed in Camp Hope. Entry one through ten of 28,800,000. Katie scanned the entries, reading the shot bios for camps around the United States for children. She’d had no idea so many existed. But none fit the description of her Camp Hope.

Katie sat back, folding her hands in her lap. She was tired, emotionally and physically. She needed to rest. But sleep meant dreams. What if her donor was a killer?  Did she really want to know?  Could she accept life with his heart beating in her chest?

In the last week she’d grown stronger. More alive. Could she give that up?  She no longer had the same acceptance of death that she’d grown so used to living with. She’d been given a chance to live, and dammit she wanted it. Wanted to run a marathon. Climb a mountain. All the things that had been denied her, like candy on a shelf just above her head, were finally within her grasp. All she had to do was reach for it.

Sitting forward again Katie altered her search, typing in Dr. James Arthur and Camp Hope. The page came up quickly, showing entries one through ten of 1,210,000. Okay, so it wasn’t going to be easy. Undaunted she scanned the first page, reading through the descriptions until she came to the one that froze her fingers, stilled the beating of her heart. Her finger moved involuntarily on the mouse, double clicking on the article. Warm brown eyes gazed out at her. Eyes she remembered.

The article was a beautiful memorial to the young man who had devoted his life to helping terminally ill children. His struggle to get other doctors involved, bring the children together to share their frustration, anger and hurt. A one-man crusade for organ donation.

Katie wiped the tears from her face as she continued to read. It was all there. The camp. Even the huge oak tree outside the main building. The house at Twelve-ten Chantilly Lane. The only difference--it was in Pendleton, Oregon, not Washington. And it had all been destroyed by fire twenty-five years ago.

Grief rippled through her as she read how Dr. Arthur had sacrificed his life in an effort to save a young woman trapped on the second floor of his home. A young woman in a wheelchair. A twelve-year-old heart patient named Clover Bottoms.

A smiling photo of Frank Davis flashed on the screen as the article detailed the bravery of the young camp volunteer that had followed Dr. Arthur into the fire with no thought for his own safety.

Katie heard the sobs, not realizing they were coming from her. Deep painful sobs that twisted her insides, exposing raw nerves, cramping her muscles. She bent forward, rocking back and forth as tortured moans escaped her lips.

“Follow your heart, Katie.”

Katie gripped the arms of the chair, struggling to breathe. Her chest felt on fire. Biting her lower lip she tasted blood, but her sobs slowly ceased as she forced her muscles to relax. She had to live. She had a purpose. Printing the information on Camp Hope she cleared the screen. The answers were here, all she had to do was find them. Going back to the Google home page she typed in lucid dreaming.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 25

Overcome by exhaustion Katie dressed for bed, leaving the lamp burning. She didn’t want to wake in the dark. For the first time in her life darkness terrified her.

Katie lay totally still, her heart beating faster as she listened to the sounds of the night. The articles on lucid dreaming although interesting had not really helped her.

Shadows danced in the corners of the room, images created by the moonlight and her imagination. Why wouldn’t Dr. Wagner listen to her?  Believe her. He’d known her for years. Surely he knew she wouldn’t make up such a preposterous story.

Katie turned over in bed, touched the articles she’d printed about Dr. Arthur and Camp Hope. She couldn’t use it for proof of anything. Dr. Baker would just say she’d read it somewhere and then dreamed the whole thing. Okay, so she’d dreamed it, what about the tarot cards?

Punching the pillow, Katie rolled over again. Her body was tired, but sleep was far from her feeble grasp. Her mind would just not be still. She considered taking the pills that Dr. Baker had prescribed. “Just a little something to help you sleep.”

Katie knew they weren’t just to help her sleep. They were anti-depressants. She wasn’t depressed, and she wasn’t crazy. The articles proved that at least.

A slight noise caused her to open her eyes, peer into the shadows. A familiar figure stood hidden within them, illuminated by the strands of moonlight filtering through the open blinds.

“Aaron?” Katie recognized him immediately. Sitting up she held out her hand to him, only to find he was gone. Or he’d never really been there. Katie sighed, lay down on the pillow. Perhaps Dr. Baker was right and it was stress from the operation. She couldn’t have seen Aaron Davidson in her bedroom. He was somewhere in North Dakota. The last she’d heard he had his own church and was doing wonderful things in the community.

Katie closed her eyes, thoughts turning to her childhood. Aaron had been her very best friend. Claire, his older sister had watched over the two of them.

A strange warmth spread through her, relaxing her muscles, easing the tension of the day. Aaron had had a crush on her all the way through grade school. Sometime after she’d moved to Spokane he had chosen his profession and dedicated his life to serving God. Even as a child, when she herself had doubted God’s existence, Aaron had been sure of God.

Katie smiled as a pleasant drowsiness sank into her muscles and she drifted into sleep.

“Someday I’m going to swing high enough to see heaven.”

Katie laughed as she watched Aaron push off on the swing, going higher and higher with each push. “And then what will you do?”

Aaron looked at her, his light-blue eyes more serious than a twelve year olds should be. “I’m gonna ask God to give you a new heart.”

Katie woke up, her body drenched in sweat. She remembered her thoughts just prior to falling asleep, how she’d imagined seeing Aaron in the shadows. Now the dream. It had been their last summer together. After she’d found out about her heart.

Sitting up, Katie peered into the shadows. Her mother had always told her that everything had a purpose in life. She’d forgotten about John’s book in Dr. Arthur’s study.

Pushing back the covers Katie got out of bed, crossed to the closet and pulled down her memory box. It held few memories, but all of them were precious to her. The heart-shaped rock Aaron had given her as a going away present. Pictures and the articles Claire had sent her over the years, before John’s death. Aaron’s graduation from seminary.

Katie caressed the picture with her fingertips. Aaron had always been so sure that if he prayed hard enough, long enough, God would heal her, or find her a new heart. Now, more than fifteen years later Aaron’s prayers had been answered. She wished she could tell him.

A crazy thought crossed her mind. Why couldn’t she?  She’d have to ask Dr. Wagner, but if it was okay to travel then she could go home. Tell him in person.

Closing the box Katie placed it on the top shelf. After her parents had been killed in a car crash last year she’d been all alone. No family, no friends. Just her art, her writing.

Katie returned to bed. She could sleep now. Aaron would know what to do, and he would believe her. He would help her find the identity of her donor. Help her find Justice. Save him.

Katie turned off the lamp. She no longer needed it. One thing she was absolutely sure of--Aaron and evil could not coexist. She would go see Dr. Wagner first thing in the morning, see how soon she could travel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 26

“What now,” Jacody grumbled at the sound of pounding on the door. He’d been packed and on his way out of town when Gavin’s publisher had called wanting to know where the manuscript was. Of course, Jacody had known exactly where the damn manuscript was. Still lying on the table in the living room. He should have just ignored the call.

Jerking open the door he glared at his brother, Rob Walker and Rob’s partner Carl Jackson. “Now is not a good time, Rob.”

Rob grinned, ignoring the meaningful look, pushing past him into the room. “Carl and I thought we’d come over, round table your case with you. Get a profile started.”

Jacody found himself caught in a bear hug as Carl Jackson entered the room.

“Yeah, what’s this Lone Ranger shit you’re pulling?” Carl let him go, reaching for his cigarettes. “And where the hell’s the coffee?  It’s colder than a well digger’s ass out there.”

Jacody took a deep breath. He really didn’t have time for this. Meeting Rob’s eyes across the room he recognized the meaningful look, silent message. Make time.

Jacody sent his own silent message, dark eyes angry. Make it quick.

“Make yourselves at home. I’ll have to make a fresh pot. I was just leaving.” Jacody said pointedly.

Rob followed him into the kitchen, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. “So why’d you come back?”

“Publisher called. I forgot to mail the manuscript.”

Rob frowned, “You came back for that?”

Jacody poured the water in the pot, measured out the coffee, hit the button. “As much as you may not like it, Rob, this happens to be my life too.”

“Coffee!” Carl yelled from the living room.

Taking down three cups, Jacody reached for the pot poured the coffee and returned to the living room, leaving Rob to ponder his words.

“Here you go, Carl. Just the way you like it.”

Carl sniffed, a smile of pure pleasure lighting up his face. “If you was a woman, I’d marry you.”

Jacody laughed. “Remind me to take you to Molly’s Restaurant someday. May have found just the girl for you.”

Rob stood in the kitchen doorway, watching. It amazed him that Carl never noticed the differences between Gavin and Jacody. But then Jacody was different with Carl. Gentler. Almost like he cared about the old man. Rob glanced at the neatly addressed package lying on the table. Maybe he was wrong about Jacody. Maybe he did care.

“Hey, Rob, you going to tell him?”

Jacody raised an eyebrow, giving his brother a suspicious look. “Tell me what?”

Rob crossed to the sofa and sat down. “Nothing,” he mumbled before leaning forward, changing the subject. “This girl you’re looking for, there’s something strange about the whole story. So I did some checking on the priest.”

“Damn saint if you ask the people around Richardton.” Carl lit another cigarette, savoring that first draw as he sank comfortably into the sofa.

“So you think it wasn’t suicide?” Jacody addressed his question to Rob. He knew why Rob was looking into this.

“That’s just it,” Rob spread his hands. “He left a note leaving his heart to a woman in Spokane, Washington. Everything points to suicide, but suicide with a purpose. Severe head injuries, internal damage--but the heart was perfect.”

Jacody sat back in the armchair, his fingers tapping lightly on the coffee cup. “Do we know who the woman is?”

Carl pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. “Wouldn’t be very good agents if we didn’t. Katie O’Connor, Sixteen Seventy Five, Bellevue Towner, Spokane, Washington.”

Jacody continued drumming his fingers against the cup. “There was no way he could have known he’d survive that fall, or that someone would find him in time for his heart to be usable, unless . . .”

Rob spoke up, reading his thoughts. “Yeah, that’s what we thought, too. Sounds like maybe he had a little help going off that cliff.”

“We got some vacation time coming, if you want some help on this one.” Carl stubbed out the cigarette, reaching for another one as his cell phone rang.

“Damn things,” Carl muttered. “Hello.” He listened, face screwed up, eyes rolling up toward the ceiling. “Yeah, we’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

Closing the phone Carl lit his cigarette and held out his empty cup. “Got just enough time for one more.”

“Those things are going to kill you, Carl.” Jacody took the cups to the kitchen, wishing he could tell them to leave. He needed to think about what he’d just heard. Totally blew his theory out of the water. He’d assumed the priest had killed Lydia and then killed himself.

Rob followed him into the kitchen. “I guess you’re headed for Richardton?”

Jacody poured Carl a fresh cup, placing the other two cups in the sink. He knew Rob had something on his mind, and he wasn’t going to leave until he got it off his chest.

Handing Carl the fresh coffee, Jacody grabbed his coat. “Take a walk with me, Rob.”

Rob slipped on his coat and followed Jacody to the elevator. “Where we going?”

Jacody pushed the button. “To the roof.”

“You’re not going to throw me off are you?” Rob joked.

Jacody was silent, lost in the stream of his own thoughts. The elevator pinged, door opened. “Let’s go.”

“Are you gonna tell me why we’re up here?  I was just kidding about the throwing off thing, but you’re making me nervous.”

Jacody walked to the edge, peered over. He could see the young man, perched on the edge, arms raised as he leaned forward. There was no way he could have known for sure. “You’ve got something on your mind, Rob. Spit it out.”

Rob waited until Jacody turned, facing him. “It’s what you said before, about it being your life too. I never really thought about it that way. And I don’t understand this whole thing with you and Gavin. Where does he go when you’re here?”

“There’s a barrier inside. Sort of a curtain. Blocks emotions. A place where you feel nothing.”

Rob paced the rooftop. “It just doesn’t make sense. I mean, what happens?”

Jacody shrugged. A lot of things didn’t make sense. They simply where what they were. “Rage. I’m his rage. A coping mechanism really.”

Rob stopped pacing. “So, I mean is it always going to be like this, or are you just going to take over one day and Gavin will be gone?”

Jacody felt his anger stir. So that was it. The thought his precious Gavin might not come back out. “I didn’t choose this, Rob. Gavin did. And I can’t change it. Only Gavin can do that.” He hesitated, took a deep breath. “And it gets worse.”

Rob’s brows wrinkled in mock bewilderment. “How the hell can it get any worse?  What’s worse than you?”

Jacody felt the vein throbbing in the side of his neck, anger rising, darkness pulling him closer. He gritted his teeth, shoved his hands into his coat pockets. He wouldn’t let it win. Not yet.

“Do you ever think about the people you kill, Rob?  See in yourself your own evil, your own shortcomings?”

“I’ve never killed anyone.” Rob shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, seeking warmth from the cold dark eyes piercing him.

Jacody betrayed no emotion, but continued to hold his gaze, his words hard, cruel. “Gavin has.”

Rob’s eyebrows raised, mouth opened, as the words seeped into him. He knew Gavin had killed a man. He rubbed the bullet wound on his side. He’d had no choice.

“That was self-defense.”

“You keep thinking that.” Jacody turned away from him, closing him out.

Rob felt the blood pounding inside his head, his own lust for violence. He knew Gavin. Knew he wouldn’t . . .the thought cooled his anger. He didn’t really know a damn thing.

“So what’s worse than you?” Rob asked.

“You don’t want to know.”

Rob didn’t like the answer, but he knew it was all he was going to get. The man in front of him was his brother. Adopted brother, but that had never made a difference to Rob. He loved him. Idolized him. One of them had to take the first step.

“You don’t have to do this alone, Jacody. We’re brothers. Brothers stand by each other no matter what. Gavin taught me that. Just tell me what you want me to do?”

Jacody continued to peer out into the early dawn light. “When you get old, you realize pride ain’t so important. Family’s important. Somebody you love. Somebody to love you.”

Something clicked inside. A shift in the curtain. He might never grow old, but he had a brother. Family. It had taken a lot for Rob to swallow his pride, say the words he’d just said. Call Jacody his brother. He could do no less.

Turning around he grinned at Rob. “Okay, bro, you can go to Washington. Find Katie O’Connor. See why a priest would jump off a cliff to give her a heart.”

Rob returned the grin, pushed the elevator button. “Yeah, I can do that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 27

Katie closed the lid on the suitcase. She’d awakened for the first time since the surgery feeling that things were in her control. Even if that control was only for a short time. She needed to go to North Dakota now. Aaron needed her. Lydia needed her. She’d come to that realization in the early morning hours. And if she went, she wouldn’t be coming back. But that didn’t really matter either. She’d never had a chance to do anything really important with her life. Now she could right a wrong. A horrible wrong.

She wouldn’t be able to see Dr. Wagner today. There was something else she needed to do.

“Come in.” Katie answered the knock on her door.

“Your car’s downstairs, Ms. O’Connor.”

Katie smiled at the young chauffer. “Thank you, Matt, I’m ready to go.”

The soft sounds of Enya flowed through the car and Katie relaxed in the backseat, enjoying the view of the passing countryside. She didn’t know what she expected to find, but she needed to go, see it for herself.

She’d also come to the realization in the early morning hours that she needed to see the ruins of Camp Hope. With that much land, there had to be a reason that twenty-five years later no one had touched it. There was some message there. Something they wanted her to follow.

Katie knew little about Oregon except what she’d studied in history class. The famous Oregon trail. A quick internet search had left her smiling. She realized why Dr. Arthur had chosen Pendleton. What child didn’t love the wild west. The rodeos, underground tunnels, Miss Stella’s bordello and boarding house. The beautiful Queen Anne homes. She would have loved it here when she was twelve.

“Would you like to stop some place for lunch, Ms. O’Connor?”

Katie blinked her eyes, realizing she’d fallen asleep. Dreaming again. She stretched her arms and legs, adjusted her seatbelt. “How long have we been traveling?”

“About two and a half hours, ma’am. Should be there within the next hour.”

“In that case let’s wait until we’re headed back. Unless you’re hungry.”

“I’m fine, ma’am.”

The two rode in companionable silence. Matt had been her driver for five years now. Katie prided herself on being a good employer. Something else her mother had taught her. Treat your employees with respect, pay them well, and they’ll never leave you.

The hour passed quickly.

“We’re here, Ms. O’Connor.”

The burned out ruin of the huge house was covered in vines. Katie got out of the car, walking toward the ruins. The place was lonely, barren of life. Acres of land stretched out behind the house. She could make out the dilapidated structures of one or two cabins. A huge lake. Why did she come here?  What was it they wanted her to see?

A movement caught her attention. A for sale sign fluttering in the wind. Two hundred and eighty acres. Zoned for development.

Katie wasn’t quite sure what zoned for development meant, but she didn’t like it. Dr. Arthur had given his home, his land, and finally his life to bring a few moments of love and understanding to dying children. All the place really needed was money.

A thought formed, took hold. Money was one thing she had plenty of. She could restore it. Reopen the camp. Continue Dr. Arthur’s work. All she needed was the right person to put in charge.

Katie walked swiftly to the car, her excitement barely containable. Grabbing her purse she took out a pen and pad, scribbling down the realtor’s number.

“You thinking about buying this place, Ms. O’Connor?” Matt had joined her, sensing her excitement.

“I want to restore it. Bring it back to life. Reopen the camp for children with terminal illnesses.” Katie gushed.

“Cool.” Matt said, opening the door of the car for her. “I’ve got a little brother that was just diagnosed with cancer. I think he’d like it here. I bet there’s lots of fish in that lake, just waiting for a baited hook.”

Katie slid into her seat, let Matt close the door. She waited until he was seated in the driver’s seat before speaking. “I’m sorry, Matt. I didn’t know about your brother.”

A pained expression crossed his face, deepened the blue in his eyes. “I take him for his chemo treatments on Fridays. Lots of kids have it a lot worse than Timmy.”

Katie didn’t know what to say so she didn’t say anything. Matt understood, started the car. She would have to delay her trip to Richardton another day.

Matt interrupted her thoughts. “My older brother runs a construction company, Ms. O’Connor. And Timmy and I are both pretty handy with a hammer and nails. Be glad to work on rebuilding the cabins for you.”

Katie smiled at him through the rear view mirror. “Thank you, Matt. And I’d love for you and Timmy to work on the cabins. Have your brother call me in the morning.”

Matt grinned. Charlie was going to owe him big time for this. Construction work had dwindled in the last few months making it hard for the family to make ends meet.

They settled into comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Katie sketched out plans, made notes of things that would have to be done. They would have to find the original plans for the house and the camp. She settled into her seat, relaxed. She couldn’t take the children off death row, but maybe she could give them a place to forget it for just a little while.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 28

Katie glanced at the clock. The flight was set for six o’clock this evening, her appointment with Dr. Wagner at noon. She’d spent yesterday meeting with realtors, Matt’s brother Charlie, and her attorney. Remembering too late her appointment with Dr. Wagner.

Katie laughed out loud as she remembered the look on Mr. Twiddy’s face when she’d told him what she wanted to do. It was the first time she’d ever seen him totally speechless. After that everything had moved smoothly. An offer made, accepted, paper work drafted and signed, left in Mr. Twiddy’s capable hands. He would ensure the title was clear, close the deal and hire someone to find the plats and original plans. Then the land would be cleared. If all went well, in less than a year Camp Hope would live again.

A perfect day. Not one hitch in anything she’d wanted to do. They’d even been able to draft her new Last Will and Testament.

“Come in.” Katie called, placing her last suitcase near the door. It was eleven thirty, and she’d better get moving. No sense in making Dr. Wagner angry by being late. He was going to be mad enough when she told him what she was going to do.

Matt carried her luggage to the car, loaded it in the trunk.

“You sure you don’t want us to arrange a private jet, Ms. O’Connor?  Be a lot more comfortable for you.”

Katie waited for him to open the door for her. Not that she couldn’t open her own door, just that Matt considered that his job, and would be insulted if she opened it herself.

“I’ll be fine, Matt. I’m so excited about going home I probably won’t even notice the flight.

# # #

“It’s impossible, Katie. You can’t go.” Dr. Wagner stood up, towering over her.

“I’m going,” Katie answered calmly. “You said yourself, Dr. Wagner, I’m the exception. My surgery and my recovery have been nothing short of a miracle. I want to go home, and home for me is North Dakota.”

Dr. Wagner placed his hands on the desk, leaned towards her. “Katie, I know I said your transplant was different. Almost miraculous. But you can’t possibly understand the complications of this matter. There’s still the chance of rejection. You need to be monitored, given the anti-rejection medication. Maybe in six months. Maybe sooner, I don’t know, but I do know if you get on that plane now the odds of your surviving are greatly diminished.”

“My body isn’t going to reject the heart, Dr. Wagner.”

“All right, let’s say it doesn’t. In the past few years we’ve made great strides with heart transplant patients. At first we were lucky if they survived a year. Now, it isn’t unrealistic to believe they could survive for twenty years or longer. Katie, you’re twenty-seven years old. You have your whole life ahead of you. A good life. Don’t throw it away.”

Katie swallowed the lump in her throat. She knew Dr. Wagner cared. Was telling her what she needed to know. Still, she also knew North Dakota was where she was supposed to be right now. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Aaron needed her. She hadn’t been able to reach Claire. And then there was Lydia. She had to find Lydia.

“I have to go,” Katie stated adamantly.

Dr. Wagner sat down, crossed his arms, face grim, words grimmer. “If you go, you’ll die.”

Katie closed her eyes, nodding in agreement. His words no surprise to her.

“Katie, please . . .,”

Katie lifted her head, smiled gently through her tears. “Do you believe in God, Dr. Wagner?”

“Of course I do, Katie, but . . .”

“No. There are no buts. If you believe in God, then you have to believe in destiny. You have to believe that sometimes things just have to be the way they have to be. I have to go to North Dakota now.”

Dr. Wagner hung his head in defeat. There were many things in life he could argue, but faith in God was not one of them. He’d been blessed with too many miracles in the operating room.

“All right. At least let me call the local doctor, tell him you’re coming and ask him to keep an eye on you. Arrange your medication.”

Katie smiled at him, stood up offering her hand. Dr. Wagner stood, came around the desk and gave Katie a hug. A lump formed in his throat as Katie wrapped her arms around him. His colleagues would call him unprofessional. He didn’t care. Katie had been his patient for fourteen years. He’d watched her grow from an angry young girl to a beautiful successful woman. Beating all the odds. Dammit, he deserved at least a hug.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Allow me this malcontent

When what I hold dear and true

Becomes vitriolic to the masses

They hide behind false justice

I curse that which is law

Dragropes of moral majority

Pull taut upon my beliefs

Shadow men of illusionary virtue

Seek to be mystagogues

Moving my thoughts to their cause

Though these hollow men

Would break me and make me in their image

I spit vehemently the shreds of my discord

Spurning the company of men

This path I know to be true

There is no wavering

There is no two-toned answer

My life is a razor’s edge

Nimbly I must tread

For though I am resolute in spirit

The ways of men are heavy

If my life blood be shed

Let it be of noble cause

Charles W. Prather, Jr.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 29

Jacody did one last check of the apartment making sure everything was turned off. He wasn’t sure when he would return, or even if he would return. The blinking red light on the answering machine caught his eye. Probably Rob with more words of advice.

Pressing the button Jacody listened to the voice of Miss Charity. Rewound, listened again. Taking no chances he erased the tape. His eyes darkened and his hand quivered slightly as he picked up the suitcase and opened the door. “Well, Gavin, let’s go meet our destiny.”

# # #

Billy rolled down the window on the Blazer, listening to the silence of the early morning. He’d felt the pain, heard the cry of a man so tortured inside that nothing could reach him. No words. No reasoning. A man without hope. A man without God. Human nature. The simplest things were often overlooked. The easiest way often less traveled. He watched his breath crystallize in the crisp morning air.

A slight breeze lifted the snow on the ridge, swirling it into mini-tornadoes. They danced along the edge, gathering speed. Things of beauty. . .instruments of death. “If only it were that easy,” he thought opening the door and stepping out. He leaned against the vehicle watching as the sun crept up from the horizon. It brought no warmth. Only a reckoning. One long sought after and patiently waited for.

The players were all in place. Billy held the tarot cards, The High Priestess, Justice, The King of Wands, the Queen of Hearts. May God have mercy on them.

The apparition appeared, her long blonde hair flowing in the wind. Her face a mirror of pain and regret. A thousand sorrows of a life ended too soon. Too tragically. Like so many others before her.

“Soon, Lydia,” he whispered. “Soon you can go home.”

Billy turned to watch the approaching vehicle. Guy Tomlinson was on time. Probably for the first time in his life. And if things went wrong--perhaps the last.

Guy parked the rustic Ford Fairlane and climbed out. Billy knew the car had been built from stolen parts. He’d caught Guy himself. But Guy loved that car.

“Shit, it’s cold. Can’t we go inside?” Guy rubbed his hands together before placing them beneath his armpits, savoring the small warmth.

“This won’t take long.” Billy stated. He quickly outlined the plan, details, timing. He watched Guy’s face as the remnants of last night’s drunken stupor disappeared from the light hazel eyes, slack face and finally loosened Guy’s tongue.

“You want me to off Miss Charity?”

“That’s not what I said.” Billy wondered, not for the first time, if too many knocks on the head had loosened Guy’s brain stem. Still, Guy was all he had. And somewhere inside Guy was more than just a punk kid. Much more.

Patiently Billy outlined the plan again, going carefully over the details and timing. He embellished, weaving a story Guy would respond to. A story of magic and illusion. Darkness and light. Atonement and retribution.

“Can you do that for me, Guy?”

“Yeah, sure. No problem.”

Billy placed a firm hand on Guy’s shoulder, squeezing just hard enough to make his point. “I’m depending on you. No drinking. No stealing.”

Guy grinned lopsidedly, shrugging away from the grip. “Whatever you say, Billy.”

Reaching inside the Blazer Billy pulled out the envelope of money and a key. “We’ve only got a few days. You know what to do.”

Guy swallowed hard, eyes widening at the sight of the bulky envelope. He wanted to ask where Billy got the money. Why he was doing this. But there were times when it was best not to know the answers to questions like that. Safer. Guy placed the key in his pocket, took the envelope. It felt heavy. Cold. Like the weight of a long dead corpse.

“You sure about this, Billy?”

The sun crested, devoid of warmth. There were no absolutes. No guarantees. Only life and death and the worlds beyond. And, of course, sacrifice. For some to live others must die. Billy knew these things. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 30

For most it was a typical winter night in North Dakota. Cruel and harsh, with merciless winds. And fierce cold that chilled to the bone.

For others it was the beginning of an ancient battle. The nightmares of tortured minds.

Charity Froste closed her eyes. She could see the huge ugly bird as it descended. Red eyes glowing like the embers of fire. Snow white fangs that devoured everything in its path.

The wind howled, shrieked and sent forth blood-chilling screams. Tree limbs slapped and scraped the sides of the house, like the huge bird’s dagger-like talons.

The bones never lied.

Charity tossed the fossil stones, her eyes still closed. She would not easily be devoured. The white fangs, red eyes and razor sharp talons of the Piasa held no fear for her. She had faced it before. She feared little beyond the balance. And the balance had shifted. Billy had called the white wolf, weaved the dreams, and she had done what she had to do.

A distinct chill blew across her nape.

She opened her eyes, studied the bones. The bones never lied.

“Sure wish you was here, honey chile.”

Charity smiled at the huge painting of Marie Leveau, hanging just above the dining room mantle. Now there was a woman to be reckoned with. The most powerful voodoo priestess in New Orleans in the early 1800s. Marie smiled back at her, huge sapphron eyes glowing with unspoken knowledge.

Charity picked up the fossils and dropped them back inside the medicine bag. She listened to the howling of the wind, the ticking of the clock. She could stop neither the wind nor time. Nor could she change the entire future foretold by the bones.

Charity hefted her heavy frame from the comfort of the old rocker and threw another log on the fire. The weatherman had said the wind chill factor was once again below zero. Warned everyone to stay inside. But Charity knew there was one out there. She could feel him.

“They’s bad things about tonight, Mystique.”

The black kitten blinked her pea green eyes in silent answer, stretched and licked a paw.

Flames crackled and popped. “Bad things,” Charity continued to mumble as she moved around the small dining room. She’d had no customers today, and if the weather held, there’d be no customers tomorrow. She didn’t need the money, but she sure missed the company.

Shifting curtains aside Charity glanced into the darkness. The snow had stopped and she watched as the wind piled huge drifts around her porch. She’d have to get someone to shovel her out in the morning. If morning came.

Replacing the curtain she made sure the amulet was hung center pane. He would see. He would know.

She could feel the evil closing in. The room was growing chilly despite the roaring flames of the fire.

Crossing to the door she took a small vial from her pocket. Pouring the liquid in a thin line along the bottom of the door she prayed, “Give light unto my eyes, Lord, lest I sleep in death.”

Picking up Mystique she returned to the rocker, gently stroking the smooth black fur of the kitten. Her eyes disappeared into the folds of her face as she laughed out loud. “Papa La Das sure be angry tonight, Mystique.”

The clock chimed. The wind howled.

They thought her an old busybody. Warned her not to interfere.

Well, what would be would be and what was done was done. She’d just tipped the scales. Evened the score so to speak.

The lights flickered, dimmed and went out. Charity hugged Mystique closer to her breast, rocking in the shadows cast by the flames of the fire. “Yep, Papa La Das sure be angry.”

Charity chortled again, rose from the chair. Nothing good ever traveled with the wind. Mystique blinked, the hair on her back rising. She leaped from Charity’s arms, disappeared into the shadows of the room. Someone was here.

“I be ready for you Papa La Das.” Charity touched her medicine bag hanging between her huge breasts and laughed again. “I be ready.”

In a voice as ancient as time itself she burst forth in song. “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound . . .”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 31

Jacody struggled to keep the Honda on the tree lined path, breathing a sigh of relief when the old cabin came into sight. Pulling to the edge of the cabin he turned off the engine; releasing his death grip on the steering wheel. The last three miles had been pure hell. His eyes ached and his hands were numb and cramped.

The snow had stopped, but the wind still screamed in fierce anger. The one constant you could depend on in North Dakota winters--the wind would blow. And as Miss Charity always said, nothing good ever travelled with the wind.

Jacody wrestled with his coat in the tight interior, finally managing to get both arms in, pull it around him. The clouds parted and slivers of moonlight flowed down the ridge, creating tiny rivulets of silver in the snow. Searching the pockets of his coat for gloves, Jacody searched the area around the cabin for change, an explanation for the uneasy sense of being watched.

Fresh snow whipped and turned with each gust of wind, creating mystical shapes of dreamlike images dancing in the moonlight. The distant beat of drums, the musical sound of flutes.

“Crap,” Jacody laughed shakily, rubbing the nape of his neck. There were no ghosts here, no drums, no flutes. Miss Charity was messing with his mind.

“No time like the present.” Jacody grabbed his suitcase, pushed against the door and stepped out into the frigid wind. The night air bit into uncovered flesh like a starving carnivore as he rushed for the cabin, stumbling through the huge drifts of snow.

Closing the door behind him, he once again breathed a sigh of relief. The cabin was cold, but at least he was out of the wind.

Crossing to the fireplace he knelt, removed his gloves and built a fire. So far so good. He had enough logs for the fire to last the night. All he had to worry about now was the electricity and water. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.

Jacody chuckled as he flipped the light switch and the room flooded with light. Even Miss Charity would have to call that a good omen. With the storm the odds had been against it.

He did a quick survey of the cabin. The bed had fresh sheets and blankets and the kitchen was well stocked. Going to the bathroom he turned the faucet. The water wasn’t frozen. What more could a man ask for?

Unpacking he took the notes he’d scribbled earlier and his laptop returning to the warmth of the fire. Typing in the notes he saved the page. Gavin should at least appreciate the fact he kept meticulous notes.

The cabin was quiet except for the angry wind slamming into the boards, rattling the windowpanes. Still, there was something different tonight. He still hadn’t shaken that uneasy feeling of being watched.

Jacody walked around the cabin, checking the windows for cracks. Any sign that someone had been inside. His footsteps echoed on the wooden floors. Gavin had been coming here for years. It had become his safe haven from the nightmares of the city. A place to escape the voices that called him into the darkness.

The clock struck midnight. Jacody yawned. He’d wanted to check on Miss Charity, but the long drive and treacherous roads had taken his strength. He was tired, mentally and physically. He couldn’t have made it another six miles. Not in this weather. He’d drive down first thing in the morning. Have some of her God-awful coffee and breakfast. Jacody chuckled. Maybe he could talk Bud Lynton into sending her a jug of moonshine.

The cabin shook with a fresh gust of wind. Nobody in their right mind would be out on a night like this. North Dakota was definitely not his favorite place in winter, but you couldn’t run from destiny.

# # #

Katie felt exhaustion wash over her as the plane touched down. It was two a.m. She hoped she would be able to find a motel near the airport. She hadn’t even thought about that before she left.

“Are you okay, miss?” The stewardess smiled down at her. “You might want to wrap up, it’s really cold out there.”

“Thank you,” Katie smiled, her exhaustion tempered by her excitement of being home. She couldn’t wait to get in touch with Claire and Aaron. Let them know about her new heart. Her new life.

The airport was small. Katie followed the other passengers to the baggage claim. She had so much to do. So much she wanted to accomplish. So many things to share with Aaron. Maybe he’d be willing to move, help her with Camp Hope. They’d shared so many dreams growing up. Now Katie had the resources to make those dreams come true. All she had to do . . .

“Hello, Katie. Welcome home.”

“Claire?  Oh, my God.” Katie dropped her handbag and carry-on and hugged her friend. She pulled away, looking into the sweetest blue eyes she could ever remember seeing. “What are you doing here?  How did you know?”

“Let’s get your bags. We can talk on the way home.”

Katie picked up her handbag and carry-on, following Claire to the baggage claim area. A strange tingling sensation crawled up the back of her neck. Someone was watching her. Turning quickly, Katie scanned the crowd around her. One figure stood out from all the others. Shoulder length black hair framed a face that was the very embodiment of innocence. Deep brown eyes met her gaze across the room. He reminded her of someone she’d met, but she couldn’t remember when or where.

“Katie?”

Katie quickened her pace to catch up with Claire. She glanced over her shoulder, but he was gone.

Katie turned her attention back to Claire. She sensed something wrong, but hesitated to ask. There was an air of sadness and tragedy around Claire. John had been dead for several years. Claire would be over that by now. Or if not over it, at least beyond the immediate grief.

“How did you know I was coming?”

Claire held up her hand. “No shop talk until we get you home and rested. Doctor’s orders.”

Of course, Katie thought, Dr. Davidson was Claire’s father. He would have told her Katie was coming home. Biting her lip, questions on the tip of her tongue, Katie pointed at the blue Samsonite case. “That’s mine.”

Claire grabbed the bag, took Katie by the arm and led her out of the airport.

“Is Aaron here?” Katie couldn’t stop the question from popping out. She’d waited so long to see them both she felt she was about to burst.

“In spirit, Katie. He’s here in spirit.” Claire walked ahead of her, and Katie had to almost run to keep up with her. She was breathing heavy when Claire finally stopped by the silver Lexus. Opening the door she ushered Katie inside, tossed the luggage in the back seat and took the driver’s seat. Katie noticed the tension in her hands, her grip on the steering wheel.

“Katie, I know you have questions, but could we not talk until later?”

Claire sat totally still, eyes focused straight ahead. The interior of the car was chilly, as if the wind outside had invaded it. Katie wanted an explanation, some words of reassurance. Wanted to ask Claire about the guy in the airport. But she didn’t want to upset Claire, and it was apparent Claire was not in the mood to talk.

“Sure Claire.”

Claire started the car. “Thank you, Katie.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 32

Jacody felt as if he’d just closed his eyes when the dreams woke him. The pulsating bloody heart. Her voice. His voice. The call.

The cabin was cool and he dressed quickly, restocked the fire and started the morning coffee.

The wind still screamed outside and Jacody wondered for a moment how he had missed it when he first woke up. The silence had seemed real. Just like the nightmares.

He stared out the window, waiting for the coffee to perk. The full moon shone brightly on the snow-covered meadow leading up to the mountains. Well, hills actually. There were few mountains in North Dakota. Except for the badlands. Like Gavin, he’d loved it here. Until now.

“Beware the wolf.”

Jacody rubbed his eyes, looked again. North Dakota didn’t have wolves. At least not like the snow-white wolf standing on top of the ridge, watching him watch her.

Somehow he knew it was female. Something about the way she stood as the wind whipped around her. He couldn’t see her eyes but had the distinct feeling she could see his. Which was, of course, impossible.

Pouring a cup of coffee Jacody continued to watch as the wolf raised her head and let go with a plaintive howl that reached all the way to his soul. Evoking feelings of loneliness so deep that he finally understood the alcoholic’s ‘hole in the soul’. He felt his own deep puncture wounds.

Turning from the window he shuddered as the wind carried the painful cry across the meadow to the hills beyond. Loneliness was a bitch he’d learned to live with. It wasn’t safe to allow people to get too close. People who got close to him usually wound up dead.

“My name is Lydia. Find me, Jacody. Take me home.”

The words echoed in his mind as goose bumps covered his flesh. He could still feel the wolf watching him. Turning back to the window he raised his cup in silent greeting. She seemed satisfied that he was up, had gotten her message. With a toss of her beautiful white head she disappeared.

The wind whipped the area where she had stood, creating whirling misty images and shapes from the snow. Ghostly dancing figures that shivered and shimmered in the moonlight.

Jacody continued to stare at the ridge, his thoughts turning to Lydia. He knew she wasn’t someone the police would have put great effort into finding. The few short minutes he’d spent with her reliving her memories had shown a life of sex, drugs and alcohol. His fingers coiled around the cup as he remembered her pain, her whispered “please”. There was never enough alcohol. No magic drug to fill the hole. The loneliness. She was out there somewhere, buried in an unmarked grave. She deserved better. Bud deserved better. She wanted to go home.

Jacody refilled his cup, his eyes cold as currents flowed just beneath the surface. The dreams had left him angry, sick at his stomach, and as much as he hated to admit it, just a little bit frightened. Not of what they could do to him, but of what he could do to them. The howl of the wolf had opened the door to raw wounds. Evoked memories long buried. Now they simmered just below the surface, like minefields which might explode at any minute.

Their sanctuary was gone. There was no place sacred. Nowhere that evil wouldn’t find them. They now carried it with them. He could feel it, lurking in the shadows behind the curtain. Watching. Waiting. Destiny.

His jaw set in grim determination as he lifted his cup, issuing a challenge to the night. “I’m here. Come and get me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 33

Rob handed the cab driver Katie O’Connor’s address and sat back in the seat. He was cold, tired and confused.

“So, you gonna tell me what he had to say when you two went up to the roof?” Carl glared at the flashing no smoking sign.

Rob had known it was coming. Carl had been too quiet. Too pensive. “You know, Gavin.”

“Yeah, I do. That’s why I asked you what he had to say.”

Rob cast a sidelong glance at Carl, attempting to conceal his surprise. “What do you mean?”

Carl snorted. “Even a rookie could have spotted the differences. You gonna tell me that was Gavin we talked to?”

Rob started to speak, stopped. He didn’t understand it himself, how the hell was he going to explain it to someone else. All he knew was Jacody or Gavin--it was still his brother. “Let it go, Carl.”

Carl glared at the sign again, took out his cigarettes and lit one. “He’s gonna get killed you know. Or wind up killing somebody. Too much anger in that boy. Far too much anger.”

“Hey, buddy, you can’t smoke in the cab.” The driver waved his hand at the sign.

Rolling down his window Carl stuck his head out of the car, took a drag and blew out the smoke. “I ain’t smoking in the cab. I’m smoking outside the cab.”

The cab driver started to say something, met the charcoal eyes of the FBI agent and changed his mind. Instead he slammed his foot on the gas.

Rob chuckled. “You’ve got a real problem with rules, partner. Some day it’s going to bite us both in the ass.”

“Just the stupid ones.” Carl stuck his head out the widow again, took a drag and blew out the smoke. “And I’ve saved your ass more than once.”

The cab lurched to a stop. “Fifty dollars, and call somebody else to pick you up.”

Tossing three twenties on the front seat Carl sneered at the driver. “Keep the change, pal.”

Rob straightened his tie, ran a hand over the short blonde hair as the taxi took off in a screeching cloud of smoke. “So, have we got a plan or what?”

Carl took one last drag off the cigarette and tossed it after the disappearing cab. “Yeah, we’re gonna see what’s so special about Ms. Katie O’Connor.”

They entered the doors of the apartment complex, noting the plush furnishings, the on duty guard and overdressed desk clerk. Carl raised an eyebrow and looked at Rob. “This place must cost a fortune.”

“Everything in Washington costs a fortune. This place costs a mint.” Rob nodded to the guard, walked toward the desk clerk. The name tag said “Tim”.

“We’re here to see Katie O’Connor.” Carl stated, searching for the ever present no smoking sign.

“I’m sorry, Ms. O’Connor is out of town.”

“When will she be back?” Rob asked, punching Carl on the shoulder, pointing to the sign.

“Damn,” Carl muttered under his breath.

The desk clerk let his gaze drift over their wrinkled suits, tired faces. Smiled. “I’m not at liberty to give out that information.”

“Then who the hell is?” Carl barked.

The clerk smiled again. “You would have to talk to the owner.”

Rob, realizing Carl’s patience was wearing thin, leaned over the counter, smiled. “Well, Timmy, could we speak to the owner, please?”

“I just told you, Ms. O’Connor is out of town.”

Tension grew thick in the foyer. The guard sensing it approached. “Mr. Davenport, would you be so kind as to escort these gentlemen off the premises.”  Tim flashed his teeth in another fake smile. “And have a nice day, gentlemen.”

Carl stuttered, choking on his rage. “You pimple faced smart aleck . . .”

“Calm down, Carl.”  Rob stepped closer to his partner as the guard placed his hand on the butt of his pistol. Pulling out his badge he flashed it to the guard and placed it on the counter. The guard backed off as Tim eyed the badge, eyes growing huge as his bottom lip started to quiver.

Rob leaned over the counter again, smiled pleasantly. “Now, Timmy, we need to speak to Ms. O’Connor. You can tell us where she is, or we can get a warrant and roust everybody in this place until we find out where she is.”

Tim glanced back and forth between the cold blue eyes and the charcoal glare, left with no doubt that the agents would do just that. He’d lose his job. He met the charcoal glower again--or worse. The quivering increased. “She, she, she’s visiting friends in North Dakota.”

“Richardton, North Dakota?” Carl growled.

“Yes, sir.”

Rob picked up his badge. “See how easy that was. Thank you, Timmy.”

Steering Carl toward the front doors, Rob watched Tim’s reflection as he picked up the phone. “Anybody finds out we were here, we’re going to know it was you, Timmy.”

Tim hung up the phone. Rob was sure he heard a sigh of relief as the doors closed behind them.

“And you talk about me breaking the rules. What the hell was that?”

Rob laughed, took out Carl’s cigarettes and lit one, placing it in Carl’s open mouth. “Drastic times call for drastic measures. Mellow out, I’ve got to call Gavin.”

“Good luck in finding him,” Carl mumbled, taking a long drag off the cigarette.

Rob dialed Gavin’s cell, not surprised that Jacody answered on the second ring.

“Hey, it’s me. We’re in Washington, but Katie O’Connor is visiting friends in Richardton.”

Rob listened for a few minutes, closing his eyes as his fingers coiled around the cell phone.

“All right.”

Closing the phone he turned to Carl. “Let’s go home.”

“Home!” Carl grabbed Rob’s arm. “We need to get to Richardton.”

“We’re going home.” Rob shrugged off Carl’s hand, walked toward the curb hailing a passing taxi.

“Why?” Carl bellowed.

“Because I told him we would.” Rob stated, his voice flat, emotionless.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 34

Jacody closed the cell phone, stood for a moment admiring the beauty of the early morning light as the sun crested behind the ridge. It was always beautiful here. Spring, summer, winter. But winter had a desolate feeling of loneliness.

He waited for service again and dialed Miss Charity’s number, watching as his breath came out in misty white formations like little clouds of smoke.

Katie O’Connor was in Richardton. She’d just had a heart transplant. He didn’t know a lot about transplants, but he was positive patients didn’t travel that soon unless there was some emergency.

“Damn,” Jacody muttered, closing the cell phone. He comforted himself with the knowledge that the phone ringing didn’t actually mean service was working. Last night’s storm could have downed the phone lines. And it had been cold enough to freeze hell over as far as he was concerned. His cell phone beeped. Maybe it was time he finally got a landline out here.

Checking the chains on the tires Jacody climbed in and started the Honda, waiting for the engine to kick to life, fill the car with warmth and clear the frosted over windshield. The night had been full of strange sounds. At one time he could have sworn he’d heard a flute--long, low, soulful--followed by what sounded like an Indian chant. Then of course there was the wolf.

Putting the car in gear he took off slowly, steering through the rows of pine trees surrounding the driveway, a feeling of anxiety settling over him. Something was wrong here.

His anxiety increased as Miss Charity’s house came into sight. Police vehicles had cordoned off the area and the Sheriff’s car was sitting in front of the house. Deputies were walking the grounds, stretching yellow crime tape from tree to tree.

Jacody maneuvered the car to the side of the road, cut the engine and pulled on his gloves. He should have come here last night. He’d known something was wrong.

Jacody sat for a moment, memorizing the scene, mentally preparing himself for the confrontation he knew was about to happen. It always happened. Opening the door he climbed out, closed the door and locked the Honda before approaching the nearest deputy. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the police, it was just they normally took an immediate dislike to him. He’d never been good at following blind orders.

“Sorry, sir, you’ll have to keep moving.” The young deputy continued playing out the yellow tape, ignoring Jacody.

“Can’t do that, son. Miss Charity is a friend of mine.”

Jacody waited until the young deputy tied off the tape, faced him. He was struck immediately by the youthful innocence of the young man’s face. But even more striking were the eyes. They appeared at first glance ageless. Bottomless. Something flickered in the deep brown depths and Jacody felt as if his soul had been searched, measured and found wanting. Taking his private investigator’s badge from his wallet he handed it to the young man.

“Jacody Ives. I’ve heard of you.” A brief smile lit up the young man’s face as he handed the badge to Jacody. “Thought you’d be taller though.”

Jacody laughed, tension easing from his shoulders. He’d heard the line before somewhere. Some movie, but he couldn’t place it at the moment. The young man extended his hand and Jacody took it, surprised by the strength of the grip.

“Billy Dawson. Sheriff Tomlinson is inside.” Almost as an afterthought he added, “He ain’t gonna be happy to see you, sir.”

“They never are,” Jacody stated as he walked carefully through the snow, making mental notes of the pattern of footprints there. If there had been any usable evidence it was gone now.

The front door was open and Jacody entered quietly. The dining room was a mess. Tables had been turned over, chairs broken and the curtains ripped from the windows. Whoever had been here had been in a real rage.

“Sheriff.” Jacody approached the tall, broad shouldered man standing in the doorway between the dining room and the living quarters. Extending his hand Jacody introduced himself. “I’m Jacody Ives. Miss Charity is a friend of mine.”

The Sheriff ignored the extended hand, looked him over before meeting the dark steady gaze. Huffing a sigh he gestured toward the back.

“They come in through the back door.”

“Wonder how he figured that out?” Jacody mumbled to himself. The back door had been ripped from its hinges and stood gaping open.

“They?” Jacody examined the door, noting the footprints, once again taking mental pictures. “You think there was more than one?”

Sheriff Tomlinson snorted. “Hell, boy, you said Miss Charity was a friend of yours. She ain’t no lightweight. Took more than one to carry her heavy ass out of here unless she wanted to go.”

Jacody considered the Sheriff’s assessment. But things weren’t always that simple. He would wait until he had more information before making up his mind on that issue. The Sheriff continued talking.

“Really ripped the place apart. Probably a drug deal.”

Jacody stood up. “Drug deal, Sheriff?”

The Sheriff took a step backwards, away from the dark piercing eyes. “Everybody in these parts knew Miss Charity had drugs around. Strange stuff. Peyote or something another. Crazy old woman.”

Jacody felt the tension in his hands, flexed his fingers. He couldn’t afford to get angry. Not yet. It was always the same. If you dared to be a little different, you were immediately earmarked as crazy.

The Sheriff continued, “Made the best damn butterscotch pie I ever tasted though.”

“No blood, no body?”

“Nope.”

Jacody was itching to examine the other rooms, go through the house piece by piece. There was always a trail, he just needed to find it. Still, he knew his place, and there was no reason to start off on the wrong foot with local law enforcement. Miss Charity’s life might depend on his remaining civil. At least for the time being.

Jacody took a card from his wallet, handed it to the Sheriff. “I’m staying up at the ridge cabin. I’d appreciate your keeping me informed. Miss Charity was--is a friend of mine.”

Sheriff Tomlinson slipped the card into his shirt pocket. “I’ll think about that. You here on business or pleasure, Mr. Ives?”

“Both.”

“How long you been here?”

“I arrived last night, Sheriff.” Jacody knew where this was going. “About midnight.”

The Sheriff nodded, a knowing smile on his lips. “Appreciate it if you wouldn’t leave town without letting me know.”

Jacody didn’t bother answering. He walked out of the house, hands buried inside his coat pockets. He knew the Sheriff would much rather look his way than believe one of his own had committed a crime. And there wasn’t anyone who could alibi his story. The vein in his neck began to throb as he trudged through the snow covered yard to his car.

Deputy Billy Dawson waited for him beside the driver’s door. “Mr. Ives, it might be best if you stayed away from this one. Miss Charity shouldn’t have said anything to you.”

Jacody took a step toward the deputy. “How did you know Miss Charity contacted me?”

Dawson didn’t answer. There was a sadness in his eyes that Jacody didn’t understand. “Some things got be the way they are, sir. There’s a balance.”

Jacody felt an icy hand touch his neck, ice-cold spider legs creeping down his spine. Miss Charity had said something along the same line. The young man’s respectful tone was not an act. Nor were his words intended as a threat. He was simply stating facts.

Jacody shook his head, opened the door to the Honda and looked back at the small white house. “I’m going to find her.”

Billy reached for the door, held it for a moment as if he intended to stop Jacody from leaving. He pulled his hand away. “Figured you’d feel that way.” He hesitated as if he wanted to say something more, but instead turned away, walking back toward the house.

Jacody watched the young man walk away, a feeling of darkness settling over him that was almost absolute. As if he’d been standing in a room of light that had suddenly been turned off.

Billy stopped a few feet from the car, raised his hand in silent farewell and called out, “You’re at the crossroad, sir. Listen to the old man.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 35

Charity groaned and rolled herself into a sitting position. She knew she was in a basement somewhere. Her hands and feet tied but she wasn’t gagged. Which meant she could scream all she wanted because there wasn’t anyone close enough to hear her.

Charity strained against the ropes. Damn that boy, what was he up to anyway?  She’d gone with him when he told her Billy was hurt. He’d brought her here, helped her down the stairs, and that was the last thing she remembered.

The basement door opened and she could hear his footsteps as he descended. She stopped her struggle against the ropes, stilled the rapid beating of her heart. He wasn’t going to kill her yet. He was humming that damnable tune again. Something about hearts and worms.

“Good morning, Miss Charity. I hope you slept well. I brought you some food.”

Charity glared at him, but said nothing.

He smiled at her, setting the tray on the coffee table. “You’re still mad at me, ain’t you?”

He loosened the ropes and untied her hands. “I didn’t have no choice. You know I didn’t have no choice.”

Charity rubbed her wrists. Why she’d changed that boy’s diaper. He had choices. He just always chose the wrong path. She picked up the plate of food. Starving herself to death wouldn’t solve anything or help anyone.

“Would you like some coffee?”

Charity nodded, still not trusting herself to speak.

He poured two cups, handing her one. Taking the other he paced in front of the couch. “I couldn’t find your cat.”

Charity stopped eating, took a sip of coffee and remained silent.

“That’s the key ain’t it?” He stopped pacing, looked at her with those sad puppy dog eyes. “Billy told me all about it.”

Charity finished her coffee, and set the plate back on the table. So that’s it. Billy was behind this charade. She’d show them. Show them both.

Wiping her lips Charity spoke, her voice sounding odd even to her own ears. A voice she had not heard for many years. Cultured. Polished. A voice she’d forgotten she possessed. A voice filled with pain and remorse. “There are no keys in this life. Except God. Seek you first the kingdom of heaven, then the doors will be open to you.”

Guy looked at her, eyes huge, mouth open. “Don’t you laugh at me.” He flung the cup against the wall, stomping toward the stairs. “Don’t you ever laugh at me.”

Charity shuddered as he stopped, pointed a finger at her. His face a mask of pain. Eyes glazed. “I’ll find her Miss Charity. With or without your help. I gotta do this. There just ain’t no other way.”

Charity heard the door slam and the key turn in the lock. The fact that he’d left her untied brought no comfort. It just meant there was nowhere to go even if she was lucky enough to get out. What had Billy gotten himself into?

Removing the medicine bag Charity poured the fossil bones into her hand, prayed and tossed them on the table. A single tear made a ragged trail down her face, falling onto her trembling hands.

“Oh, you poor boy,” she whispered. “You poor, poor child.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 36

“Lydia.”

Katie woke to the smell of fresh coffee and cinnamon rolls. Her favorite. She’d been dreaming about Aaron again. Her eyebrows knitted together in concentration, trying to remember every facet of the dream. All she could remember was Aaron repeating the name over and over again. Lydia.

Katie rolled over, sat up. She would have to ask him what it meant. Claire was acting so strange. She’d insisted Katie go straight to bed. And she’d woke once in the night to find Claire standing in the doorway watching her. Something was seriously wrong here.

Katie walked to the kitchen, but Claire was nowhere to be found. A note was on the counter.

“Be back shortly. Have a cup of coffee and a roll. I remembered how much you like them. Love, Claire.”

The rolls were still warm, so Claire had not been gone long. Katie wandered through the house, munching on the delicious roll, washing it down with coffee. There were no pictures of Aaron or John anywhere in the house, which she found strange. Claire had always been a picture person. Kept scrapbooks of everything. So where had all the pictures gone?

Katie licked the last of the cinnamon from her fingers. She’d come here for answers, but so far all she had were more questions. She smiled, thinking of Aaron. Would he recognize her?  Anticipation spurred her feet into action. She couldn’t wait to see him.

Katie rummaged through the suitcase, finding the new long underwear she’d bought just for this trip, faded jeans and a black sweater. She would unpack later. After she decided whether she wanted to stay with Claire. She was going out today. She wanted to see Aaron, ask him questions that were haunting her. Tell him about her dreams.

Katie heard the front door open.

“Claire?”

“It’s me. Have you had a roll yet?”

“They’re wonderful.”

Claire laughed, raising Katie’s spirits. Maybe it was going to be okay after all. She finished dressing, tied her shoes and hurried to the kitchen. She stopped in the doorway, watching as Claire unpacked three white roses.

Claire smiled at her. “Good, you’re dressed. I thought we’d go see Aaron this morning.”

“Just what I had in mind,” Katie answered, smiling. “I’ll grab my coat.”

Claire was ready by the time Katie returned.

“Here, you can take these.” Claire handed her the three white roses.

“Ouch.”

“Watch the thorns. They bite.”

“I noticed,” Katie laughed.

Claire was more talkative and Katie sat back listening as Claire drove, reciting Aaron’s accomplishments over the years. The trip was short and Katie stared incredulously as they pulled into the cemetery.

“Claire?” Katie looked at her friend, questions on the tip of her tongue, a look of bewilderment on her face.

Claire’s hands were white from gripping the steering wheel. She smiled at Katie. “He did everything he wanted, Katie. Even saving you.”

Claire opened the door to the car, closed it gently before walking around to open Katie’s door. “Come on.”

Katie followed numbly, her mind refusing to accept what Claire had not put into words, but her heart told her was true. Aaron was dead.

Claire knelt beside the headstone. “I brought someone to see you.”

Her whispered words sent chills down Katie’s spine. Reaching out she placed a hand on Claire’s shoulder, tears filling her eyes. “Claire, please, tell me what happened?”

Claire stood up, her own eyes misty. “I was hoping you could tell me.” She took the roses from Katie, placing one on the tombstone and one at the base of the tombstone. She handed the third to Katie. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

Katie looked down at the rose. How could Claire do this to her?  It had to be a cruel joke. She knelt beside the tombstone. A prayer had been carved along the top. “Give light unto my eyes, Lord, lest I sleep in death.” Aaron Davidson, Born January 1, 1975. Died October 15th, 2003.

Katie touched the stone. Aaron had died the same day she’d gotten her new heart. “I’m going all the way to heaven and ask God to give you a new heart.”

Tears were flowing freely now, dripping onto the rose she still clutched tightly in her hand. Katie kissed the rose and placed it in the center of the grave. “Thank you,” she whispered, placing her hand on the gravestone. She ignored the cold feel of the granite, feeling instead the warmth of his love. “God heard you. I got a new heart.”

Katie rose and wiped the tears from her face. She had so many regrets. So many years she could have stayed in touch. She could have been here for him. For Claire. She walked slowly back to the car, grief overwhelming her.

“Claire, I’m so sorry.”

Claire looked at her, eyes marred by confusion. “You still don’t know, do you?”

Katie frowned. “Know what?”

“The heart. Your heart.”

Katie raised her hand to her chest. She could feel her new heart beating. “No,” she gasped.

Claire nodded, her eyes accusing, hostile. “Aaron gave you his heart.”

Katie shook her head, her mouth open to speak. No words came out. The world was spinning. Her mind numbing. The lights going out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 37

Jacody guided the Honda over the treacherous roads as he replayed the scene at Miss Charity’s. He wasn’t going to get any help from the Sheriff, and Billy Dawson was a mystery he would have to solve. “You’re at the crossroad. Listen to the old man.”

The psychic had said something about the crossroads. Not to falter. His instinct would be to kill. She’d got that right. He was mad as hell at himself for not going to Miss Charity’s last night, and if someone hurt her. . .

Jacody left the thought unfinished. Tomlinson had been right about one thing. There had been more than one person there last night. What Tomlinson had missed, which wasn’t surprising the way he was handling the investigation, was that Miss Charity had left under her own steam. Jacody had noticed the few remaining footprints that hadn’t been destroyed. Two people, one male one female walking away from the back door. Then the third set. Heavier, stomping in rage. The same rage that had torn the place apart. Someone was looking for Miss Charity, and that was the person he had to find, before they found her.

Steering carefully to avoid the piles of snow created by the street plows, Jacody parked near the courthouse and climbed out. Gavin had always avoided the town. Jacody had been there once, but avoided the locals too. Preferring to take most of his meals at the cabin or with Miss Charity.

The town was decorated for Christmas with brightly colored wreaths on every street light. Tinsel and garland wrapped around the poles. A picture of tranquility, peace, love--except for the crowds standing in the cold, talking and gesturing wildly. Either word of Miss Charity’s disappearance had traveled fast, or something else was going on. Most small towns tended to shut down on Sundays, unlike the bigger cities that stayed open seven days a week regardless of the weather.

Jacody surveyed his surroundings and the groups gathered on the street corners. The majority were churchgoers. Dressed in their Sunday best. Whatever they were discussing it was important enough to stand outside in the ten-degree weather. Even with the wind down it was still freezing. What he needed was a straggler. Someone not part of the groups, but wanting to be.

Two men stood alone on the corner of First and Main. Tattered, well worn clothes, muddy boots, wool caps pulled down tightly over their ears. They reminded Jacody of Jeb Carpenter.

Jacody approached the two men, a friendly smile on his face, hoping he had that lost tourist look. “Good morning. Any place around here to get a good cup of coffee?”

“Naw, man, you’ll have to go back out on the main drag.”

“Thanks.” Jacody started to turn away, changed his mind. “Heard there was a place somewhere just outside of town that served a great butterscotch pie. You guys wouldn’t happen to know how to get there, would you?”

The older of the two answered him. “You musta drove right by it. Just turn around and head back the way you come. Small white house on the left. Sign says Miss Charity’s.”

“Oh, that’s not good then.” Jacody stated, moving as if he intended to cross the street.

“Hey, what do you mean that’s not good?”

Jacody stopped, smiling to himself. Worked every time. Give a little. Get a lot. “Sheriff’s car was there. Seems the woman that owned the place is missing.”

“Miss Charity’s missing?” The young man drew himself up to full height, eyes darting to the group on the next corner. Jacody could almost feel his eagerness to dash down the street, share the latest gossip.

“Sure looked that way to me.” Jacody stated. “Seems to be a lot of people on the street. Something going on?”

“You ain’t heard?” The young man coughed and spit on the sidewalk. Jacody recognized the signs. A real talker, but one that would embellish if it put him at the center of attention. It was the older man he needed to get to.

“Just got here.”

“Found a woman’s body in the basin. Near where the priest was found.” He leaned in close. “Said her heart was missing.”

“What about the priest?” Jacody encouraged him.

“I think somebody killed him, too.”

“Shucks, Arnie, you don’t know nothing. Doctors said it was suicide. Why he was fully dressed except for his shoes. Besides, the last I heard he wasn’t dead when they found him. Flew him to Washington and planted his heart in little Katie.”

Arnie puffed up, reached into his pocket, taking out his tobacco. “Know what I know,” he muttered. With that he turned away from them and walked toward the crowd milling on the next corner. The news of Miss Charity’s disappearance was about to spread like wildfire. Chock full of details Arnie didn’t know, but would make up as he told the story.

“Who’s little Katie?” Jacody asked, eyeing the older man. If there was real information here, this is where he would find it.

“Little Katie O’Connor. Used to live here a long time ago. Heard she was back in town, visiting friends.”

Jacody already had that information, and the old farmer didn’t look like he was going to add anything more. “Well, thanks for your help.”

“Miss Charity really missing?” The farmer’s face creased, creating new worry lines as his eyes darkened with concern.

“Yeah, I’m afraid she really is.” Jacody answered.

“Herb Shanks. Sure did like that old woman.”

Jacody found his hand clasped in a firm handshake. You could tell a lot from a man’s handshake. He knew Herb was assessing him. Seemed satisfied with what he found. “Jacody Ives. Me too.”

Herb bobbed his head. “Thought so. You ain’t got the look of a man that gets lost too easy. Don’t pay too much attention to Arnie. Mother says he’s ‘tetched. Good worker, though.”

Jacody knew the words were high praise in country like this. His respect for Arnie climbed a notch.

“You staying around here, son?”

“Old ridge cabin. Come up here once or twice a year. Usually in the summer.”

“We’re neighbors then. You need a place for Christmas Eve dinner, you come on over. Me and the missus always got plenty extra. First house past Miss Charity’s.”

“Thanks, Herb. Anything else you can tell me about the woman or the priest?”

“Naw. Nothing but rumors. You gonna help look for Miss Charity?”

Jacody nodded, his eyes fierce, face grim.

Herb gripped his shoulder with a strong hand. “Thinking about heading out that way myself. Sheriff couldn’t find his way to the outhouse in the dark.”

Jacody laughed, pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to Herb. “Hear anything, let me know.”

“Likewise.” Herb studied the card. “Best to get a landline. Cell phones ain’t much good out here when a blizzard strikes.”

“I was just thinking about that this morning.” Jacody stated. The more he was around Herb the more he liked him.

“And don’t forget about Christmas Eve dinner. Me and the missus be expecting you.”

Jacody waved a hand in farewell. With any luck he’d be gone from here by Christmas. He started the car, heading out of town toward the hospital. Problem was he didn’t feel lucky.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 38

Jacody savored the fresh coffee as he sat, eyes trained on the ridge, seeing everything and nothing all at the same time. Watching for the wolf.

The day had been long and frustrating. He’d learned almost nothing in town. And the hospital had refused to talk about the dead woman. Just that she appeared to be “a woman of the night”.

“My name is Lydia. Find me, Jacody. Take me home.”

Jacody didn’t think the woman found was Lydia. Too much time had passed since she’d disappeared. And the priest’s death was intriguing to the community mostly due to rumors. Suicide, murder, accident. No one seemed to know, and if they did they weren’t talking.

The wind picked up. The wolf stood on the ridge, watching him. Jacody watched her. He’d never seen a wolf this close before. And he’d never seen a white wolf. Silence filled the cabin. The wind stopped blowing. The wolf raised her head, disappeared. Jacody smiled. So that’s it. She came with the wind, left with the wind. “Nothing good ever travels with the wind.”

Jacody shook his head, clearing Miss Charity’s voice. Nothing that beautiful could be all bad. She needed a name. The Indians had a name for the wind. Mariah. He’d call her Mariah.

Jacody’s mood darkened. Where the hell was Miss Charity?  Had she known something about the priest?  About Lydia?  And what did any of this have to do with why he was here?  It all tied together. Somewhere there was a common thread. The catalyst. All he had to do was find it.

The wind rose again, whipping the snow on the ridge, blurring his view as it rose, shaped, took form. Once again Mariah watched him. She stood listening, searching the shadows before disappearing over the ridge. Miss Charity was still alive. Somehow he knew that. She must be messing with his mind. There were no wolves in North Dakota. Goosebumps once again covered the flesh of his arms as the distinct sound of chanting carried on the wind. Dammit, there were no Indians up here either.

Or were there?

Night had finally fallen and Jacody dressed warmly, sticking the Glock into the waistband of his pants. He hoped he wouldn't need it, but it was better to be safe than sorry. The wind had died down, and it was quiet now, no sign of wolves or Indians. Laughing at himself Jacody called out to the night. “Good night, Mariah. You too Chief.”

Jacody approached Miss Charity’s house, driving past once just to make sure no one was lurking around. No deputies were out front. No lights. He should have known the Sheriff wouldn’t find Miss Charity important enough to have left anyone on the premises.

Fortunately for Jacody, Miss Charity’s house was surrounded by trees backing up to one of the few small hilly areas in North Dakota. His cabin had been a part of her property. She owned over a hundred acres, most of it forest and hills. He’d asked her once why she’d come here, a town with fewer than 700 people. If he closed his eyes he could still see her face, hear her chortle. “Zigged when I should have zagged, sugah.”

Pulling in between two trees Jacody turned off the Honda. The house was about a quarter mile back down the road. Even though it appeared empty he wasn’t going to take any chances.

The night was cold, the snow deep. It took him twenty minutes to make his way through the trees to the back of the house. The back door still stood open, hanging from its hinges. The damn Sheriff hadn’t even bothered to board it up.

Holding the Glock in front of him, Jacody entered the house and turned on a small penlight as he made his way to the back bedrooms. The front of the house had been literally torn apart, but the back appeared undisturbed. Jacody entered the first bedroom. “I’ll be damned.”

The room was virtually an altar, set up with candles, amulets and strange looking designs. Whoever had taken Miss Charity had probably been afraid to enter this room. If he didn’t know it was mostly show Jacody would have backed out himself. A quick search revealed nothing unusual and he moved to the next bedroom. He felt like a voyeur as he sifted through underwear, dresses and shoes, following the trail of the person before him. Someone had searched for something. Of course it could have been the Sheriff or his deputies. Hopefully, something they didn’t find.

The wind was picking up outside and Jacody knew the trip back to the car would be long and cold. He’d be lucky if he didn’t freeze, giving the Sheriff exactly what he wanted. A body to blame this on.

Frustrated, Jacody stood in the center of the bedroom, putting himself in Miss Charity’s place. If he had something of value, where would he hide it?

The curtains fluttered as a beam of moonlight illuminated the closet floor. Rob was right. He was slipping. One board was different. Crossing to the closet he knelt and pulled on the board. It came away easily in his hands. Shining the penlight into the hole he reached in, pulled out the small gold box.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Excitement quickly turned to fascination as he riffled through the pictures of a beautiful young black woman. She smiled at him, her huge brown eyes conveying her happiness, her joy in life. Jacody followed Miss Charity’s high school days, her graduation from college and medical school. Her wedding to Dr. Anthony Howard. The birth of their first child. The final item in the box was a faded newspaper clipping. “Oh, God.” Jacody felt Gavin shrinking away from him, further behind the curtain, as emotional pain gripped him. A deep pain that reached all the way to his gut, knotting his intestines.

The article was short, giving the details of Drs. Anthony and Charity Howard’s tour of the Harlem Hospital where they had agreed to donate their time. New York was just starting to experience the AIDS epidemic. A drug addict diagnosed with AIDS had chosen just that moment to return. Crazed and in pain he’d shot four nurses and two doctors. Anthony and Charity had been caught in the crossfire. Anthony Howard had been killed instantly, as had their three month old daughter, Faith. Dr. Charity Howard was listed in critical condition. The article was dated June 1, 1981. Almost twenty-five years ago.

Jacody carefully placed the article and pictures back in the box, holding it for a moment, letting Miss Charity’s pain sift through him. He put the box back where he’d found it. Leaving everything just the way it was.

The moon was directly overhead, illuminating his path. Jacody pulled his coat closer, hunching into it. Seeking warmth. Miss Charity had saved his life. Pulled him from a snowdrift and certain death. He’d felt an immediate kinship. Now he knew why. Tragedy did that. Linked souls. Created bonds not easily broken. Now that he knew the link he’d find her. All he had to do was follow the pain.

His hands clenched inside his coat pockets. Something stirring deep inside. It didn’t matter anymore. The pain was too raw, too piercing. He’d kill whoever he had to kill. “I’ll find you, Miss Charity. I promise.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 39

Katie had no idea how long she’d slept. She vaguely remembered coming back to the house. Dr. Davidson being there. Pills. Her mouth felt funny, like it was full of cotton. She woke to the sounds of angry voices.

“You shouldn’t have told her, Claire.”

“I thought she knew. When you said she was coming here. . .” Claire’s voice tapered off and Katie strained to hear her final words. “I thought she knew.”

Katie lay still, feeling the steady beat of her heart. Aaron’s heart. Fresh tears started and she rolled over, hugging the pillow.

“I’ll check on her again tomorrow. Sleep’s the best thing for her. Give her these and keep her quiet.”

Katie listened, but the voices had dropped to whispers. She heard Claire’s footsteps as they stopped outside the bedroom. She closed her eyes, pretending sleep as the door opened slowly. Katie lay perfectly still until the door closed and Claire’s footsteps moved away. Rolling onto her back she let the tears fall freely. Everything had changed. Aaron was gone. She remembered the accusation in Claire’s eyes, the hostility. Claire must love her and hate her at the same time. She would have to leave.

“The swords will be removed by someone you love. Your heart will mend.”

Clover’s voice hovered in the air. Was this what she had meant?  Had she known about Aaron?  His death.

“Everyone’s psychic, Katie.”

Katie sat up, tossed off the covers. Yes, she would have to leave, but not until she knew the truth. She wanted to know what had happened to Aaron. She was going to find Lydia and help Justice. Clover had given her the tarot cards for a reason. All she had to do was learn how to use them.

Rising from the bed Katie took a towel and went to the shower. She traced the line of the still vivid scar on her chest. She no longer saw it as ugly. Instead it was a symbol of love.

Katie saw her image in the mirror, Aaron standing with her. Felt the powerful beat of her heart. She knew why she was here. What she had to do. “I’ll find her, Aaron.”

# # #

Jacody grinned as the librarian handed him his card. Her mouth was pursed, and her face a perpetual frown, glasses perched on the end of her nose. So she could look down on people he was sure. She didn’t like him. Hadn’t liked him when he’d spent the past four hours going through the archives of every newspaper for the past six months looking for anything connected to a missing woman with the name of Lydia. She especially didn’t like him checking out her books.

“I assume you’re planning on leaving soon?”

“Now, why would you assume that?” Jacody asked, continuing his friendly smile.

She held up the book on Arctic wolves. “You’re certainly not going to find any wolves around here.”

“Never been a wolf in North Dakota?” Jacody took the book from her.

She ignored his question. “Books are due back in two weeks. There’s a five cent charge for every day you’re late.”

Jacody continued grinning, his face stiff from the effort. “I won’t be late, Mrs. Kraus.”

Leaving the library he turned toward the Sheriff’s office. It was the last place he wanted to go, but he needed information.

Opening the door Jacody stepped into the warmth of the office. The room was typical. Small, one desk and a counter. No frills. He doubted the Sheriff had any female deputies. Struck him as a male chauvinist all the way.

“Can I help you, son?”

Sheriff Tomlinson sat at his desk, paper open to the sports section, feet propped comfortably on the desk. He didn’t bother putting down the paper, or removing his feet.

“Just in the neighborhood. Thought I’d check in, see if there was any news about Miss Charity.”

“The investigation is ongoing.”

“Yeah, well I was also wondering about the body that was found at the Abbey, and if anyone had reported a woman by the name of Lydia missing?”

Jacody knew his voice was rising, but he didn’t care. He could see just how ongoing the investigation was.

Jacody felt more than saw the subtle change in the Sheriff’s posture as he placed the newspaper on the edge of the desk, lowered his feet to the floor and sat forward.

“And what business would that be of yours?  You know the woman?”

“No, Sheriff, I don’t know the woman. I just heard someone with that name had also gone missing.” Jacody calmed his rising temper, but his words still came out sarcastic. “Most Sheriffs would be concerned if women were disappearing or turning up murdered under their watch.”

The Sheriff seemed unperturbed. “You’re some kind of a freak ain’t you, son?  Read about you somewhere. Got voices of something in your head?”

Jacody knew the Sheriff hadn’t read about him somewhere. He’d checked him out. Found his connection to the FBI. Pulled his profile.

“I’m not your son, Sheriff, and this isn’t about me. Either there is or there isn’t a woman missing. One named Lydia. Which one is it?”

Sheriff Tomlinson picked up the paper, spread it out in front of him. “Leave your number with Billy. I’ll let you know if I hear something.”

Billy Dawson stood behind the counter. Compassion was written on his face, but the dark eyes revealed nothing of his thoughts.

Jacody spoke with an eerie calm he didn’t feel. “I gave you my card.”

The Sheriff gave an impatient shrug, ruffled the pages of the newspaper. “Must have lost it.”

Jacody took another card from his billfold and passed it to Billy Dawson. He needed to get out of here before the delicate hold on his temper broke free. He heard the Sheriff’s soft chuckle as he closed the door.

The sky had grown darker while he was inside. A major storm was headed their way. There wasn’t really anything else he could do. Jacody reached for the door of the CR-V.

“Mr. Ives?”

Billy Dawson stood a few feet away from him. “One of the local girls reported Lydia missing a couple of months ago.”

“You happen to know her name?”

“Yeah, Ginger. Hangs out down on Second Street around the biker’s bar. I wouldn’t put too much stock in what she says, but she did report Lydia missing.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

Billy nodded, his eyes searching, serious. “Miss Charity ain’t a part of all this, Mr. Ives.”

Jacody suddenly felt as if he’d been struck by lightning. Weak. Dizzy.

“Part of all what?” He managed, his voice coming out as a whisper as he clung to the open car door.

“You know.”

Jacody felt cold and hot at the same time. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Something he knew, but the memory was beyond his reach, behind a dark gray curtain. Lurking.

Sitting down in the CR-V Jacody ground his teeth together, fighting the pain. The memory. He knew Billy wasn’t going to tell him anything else. But it was there. There in the dark brown eyes.

Billy reached for the door, closed it. “Don’t forget to listen to the old man.”

Jacody wanted to ask him what old man, but the words wouldn’t come.

“You better go, sir.” Billy stated as huge snowflakes filled the air. “Things can turn bad real quick around here.”

“Who are you?”

Billy smiled. “A friend.”

Jacody watched him walk away, felt his strength returning and eased the car into gear. His tumbled thoughts began to clear. What was it about Billy Dawson that made him feel naked. As if all his own secrets were exposed. Why did he leave every conversation feeling mentally eviscerated?

The snow thickened. Jacody sat forward, peering through the windshield, attention focused on the road. He needed to get home before an all out blizzard struck. Dawson was right about one thing, things could certainly turn bad real quick. And what had he said about Miss Charity?  Something about she wasn’t a part of all this. Was that supposed to mean he shouldn’t worry about her?

Jacody slowed to take a curve. Billy was wrong. Miss Charity was part of it. Because of Jacody she’d made herself part of it. And she was in danger.

There was something strange about Billy Dawson. Something ancient. Timeless. The curtain shifted in his mind, awareness dawning. Something almost sacred.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 40

Katie sat up in bed, taking the tray from Claire. “Really, Claire, you don’t have to do this. I feel fine now.”

“Of course you do, sweetie.” Claire plumped the pillows behind Katie. “You’ll be good as new in no time. Aaron needs to deliver his food baskets.”

Katie shivered. She didn’t need a psychology degree to know that Claire wasn’t dealing well with Aaron’s death.

“Claire, I’d like to rent a car, do some sightseeing while I’m here.”

“Oh, pooh. Any place you want to go I can take you. Besides we have lots of work to do before Christmas.”

Katie placated her, “I know and we’ll do it all. But I’d feel better if I had my own vehicle just in case.”

Claire smiled at her, eyes distant. “Now you need to eat your dinner, sweetheart. Get your strength back. We’ll check on Mrs. Doddard tomorrow. I know how you worry about her.”

Katie started to protest, but realized she’d be wasting her breath. Claire was somewhere else. Another world. A world where Aaron still existed.

Katie finished the soup, drank her milk. For now she’d placate Claire. Tomorrow she’d call the airport, arrange to have a car delivered to her. And she’d talk to Dr. Davidson. Claire needed help.

# # #

Charity heard the door to the basement open. Lying back she closed her eyes. Pretended sleep. He stood in front of her. She could feel his eyes searching her face. “Miss Charity, you awake?”

Charity opened one eye, grumbled. “I am now.” She sat up on the lumpy sofa.

Guy sat down across from her, lowered his head into his hands. “I’m sorry, Miss Charity.”

“Well, Guy, being sorry is a good thing when you do something wrong. All we gotta do is you take me back to my place and we’ll just forget this ever happened.”

Guy shook his head, mumbled something she couldn’t understand. “I can’t do that, Miss Charity.”

Charity remembered the bones, the vision. “They’s bad things coming. Bad things.” She wanted to tell him. Warn him.

Guy raised his head, looked at her, through her. “Dad says mom was a whore. No good. Just like me.”

Charity sat up straighter. “Why that’s hogwash. Your momma was a good woman. Loved you and Dan Tomlinson more than life itself.”

Guy continued talking. “I seen her once. Up on the ridge near the cabin. She sure was pretty. Guess that’s why men liked her so much.”

Charity could see the hurt on Guy’s face, the maelstrom brewing. “Guy Tomlinson, you listen to me, and you listen good. Your mother never did anything wrong. Somebody killed her and made it look that way. She was a good woman. A good wife, and a good mother.”

Guy turned to her, eyes focusing. “You sure are talking funny, Miss Charity. All proper like. I hope you don’t lose the magic. You know, being away from your cat and all.”

Charity sank back into the sofa. He hadn’t heard a word she said. The boy was insane. When she got out of here she was going to give Dan Tomlinson what for. Filled the poor boy’s head with lies.

“I just want to borrow it for a little while, Miss Charity. Just long enough to talk to my momma.” Guy looked at her, hazel eyes pleading.

“Borrow what?” Charity asked, watching as his eyes filled with anger.

He rose, stomped up the stairs and opened the door. He yelled at her from the top of the steps. “When I come back you won’t be laughing at me no more.”

“Lord. Lord.” Charity mumbled, rubbing the medicine bag between her two huge breasts. “They’s bad things coming.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 41

Katie waved to Claire, climbed the steps of the library. She wouldn’t have a lot of time, but her excuse to Claire that she needed to use the internet, file a story and check on things had bought her at least an hour at the library. Perhaps that would be enough.

Katie entered the library and smiled at the librarian. She was met with a stony glare.

“Can I help you?”

“Hi,” Katie gave her her most dazzling smile. She had meant to ask for books on tarot cards, but one look at the haughty face had told her the old biddy would start a witch hunt and have her burned at the stake.

“I was wondering if you had internet service?”

The librarian huffed, scowled and Katie could have sworn she actually hissed.

“Of course we do.”

Oops, that was it. She’d insulted her.

“Could you help me get on-line?  I’m a little backwards when it comes to things like that.” Katie smiled again, pretending ignorance. It wouldn’t hurt to make her feel superior.

A slight smiled creased the stony face. “Easy. Even an idiot can do it.”

Katie continued to smile, spreading her hands wide, falling right into the idiot category.

“Fill that out.” The librarian handed her a card asking for name, address, phone and reason for wanting to use the Internet. “We monitor people close here. No funny business.”

Katie pasted on her idiot grin. “Oh, no, ma’am. Just doing some research for a paper I’m writing.”

The librarian took the card, hissed again as she read Katie’s Washington address. “Follow me.”

The library was empty and Katie had no problem getting on one of the two available computer systems. She let Mrs. Kraus load it up, pulling up a mediocre search engine. One Katie would never have used. “I’ll be watching you.”

“Thank you,” Katie gushed to her retreating back. “Old biddy,” she hissed under her breath.

Katie shut down the search engine. Pulling up Google she typed in ‘history of tarot cards”, choosing the first entry. She read down the page, fascinated by the history, speculation and ambiguity of the cards history. And there were so many different decks.

Created sometime in the first half of the fifteenth century, supposedly in northern Italy, someone had created the first set of cards. These were used to play a new type of card game, similar to bridge. The game was called Triumphs and became extremely popular among the upper classes, spreading through northern Italy and eastern France. As the game spread changes were often made in the pictures and the ranking of the trumps. Centuries later the occult arts in France and England encountering the tarot saw mystical and magical meanings in the symbolism of the cards leading to the reputation of tarot as a divination tool. It wasn’t until 1781 that occult writers mentioned tarot cards. Thereafter interest blossomed and tarot became an integral part of occult philosophy.

All of this of course was littered with questions, and not written in stone. Opinions of, and excerpts from the individual writer’s historical search for answers.

Katie read on, finding the information informative, but not very helpful if she herself was going to use the cards as a method of divination. Reading the origination as an occult art reinforced Katie’s opinion of how the librarian would react to a request for a book on tarot.

Words such as “major arcana”, “minor arcana”, “High Priestess” and “Hierophant” were associated with older decks. “The trumps and the Fool”, “Papess” or “Popess”, and “Pope”, pentacles and wands had in recent years been substituted for the traditional suit names of “coins” and “staves” and “batons”.

Well, at least Katie knew she was using an older deck. But she still had no clue on the meanings of the cards, or how to use them to predict the future. She needed that book.

Closing out the page, Katie pulled up Amazon.com and searched for books on tarot for beginners. There were thousands, of course. All she needed was one. Choosing one that looked easy enough, Katie opened her account and placed the order, having the book shipped to Claire’s overnight. It would be here tomorrow, and with any luck, Katie would learn how to hone her unknown psychic abilities.

Pulling up the tools section, Katie quickly deleted all files, cookies and history leaving no trail for Mrs. Kraus to follow when she left. Except the trail she wanted her to follow.

Katie giggled as she googled George Clooney, pulled up several sites and clicked off. No red blooded woman could resist those eyes, that sensuous mouth when he smiled. Mrs. Kraus was in for a real treat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 42

Jacody pulled up his files on the laptop and studied his notes. He really did need a landline. Connection to the internet. He definitely wouldn’t be going anywhere tonight. Going to the kitchen he refilled his coffee cup and looked out the window. The wind shrieked as the blizzard struck. Jacody couldn’t see two feet. He thought about Mariah, wondered if she was okay.

Returning to his notes Jacody typed in his conversation with the Sheriff and Billy. Made notes of things he needed to do. First he needed to see this Ginger person. He also needed to take a trip to the abbey, find out what he could about the priest. The two were connected. That much he was sure of.

Closing the laptop, Jacody went to start a fresh pot of coffee. He could go to bed, catch up on his sleep. But the dreams were waiting for him. He could feel them.

He didn’t want to sleep. Pouring a cup of coffee he returned to the living room and pulled the library book on Arctic wolves from the mantle. Throwing a fresh log on the fire he sat down to read.

The more he read the more confused he became. The pure white coloring told him Mariah was an Arctic wolf or snow wolf. But if that were true, then how did she get here?  Arctic wolves only thrived in the coldest places. A few in Canada, but that was a long way from North Dakota.

Jacody ignored the nagging voice inside his head as he read on, noting that Arctic wolves were more curious than frightened of humans. The Indians considered the white wolf magical or mythical creatures.

Jacody closed the book, rubbing his eyes. He was mentally and physically exhausted. But that certainly explained everything. She magically appeared and disappeared. The chanting he’d heard.

“You’re losing it, Ives. That’s the problem. You’re gonna wake up tomorrow and find there is no Lydia, no Indian, and Miss Charity is safe and sound cooking breakfast.”

Jacody jerked at the scraping noise on the front door. Could be just a branch blown over, or. . .

Taking the Glock he approached the door, unhooked the latch and turned the lock. Jacody tried to open it slowly but the force of the wind slammed the door into him, knocking him backwards as snow flooded into the room.

Jacody held his breath as he found himself staring into the emerald green eyes of Mariah standing just inside the door. Her gaze shifted to the Glock still clutched tightly in his hand and she growled softly. Jacody laid the gun on the floor, pushed it away from him.

“Hey, girl, rough night out there.” He inched his way to the back of the sofa, rising to his knees. Mariah approached him. He could hear the sound of his heart pounding, feel the thump, thump, thump of pumping blood.

“Why don’t you come in for a while, get out of the cold.” Jacody extended a hand, holding perfectly still. She sniffed him, walked around him, finally coming back to rub her head against the outstretched hand. Her fur was rough, clumped with frozen snow and ice.

Jacody moved slightly, preparing to rise. “Hope you don’t mind, but I’d really like to close that door.” Snow was rapidly piling up on the rug, pushing against the walls.

Mariah raised her head, ears straight, listening. Jacody heard it, somewhere far off in the night. The sound of a flute, its poignant melody sad, soulful.

Mariah looked at him, whined and dashed out the door.

Jacody stood in the doorway, watching her until the wind and snow finally made him close the door. He looked at the mess in the living room, went to the kitchen and got the mop. That settled one question. There was at least one wolf in North Dakota.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 43

One look outside told Jacody he was trapped at the cabin, at least for today. He finished the cleaning he’d started the night before. Finished reading the book on Arctic wolves and found himself pacing the small space between the couch and fireplace.

The coffee was becoming bitter, and his stomach ached. He tried to remember just how long it had been since he’d eaten. Too long, that was for sure. Scrounging through the freezer he came up with a good supply of steaks. Taking one out he looked out the window. Mariah stood on the ridge. Jacody reached back inside the freezer, pulled out another steak. With the thick snow she was probably having problems finding food. That would explain her visits to the cabin. Why she watched him. Steak and eggs sounded really good to him.

Jacody waited until the food was ready, prepared two plates and went to the front door. Opening it he watched as her ears perked up. “Breakfast is ready if you want to join me,” he yelled.

Leaving the door open he went inside, picked up the plates and carried them to the living room. He placed hers just inside the door, sat down on the sofa and began to eat.

He heard her come in, sniff the food and start to eat. He ignored her, finishing his own plate.

Something strange happened inside him. A shifting of sorts. He felt Gavin watching him. “Finally found something that interests you enough to come out, huh.” There was no answer, just the presence, watching from behind the curtain. It was a step in the right direction, albeit a small one.

Mariah circled the sofa, sniffing Jacody’s plate. “Sorry girl, I was hungry too.”

She whined, lay down at his feet, her head resting lightly on her paws.

Jacody sat still, afraid to move, but the cabin was cooling off quickly. He needed to close the door. “You’re gonna lock yourself inside with a wolf?  You’re crazier than I thought you were.”

The sound of the voice startled him. He’d wondered if Gavin was aware of his existence, or if he was the only one that knew what was happening to them. If they could communicate then he wasn’t so crazy after all. Maybe they might just make it out of this alive.

Jacody spoke to her. “Mariah?”

She raised her head, looked at him with those beautiful eyes. “I need to close the door.”

She rose and Jacody stayed seated, watching as she crossed the space between the sofa and door, took her nose and closed it before trotting back to lie down again at his feet.

“I’ll be damned.” Jacody slid from the couch, joining her on the floor, stroking the fur that was quickly turning soft as ice and snow melted. She’d understood every word he’d said.

She whined again, nuzzling her head into his hand.

Jacody moved, stretching out his legs, staring into the flames of the fire. “Why don’t I tell you a story. Maybe you can help me figure out my next move.”

Jacody continued to stroke the soft fur. “It all started with a dream. A girl. Her name’s Lydia. I watched her die.”

Mariah moved closer to him, her eyes studying him intently. She growled.

“Yeah, it pisses me off, too. It gets worse though. Another dream. A priest throwing himself off a cliff. Something about absolution. What the hell could a priest have to atone for anyway?  The man was a saint according to his parish.”

Mariah whined, moving her head against his hand. Jacody stroked her head, his mind rushing forward, pulling his thoughts together.

“Then I came here to find the only person who ever understood me missing. The Sheriff’s a real asshole and then there’s the deputy, and I can’t get a handle on him at all. Always makes me feel like he’s looking through me. Sees what I really am. Or what I’m becoming.”

Mariah growled, raising her head, sniffing him.

Jacody tensed. “You smell it too, don’t you?  I feel it sometimes. Something dark and putrid growing inside me. Waiting for me to make a mistake. Weaken. Let it out.”

Mariah rose, looked at him and growled, baring her teeth, green eyes glittering.

He felt it then. Felt the confusion, the fear, the awareness of knowing something that he’d known all his life, but failed to recognize. He knew why the priest had killed himself. Why he eventually would have to do the same thing. Kill himself, or become the very thing he abhorred.

Mariah howled, the sound deafening in the confined space. They studied each other. Jacody rose, stoked the fire and turned to her. He knew now why Miss Charity had told him to stay away from the wolf. He didn’t understand it all. How it worked. But he knew. They understood each other. “I got the message, girl. Loud and clear.”

Mariah walked to the door, stood looking at him expectantly.

“Gotta go?”

She whined once.

Jacody walked to the door and opened it. She nuzzled his hand before racing toward the ridge.

He stood in the doorway staring after her. She would be back, vigilant in her watch over him. Waiting, just like the darkness waited. And if he failed--she would kill him.

# # #

Katie breathed a sigh of relief as she closed the door, turned on the light. Claire was like an ever present watch dog. Constantly fidgeting, watching her, looking for signs of Aaron. She’d escaped only by pleading exhaustion. Katie turned the lock on the door. Finding Claire standing over the bed watching her when she woke at night was disturbing. And that was an understatement.

Katie pulled the package from Amazon from under the bed. Thankfully it had arrived while Claire was out on her daily visit to Aaron. Opening the package she pulled out the book, took the deck of tarot cards Clover had given her and made herself comfortable on the bed. The quicker she learned, the sooner she would be able to make sense of all the things happening to her. She hadn’t forgotten Justice. She still needed to find him. Save him.

The book, like the articles was confusing with words and terms unfamiliar to her. Finally she came on the one sentence that made sense. Interpretation was up to the reader. She needed to study the cards one at a time. Get a feel for them. Listen to them. See what they told her. Tools. They were just tools to open up a closed mind to possibilities.

Katie picked up the cards, held them. She could do that, couldn’t she?

“Follow your heart, Katie.”

Katie’s smile held a tinge of sadness. Clover had told her she would be there when Katie needed her. And she was. Picking up the first card Katie closed her eyes. She needed to listen. Not with her mind. She had to listen with her heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 44

Jacody woke to the sound of a tractor, scraping. Pulling on his pants and shirt he walked to the living room, picking up the Glock along the way. Glancing out the window he recognized Herb Shanks, opened the door and waved.

“Morning neighbor. Figured you might need some help clearing the drive,” Herb shouted over the noise of the tractor.

“Appreciate it. I was just getting ready to make some coffee,” Jacody shouted back, waiting until Herb waved at him, turned off the tractor.

Jacody waited at the door. Herb stomped his feet to loosen the snow from his shoes. “Would have been here yesterday, but had to clear a couple of other people and pull out a couple of stranded cars.”

“Come on in, I’ll start the coffee.”

Jacody left Herb warming by the fire while he started the coffee and finished dressing. He came in to find him holding the book on Arctic wolves.

Herb laid the book on the mantle and knelt, warming his hands near the fire.

“That coffee done yet?”

“Coming right up.” Jacody poured two cups. “You take anything in your coffee, Herb?”

“Naw. Like it hot and black.”

“Here you go then.” Jacody handed him a cup and sat down on the sofa. “How much do I owe you for the drive?”

Herb made a noise like he’d swallowed something distasteful, needed to spit it out.

“It’s winter in North Dakota, son. Neighbors help each other the best we can.”

Jacody found himself at a loss for words. He’d insulted Herb by offering to pay.

“Anybody else we need to dig out?  Be glad to help you.”

Herb sat back on his haunches, took a swig of coffee. “Drove by Miss Charity’s this morning. Place could use fixing up ‘fore she comes back. If you ain’t too busy.”

“A man should never be too busy to help a friend.”

Herb nodded, stood up, handing Jacody his empty cup. “We’ll get started in the morning then. Seven o’clock okay with you?”

“I’ll meet you there.” Jacody rose, following Herb to the door. He could tell Herb’s feelings were still hurt. He’d make it up to him somehow.

“Missus is expecting you for Christmas Eve dinner. Got all excited when I told her about it. Figure she’s gonna cook for days.” Herb pulled on his gloves, opening the door.

“It’s been a long time since I had a good meal. I wouldn’t miss it.” Jacody held out a hand. Herb took it, bobbing his head up and down.

“She a damned fine cook.” Herb looked at the snow piled on the walkway.

“Guess you ain’t got a shovel?” Without waiting for Jacody’s answer, Herb walked to the tractor and tossed Jacody a snow shovel. “See you in the morning.”

“I’ll be there.”

Jacody closed the door and leaned against it. It was all pretty simple really. You saw something needed to be done, you did it. And if you had a shovel your walk was clean.

# # #

Jacody checked the chains again, making sure they were tight against the tires. Thanks to Herb he should make it off the ridge without any trouble, and once he made it off the ridge the main roads should be fairly passable.

He waved to Mariah. She had joined him for breakfast after Herb left. He’d have to remember to get eggs while he was in town. And an alarm clock if he was going to wake up early enough to meet Herb at Miss Charity’s by seven o’clock.

It took him almost two hours to make it to the abbey and he was glad he’d eaten breakfast. He sat watching the snow glisten like diamonds as rays of sunshine washed over the landscape. A beautiful, peaceful place. Why would anyone here want to commit suicide?

Jacody went over the information Rob had given him last night. He’d called after Mariah left. Duty. Another habit he would have to be careful with.

Rob and Carl had come up with a theory. One that made sense, but still didn’t explain Lydia. Katie O’Connor was rich. Dying. She needed a heart transplant. Money could buy many things. Had she hired someone to find her a match?  Was that how Lydia tied in?  They’d taken her heart only to find she wouldn’t match?

Jacody stepped out of the car, walked through the snow down to the edge of the Heart River Basin. There was big money in organs. More than enough to kill for. Was that what they were dealing with?  Not a serial killer, but some slimy sleaze ball out to make money?  He’d call Rob back, run the idea by him. Let him check for other heart transplant patients in the area.

Jacody stood on the edge, closed his eyes.

“There would be questions, but no answers. Some would call it suicide, but he knew it wasn’t. It was absolution.”

Jacody felt his feet move toward the edge. Felt the warmth of light, heard the sound of voices. He raised his hands to the heavens and leaned forward.

Strong hands grasped him, pulling him backward. “Please, my child, no matter your problems, there is another way.”

Jacody shook his head, opened his eyes. He found himself looking into the timeworn, wrinkled face of an old priest. Pain and compassion were reflected in the milky blue eyes.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I wasn’t. . . I didn’t mean to. . .”

Jacody was trembling, his thoughts still muddled. If the priest hadn’t grabbed him he would have gone off the edge. Followed Aaron Davidson to his death.

“Come, have a cup of tea with me. Perhaps we can help each other.”

Jacody followed the priest to the massive doors of the abbey. Followed him inside and down the long hallway to the door of his office. He took the chair offered to him, a cup of tea in trembling hands. It was hot, sweet. He waited for the shaking to subside. Sanity to return.

“I’m Father Peter. Tell me, my son, what bothers you?  What brought you here to us?”

“Truthfully Father, I don’t have the slightest idea what happened out there.”

Father Peter gave him a placating smile. “Tell me.”

“I came here to talk to you about Aaron Davidson, the priest who committed suicide.”

“Ah, Father Michael.”

Jacody nodded in agreement, although he had no idea who Father Michael was. His thoughts were still jumbled. “I walked down to the edge of the basin. The next thing I know I hear these thoughts, find myself stepping forward, raising my arms, leaning. Then you grabbed me.”

Father Peter sat back in his chair, tapping his fingers together. He had heard of such things, but was until now unsure of their truth.

“You were memory walking.”

Jacody frowned. “Memory walking?”

“Yes, it’s like dreaming when you’re awake. But they aren’t your dreams. You’re walking through someone else’s dream. Someone else’s life experience.”

“That’s just peachy,” Jacody thought. It wasn’t bad enough he had to live with the nightmares. Now he was dreaming while he was awake.

Father Peter leaned forward in his chair, the milky blue eyes saddened, voice quivering with emotion. “I feel responsible for Father Michael’s death. It was I who told him he must drink from the cup.”

Jacody tried to focus, pull his thoughts together. Who was Father Michael, and what had Father Peter had him drink?

“I’m confused. I thought we were talking about Aaron Davidson?”

Father Peter explained. “Our ways here are different. Aaron Davidson was the name given to him by his parents. When he came here for refuge, Father Michael was the name given to him by God.”

Jacody still wasn’t following the conversation. “And you made him drink something?  That’s why he went off the cliff?”

Father Peter smiled patiently, allowing Jacody time to take another drink of tea. “I’ll tell you what I know, and then you must tell me.”

Jacody nodded, unsure of what Father Peter expected of him.

“Father Michael was truly an exceptional young man. Called of God. A true gift to the people he served. Something haunted him. Pulled him into a dark place he could not escape from. He came to us seeking peace. We failed him.”

Jacody sat forward. “Did he ever tell you what it was that haunted him?”

A pained expression crossed the wrinkled face. “No. I know only that he struggled with his vows.”

Jacody sat up straighter, a thought forming. “Father Peter, if someone had confessed something, something horrible, something that was an abomination to God, would his vows have stopped him from giving this information to the authorities?”

Father Peter considered the question. Some priests still felt bound by the old ways. But Father Michael was much too young for that. “No. Many things have changed over the years. We are no longer bound to hold confessions sacred if they involve murder.”

“But what if Father Michael had felt that to tell was a violation of his vows. What if he considered it sacred?” Jacody knew he was grasping at straws, but something was clicking inside his brain. Just out of reach.

“It’s possible. But only if the confession came from someone he cared deeply for.”

Jacody sensed he was on the edge of a break through. It would make sense. “Does he have family here?”

“Yes, a sister, Claire. And his father, Simon Davidson.”

“Was he close to them?” Jacody asked.

Father Peter smiled sadly. “Father Michael knew only how to love. He was close to many people.”

Father Peter leaned forward in anticipation. “Now, you must tell me.”

“I’m not sure what you want to know. Or what I could possibly tell you.”

The milky blue eyes grew misty. “I want to know why he died.”

Jacody sat back, breathed deeply. He didn’t know what to say. Rob’s words came to him. “It was suicide. But suicide with a purpose.” He could see the young man’s smile. Hear his final word. “Absolution.”

Jacody spoke, his voice soft. “He sacrificed himself so that someone else could live. He wanted absolution.”

Father Peter lowered his head to his hands, unashamed of the tears that flowed down the weathered cheeks. “Thank you.”

Jacody rose to leave. There was nothing else to be learned here. Nothing he could do to ease the priest’s pain.

Father Peter rose with him, smiled at him through the tears. “Come back when you have found that for which you search. Stay with us. Heal your wounds.”

Jacody left the abbey, started his car and head toward town. Heal his wounds. That would be a miracle. At least another piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. This had to be the old man that Billy had told him to listen to. Well, he’d listened. What now?

Jacody swerved to miss the silver Lexus, catching a glimpse of the driver. Something stirred inside him. Something deep, painful. She looked familiar but he couldn’t quite grasp the memories trapped behind the curtain.

He’d have to call Rob. Give him a heads up on his thoughts about the organ thing. Find out if there was any current connection between Katie O’Connor and the priest before he gave her his heart. Herb had said that Katie lived here a long time ago. That had to be the link. If Father Michael had willingly gone off that cliff, sacrificed himself, then he would have to love that person more than life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 45

Katie parked the car in front of the Sheriff’s office, turned off the engine. She had no idea why she was here. Only that this is where the cards had sent her. She’d studied them until three in the morning. Then exhausted she’d asked what she should do next and picked a card. The Magician. She didn’t know why she’d associated the card with the young man she’d seen at the airport, but it felt right. He was wearing a uniform, and after a lot of thought she finally recognized it. It was the same outfit worn by the Sheriff. So here she was, sitting like an idiot staring at the door. “Do something, Katie. Even if it’s wrong.”

Taking a deep breath, Katie opened the door of the Lexus, climbed the three steps and stood poised with her hand over the doorknob. The door opened. Katie found herself gazing into deep brown eyes. Kind eyes. Eyes that said ‘trust me’.

“You,” she whispered.

Billy Dawson smiled at her, that same infectious smile that caused the corners of her mouth to lift slightly.

“I’ve been waiting for you. Let’s take a walk.”

Billy took her arm, guided her down the steps, around the building to a small shelter out of the wind.

Katie took a seat on the bench, pinched herself. She had to be dreaming. Tomorrow she’d wake up and find this never happened. She’d read the tag on his shirt. Knew his name was Billy Dawson. But that didn’t matter either. He didn’t exist.

“You’re not dreaming, Katie. At least not now.” Billy sat down on the bench beside her, took her hand in his.

Katie studied him. He wasn’t Dr. Arthur. They looked a lot alike. Same coloring. Same dark hair. Same sweet smile. But his eyes were darker. Older. His hand was strong, soft against her skin. For no good reason she could think of, she trusted him.

“Who are you?” she asked, just as she had asked Dr. Arthur. Only he’d never answered her.

Billy met her eyes, smiled. “Some call me a dream weaver, but it’s more complicated than that. Like Justice, I have a mission in life.”

Katie squeezed his hand, excitement in her voice. “You know who he is?  Where he is?”

Billy let go of her hand, stood up. What he had to tell her wasn’t what she wanted to hear. It wasn’t what he wanted to say. Because of his interference the balance had shifted. He couldn’t save him. Perhaps he could save her.

“Things have changed, Katie. You can’t save him. If you don’t leave here now, you’ll die.”

Katie froze, his words hitting her like a bucket of ice water. Not because he’d said them. Because she knew they were true. Justice was here, on his mission. A mission that would end with his death. And if she stayed she would die also.

Katie stood up, touched his shoulder, forcing him to turn, look at her. She stared into those unfathomable eyes, seeing the pain. Knowing things she had no understanding of. Moments in time. Life and death.

Billy nodded, hugged her. She had made her decision. Chosen her destiny.

Pulling away he looked into her eyes, wishing things were different. They had met under other circumstances. Different moments in time.

Katie wanted to hold the moment, savor it. Store it in her memory to bring out later, explore, treasure.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Billy turned away from her. Guilt heavy on his shoulders. He’d risked his soul, and he’d lost. The Shaman was here, but only to watch. He had taken the pipe, but only to give it to its new owner. He’d lost his powers. His gift. “It’s my fault. It didn’t have to be this way.”

Katie knew something had happened to her, something strange yet wonderful. A well of knowledge outside her normal senses. A knowing without knowing why. A sense of right. She touched his shoulder again, turning him back to her. Standing on her tiptoes she kissed him, feeling the softness of his lips beneath hers. The warmth as his lips parted, responding. Life and death were just moments in time. And she could mark one thing off her list of things to do on death row. She’d kissed the man she loved. If she died now, she would die happy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 46

Katie parked the car in front of the abbey, turned off the engine, sitting, seeing it through Aaron’s eyes. She’d promised Claire she would only be gone a few minutes, but after leaving Billy she knew she had to come here. No words had been spoken after the kiss. None had been necessary.

Katie touched her lips, savoring the feel as she turned her thoughts to her own mission. She needed to know what had happened to Aaron. Why he had come here, and most of all why he had walked out into the night on October 14th.

Katie left the car and climbed the steep steps, stopping to catch her breath as she stood in front of the huge doors. Someone here had to know the answers. She knocked lightly and waited. Silence surrounded her. She knocked again, louder this time. The doors remained closed, no sounds from within.

“Can I help you?”

Startled Katie spun around, her hand going to her chest. She hadn’t heard anyone approach. The priest appeared ancient and yet the milky blue eyes held a youthfulness that surpassed the face wrinkled by the ravages of time. The thin lips. The gnarled hands, twisted by a disease that Katie knew must be horrendously painful.

Father Peter stepped toward her concerned. “Are you all right?  I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Katie took a deep breath, calming her fears, smiled and held out her hand. “I’m fine. I’m Katie O’Connor. I was hoping to speak to someone about Aaron Davidson.”

Father Peter stepped back, the shock of the name rendering him speechless. Aaron’s Katie. His sacrifice.

“I cannot help you, my child. You will not find the answers you seek here.” Father Peter brushed past her, opened the doors to the abbey.

“Please,” Katie pleaded. “I must talk with someone.”

Father Peter heard the same desperation in her voice, the same longing need that Father Michael had expressed. “Follow me.”

Katie followed him down the hallway to his office. He waved her to a chair before pouring a cup of tea. She watched as he stirred in honey, his age spotted hands much steadier than her own. He brought the tea to her and took a seat behind the huge oak desk. “Why are you here?”

Katie sipped the tea, welcoming the sweet taste. “No one will tell me how he died. Why he died.”

Father Peter rose from the desk and crossed to the window, hands embraced in front of him. “Father Michael came here for peace. He couldn’t find it.”

Katie rose, setting the cup on the desk. “Peace?  Peace from what?”

Father Peter turned to her, his eyes gentle, full of compassion and grief. “The same peace you seek, my child.” He seemed to hesitate, almost as if he regretted the words he was about to say. “You won’t find it here. Come I’ll walk you out.”

Katie wanted to argue, but followed him quietly down the hall back to the front doors. Her newfound well of knowledge deserting her. Nothing made any sense.

“Please, Father Peter, there must be something you can tell me?”

Father Peter reached into his robe, handed her the card Jacody had given him. “Follow your heart.”

The doors closed leaving Katie standing there, shaken, afraid. Anger flared inside her. Claire wouldn’t talk to her about Aaron and now this. “Follow your heart. Listen to your heart,” she muttered as she stormed back to the car. “Well, I have been listening to my heart, and so far all I’m hearing are more questions.”

Katie stopped halfway between the abbey and the car, her eyes drawn to the Heart River Basin. Her feet moving in that direction with a will of their own. The wind lifted her hair, pressed her coat against her body. She stood at the edge. “Save them.”

Katie heard the whisper, felt the fluttering of the card in her hand. She looked down at it. “Jacody Ives. Private Investigator.” Why was a private investigator looking into Aaron’s death if there was nothing wrong?  And who had hired him?  She flipped the card over, reading the address. He wasn’t too far from here, but first she was going to talk to Claire.

The drive back to Claire’s did nothing but fuel her anger. It might be Aaron’s heart, but it was her life.

Lights were on in the living room and Katie stormed in, slamming the door. Claire looked up from the book she was holding, her eyes wide, guilty.

“Katie!”

“You’re going to tell me what happened to Aaron, and who the hell Lydia is.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 47

Claire recovered first, holding up the book she’d been reading. Neurocardiology. “I found this in your things. Is it true?”

Katie felt the anger rush out of her, only to rush back in as the impact of Claire’s words finally sunk in. She’d gone through her things. Emotional exhaustion hit. Katie reached out, leaning against the door. “I don’t know,” she answered.

Claire came to her, helping her remove her gloves, coat and shoes. She led Katie to the sofa. “You need to rest. I’ll make us some tea.”

Katie stretched out on the sofa, pulled the afghan around her and closed her eyes, letting the exhaustion pull her down. She didn’t want tea. She just didn’t have the strength to fight with Claire.

“Dig the hole, dig it deep, give the worms something to eat.”

“Katie, wake up!” Claire shook her fiercely, pulling her back from the clutches of the nightmare. “Wake up, sweetie.” Tears flowed from her eyes, falling onto Katie’s face. “Please wake up.”

Katie opened her eyes, shivered and pulled herself into Claire’s arms. The two rocked back and forth, saying nothing, but sharing everything. Claire broke away first, framing Katie’s face with her hands. “He didn’t kill her, Katie. I know he didn’t.”

“Lydia?”

Claire wiped her tears. “The dreams started right after she disappeared. He changed so much. Stopped eating. Wouldn’t sleep. And when he did sleep. . .”

“The nightmares came,” Katie finished for her, sitting up.

Claire nodded. “I tried so hard to help him. He went to the abbey. I thought maybe he’d find peace there.” Claire covered her face, sobs shaking the thin shoulders. “He felt so guilty. He couldn’t stand the guilt.”

Katie couldn’t believe her ears. Claire was her lifelong friend. Despite her words to the contrary, she knew Claire believed that Aaron had killed Lydia.

Katie felt overwhelmed. So much had happened to her in the last two months. Clover had told her to follow her heart. She had. So now what?

Katie placed her hand on her chest. Her heartbeat was strong. Aaron had given her life. He wasn’t capable of killing. Anyone who knew him knew that. Surely Claire knew that too.

“He didn’t kill her, Claire.” Katie waited until Claire raised her head. “Whatever else Aaron may have done, may have felt guilty for, he didn’t kill Lydia. And I’m going to prove it.”

Katie rose from the sofa, went to the kitchen and poured two cups of tea. She was the strong one now. Her love for Aaron would keep her strong. She would do whatever she had to, but she would never believe Aaron could hurt anyone. She opened the cabinet doors searching.

“Here,” Claire opened the door next to her, handing her the honey.

Katie looked at the bottle, unsure of why she’d been looking for it. She never put honey in her tea.

Claire smiled at her, emotions flickering in her eyes. Something Katie couldn’t quite read. Even more startling was the change in demeanor. Claire was totally calm. No tears. No grief. Taking the honey from Katie’s hand she poured a generous helping into the cup, handed it to Katie. “Aaron always loved honey in his tea.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 48

Jacody arrived at Miss Charity’s at seven on the dot, but found Herb already there, shoveling the driveway. Grabbing a shovel, Jacody pitched in to help.

The two worked side by side, shoveling snow from the walkway and front porch. When they finally finished Jacody leaned on the shovel, breathing hard.

Herb looked at him and grinned. “Ain’t like the city is it, son?  You done a good job though.”

“Thanks,” Jacody huffed, catching his breath. “I didn’t realize shoveling snow was so hard.”

Herb’s cackle reminded Jacody of Jeb Carpenter and Bud Lynton. Good men, used to hard work.

“That was the easy part.”

Jacody sat his shovel next to Herb’s on the front porch and followed him inside. He’d forgotten what a mess the dining area was. Broken furniture. And to make matters worse someone had opened the refrigerator and freezer doors. The house was filled with the rank smell of rotten food.

Jacody took off his coat and gloves, rolled up his sleeves. “You’re right, Herb. That was the easy part.”

# # #

“Dig the hole, dig it deep.”

Charity grimaced as she heard the door open, the childlike voice. “Oh, Lord, if you can’t save me, then can you please give him a sore throat.” Charity shifted on the lumpy sofa.

“Dinner time, Miss Charity.” He carried the tray carefully down the basement steps and set it down in front of her. He was smiling, as if the conversation of the night before had never taken place. He hadn’t mentioned it this morning either. But she could smell the alcohol on him. Guy was in a bad place, and it would only get worse.

Charity looked at the plate and sighed. She was sure going to get tired of bacon and eggs if somebody didn’t find her soon.

“Don’t you like it, Miss Charity?”

His voice was filled with hurt. Charity smiled and nodded, picking up the plate. His confession about his mother and the revelation of the bones had tempered her anger against the young man. Life was so fleeting. So short. And the balance played no favorites. She knew what he wanted now. What he needed. Problem was she couldn’t give it to him. His momma was gone, and no magic was gonna bring her back.

Guy sat down across from her, poured two cups of coffee and watched her eat.

“It sure is nice to have you here, Miss Charity. I don’t get too much company out here.”

Charity bit her tongue, the sweet salty taste of her own blood filling her mouth. If this was how that boy treated company, she’d sure hate to see how he treated prisoners.

“Went looking for the cat again, but she still ain’t come back. Where do you think she might be, Miss Charity?”

Charity ignored the question, continued eating, her huge brown eyes conveying nothing.

His face was the picture of innocence. Child like. “You’d tell me if you knew, wouldn’t you?”

Charity decided it might be best to placate him. The boy was on edge. It wouldn’t take much to push him over. “Of course, I would, sugah.”

He smiled taking the plate and cup from her hands, setting them on the tray. “That Jacody guy sure is upset about you being gone. Hear he’s really been tearing up the town.”

Charity remained quiet, her hands folded in her lap. He was goading her, trying to get her to say something.

“Won’t do no good though. I got the wolf. I’ll get the old Indian too.”

Charity felt her heart skip a beat. She knew Billy’s heritage. Knew he’d called the wolf. Knew why. But if he’d called the elder . . .

Guy smiled again, picked up the tray. “I’ll find her tomorrow.”

Charity listened to his footsteps as he ascended the stairs again, closed and locked the door. Taking the bones from the medicine bag she held them and prayed. “Dear Lord, you gotta do this for me now. You gotta help him. He’s a good man. A good man.”

Charity tossed the bones, opened her eyes and screamed as the fires of hell swept through her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 49

Jacody trudged toward the ridge, his mind sorting information, making mental notes of conversations, body language. The dreams had stopped, but instead of comfort that had brought on more unease.

The snow was almost knee deep, and he knew he should have called someone to tell them he was out here. Yeah, as if anyone cared, he thought. “You should have called Rob.”

“Now you wake up.” Jacody muttered. But Gavin was right. He should have called Rob. The night had been uneasy. The time he’d spent with Father Peter had left him unsettled. He didn’t know how he felt about memory walking, but he did know how close he’d come to death. And now Mariah was hurt. He’d listened to the sounds of her cries, knowing in his heart they were cries of pain. Something had happened to her.

Bad things happened all the time. Miss Charity was gone. Lydia was gone. The priest was dead and yet the townspeople had returned to everyday life. Just like nothing had happened. A prostitute and a black woman. No great loss as far as they were concerned. Even the priest hadn’t left an impact.

It all boiled down to secrets. Who was hiding what, and why?

Jacody found himself looking for wolf tracks. And this was his fault. Mariah wasn’t a person but he’d broken his code. Let something get close to him. Started to care. Everything he cared about died. It wasn’t safe to let anyone or anything get close to him.

Jacody crossed over the ridge, down into the valley. His mind was reeling with tangled thoughts. Maybe he needed to spread out his search. Maybe Lydia hadn’t been in Richardton. Davidson had a parish in Johnson, the next town over. Maybe she’d been there. He’d planned on going to town today, trying to find this Ginger person and get some answers. But first he had to find Mariah.

Jacody rounded a bend, saw the forest below the hills. The snow told the story. A story that angered him and explained the howls of pain he’d heard the night before. A trail of blood led into the trees.

Trappers.

Picking up his pace Jacody sprinted toward the trees, ignoring the pain in his legs. She was in there somewhere. Wounded or dead. Unless they’d found her first.

Jacody followed the trail, noting where she’d stopped to rest, her life blood flowing out around her. Damn them.

It soon became clear she’d had a purpose in her travel. She was moving toward the cabin. Slowly, painfully, she was coming to him.

“Hang on, Mariah. I’m coming.” He moved through the trees as fast as the snow would allow, his breath coming in ragged gasps, lungs burning.

He saw her, just at the edge of the forest. Slowing his pace he approached, hand extended. “Easy girl. It’s me. Everything’s gonna be okay now. I’m here.”

Jacody knelt a few feet away, gazing into the beautiful emerald eyes glazed with pain. He could tell she was barely hanging on to consciousness. The cold and snow had probably helped stem the bleeding, but he needed to get that trap off.

He crept closer, voice low, removing his gloves. She knew his smell. Knew he cared about her. But she was also wounded, probably half crazed with pain. “Easy girl. We’re going to get that thing off of you.”

She watched him, her eyes never leaving his face. She bared her teeth as he came closer.

“Can’t blame you there, girl. Not with what you’ve been through. Humans aren’t the most likeable species.”

Jacody edged forward, reaching out a hand, letting her sniff him. He continued to move closer, speaking to her softly. “We’ve got to get this thing off.”

Jacody studied the trap. There wasn’t going to be any way to remove it without hurting her. Perhaps worse than she was already hurting. Reaching out he stroked her head. Odds were he was going to come out of this with teeth marks and pain of his own. He looked her straight in the eyes. “They didn’t plan on making this easy for us, did they?”

Mariah whined.

“Okay, girl, this is where we find out what we’re both made of.”

Grasping the trap on both sides, Jacody pulled hard. She jerked, her howl of pain giving him strength as he strained against the trap, pulled it free from her body. Fresh blood flowed from the wounds.

Jacody slung the trap away from him. If he had his hands on the man that set it, he’d gladly show him what pain was. Mariah lay still, her body jerking, whimpering.

Jacody packed snow around the wound, letting the cold clot the blood flow. What now?  He couldn’t leave her here. She probably weighed more than a hundred pounds. There was no way he could carry her back to the cabin.

His clothes were wet and cold was beginning to seep into his bones. Whatever he was going to do he’d better do it fast. If he stayed out here much long the trapper would wind up finding both of them. Frozen.

“Hey, uh, hey, uh, hey.”

The chant flowed through the forest causing the hair on the back of his neck to rise. All right, what would an Indian do?

His mind raced, he needed some way to transport her. Something like a travois. What Indians used. “I’ll be back, girl. I promise.”

Jacody searched the forest until he found two limbs that might work. Taking off his coat he shivered as the wind whipped through his sweater and shirt. It was a good thing he’d packed an extra coat. This one was going to be ruined. Standing up he headed back to Mariah. He’d better make this quick. Cutting holes in the coat on each side he stuck the limbs through. It might work, if he lasted long enough.

Mariah had not moved and Jacody lifted her as gently as he could, placing her on the coat. “Hang on, girl. We’ll either make it together, or we’re both staying out here.”

Jacody could see the cabin, and he focused on it, ignoring the pain of the cold. All he had to do was place one foot in front of the other and keep going.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 50

Jacody parked in front of the cabin and grabbed his supplies. Opening the door to the cabin he called out, just in case Mariah was awake. He didn’t want her attacking him when he entered. He turned on the light, eyes immediately going to the makeshift cot he’d set up in the corner. His heart stilled, stopped and then started pounding rapidly. Empty.

“Mariah?” Setting down the supplies just inside the door he walked through the cabin, checking the bedroom, bath and kitchen. The cabin was empty.

Opening the door Jacody called out into the blinding snow. “Mariah!”

The wind whistled around him, carrying his voice to the hills where it echoed back to him, “Mariah, Mariah, Mariah.”

“Damn,” Jacody cursed, closing the door. Where could she be?  And how had she gotten out?  The door was still locked. The windows closed. If it weren’t for the blood soaked rags on the makeshift cot he would have thought he imagined the whole thing.

Making a fresh pot of coffee Jacody stored the supplies and sat down to think. There was no way anyone could have gotten into the cabin and taken her out without leaving some sign. “Indians consider white wolves magical or mythical.”

“So, she walked through the walls, is that what you’re telling me?”

The voice was silent. Jacody threw another log on the fire. There had to be something he could do. Dawson had told him Miss Charity wasn’t part of this, but with each passing day he felt the world growing darker, as if the evil were gathering strength for a major battle. A battle he wasn’t prepared for. Couldn’t prepare for.

The hell with it. It was time somebody started talking. He was going back to town, and he was going to find Ginger and get some answers.

The bar was dim, filled with smoke and hoarse laughter, which stopped immediately when the door closed behind Jacody. He stopped just inside the entrance, allowing his eyes time to acclimate to the change in lighting, and giving the patrons time to look him over.

“I said no.”

“Nobody says no to me, bitch.” The young punk slapped the girl hard across the face, twisting her arm up behind her back.

Jacody made his way to the corner, keeping an eye on the other patrons.

“The lady said no.” His voice was quiet, commanding.

“Get lost, asshole.” Bloodshot hazel eyes peered at him from beneath greasy black hair. The punk laughed, twisting the arm harder, eliciting a small cry from the redhead.

“Why don’t we have a drink, sit down and talk.” Jacody inched closer, moving his back to the wall, away from the crowd. It wasn’t his fight, but it was apparent no one else was going to do anything.

“Fuck you, asshole.” With lightning speed the punk shoved the girl across the room and whipped out a switchblade. “I’m gonna make worm food out of you.”

Jacody held up both hands. “Hey, we don’t have to do this. Let me buy you a drink.” He moved closer to the wall, putting the solid barrier behind him.

The boy snickered, baring yellow nicotine stained teeth. “You scared, big man?  You should be, you know. I can carve you up and nobody will say a word.”

Jacody kept his hands in the air as he glanced around the bar, noting the patrons’ uneasy looks before they turned their backs on the scene in the corner. They didn’t like the punk, but not one of them was going to help him. All he could hope was that none of them would get involved. He breathed a sigh of relief as Billy Dawson walked into the bar.

“You might want to rethink that.” Jacody nodded in the direction of the deputy.

“Him?” The punk snickered again as he yelled out, “Get out of here, Billy. This ain’t none of your business.”

Dawson stopped, hand on the door, indecision written all over his young face.

“Great,” Jacody muttered as he watched Billy open the door, leave the bar. Dawson’s actions surprised him. He’d liked the deputy. Respected him. Now all he felt was a sharp disappointment.

“See. Told you. Ain’t nobody gonna say nothing to me.” He swiped the knife in Jacody’s direction, making a wide sweep. “You’re gonna be worm food.”

Jacody felt the rage inside him growing. Controlled it. That was twice the kid had used the term worm food. “I guess you like the livers and hearts don’t you?”

Something flickered in the hazel eyes. Doubt, confusion, pain, followed by rage. He swung the knife in an arc, moving closer.

Jacody smiled. Rage was good. It made you stupid. The kid moved closer. Too close. Jacody stepped into him, sweeping the knife to the side and following through with a right upper cut that had enough force behind it to fell a giant. The bloodshot eyes glazed, dimmed and closed as the kid fell to the dirty barroom floor.

“Oh, shit.”

Jacody rubbed his hand and turned to the redhead standing next to him. “Somebody you know?”

“Yeah, you really fucked up, mister. That’s Guy Tomlinson. Sheriff Tomlinson’s son.”

“Great.” Jacody rubbed his hand again. His day was getting better and better. “Just great.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 51

Jacody didn’t have long to wait to find out how the Sheriff felt about his knocking out his offspring. The door opened seconds later and Sheriff Tomlinson entered, followed closely by Billy Dawson. Billy sent him a silent apology.

“What the hell’s going on here, Ives?” Tomlinson bellowed at him before bending down and checking his son.

“Boy wouldn’t back off, Sheriff. Didn’t leave me any choice.”

“You part of this, Ginger?” The Sheriff stood up, placing both hands on his hips.

“Guy was drunk, Dan. You know how he gets. It’s like the man said, he wouldn’t back off.”

The bar was silent, almost as if the patrons were holding their breath. Tomlinson kicked his son’s outstretched hand. “Piece of shit.” He stalked toward the door, calling out over his shoulder. “Clean it up, Billy.”

“Yes, sir.” Billy called out to the closing door. “I really am sorry, Mr. Ives. I knew Guy wouldn’t listen to me. Figured the best thing to do was get the Sheriff.”

“You did fine, Billy.”

“You okay, Ms. Ginger?” Billy asked.

“Do I look okay, Billy?” Ginger touched her face. Billy could see the swollen lip. Her cheek was bright red, the imprint of Guy’s hand still showing. She kicked at Guy. “Someday somebody is gonna kill that son-of-a-bitch, and I’m gonna spit on his grave.”

“Now, Ms. Ginger, don’t you talk that way.” Billy admonished her. “Guy ain’t all bad. Just when he’s liquored up.”

“Why don’t I buy you a drink and we’ll get some ice for that lip.” Jacody took her by the arm and led her to a table near the bar.

“Get me a whiskey, with a chaser.” Ginger called out as Jacody made his way to the bar.

“You heard the lady,” Jacody leaned in resting against the bar. “I’ll have a whiskey too.”

The bartender poured two glasses and set the bottle on the counter. “That’s what Ginger calls a chaser.”

Jacody laughed, his nerves finally unwinding. “How much do I owe you?”

The bartender grinned, showing a set of brand new too white dentures. “On the house. Worth every dime to see somebody knock the little shit out.”

Jacody watched as Billy enlisted the help of a none too happy biker to carry the unconscious Guy from the bar.

“Thanks.”

Handing Ginger the glass and the bottle he sat down, waited until she’d finished her first glass. She’d been pretty once, but years, alcohol and rough living had taken their toll. The once flaming red hair was now a dull orange. Green eyes that had once twinkled with amusement, dull and lifeless. Tattoos covered her arms beneath the sheer blouse. A snake and eagle, locked in battle. Jacody reached for the bottle, refilled her glass.

“Thanks, mister.” Her eyes showed a flicker of the old fire. She wasn’t sober, but close enough.

“Billy tells me you filed a missing persons report on a woman by the name of Lydia.”

Ginger eyed him suspiciously. “You a cop?”

Jacody chuckled. “Far from it. I’m a friend of Miss Charity’s. She’s missing too.”

Ginger relaxed. “Probably that lowlife they just carried out of here. Always was harassing Miss Charity. Said he was gonna steal her mojo or something.”

Jacody would have laughed if things weren’t so serious. Miss Charity would have loved hearing that someone wanted to steal her mojo. He would have to talk to Billy. Guy was topping his list of suspects. But right now he needed to get Ginger talking. Find out what he could about Lydia.

“Tell me about Lydia.”

Tears filled the grey-green eyes as she downed another glass of whiskey. “Sheriff said she went home, but I know she didn’t.”

“And how do you know that?”

Ginger glared at him, sniffed. “Because she was gonna take me with her.”

Jacody waited as Ginger sniffled again, wiped her nose. “I know what you’re thinking, but Lydia wasn’t like that.”

“What was Lydia like?” Jacody studied her over his glass. He recognized the look, reached for the bottle. Ginger was drinking far too much, far too fast.

“Hey, gimme back my bottle.”

“Not yet. First you tell me about Lydia.”

“Ain’t talking until you fill my glass.” Ginger laid her head on the table, perfectly content to wait him out. Jacody reached across, poured her another glass. “Drink it slow.”

True to her word, Ginger started talking as soon as the glass was full. “Lydia was different. She wasn’t no whore. Not like me. She had family. At least she had a daddy. She started taking up with that priest. Then she called her daddy. Told him she was coming home. That’s where we was going soon as we had the money.”

Ginger stopped talking, emptied the glass and held it out for more. Jacody filled it again, keeping the bottle just out of reach.

“Tell me about the priest.”

“Oh, he used to come in here all the time. Talked a lot to me and Lydia. Finally got Lydia to come to church. She came in all excited one night. Said she got saved or something, and the priest was gonna help her get the money to go home.”

Jacody filled her glass.

“Didn’t come home one night so I went to see the priest. He acted all funny. Said I shouldn’t come there no more. So I went over to the Sheriff and told him Lydia was missing.”

Her words were beginning to slur and Jacody knew he was running out of time. He felt a slight rustling of wind. A cold breeze. He knew the answer, but he had to ask.

“Where can I find this priest?”

Ginger snorted. “Gone. Took a high dive off a cliff. Son-of-a-bitch.”

Jacody handed Ginger the bottle and thanked her. She was still mumbling. “She was gonna take me with her.”

Crossing to the bar he laid a twenty on the counter. “Would you see she gets home safely?”

“Keep your money, buddy. I’ll see she gets home.”

Jacody thanked him. Ginger was silent now, head resting on the table, the fingers of one hand clinging to the glass as the other hand held onto the bottle. When this was over he was coming back to tell her she was right. Lydia wouldn’t have left her here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 52

Dusk was falling when Jacody returned to the cabin. The snow had started again and he wondered if he should go out, try to find Mariah. Make sure she was okay. Sighing he stepped out of the Honda, knowing he couldn’t chance going out to look for her tonight. The way his luck was going today he’d probably fall, break a leg and freeze. Opening the door he stopped just inside; her green eyes stood out in the darkness. Mariah lay on the blankets he’d placed in the corner that morning. A huge white bandage was wrapped from her back legs to her front legs, covering the site of the wounds. She lifted her head, looked toward the kitchen.

Jacody came into the cabin, closed the door, flipped the light switch and checked the lock. Sitting down on the edge of the couch he stared at her. “Okay, I give up. How did you do it?”

He jumped, hand going to the Glock in his waistband as the voice rang out behind him.

“Wolf no talk.”

Jacody kept the gun leveled. Mariah stood up, growled deep in her throat, her eyes on the gun.

Jacody lowered the Glock. “Who the hell are you?”

The Indian favored him with a toothless grin and held out a cup. “Coffee?”

Jacody took the cup, but kept the Glock close at hand. “Who are you, and how did you get in here?”

“Tall Feather.” He held up a small kit. “Pick lock.”

Jacody sat down on the sofa. His day had gone from bizarre to insane. He studied the Indian. Couldn’t weigh more than 90 pounds, and then only if he was dripping wet. He looked like a walking bag of bones. The flannel shirt was in severe need of repair, holes in both elbows, frayed around the neck. The pants weren’t much better, and what the hell was he wearing on his feet?  Moccasins in this weather?  Without thinking Jacody put the cup to his mouth, took a drink. Gagged. The damn stuff was strong enough to make the dead walk. Tall Feather chuckled, walked to the door and opened it, giving Jacody another toothless grin. “Wolf stay.” He closed the door behind him.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Jacody rushed across the room, throwing the door open, calling after him.

Tall Feather kept walking toward the ridge. “Home.”

“You’re going to freeze out there.” Jacody closed the door. “Stupid old man.”

Mariah growled.

“You disagree huh?” Jacody stood motionless, wondering if he should go after him, bring him back or at least give him some decent clothes.

“Listen to the old man.” The thought came unbidden. Was this the old man Billy was talking about?  Couldn’t be. The guy looked crazy. He’d be lucky if he survived the night. Besides he wasn’t old, he was ancient.

It was close to one a.m. and Jacody was exhausted. First the long trudge back to the cabin carrying Mariah only to find her gone when he returned with bandages and medicine. Then the fight with Guy Tomlinson and dealing with Ginger. Now this. He couldn’t keep the thought at bay forever: “What next?”

Mariah whimpered.

“I don’t know about you, girl, but I’m bone tired. The Chief will have to fend for himself tonight. I’m going to bed.”

# # #

Jacody woke to something cold pressed against his hand. Mariah was nudging him, her green eyes imploring him to get up.

“Okay, okay already. I’m up.”

Padding to the kitchen he set out a fresh bowl of water, watching as she lapped it, careful not to splash it on the floor. She really was amazing. He started the coffee and rummaged around in the refrigerator. The only thing there she could possibly want was the steak he’d been saving for supper. What the heck, he had to go into town anyway.

“So, was there really an old Indian here last night?” Jacody asked her as he cut the steak into smaller pieces and laid it out on wax paper.

Mariah looked at him. He could have sworn she smiled. “Yeah, I thought so. Wolf no talk.”

Placing the paper on the floor he watched as she ate the meat, took another drink and trotted to the door, waiting for him to follow.

“Oh, so you can’t just walk through it?” Jacody poured a cup of coffee, watching her. She whined once, looked at him and then back at the door.

“Okay. I’ve got things to do today anyway.” He opened the door, watching as she trotted to the ridge. She appeared totally healed. Reaching the ridge she raised her head to the sky and let go with a woeful howl before disappearing.

Jacody closed the door. What the hell was Miss Charity doing to him?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 53

“You heard from the dark knight?” Carl poked his head inside Rob’s office, noting the dark smudges under his partner’s eyes.

Rob shook his head. “I was getting ready to call him. Got the report on that body found in the basin. Sort of blows his last theory out of the water.”

Carl closed the door, taking the seat in front of Rob’s desk, reaching for his cigarettes. Raised an eyebrow in expectation.

Rob sighed, sat back. Jacody had specifically told him not to get Carl involved. Warned him. But the old man was tenacious. Once he got his teeth sunk in he wouldn’t let go. He’d had no choice but to take him to Washington with him. Carl was involved whether they wanted him to be or not.

“Sally Morse. She was Katie O’Connor’s nurse at Sacred Heart.”

Carl lit the cigarette he’d been holding, took a puff, eyebrows knitted together. “Her heart cut out?”

“Yeah. Jacody wanted me to check into the possibility of organ harvesting in the area.”

Carl took another puff. “Makes sense. Lot of money in that. Lots of buyers.”

“No hospital close enough with the capability to do the operations. And organ harvesters don’t just take the hearts, and you don’t find the bodies.”

Carl noted the tension in Rob’s voice. The frustration. But the kid was right. Unless. . .

“Katie O’Connor’s got more money than she could spend in this lifetime. Don’t mean she don’t want more. She got a private jet?”

Rob leaned forward, grinned. “You’re a genius, Carl.”

Carl chuckled, “You just now realizing that?”

# # #

Jacody poured another cup of coffee, heated it in the microwave and filled a fresh bowl of water for Mariah. He’d worked on his notes most of the morning, made a few phone calls, cleaned the cabin. Now he was restless, but snow was starting to fall and from the looks of the sky, another blizzard was headed their way.

After Rob’s call he’d spent a day under the watchful eye of Mrs. Kraus at the library. Reading articles on Richardton. He’d learned a lot, and Rob had been able to find out even more. Jeanie Tomlinson had died when Guy was a baby. Her heart cut out.

Sixteen years ago someone had killed Jeanie Tomlinson the same way Lydia Lynton had been killed. The same way Sally Morse had been killed. The timeline cleared Guy, but opened the door for some interesting possibilities. Maybe the Sheriff was more than just an asshole.

Mariah whined.

It was getting uncanny, but Jacody was sure she could read his thoughts. Knew what he was going to say before he said it. There was really no rhyme or reason to her comings and goings. She made him let her out in the early morning hours but returned as soon as he woke up a couple of hours later. He was beginning to question his own sanity, and the city wasn’t looking so bad after all. A dead priest, missing friend, dead girl, killer, Indian and a wolf. Sounded crazy even to him and he’d seen some strange things over the years.

He stoked the fire, but kept it low. The cabin was cool and he would have to keep it that way for Mariah. She watched him, the red flames of the fire reflected in her green eyes, giving her an almost demonic look.

“Tall Feather says you don’t talk.” Jacody sat down on the floor a few feet away from her.

Mariah whined, moved her tail slightly.

“Can’t say as I blame you much. Most people don’t listen anyway.” Jacody leaned back against the couch. “That’s what I like about Miss Charity. Never had to say much to her, but you knew she was listening.”

Mariah whined again, placed her head on her paws and looked at him expectantly.

“Miss Charity?  Well, yeah, that’s a story within itself. First time I ever came this way. Got lost, wound up in a snowdrift and just about froze. The car door opened and I looked up at this massive bundle of clothing. She literally carried me back to her house.”

Jacody sipped his coffee, a smile playing around his lips as he remembered the huge black woman stripping off his clothes and wrapping him in a smelly blanket. “I think she took lessons from Tall Feather on making coffee, because she gave me the worst cup I ever had.”

Mariah moved closer to him.

“Pie made up for the coffee, though. Best Butterscotch pie I ever tasted.”

Mariah moved closer, laying her head in his lap. He stroked the fur around her neck. “Couple of real misfits aren’t we girl?  I don’t think we were supposed to like each other. I’m here to die, you’re here to kill me.”

Jacody felt the curtain shift as he continued to stroke Mariah. Gavin was watching, but something else was happening also. A need. A reaching out, reaching through, bonding of spirit, emotions. He stepped back, let it happen.

Mariah licked his hand, her tongue warm, rough. Gavin rubbed the fur around her neck. “Love?” He felt the pain start inside his stomach, spreading out to his chest, making it hard to breathe. He fought it. “Yeah, I fell in love once.”

Mariah whined, pawing at his hand.

“She was beautiful. Auburn curls that glowed in the candlelight. Her eyes were green, like yours, but with little flecks of amber in them. Especially when she was happy.”

Gavin stopped, his grief fresh, raw.

“He killed her because of us. Because we were hunting him.”

Mariah whined, sharing his pain, licked his hand.

“Yeah, we killed him.”

Jacody felt the abrupt jerk. Found himself once again holding Mariah in his lap. Alone. Gavin was gone again. Back behind the curtain.

They’d been so close.

Jacody felt the exhaustion of physical and mental stress. A strange sleepiness drifted over him and he wondered for a moment if Tall Feather had put something in the coffee. He settled more comfortably against the couch as he continued stroking Mariah’s fur. Closed his eyes.

Jacody floated through the mist, following the chant of the old Indian. Drums beat in cadence with his heart. An eagle soared over head, locked in battle with a huge snake. He walked into the clearing. The mist cleared. A young man stood at the edge of the cliff, hands raised to heaven. He heard the prayer. “Give light unto my eyes, Lord, lest I sleep in death.”

Jacody tried to call out, but no words came. The young man looked over his shoulder, a sad tremulous smile on his handsome face. “Save her.” He learned forward, toppled over the edge and was gone.

Jacody rushed to the cliff. He could see the body far below, arms outstretched, blood creating rose petals in the snow. The mist surrounded him, pulling him back from the cliff. He felt cold.

Jacody opened his eyes, blinking to adjust to the dim cabin light. The fire was dying and the cabin had turned colder as the wind rose outside. Mariah still lay with her head in his lap, his hand tightly wound in her fur.

“Sorry, girl.” Jacody unwound his fingers, rubbing her head. She stood up, looking from the door back to his face.

“Okay. Let’s take a look and see how you’re doing.”

He unwound the bandage and ruffled the white fur. No sign of the wounds existed.

She whined again, moving toward the door.

“Hot date?”

Mariah walked to the door. Jacody laughed as his legs wobbled, muscles aching from having been in one position for so long. “Give me a minute, okay?”

Mariah waited patiently as Jacody massaged his thigh muscles, moved his feet, trying to restore circulation.

“I think I’m getting to old for this stuff.” Jacody stated, opening the door for her.

Mariah growled her disagreement, raced across the yard.

Jacody leaned against the doorway, the cold wind sinking into his bones. Save her. Davidson had to mean Katie O’Connor. Lydia was dead. None of it made any sense. Why would he want to save the person responsible for his own death?

Jacody closed the door. Perhaps for the same reason he had saved Mariah. There were things worse than death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 54

“What’s the good news?” Carl lit a cigarette, making himself comfortable.

Rob ran a hand through the short blonde hair, shook his head. “Nothing more since we checked out the articles on the Sheriff’s wife.” He continued to look at the computer screen, flipping through articles on split personalities. He needed to understand Gavin and Jacody if he had any hope of helping them. Saving them from themselves.

“Think it’s time we pulled the Chief in on this?  Made it a real case?”

Rob looked up from the screen, eyes glaring. “No.”

Carl took a puff off the cigarette. “Guess you better tell me what’s going on then.”

Rob turned off the screen. “I can’t.”

Carl sat forward in the chair, took a deep drag on the cigarette and studied his partner. “You boys are all the family I got now.”

Rob frowned, run a hand over his eyes. The old man could have bellowed at him, screamed at him. Anything would have been better than pointing out the obvious. Carl was family.

“What do you know about split personalities?”

“Not much, but I know somebody who does.”

Rob stood up, picked up his jacket. “Then I think we better talk to them.”

# # #

Monica Barlow poured three cups of coffee, handed one to each agent and returned to her desk.

“So, let me get this straight. You have a man that you believe may be operating as two distinct personalities. One good, one not so good?”

Rob hesitated, fighting the emotional turmoil inside him. Torn between guilt and betrayal. “It’s not really that. It’s more of. . .” He stopped. He didn’t know how to explain it. Jacody wasn’t bad, he just wasn’t Gavin.

Monica smiled. “I assure you Mr. Walker, if this man is indeed a split personality then it is exactly that. How good and how bad the personalities become depends on the circumstances of their life experiences. Are we talking friend or foe?”

“Friend.” Carl spoke up, looking around the room for an ash tray. Damn fascist fanatics.

Reaching into her desk drawer Monica pulled out an ash tray and set it on the desk.

Carl grinned sheepishly and lit a cigarette. Now this was his kind of doctor. Anticipated and met a man’s needs.

“Your friend, has he always been this way, or is it something recent?”

“Several years. Maybe more.” Rob scowled, searching his mind, trying to grasp the beginning.

Monica leaned forward, sensing Rob’s struggle. “A trauma. Severe tragedy. Something with severe physical and/or emotional pain. With women it’s often child abuse or rape. With men it’s more often the loss of someone they love, or some situation of violence out of their control. It can of course be child abuse with men. Anything in his background?”

Rob shook his head. “No.”

“What about Miranda?” Carl asked.

Rob nodded, the memories clicking into place. He should have seen it. Gavin shut him out. Shut everyone out. Disappeared for months.

“Tell me about it.” Monica reached for her coffee, took a drink and settled comfortably into her seat.

“She was a local prosecutor. Damned good lawyer. We had a perp. Bank robber that usually took hostages. Always women. Raped and killed them.” Rob stopped talking as memories flooded his mind.

Monica sat up straighter, allowing Rob to lose himself in his memories, addressing her question to Carl. “So how did your friend fit into this?”

“Gavin was always a little different. Had a knack for finding people. Looking behind the scenes, flushing out secrets.” Carl smiled. “Would have made a hell of an agent.”

Monica turned back to Rob. “What happened?”

“We caught him. Miranda was the prosecutor assigned to the case. Somehow he escaped, tracked her down and killed her.” Rob stated, loosening his tie and stretching his legs to clear the tension in his body. He could feel the psychologist’s eye’s searching him. Knew how it felt to be a bug under a glass. Talking about Miranda had brought up memories he’d avoided for years. Doubts and feelings of guilt.

“And your friend?” Monica urged him on.

Rob rubbed the bullet wound on his side, pain and confusion reflected on his face. “We tracked him, finally caught up with him in a motel in San Francisco. He gave himself up. We were transporting him back. . .” Rob stopped.

“And?” Monica pressed.

Rob looked up, met her eyes across the desk. “I don’t know. Somehow he got a gun. Shot me. When I woke up the ambulance was there, Gavin was standing over me and the perp was dead.”

“How did he kill him?” Monica asked, once again addressing her question to Carl. She sensed Rob had gone as far as he could.

“Broke the bastard’s neck.” Carl stated proudly.

Monica sat back, tapped her fingers on the desk. “So, we have a man who lost the woman he loved, faced losing,” she stopped, eyed Rob, “his brother, and killed with his bare hands.”

Rob stared at her, mouth open. “How. . .”

Monica smiled. “It’s my job. Now to your problem. Do you know how much rage it takes to kill with your bare hands?  How much hate and anger has to be present to exert enough force to break a man’s neck?”

Rob shook his head, remembering Jacody’s words on the roof. “I’m his rage. A coping mechanism.”

“I assure you gentlemen, your friend,” she looked at Rob and softened her voice, “is in a great deal of danger.”

“What kind of danger?” Rob sat forward in the chair, hands gripping the edge of the desk.

“Danger of becoming the very evil he hunts. He starts by killing only the evil, but the darkness inside him is growing, and unless something happens, someone or something intervenes, that won’t be enough for him.”

“Shit,” Carl grumbled lighting another cigarette, staring at the one burning in the ashtray. The pleasure came from the lighting and that first puff. The rest was all habit.

Rob stood, pacing the small office, shoving his hands into his pants pockets to stop the fists from forming. He knew it. Knew Gavin was in trouble. He should have done something. “So what do we do?”

Monica hesitated, knowing her words would bring no comfort. “There’s nothing you can do. The core personality made the choice.”

Rob stopped pacing, a painful awareness seeping into him as Jacody’s words once again echoed in his mind. “I didn’t choose this, Rob. Gavin did. And I can’t change it. Only Gavin can do that.”

“Thank you, Ms. Barlow.” Rob reached for the door, an icy coldness sinking into his bones as he remembered the rest of the conversation. “And it gets worse.” His scathing comeback. “What’s worse than you?”

Monica handed Carl a card. “I’m here if you need me.”

Carl nodded, placed the card in his shirt pocket and followed Rob out the door, catching up with him at the elevator.

“So, we going to Richardton now?”

Rob slammed his fist into the wall, welcoming the physical pain that for just a moment drowned out the emotional pain. Jacody had known. Tried to warn him. Protect him. He could see his face, the tension in the deep brown eyes. The truth behind the words. “You’re going to have to trust me on this, Rob. There’s more going on here than I can tell you, but I can tell you this, you come to Richardton and Gavin and I are both dead.”

“No.” Rob hit the elevator button, faced Carl.

“No! What the hell are we gonna do then?” Carl followed him into the elevator, hit the ground button.

“I don’t know about you, but something I should have done a long time ago,” Rob sighed, still rubbing his hand. “I’m gonna pray.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 55

Jacody rolled over and opened his eyes. A strange smell permeated the air, along with the smell of burnt coffee.

He lay still listening to the chant of Tall Feather as he clumped around the living room. Now what was the old geezer up to?

Jacody couldn’t remember going to bed, but must have fallen asleep after he let Mariah out. Worse--he’d slept through Tall Feather breaking into the cabin. And that was dangerous.

Mariah stuck her head through the open bedroom door.

“Okay. Okay.” He grinned at her, “I’ll get up, but I’m not drinking the damn coffee.”

Smoke was drifting into the bedroom and Jacody quickly pulled on his shirt, pants and socks before rushing to the living room.

Jacody crossed his arms and leaned against the door jamb shaking his head. He thought he’d seen it all. He was wrong. Tall Feather waved what looked like a giant burning roach as he danced around the living room singing.

“Want to tell me what the hell you’re doing?” Jacody asked, coughing as another cloud of smoke drifted past him.

Tall Feather graced him with a toothless grin, never breaking stride. “Demons.”

Uncrossing his arms Jacody went to the door and opened it. The smoke was getting unbearable. “Yeah, well I’ve got enough of those already, thank you.”

Tall Feather stopped his dancing, cocked an ear and listened. “Trouble.”

Jacody could hear the car slowing down, turning, making its way slowly up the tree lined path to the cabin.

“Take Mariah and go into the bedroom.”

Tall Feather disappeared into the bedroom, Mariah on his heels, closing the door behind him. Jacody waited by the door until he saw the Sheriff’s car coming up the driveway.

“Trouble.” Closing the door he went to pour out the coffee and made a fresh pot.

Jacody answered the door on the second knock. He’d opened the kitchen windows, allowing the last of the smoke to drift out.

“Sheriff?”

“Mr. Ives.”

The two stood silently eyeing each other, unspoken challenges filling the air.

“Coffee smells good.” Tomlinson stated, breaking the silence.

Jacody opened the door wider. “I don’t suppose you’d care to join me for a cup?”

The Sheriff was a huge man and his presence seemed to dominate the small cabin. Jacody glanced at the bedroom door hoping Tall Feather and Mariah had the good sense to stay quiet as he went to the kitchen to pour two cups of coffee. He returned to find the Sheriff flipping through the book on wolves. Handing him a cup Jacody took the book, laid it on the mantle.

“I’m sure you didn’t drive all the way up here this early in the morning just because you smelled my coffee.” Jacody took the only available chair, leaving the couch open for the Sheriff.

The Sheriff cleared his throat. Coughed. “Wanted to apologize for my son.”

Jacody was shocked. First by the apology, and second by the fact that the Sheriff was making himself way too comfortable on the couch.

“Really, Sheriff, that isn’t necessary. I’m sorry I had to get rough with him. Although you might want to ask him about Miss Charity’s disappearance.”

Jacody moved to the edge of his seat, hoping the Sheriff would take the hint. Instead he settled more comfortably into the old sofa.

“Been hard on the boy, growing up without a mother. Seemed to take to Miss Charity.”

“Oh, crap,” Jacody thought as he shifted in the chair. He might was well get comfortable. Confessions were long, and usually boring.

“Had a visitor this morning.”

Jacody sat up straighter. Maybe not a confession after all.

“Said his name was Bud Lynton. Name mean anything to you?”

Jacody kept his face totally blank, seething inside. Dammit, he’d told Bud not to come out here.

“Nope.” Jacody waited, sure the Sheriff had more.

“Sure the name don’t mean anything to you?” The voice was challenging.

“Why would it mean something to me?” Jacody posed his own question. Challenge answering challenge.

The Sheriff looked at him, eyes cold, accusing. “Says he’s looking for his daughter. Lydia Lynton.”

Jacody didn’t hesitate, face calm, voice even. “Never heard of him.”

The Sheriff stood up, adjusted his belt and handed Jacody his cup. “Figured you’d say that.” He walked to the mantle, picked up the book. “Been hearing stories about an Indian that walks the ridge at night. An ancient Shaman of great power. Some say he’s got a white wolf with him. Don’t suppose you’ve seen anything like that?”

Jacody bent down, threw a log on the fire, hiding his face from the Sheriff. “Can’t say I’ve seen anything like that. Hear some odd noises some nights.”

The Sheriff put the book back on the mantle and moved toward the door. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything about Miss Charity.”

Jacody followed him to his car. The Sheriff opened the door, stood looking at the ridge, voice wistful. “Guy used to spend a lot of time up here. Where he and Miss Charity got to be such good friends. Always figured she was the one started the stories. That boy was always fascinated by magic. Thought she might have told you about it, you being such good friends and all.”

“She never said anything.” Jacody answered. At least that much was true.

The Sheriff nodded, sliding behind the wheel. “You know where to find me.”

Jacody watched the vehicle until it disappeared from sight. Now there was a man haunted by ghosts. Or maybe haunted by the living. Jacody remembered the hate emanating from Guy’s eyes. It must be hard to know your son hates your guts and everything you stand for.

Returning to the cabin he closed and locked the door before calling out, “You can come out now.”

Silence.

Jacody crossed to the bedroom door, opened it. The room was empty, curtains billowing out from the window. Jacody laughed at himself as he closed the window. For just a moment he’d actually believed the two could walk through walls.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 56

Katie woke with a feeling of the same rightness that she’d felt when she’d decided to kiss Billy. She needed to see Jacody Ives. Therein lay a part of her mission. The answer had come to her in the middle of the night. He was Justice.

Rolling over she stared at the ceiling, pulling her thoughts together. She had dreamed of Aaron again, but it was different now. This time he had left her with another mission. “Save her.”

How could she save her?  The one thing Katie was absolutely sure of was that Lydia was dead. So who did Aaron want her to save?

“Katie, are you awake?” Claire knocked softly on the door before opening it. “I’ve almost got breakfast ready. Why don’t you join us?”

“Us?” Katie struggled up in bed.

“Yes,” Claire said softly, “Dad is joining us for breakfast.”

Katie controlled the grimace that she felt forming on her face. She wasn’t all that fond of Dr. Davidson. There was something about him, something that felt sinister.  And when she’d tried to talk to him about Claire he’d simply brushed her off. “I’m not dressed for company.”

“Well, get dressed, silly. We’re waiting for you.” Claire closed the door.

Throwing back the covers Katie decided to take a shower. Maybe if she waited long enough Dr. Davidson would leave. She wanted to ditch Claire, drive out to the cabin and see if she could locate Mr. Ives. Find out what he knew and if her instincts were right.

Turning on the water as hot as she could stand it, Katie stood under the faucet letting her confused thoughts rush through her mind. Claire had changed. She seemed to have overcome her dislike of her father. In fact, the two often were gathered in the living room, whispering long after dark.

Katie lathered her hair. Claire had come up with something they had to do every day. Someone they had to go visit, take care of. Her excuse was she was continuing Aaron’s work. Something Katie could hardly refuse to do. Katie stood under the water, raking her fingers through her hair, rinsing out the last of the soap. She was doing Aaron’s work too.

“Save her.”

Turning off the water, Katie looked at her reflection in the mirror. She no longer knew who she was. Claire was preparing Aaron’s favorite meals, taking her to Aaron’s favorite places. She’d even called her Aaron one night. A slip of the tongue, or wishful thinking.

I’ve got to get out of here, Katie thought. Dressing quickly she dried her hair and slipped the card in her pocket. She needed help before she completely lost her mind.

# # #

Sheriff Tomlinson parked the car, turning off the motor. His mind drifted, dredging up memories best left buried. He could see it, hear it, smell it.

“Don’t go in there, Dan.”

The Sheriff stared at his Deputy, eyes blurred, bloodshot from lack of sleep. He’d spent the last twenty-four hours desperately searching for his wife and infant son.

“Get out of my way.”

The room was like all sleazy motel rooms. It smelled of stale cigarettes. Cheap whiskey.

He’d stored all that in his subconscious as his conscious mind reeled backwards from the images searing his brain. So much blood. Her beautiful black hair was fanned out over the pillow, surrounding her face like a black halo of light. A terrible sickness clawed at his stomach as he looked into the gaping hole in her chest. Someone had cut out her lying, cheating heart.

Shaking his head to clear his vision, Tomlinson slammed the door to the car, his footsteps striking angry patterns in the snow. Ives didn’t know anything. Not yet anyway. Nothing he could prove.

Slamming the front door he looked at the young man slouched on his couch. Trash. That’s all he was. Just like his mother. He kicked the feet off the couch arm. “Get your ass up.”

Guy opened bloodshot eyes, gleaming with hatred only a child could feel. “What the fuck you want?”

Tomlinson reached out and jerked him up, pushing into his face. “I want to know where Charity Froste is. And you’re gonna tell me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 57

Jacody knew time was running out. Every day Miss Charity was missing the darkness inside him grew stronger. Soon he would no longer be able to contain it. He had to find her quick.

Mariah had stopped coming to the cabin. Putting distance between them. She’d felt the darkness growing too. Knew what she would have to do if he failed.

He wouldn’t make her do that. They’d shared too much. He had a bullet waiting when the time came. If he couldn’t save himself, at least he could save her that pain.

Taking a fresh cup of coffee Jacody flipped open the laptop and studied his notes. Not one word about Miss Charity since her disappearance. He’d put off going to see Davidson’s family. Allowing them time to grieve. Maybe that was his mistake. It was time he shook some trees, saw what fell out.

Hearing the sound of an approaching vehicle he closed the laptop, grabbed his gun and looked out the window. This place was becoming far too popular for his taste.

Bud Lynton’s antiquated Ford pickup pulled up in front of the cabin. How he’d even made it this far in that old flea trap was a mystery to Jacody. Opening the door he watched as Bud climbed out, a sheepish look on his face.

“How are you, Bud?” Jacody opened the door wider, ushering him inside out of the cold. The man seemed to have aged ten years since Jacody left him in Kentucky. Grief did that to you. Guilt made it worse.

“I know you didn’t want me to come, but I had to.” Bud stomped his feet, loosening wet snow from his shoes before wiping them on the rug just inside the door. “Had to bring you this. Must have got lost in the mail. I didn’t get it until last week.”

Jacody took the envelope, noting the May postmark. He waved Bud to a seat on the couch. “How about some coffee?”

Bud shook his head. “Can’t stay. Told the Sheriff I didn’t know you, but I don’t think he believed me. Probably best if we’re not seen together.”

“Where are you staying?”

“The Simpson’s Bed and Breakfast in Johnson. Figured it was better if I didn’t stay here.”

Bud reached for the door. “You’ll call me if you find her?”

“I’ll call you when I find her.”

# # #

The letter was short, but the message had clearly broken Bud Lynton’s heart. His daughter was coming home. Not the rebel that had run away seven years ago, but the sweet little girl he remembered. The child he thought forever lost.

Dear Daddy:

I’ve met the most wonderful man. He’s a priest at the local parish in a neighboring community. You were right daddy. All I really needed was God in my life. And you. I’ve missed you so much. I even miss Columbia. In all the places I’ve been, none ever compared to the beauty there, the peace.

I’m bringing someone with me. I know you won’t mind. I’ve told her all about Columbia. The wonderful people there. Maybe she can get a job at Molly’s and start over. Her name is Ginger, and I know you’ll love her. I know how much you love helping people, daddy. I think I got that from you.

I’ve gotta run now, but look for us in two weeks.

Love, Lydia

Jacody fingered the note, letting the happiness in the letter seep into him. Feeling the rage inside begin to burn as he saw her in his mind, writing those words, sealing the envelope. Ginger’s face as she lay on the table, hand around the whiskey bottle, mumbling, “She was gonna take me with her.”

The darkness pulled him closer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 58

Rob stared at the three printouts, not sure which one surprised him the most. The black and white photo of Katie O’Connor smiled up at him. The spitting image of Miranda Delaware. They could have been twins. What the hell was going to happen when Jacody finally ran across her?

Picking up the second printout he frowned. They’d known the woman’s body in Richardton was Sally Morse. Known she worked on the transplant unit and had actually been Katie O’Connor’s nurse. The hospital had said she’d called in for an emergency vacation. No one saw her after that. The autopsy report showed she’d died of an overdose. Dead long before her heart was cut out. So much for their organ harvesting theory. Katie O’Connor owned a private jet, but she hadn’t used it to go to Richardton.

He frowned, reading the report again. Why had the nurse followed O’Connor to Richardton?  Had she found something that she didn’t trust to phone lines?  Was Katie O’Connor in danger?

Shaking his head, Rob picked up the third printout, a DNA analysis for the two people he loved the most. Gavin McAllister and Corrine Larson. Twins. He’d suspected it. Listening to Cory talk. Reading the articles she wrote. Looking into those beautiful brown eyes. Both adopted. Gavin by his mom and dad, and Cory by a family in Richmond. Same time, same place. Fate had separated them. Now Rob could bring them back together. He hadn’t told Gavin about Cory yet, saving the surprise, the first blossom of love. He’d never been in love. Never had time for it. Jacody had talked about destiny. Rob smiled, picking up the photo from his desk. If he truly had a destiny it lay somewhere in those eyes smiling back at him.

Carl stuck his head inside the door and hooted. “Boy have you got it bad.”

Rob felt the heat rising in his face, set the photo back on his desk. “Go to hell, Carl.”

Carl came in, closing the door behind him. “Been there. Got your message, you find something?”

Rob handed him the three printouts along with the notes he’d made.

“Damn,” Carl held up the photo of Katie O’Connor. “You reckon Gavin’s seen her yet?”

Rob shook his head. “I doubt it. I have a feeling all hell is going to break loose when he does.”

Carl nodded, flipping to the second printout. Read the notes Rob had made. “Don’t make sense. What was she doing in Richardton?”

“Getting her heart cut out,” Rob grumbled, leaning back in his chair, waiting for a reaction when Carl would finally reach the third printout.

Carl flipped to the third printout, eyes growing huge as he read the notes. “Well, I’ll be damned. Twins.”

Rob laughed, the seriousness of the first two printouts diminished by the joy in the third.

“Yeah. I’m gonna tell Cory tonight over dinner. Thought we might drive out to Richardton Christmas Day.”

Carl eyed him suspiciously. “You didn’t make this up, did you?  Just to have an excuse to go out there?”

Rob shook his head, spreading his hands. “I value my life, Carl. If Gavin didn’t kill me, Cory would.”

Carl shuffled the papers, coming back to the first two printouts. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

Rob leaned back in his chair, worry creasing the young face. It had sounded like a good idea. But what if it wasn’t Gavin?  What if Jacody was still in control?  What if the psychiatrist was right and eventually he would be hunting his brother?  A horrible stillness washed over him. What if he already was?

“Carl, have you ever thought about the fact that no matter what we do we can’t get close to this Mother’s Day bastard?  He’s always one step ahead of us.”

Carl flipped the printouts on the desk. “You got something to say, Rob, spit it out.”

Rob spread his hands. “It’s almost like Gavin knows this man. Knows what he’s thinking.”

Carl pounded his fist on the desk, eyes full of rage. “Don’t you ever say that again. Gavin ain’t no killer. Jacody ain’t either.”

Rob moved back, away from the hostility in Carl’s eyes.

“You heard what the psychiatrist said. He killed a man with his bare hands. Broke his neck.”

Carl stuttered, his rage a tangible thing, filling the room. “And you think I wouldn’t have done the same thing given the opportunity?  If it had been Gavin shot would you have hesitated?  Think I didn’t want to drag that drunk ass bastard that killed Susan from the jail cell and peel his flesh off his body one inch at a time?”

Rob pushed farther away as he watched Carl struggle with his rage, bring his trembling hands together to light a cigarette.

“Every man gets pushed to the killing point, Rob. That don’t make him a killer. It makes him human.”

“But the psychiatrist said . . .”

Rob regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, setting Carl off again.

“Damn hogwash from an educated idiot. She don’t know Gavin and she don’t know Jacody. All she knows is statistics.”

The old man ran out of steam and sat down heavily in the chair in front of Rob’s desk. Emotions filled the room. Anger. Sadness. Confusion. Grief. Susan’s death had affected all of them. She’d been like a second mother to Rob and Gavin.

“What kept you from killing the drunk?” Rob asked softly.

Carl raised his head, eyes filled with pain.

“You. And Gavin. You boys are the only family I ever had besides Susan. Love can make you do crazy things, but it can also stop you from doing crazy things.”

Rob picked up the printout on Gavin and Cory’s DNA analysis. “Then maybe Cory is exactly what Gavin and Jacody need to bring them back together.”

Carl took the sheet on Sally Morse. “Think I’ll take me another trip to Washington. You want to go?”

Rob closed down his computer, stood up and shrugged into his jacket. “Can’t, but you be careful. And no smoking in the cabs.”

Carl glared at Rob’s back, following him out the door muttering, “I wasn’t smoking in the damn cab.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You are not alone

I’ve seen the demons too

They steal your heart

Smoke the ashes of your soul

My strength is yours

It is not much

But it is mine to give

I shall guard your mind in nightmares

Shepherd you through the wolves

This staff while gnarled with age

Shall strike them

Fear them not

Their touch is not for you.

Charles W. Prather, Jr.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 59

Jacody opened the door to his third visitor in two days, the curtain inside his head shifting, time rolling back as a whirlpool of pain spun out of control. The morning sun glinted off her auburn curls. Deep green eyes filled with flecks of amber emotion. “Miranda?” he whispered, his throat tight, chest tighter.

“Mr. Ives?”

Her voice broke the spell. Sweet, clear, filled with confusion and pain. Jacody felt the darkness pulling him closer, laughing at him as he stared at the face of death. Everything he’d done. Everything Mariah had done. The progress they’d made. Gone. Just as Gavin was gone now. Stepping outside he closed the door behind him.

Katie smiled at him tremulously. This was going all wrong. “I’m Katie O’Connor. I was told you might be able to help me.“

“Do what?”

“Could we talk inside?” Katie knew she needed to sit down. Her legs were trembling, and not just from the frigid wind.

“Not a good time. Cabin’s a real mess.”

Katie hesitated. The man in front of her was like a block of ice. He was standing on the step in his shirtsleeves, oblivious to the cold wind. Face a mask of hatred. How could he hate her?  He’d never seen her before.

“I want you to help me find someone.”

“Sorry lady, I don’t do missing persons. Try the Sheriff.” Jacody turned away, placing his hand on the door knob.

“Lydia wants to go home.” Katie continued. “Father Peter told me you might be able to help me.”

Jacody spun around, met the eyes that looked through him, down to his soul, threatening to break through his barriers. Make him feel.

“You’ve talked to Lydia?”

Katie looked away. “Not exactly.”

Jacody welcomed the darkness that surged through him. The anger. The hate. “Just what the hell does not exactly mean, Ms. O’Connor?”

Katie took a step backwards, hand going to her throat. Tears pooled, shining like emeralds in the early morning light. Her knees buckled.

Jacody cursed, caught her, steadying her on her feet as he opened the cabin door, steered her to the chair. “Sit there. I’ll get you something to drink.”

Jacody opened the cabinet doors, looking for a clean glass. He slammed them. He knew how close he’d been on the step to letting go. Letting the darkness have its way. He could almost hear the laughter inside. Feel it growing stronger. “We’ll all die before I let you out,” he whispered turning on the faucet. The laughter died, as the darkness returned to its stygian hole. Watching. Always watching.

Jacody calmed his anger, took her the glass of water. She was here. There was nothing he could do about that. The damage had already been done.

Katie sat on the edge of the chair, took the glass. “Thank you.”

Jacody leaned against the mantle, eyes on her face. “You wanted to talk about Lydia?”

Katie took a drink of water before answering. “You’re probably going to think I’m crazy.”

Jacody laughed, the sound a cross between a bark and a curse. His own sanity had been in question ever since he’d gotten here. “Try me.”

“What do you know about cellular memory?”

Jacody studied her. She didn’t look like a nut case, but then lately it was getting hard to tell. “Not much. Some believe it. Some think it’s just the imagination of the donor recipient.”

Katie took another drink of water, her face registering pain of memories she didn’t want to share, but desperately needed to share with someone. “That’s what I read too. But. . .” She took a deep breath, continued. “There was a priest who died here in October.”

Jacody stood up straighter.

“He was a friend. We grew up together. Played together. I loved him.” Katie stopped, took another deep breath and met Jacody’s eyes. “I have his heart. And I have his memories.”

Jacody took a step toward her, stopped himself. Katie O’Connor. Seeing her, thinking she was Miranda had robbed him of his senses. The last of his anger seeped out of him. She hadn’t been sent here to destroy him. If she hadn’t found him he would have found her today or tomorrow. It was only a matter of time. Destiny.

Jacody sank down on the couch. He wanted to ask her a million questions. Grill her like he would a suspect.

“There’s this dream I keep having. A nightmare really. There’s a song, a rhyme. I keep hearing it. Dig the hole, dig it deep. Give the worms something to eat.” Katie stopped, gripped the edge of her chair.

“I like the liver and the hearts, the worms can have the other parts.” Jacody finished for her.

Katie gasped, “How did you. . .”

“I had the same dream.”

Her face was ashen. She’d had a heart transplant a little over a month ago. Jacody took the glass from her hand. His questions would have to wait.

“Have you had breakfast?”

Katie shook her head. “I sort of ran off to avoid it.”

“Toast, bacon and eggs sound good to me, how about you?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 60

Jacody insisted she lie down on the couch and rest while he fixed breakfast. He needed her rested and alert. She had answers, she just didn’t know the questions.

He was struck again by her resemblance to Miranda as he carried the plates back into the living room.

“Smells delicious,” Katie stated sitting up and taking her plate. “I’m sorry. I thought I was stronger. I didn’t mean to flake out on you.”

“Eat your breakfast. Then we’ll talk.”

The words came out harsher than he’d intended. His appetite was gone, but he forced himself to eat. She wasn’t the only one that needed to keep her strength up.

He watched her, made sure she cleaned her plate, waiting for some semblance of color to return to her face.

“Coffee?”

“Please.” She said, shifting on the couch for a more comfortable position.

Jacody angrily dumped the plates in the sink, poured two cups of coffee.

“Here.” He handed her a cup.

“Why are you angry with me?” Katie asked, her eyes searching his face.

“Long story, and one I’m not in the mood to tell. You feel up to answering some questions.”

Katie nodded.

Jacody sat down, hating himself for what he had to do. He’d seen the pain in her eyes when she’d talked about the priest.

“I’m going to tell you what I think. I think Aaron Davidson killed Lydia, then killed himself when her heart wasn’t a match for you.”

“No, he didn’t. I know he didn’t.” Katie cried.

“How?”

“If you’re not going to believe me, then I’m leaving.” Katie stood up.

“Sit down, Ms. O’Connor.”

The words dripped ice, but it was the face that caused her knees to tremble as she sat back down. She’d never seen anyone so cold. So angry. So dangerous.

“How do you know Davidson didn’t kill Lydia?”

Katie’s eyes flared with anger. “Because I knew Aaron. I know he would never hurt anyone. And I don’t care what you think. He didn’t do it.”

Jacody liked the anger. It was a good sign. “All right, we’ll mark him off the list. Who do you think killed Lydia?”

Katie felt as if she’d spun down into a whirlpool. Jacody’s abrupt change of tactic had thrown her for a loop. He’d never thought Aaron killed Lydia. He was playing her. “I don’t know. I just know that Aaron wants me to find her.” She looked at him, tears shimmering in the dark lashes. “I just want to find her so the nightmares will stop. So he can rest.”

“Good luck with that,” Jacody said harshly. He’d been trying for years to put an end to the nightmares. “Start from the beginning and tell me everything that’s happened.”

Katie took the article from her purse, handed it to him. “I don’t know how this plays in, but this is where it began. A few days before my transplant I was there. I met Dr. Arthur. Met Clover. Met Frank Jenkins. I talked with them, ate with them. And before you think I’m crazy,” she took the tarot cards out of her purse, “Clover gave me these the morning we left.”

Jacody read the article, looked at the tarot cards. “You didn’t happen to see a huge black woman around, did you?”

“How did you know that?” Katie asked, her eyes widening.

“Just a lucky guess.” Jacody handed her the cards. “You’re not crazy, Ms. O’Connor. You were dreaming.”

“Now, that’s crazy. I couldn’t have been dreaming. I have the cards.”

“Not impossible.” Jacody stretched out his legs. “Have you ever read Dr. Wayne Dyer?”

Katie shook her head.

“He thinks all things are possible. Including taking things into your dreams or bringing things back with you.”

“And the woman?” Katie asked.

Jacody grinned. “That would be Miss Charity.”

“The missing woman?”

Jacody noted the dark circles forming under her eyes. “A very special person.” He stood up. “That’s enough for today. You need to go home, take your medicine and get some rest. We can finish this later.”

Jacody helped her to the car. Opened the door. He leaned in. “Be careful.”

Katie looked up at him, remembering the anger. The coldness. The hate. “You care?”

“Sometimes.” He said, slamming the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 61

Jacody hung up the phone after relaying to Rob his conversation with Katie O’Connor. They still didn’t have a viable suspect. The Sheriff topped the list, but motive was missing. Killing his wife was one thing, that motive was clear. But why Lydia and Sally Morse?  He wouldn’t have even known Sally. And what did any of this have to do with Miss Charity?

Stretching his back muscles he went to the kitchen to make another pot of coffee. His stomach was probably a mass of ulcers.

Opening the refrigerator he took out the eggs and bacon. He’d been distracted this morning when he’d ate with Katie. Maybe this time he’d actually enjoy it.

Jacody popped the toast from the toaster just as the knock came on the door. He picked up the Glock. The way things were going he might as well have stayed at the Holiday Inn.

“I was hoping you could help me out with something.” Billy nodded toward the Blazer.

Jacody could see the second figure, body slumped against the door.

“You in trouble, Billy?”

“Not me, sir. It’s Guy. Need a place to stash him for a couple of days.”

“Have you tried the jail?” Jacody said, his voice sarcastic.

“I’ll just be a day or two. He won’t be no trouble, Mr. Ives.” Billy pleaded with him, something flickering in the dark eyes. A desperation Jacody had never seen there before.

“He drunk?”

“No, sir. Probably wishes he was.” Jacody followed Billy to the Blazer, stood back as Billy opened the door, catching the bloody figure as Guy slumped forward.

“Jesus,” Jacody jumped forward, helping Billy hold Guy up.

“He’s just a kid. I’ll come back for him just as soon as I can find a place to take him.”

Jacody stared at the bloodied battered face of Guy Tomlinson. Somebody had finished the job he’d started. He had a feeling he was going to regret this. Yesterday he would have told them to get the hell out.

“Let’s get him inside.”

Billy paced anxiously as Jacody gently washed the blood away from Guy’s face, careful not to reopen cuts.

“Sheriff know about this?” Jacody asked.

“Reckon he does, sir.”

Billy didn’t say any more, but Jacody caught the slight inflection in his voice. Anger flared inside of him. Undoubtedly the best kept secret in town.

Jacody rose, threw a log on the fire. “He can stay tonight. Tomorrow I want him out of here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Billy opened the door, eyes going to the ridge, voice distance. “Used to come up here in the summer. Watch the sunset and talk. Guy wasn’t always like he is now.” He looked at Jacody, memories too painful, too long hidden reflected in his eyes. Knowledge he couldn’t share. “Thank you, Mr. Ives.”

Jacody closed the door and checked on Guy. He should be in a hospital. But that meant letting everyone know what a real son-of-a-bitch the Sheriff was.

Going to the kitchen he poured a fresh cup of coffee, stared at the cold toast, wishing he hadn’t decided to give up smoking. It was going to be a long night. The phone rang, momentarily confusing him. He’d forgotten the phone company had put it in yesterday. As of yet no one but Rob had the number.

“Hello.”

“Miss Charity will be okay.” The phone went dead.

Jacody replaced the receiver. Billy Dawson was certainly full of surprises.

Guy moaned, and Jacody turned his attention back to the boy. “Easy, son. You’re safe.”

“Don’t rest.” The young man tossed in his sleep. “Worms.”

Jacody felt the hair on his arms rise. He leaned in closer. “What about the worms?”

“Don’t rest.”

“Who?” Jacody whispered, holding his breath.

“The dead.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 62

Charity woke in darkness, fought against the strong arms, cloth pressed against her nose and mouth. Evil smell, making her nauseous. For just a moment she felt the stirrings of fear. This wasn’t Guy, and she was no longer safe.

He chuckled, holding on tight as he waited for her to stop struggling. He’d known he’d find her. Just a matter of time. And luck.

Letting the body fall back on the couch he pulled on gloves and picked up the shovel, opening the door to the basement. She was going to be heavy and he didn’t have much time. Humming he grasped her by the upper arms, pulling and dragging. Climbing into the back of the Jeep he continued to pull until he finally had her all the way in. Rubbing the sweat from his face he tossed in a couple of blankets and closed the door.

# # #

Jacody pressed the cold compress to Guy’s forehead, cursing Billy Dawson. Dammit, the kid needed a doctor. He was burning up with fever.

A knock sounded on the door and Jacody instinctively reached for the Glock. It was after midnight. He hadn’t heard a car, but then Guy had been moaning for more than an hour. Laying the compress on Guy’s forehead he checked the Glock before opening the door.

“Boy sick.” Tall Feather pushed past him, going straight to the couch.

Jacody looked for Mariah before closing the door.

Tall Feather had left the couch and was pulling blankets from the bedroom, piling them haphazardly on top of Guy.

“He’s already burning up.” Jacody reached for the blankets only to have his hand slapped away.

“Big fire.” Tall Feather pointed to the fireplace. “Big.” He repeated, pushing Jacody gently. “Build.”

Tossing another log on the fire, Jacody stoked it until it roared into flames. The heat became almost unbearable in the small room.

Tall Feather began to chant, a glassy look filling his eyes as he took a small vial from his coat pocket and poured it on the now raging fire. A putrid smell filled the air and Jacody gagged. “You trying to kill us all, or just the kid?”

Tall Feather ignored him, his voice reverberating in a long slow chant as his body moved, eyes closed.

Jacody watched in silence, breathing through his mouth to avoid the stench. The old man swayed, raised his hands to the heavens and tossed more liquid on the fire. Jacody gagged again. Even breathing through his mouth didn’t help. Grabbing his coat he stepped out into the cold night air. Mariah was on the ridge, head raised as if listening for something. Tall Feather’s chants were rising in crescendo. A figure appeared on the ridge next to Mariah. Her long dress flowed in the wind, her eyes pleading with him.

“Lydia?”

Mariah raised her head, an ear splitting howl spreading across the meadow just as the scream erupted from the cabin behind him.

Jacody reached for the Glock, cursing as he realized he’d left it on the coffee table. Jerking open the door he rushed in, eyes tearing, lungs burning as smoke flowed out the open doorway.

“Tall Feather!”

The old man appeared through the smoke, smiling his toothless grin. He gave Jacody a pat on the cheek and walked toward the ridge.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Jacody called after him.

Tall Feather waved a hand. “Home.”

Jacody could still hear his cackles as he went to check on Guy. The boy was sleeping peacefully. All signs of fever gone. Jacody went back to the door, watching the heavy smoke dissipate, carried away by the wind. He’d lost his mind. That was the only explanation that made any sense at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 63

“Thank you for coming, Simon.” Claire held the door for him.

“Told you something like this would happen. Should have let sleeping dogs lie.”

“I’ll see she rests, takes the pills you left for her.” Claire moved to close the door. His whispered words followed her. “Sleep my child.”

Katie tried to sit up in bed, gave up, lying back against the pillows. Her heart was failing. Over stressed according to Dr. Davidson.

Katie couldn’t feign surprise. She’d known something like this was imminent since her talk with Billy. It wasn’t meant for her to live. She could accept that. But she still had things to do. Help Justice. Find Lydia.

“Boink some good looking guy.”

Katie couldn’t help smiling. She remembered her kiss with Billy, touched her lips. His had been so soft, and yet demanding when he’d responded. Wanting more. Needing more. Afraid. She needed to see him. Talk to him. And maybe, just maybe. . .

Claire came into the bedroom, her face wan. She smiled at Katie, smoothed the hair back from her face. “You’ll be fine. We just have to make sure you rest.”

Katie missed the closeness the two had shared once. The love. She wanted it now. Claire had changed so much, but she knew the Claire she loved was still there somewhere. Behind the grief.

“Claire, tell me about Simon.”

“Not much to tell. He came back about eight months ago. No explanation. Just appeared one day.”

Katie reached for Claire’s hand, squeezing it gently. Aaron had written her when their father had walked out on them. It had devastated their mother, leaving Aaron and Claire to fend for themselves. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Claire returned the gentle squeeze, reached up and fluffed the pillows again. “You’re supposed to rest now.”

Katie lay on the pillows, hands clasped tightly in front of her, as the two sat in silence. So much pain.

“I miss him.” Claire whispered.

Katie felt new tears spring to her eyes. Taking Claire’s hand she placed it over her heart. “He isn’t gone, Claire. He’s still here.”

# # #

Charity woke with a pounding headache. Her body was stiff and sore. Hands and feet tied, and she was gagged and blindfolded.

She could hear the sound of movement, somewhere to her right. She grunted as loud as the gag would allow.

He chortled, moving closer to her. “So the witch is finally awake.”

Charity grunted again, pushing against her ropes in mindless panic. She knew that voice. The voice of death.

He chuckled again, sensing her fear. Relishing it like the alcoholic relished that first drink in the morning. The smell, the taste of it. He moved closer, touched her breast, felt the pounding organ deep inside.

“Are you afraid, witch?” he whispered. “You should be. When I come back I’m going to kill you.”

He whistled, loading tools into the jeep.

Charity lay still long after the jeep had started and the garage door closed behind him. She knew Billy had somehow been behind Guy’s kidnapping of her. But not this. Billy couldn’t be part of this.

She strained against the ropes, but they held tight. “Lord, I knows I been asking for a lot lately, but I could sure use your help.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 64

Billy knelt, examined the blood on the basement floor, careful not to leave any impressions. For the first time in his career he took his pistol from its holster, holding it in front of him as he searched the room for signs of struggle. Listened for sounds of footsteps overhead.

The couch was overturned. Something heavy had been dragged across the floor to the back door. Opening the door he followed the tire tracks to the top of the drive.

Gone.

Returning to the basement Billy righted the couch and sat down, head between his hands. Now Miss Charity really was missing. And if he didn’t find her quick she’d be dead.

Guilt lay heavy on his shoulders. He should have seen this coming. Should have known. He’d messed with the balance. He didn’t regret it, not for himself. Jacody was a good man. He’d seen that this morning. He hadn’t been wrong. But others were suffering because of him. Would die because of him. Miss Charity. Katie.

Unashamed of the tears flowing down his face, Billy knelt beside the couch and prayed. Calmness pervaded his being. A peace he hadn’t felt since he’d performed the ritual. He’d find the Elder. He’d offered his soul for Jacody. He’d offer his life for Miss Charity’s and Katie’s. It wasn’t an even trade, but the Elder was angry. He would take it.

# # #

Jacody felt as if his eyeballs were full of sand. He’d finally managed to sleep an hour or two after Tall Feather left. He’d checked on Guy. Still out cold, but the fever was gone, and the swelling was down.

Ulcers or no ulcers he needed coffee. Jacody started the pot, went to the bedroom to change. Katie was supposed to be back this morning. She was the best chance he had of unraveling this thing. The priest had known something, and if Katie had his memories then she knew it too. He just had to find a way to access it. Hypnosis might work, but with her medical condition he wasn’t willing to try it. Yet.

He’d made Bud Lynton a promise. One way or the other he was going to keep it.

The first cup of coffee helped to clear his head, and Jacody poured another. Last night’s toast was still in the toaster. The kid would probably be hungry when he woke up.

Jacody scrambled eggs, fried bacon and put the last two pieces of bread in the toaster. “Just in time.” Jacody said, hearing the knock on the door.

Pain flickered across his face when he opened the door. If this was going to work he’d have to get used to the way she looked. He looked at her closer. In fact, she looked terrible.

“Are you okay?”

Katie swallowed hard. “Dr. Davidson says my heart is failing. I don’t know how much time we have.”

Jacody hardened himself against the pain. One of life’s cruel jokes. You find them, lose them. And if you’re lucky enough to find them again, you just lose them again.

Jacody took her arm, helping her inside. “We’ll have to be quiet. I’ve got company.”

Katie’s gaze came to rest on the young man lying on the sofa.

“What happened to him?”

Jacody waited for her to sit down. “Long story, and breakfast is getting cold.”

Going to the kitchen he returned balancing the plates and coffee cups.

“I’m getting pretty good at this,” he stated as Katie took her plate and cup. “Maybe I can get a job as a waiter.”

“Why not a cook?” Katie asked, fiddling with the food on her plate, taking a bite of eggs.

“Too much work.” Jacody answered, mouth full of bacon and toast. He’d almost forgotten how good hot food tasted.

Katie continued to push her food around the plate. “I need your help.”

Jacody swallowed. “You’ve already got that.”

Katie set the plate on the floor, pulled a notepad from her purse. “I’ve written it all down. All the things I wanted to do before I died. Things I want to make sure are done when I’m gone.”

Jacody took the notebook, setting his plate down, his appetite gone. “You’re rebuilding Camp Hope?”

Katie smiled feebly. “I talked to my lawyer yesterday. Everything’s been signed. Construction will start in the spring. I’ve contacted some of my present staff. Several of them have agreed to work there. Now, all I need is a good doctor.”

An image of Miss Charity flashed through Jacody’s mind. He didn’t know how doctor’s licenses worked, if she could still practice, but there was no one he’d trust more.

Jacody read the notes, tore off the top sheet and handed the notebook to her. “I’ll see it gets done.”

Katie seemed to deflate, sinking down into the chair. “Now, how are we going to find out what Aaron knew?”

Harsh reality. He could leave her alone. Send her back to Washington. Maybe she could still be saved. Or she could die. They could both die, and nothing would change. Lydia would still be missing. A killer would kill again. And he’d have to break three promises instead of one.

“Let’s go into the kitchen.” Jacody retrieved their half eaten breakfast, handed her the cups to carry.

Katie leaned against the sink, watching as he filled it with hot sudsy water, washed the dishes.

“I think the answer is somewhere in the rhyme.”

Jacody dried his hands. “What makes you think that?”

“It’s the melody. Something I’ve heard before, just can’t remember where.”

“Hum it, see where it takes you.”

Katie started to hum the melody, closed her eyes.

Jacody heard the sound, recognized it. He stepped in front of Katie and turned to face Guy and the Glock pointed straight at his heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 65

Charity woke with another splitting headache. She struggled to sit up, her huge frame cramped in the tight space. Memory returning. He’d come back, made her lie down in the back of the jeep. Then he’d drove for what seemed like days. Made her get out, walk down steps. That was the last thing she remembered until now.

It was dark as a cave and smelled of mildew. Charity felt around in the dark, looking for something, anything to tell her where she was. Her fingers closed around what felt like a candle. Pulling it close she continued to feel blindly. Where there was a candle surely there had to be matches. God just wouldn’t be that cruel. Her fingers closed around the box. She shook it gently. One rattle. Okay, so she had one chance of getting light into this place. Did she really want to do that?

Charity chided herself for her cowardliness. What would Ms. Laveau think if she saw her, sitting here on the cold concrete shivering like a baby.

Opening the matchbox, she took out the single match, set the candle between her legs and steadied herself.  Holding her breath Chastity issued a silent prayer before running the match along the side of the box. It sputtered, flickered--caught fire.

Charity swallowed the urge to laugh hysterically, the effort of holding her breath making her somewhat giddy. She held the candle to the flame, her hand trembling so badly she was afraid for a moment she’d drop them both. The candle caught, its flame casting eerie shadows around the small room.

Charity looked around her, her heart fluttering as reality closed in. She was in an old farm cellar. From the looks of it no one had been here for years. Tears formed, she bit her lip, steadied the candle. Her whispered words stirring fear into full blown terror. “Yous’ in trouble now, sugah. Yous’ done been buried alive.”

# # #

“Put the gun down, son.” Jacody blocked Katie’s body the best he could.

“I heard you. You killed her.” Guy’s hands shook, finger tightening around the trigger.

Jacody took a step forward, voice low, commanding. “We didn’t kill anybody. Billy brought you here. He’ll be back to get you today.” Jacody took another step. “Put down the gun.”

“No,” Guy stepped backwards.

Katie stepped around Jacody, her hands outstretched. “I know you.”

“Stay away from me.” Guy’s voice waivered as he looked from Katie to Jacody.

“You came to talk to me. I was going to help you.”

Guy’s shaking increased, “I ain’t never seen you before, lady.”

“Katie.” Jacody reached for her, but she shook off his hand.

“Yes you did. You told me about your father. Lydia was there. We were talking about her going home. You wanted to go with her.”

Guy shook his head, pain blurring his vision. “That, that, that. . .” Guy stuttered, “that was the priest.”

Katie smiled at him. “Yes, that was Father Davidson. What happened to him Guy?  What happened to Lydia?”

“Worms got them. Just like my momma.” His voice was feeble, weakening.

Jacody took another step forward, watching the eyes. “Put the gun down, Guy. You don’t want to hurt anyone.”

The hand waivered, lowered. Jacody breathed a sigh of relief. Reaching out he took the gun from Guy’s shaking hands.

“Sit down, Guy. I think it’s time the three of us had a long talk.”

Jacody fixed Guy a plate, poured himself another cup of coffee as he listened to Katie’s soft encouragement to Guy as he told a story. A story of murder, ghostly visions and nightmares. A story that six months ago Jacody would have scoffed at. A young kid’s imagination.

Maybe Billy had been right. Maybe the kid just needed some help. Maybe.

“Breakfast is ready,” he called out, warning them he was approaching.

He set down the plate of steaming food in front of Guy, returning to the kitchen for cups of coffee.

He turned to find Katie at his elbow. “Let me give you a hand. I think he needs a few minutes alone.”

Jacody handed her a cup, leaned against the counter. “Was that all true?  The stuff about the priest?”

“Yes, it was all true.” Katie sipped her coffee, deep in thought. Since yesterday, as her heart grew weaker, her connection to Aaron grew stronger. She knew things. Things there was no explanation for, except through Aaron’s memories. And she’d known Guy Tomlinson. Known immediately he knew Lydia.

“It’s really sort of strange, being me, but thinking Aaron’s thoughts. Feeling his feelings.”

Jacody took a drink of coffee, watching her. Every time he looked at her a fresh wave of pain flowed out from behind the curtain. Jacody hated this part. He’d never known Miranda, and yet he was cursed with Gavin’s memories. His feelings. And Katie looked so much like Miranda. Her hair, her smile, even the way she held her head, slightly tilted to one side. How could two people look so much alike, and yet be so different. Miranda had been fire and ice. Warm and passionate beyond belief in her personal life, and yet cold and fierce in the courtroom. She’d single handedly put more criminals behind bars than all the other prosecutors in Virginia. She had no time for compassion, accepted no excuses. A crime was a crime, and the punishment must fit the crime.

Katie on the other hand was softer. Even in her most passionate moments she would hold back. Never freely give her all. Katie was a thinker. Miranda was a doer.

Jacody heard the sound of the Glock being cocked again. “Dammit,” he muttered, pushing Katie aside as he rushed back to the living room. Guy was standing by the mantle, eyes swollen even more now, redder.

“Guy, what are you doing?” Jacody stretched out his hand. “Give me the gun, son.”

“Don’t matter. Nothing don’t matter no more. Miss Charity’s gone. I know he killed her.”

“Give me the gun, Guy. Whatever is wrong we’ll fix it. I promise.”

“Can you hear her?” Guy turned his eyes toward the window, gazing at something in the distance. Something only he could see. Listening to something only he could hear.

“Give me the gun, Guy.” Jacody tried to keep his voice low, but felt it rising. He had to reach him somehow. Wake him from whatever nightmare he was caught up in.

The cabin door burst inward. Jacody felt the warm air as the bullet whisked by his head. Heard the thud as it struck flesh. Katie’s scream.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 66

Sheriff Tomlinson stood in the doorway of the cabin, pistol drawn, face contorted with emotion. He stared at Jacody, lips moving soundlessly.

Katie recovered first. Rushing across the room she knelt in front of Guy and felt for a pulse. She raised tearful eyes, shook her head.

Jacody felt the blinding rage building, the clenching and unclenching of his hands. The need to hurt. Maim. Kill. He exploded on Tomlinson. “Why?”

The Sheriff trembled, brought the gun to bear on Jacody’s chest. “He was gonna kill you. Just like he killed her.”

“He was putting the gun down.” Jacody swallowed his rage at the sound of Katie’s sobs, turned his back on the Sheriff and went to her pulling her to her feet, into his arms. “He wasn’t going to hurt anybody.”

The Sheriff holstered his gun, ran a hand over his eyes. “He was gonna kill you.”

Jacody led Katie to the couch, picked up a blanket and covered Guy’s body. “Keep saying it, Sheriff. Maybe you’ll start to believe it yourself.”

The Sheriff continued to stand in the doorway, bowed his head as tears trickled down his roughened cheeks. “He was gonna kill you,” he repeated, “just like he killed Billy and Miss Charity.”

Jacody felt the knife strike deep and hard inside his chest.  He’d gotten too close.  Everyone you get close to dies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 67

Billy closed the suitcase and walked through the rooms of the small cabin he’d called home for two years. Not a lot of possessions, but then he’d always had to travel light. No time for lasting friendships. No time to fall in love. Start a family. And he’d never really wanted that--until now.

Katie’s image flashed through his mind. Miss Charity. Jacody. He’d gotten too close. Felt their pain. Their losses. Losses he now understood. To love so deeply. And lose. Lose all the things that made life worth living. To know that you would wake with that ache inside every day for the rest of your life. He couldn’t bear it. And yet he had no choice. Just as Jacody never really had a choice.

Billy knew that now. Knew that like him, Jacody had never had to debate whether evil existed. He was born knowing it was there. A cunning predator, silently stalking its prey. Lurking in the shadows. Waiting. Patiently waiting for the delicate balance to shift. Give it power. Grant it life. Feeding on lies and manipulation. Anger and hate. Growing stronger as it chipped away at the soul. Destroying the light until there was nothing left but the darkness.

Too many gave in to the darkness. The evil had been there. Inside Jacody. Billy had felt it. Smelled it. But it wasn’t that simple. It would never be that simple again. The potential for evil existed in all humanity. Even me, he thought. He’d felt it when he found Guy, bloody and beaten. Felt it when he found Miss Charity taken. It wasn’t destiny. It was choices.

That was what his grandmother had known. What his great-grandfather had known. Miss Charity had been right. Jacody was a good man. He would never regret his decision. And he wasn’t going to regret the one he was making now. He’d never wanted much in life, but now he wanted the same thing Aaron Davidson had sought on that cliff. Absolution.

# # #

“They’ll be finished in a minute.”

Katie nodded, but said nothing.

Jacody joined her on the bed. She hadn’t said a word since Guy had been shot. She was pale. Too pale.

“Are you okay?” He asked gently, touching her hand.

Shaking her head, she looked at him, green eyes brimming with tears. “Billy.”

The knife twisted. He’d been so caught up in his own pain over the loss of Miss Charity that he’d missed the signs. Jealousy coursed through him, followed by a strange calmness. “She isn’t Miranda.”

Jacody looked at her, really looked for the first time. No, she wasn’t Miranda. Miranda was gone. He couldn’t change that. Couldn’t bring her back. But Katie wasn’t lost yet, and he wasn’t going to lose her.

“Don’t tell me you bought that story?” Jacody lifted her head, stared into her eyes. “Do you really believe Billy was capable of killing Lydia?  Or that Guy was capable of killing Billy?”

The knife turned, went deeper as the color returned to her face, light to her eyes.

“No, I’ll never believe that,” she shrieked jumping up from the bed. “And Guy wasn’t capable of killing anyone.”

“Shh. . .,” Jacody pulled her back down. “They’re not gone yet.”

“So what are we going to do?” Katie demanded. She was angry. Angry that she’d simply sat there, let them say the things they’d said, and even more angry that for just a moment she’d believed them.

“Why didn’t you tell them?  Guy didn’t kill anyone. And neither did Billy.”

Jacody shushed her, listening to the sounds of mumbled voices in the living room. “I know. But Davidson lied, and there’s still a killer out there.”

“Lied about what?”

“All the papers carried the story of Jeanie Tomlinson’s death. The fact she’d been murdered. Her heart cut out. And Davidson lied about the fake death certificate.”

“But why. . .”

Jacody shushed her again, pushing a stray curl away from her eyes. “Don’t trust anyone, Katie. Not yet. And don’t let anyone know just how many of Aaron’s memories you have.”

Katie scowled. How ironic, she thought. I’m dying and someone wants to kill me. Still there were things on her list she wanted to do before she died, and she wasn’t going to let anyone take that away from her. Not again.

“So what are we going to do?” She asked again, impatience dripping from every word. “I’m not going to just sit here all day.”

Jacody sighed. This was a side of Katie he hadn’t seen so far. The stubborn, bureaucratic side of things need to be done, get them done. Now. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

“You’re going to find Billy, and I’m going to find out what the Sheriff isn’t telling us.”

Katie nodded, sat up straight. This was what she’d needed all along. A good old fashioned fight. Billy wasn’t dead, and Lydia’s killer was still out there. They thought they’d won, but they hadn’t. She wasn’t dead. Yet. And she wasn’t going down without a fight, or without doing what she came here to do.

“I’ll check out Billy’s house. I’m pretty sure he won’t be there.” Jacody continued talking, planning. “Miss Charity had another cabin. See if you can find it. Odds are Billy’s staying there.”

Katie nodded again, her own mind planning her next move. She was going to find Billy first, but she was also going to confront Claire. She knew something. Katie was sure of it.

The living room had grown silent and Jacody stood up, pulling Katie with him.

“Promise me you’ll be careful.”

Katie smiled for what felt like the first time in days. “I’ll be careful.” And she would. But for the first time since she’d come here she felt good. Like her old self. Finally in charge of her own destiny. And ready to kick some ass.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 68

Jacody found the house easily, parked down the street and made his way along the back of the property line. A dog barked and he stopped, holding his breath as lights flashed on and off in a neighboring home.

“Shut up, Bozo.”

Jacody grinned, feeling a slight remorse for Bozo’s chastisement. He was only trying to protect his property.

Crime scene tape was strung loosely across the front door. And the door was unlocked. Evidently Sheriff Tomlinson was unfamiliar with the philosophy of the criminal returning to the scene of the crime.

Jacody felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as he entered the house. Not a good sign. He pulled the Glock from his waistband and stepped lightly through the kitchen. Moonlight cast eerie shadows on the walls. The sink was piled with dirty dishes. He stopped, listened. Silence. Which didn’t mean a damn thing, Jacody thought. Good killers were always silent--until they killed you.

Slipping quietly from room to room, Jacody checked each one for signs of struggle. Nothing. The house was empty, and appeared to have been empty for some time. Entering the second bedroom he stopped at the entrance. The room was in shambles, clothes littered the floor. He recognized the biker jacket. Guy had stayed here. That would explain the dirty dishes in the sink, which had seemed out of character for Billy. “What were you and Billy up to, Guy?”

A door creaked behind him in the hallway. A door that Jacody was sure had been closed just moments before. Rob was right. He was slipping. If I was going to hold somebody prisoner where would I put them?

“Thanks, Guy. I owe you one.”

Jacody opened the door to the basement wider, cringing as it squeaked on rusty hinges. He peered into the darkness feeling the cold wind blowing upward. Someone had left a door or window open down there.

Holding the Glock firmly in one hand Jacody felt his way down by the banister. A musty, dank odor filled his nostrils.

The steps creaked under his weight and Jacody held his breath again, listening for sounds from below as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The back door was partially open, hanging from its hinges. An old couch and table filled the center of the room. A small TV had been placed in one corner.

His foot slipped on the bottom step and he knelt, touched the liquid, sniffed his fingers. Blood. Fresh blood. Too fresh to have been here for hours.

Jacody backed away from the scene moving slowly toward the back door. He scanned the outside. The basement was below street level, the drive extending all the way to the back door. Pulling out his penlight he flashed the small beam around the room. A small pool of blood was at the foot of the steps. Bloody footprints tracked to the back door. Green eyes stared at him from the corner of the room. Mystique. Miss Charity’s cat. So that was why Tomlinson had connected her with this scene.

Jacody felt the wrongness. The fresh blood. Bloody foot prints that stopped at the doorway going nowhere. And the blood was fresh. Planted. A cover up for something else.

He paused, hearing the door open upstairs, footsteps cross the kitchen floor. The Sheriff’s voice was distinctive, but he couldn’t make out the mumbled words.

Jacody continued to listen, gun ready, as the footsteps went down the hall. Something dropped to the floor. A hoarse cry of pain. “Why?  Oh, God, why?”

Turning off the penlight, Jacody holstered the Glock. Retreating quietly, he squeezed out the partially open door, climbed the slight hill and headed toward his car. The Sheriff hadn’t been looking for him. Jacody recognized the grief in his voice. The anguished cry of a man fighting his own demons--and losing the battle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whisper to me with eyes that cannot lie

Touch my cheek with truth

Sing unto my soul a soothing song

This moment is fleeting

Our masks have slipped

A short time of nakedness

Your smile is a razor

It cuts away the callousness

My breath is a baptism

Wash your unclean memories

The short embrace of our hearts

Fades like morning dew

Charles W. Prather, Jr.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 69

Katie struggled to keep the car on the narrow winding road. She didn’t know how she knew, but somewhere just ahead she would find Billy. He wasn’t dead. She’d know it if he was. That much she was sure of.

She wasn’t quite sure what she was going to do when she found him. How to approach him. What to say. She hadn’t seen him since the kiss. What if she was wrong?  What if he didn’t feel the same way she did?

“Follow your heart.”

The car rounded the last curve and she saw him, standing next to the Blazer, his long dark hair blowing in the wind. Relief washed over her at the same time she felt a twinge of guilt for leaving Jacody. There was just so little time left. So few precious moments in life.

Pulling in behind the Blazer she parked. He was leaving. And she knew why. Knew what he intended to do. What he thought he had to do. He was wrong. Somehow she had to show him that.

Stepping from the car she scanned his face, seeking answers to questions she was afraid to ask. “The Sheriff said Guy killed you and Miss Charity.”

Billy frowned, taking a step toward her. “Why would he say that?”

Katie closed the distance between them, touched his face. “Guy’s dead, Billy. Sheriff Tomlinson killed him.”

Billy shuddered, pulling her into his arms. He was too late. Guy wasn’t supposed to die. None of them were supposed to die.

Katie felt him pull away, even before he stepped back, holding her at arm’s length. She missed the warmth of his body against hers, the strength of his arms around her. His face was a mask of emotions. Pain. Confusion. Love. And guilt. The guilt was etched from the grim set of his lips, to the fading light in the dark brown eyes.

“No, you don’t have to go. You want to go. You think by doing something noble, sacrificing yourself you can change everyone’s destiny.” Katie stepped closer to him, drew in a deep breath. This was a battle she couldn’t afford to lose. For if she lost it she lost everything. “You can’t, Billy. None of this is your fault.”

Billy looked deep into the depths of the green eyes, seeing hope slide away, feeling the tearing pain of loss he didn’t know if he was strong enough to bear. Death approaching. Jacody. Miss Charity. Katie.

Katie continued, “I need you, and I want you to stay here with me. But I won’t ask you to stay. Not unless you want to.”

“What is it you’re not saying, Katie?”

She smiled at him, eyes slightly wet, breath warm against his face. She loved him. And the last thing on her list of things to do on death row. “Get boinked by a good looking guy.”

“I want you to make love to me. Just one night. That’s all I’m asking. I want to know what it’s like to be a real woman.”

Billy heard what wasn’t said, a hard hit in the pit of his stomach. “I’m dying and I’m afraid. I love you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He reached for her, his lips closing softly on hers. An unspoken promise. A meeting of souls shattered by the pain of life. A moment in time. It was all anyone was promised, and for now he’d take it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 70

“What are you doing?”

Katie found Claire going through old boxes, scanning clippings before tossing them aside to pull out the next one. She sat down beside her.

“You really are a pack rat, you know.”

Claire glared at her. “I guess we all know what you’ve been doing.”

Katie was shocked by the venom in Claire’s voice. Still, she was a grown woman. She could do whatever she wanted, with whomever she wanted. “I don’t think that’s really any of your business, Claire.”

“How could you?” Claire flung boxes back into the closet, turning on Katie. “Aaron died for you. And what do you do?  You’re a whore, just like she was.”

“Claire, calm down.” Katie stood up, stepping backwards, away from Claire. “Are you talking about Lydia?”

Claire clung to the picture she’d taken from the last box, her hands trembling, eyes gleaming with madness. “I can’t remember. Why can’t I remember, Katie?”

Claire broke down, her body shaking with sobs.

Kneeling beside her Katie took Claire into her arms and rocked her back and forth like a child. She stared at the picture of the young woman still clutched in Claire’s hand. The deep blue eyes speaking words as only the eyes can. “My name is Lydia. Find me. Take me home.”

Katie poured two cups of tea and carried them to the living room. Claire sat, hands clutched tightly in her lap, just as Katie had left her.

“Drink this.” Katie placed the cup in her hands, waiting until she was sure Claire had a grip on it. Taking a seat across from Claire, she sipped her own tea, a strange feeling washing over her. “Claire, tell me about Lydia.”

Claire closed her eyes, fresh tears squeezing out from the tightly closed lids. “Aaron was so passionate about her. So sure he could save her. Help her find her way.” Claire stopped talking, shuddered. “Then Simon came back and everything just goes black.”

Katie frowned, trying to sort facts from emotional upheaval. “So what did Simon’s coming back have to do with Lydia?”

Claire took a sip of tea, fighting for composure. “Aaron had asked me to help him with Lydia. He’d finally converted her. She needed money to go home. Simon came by the house and we went to see Aaron. Lydia was there, but something happened. She got upset. Ran away.”

“Did Aaron say anything?”

Claire shook her head. “Not then. I went back to see him later, after Simon left, and then. . .”

Claire stopped talking, her body shaking, tea fluttering out of the cup splashing across her legs. She didn’t seem to even notice.

“I can’t remember anything after that, Katie. Aaron wouldn’t talk to me. He, he, he had the nightmares.” Claire tried to continue through her sobs. “He left me all alone.”

Katie rose, kneeling before Claire, once again taking her into her arms. “He didn’t leave you, Claire. As long as his memory is in your heart, he’s always with you.”

Claire shoved her away, eyes flashing, voice dripping with hatred. “He left me. For you. A whore just like her.”

“Save her.”

Katie heard Aaron’s voice, felt his presence. His strength. His love. Now, if she could only find his words.

“I’m sorry, Claire. Aaron loved you. And even if you don’t believe me, Claire, I love you.”

Reaching out Katie touched the fiery red birthmark on Claire’s face. “God loves you.”

“Oh, God, help me Katie. Please help me.”

The hatred was gone, the venom. Leaving behind only pain, confusion and overwhelming grief.

Katie sat down on the couch beside her, placed an arm around the still shaking shoulders as she breathed a sigh of relief. “We’ll get through this Claire. I promise. With Aaron’s help, we’ll both get through this.”

# # #

Rob slammed down the phone. “Dammit, Carl, he promised he’d stay in touch.”

Carl grunted, lit a cigarette. “Should a known he wouldn’t play by the rules. Never has.”

Carl grinned, blowing smoke in Rob’s direction. “Hell, that’s one of the things we like about him.”

“Yeah, and blowing smoke at me is one of the things I don’t like about you,” Rob snarled, waving his hands in front of his face. “I’ll have to take a shower and change before I see Cory or she won’t let me near her.”

Carl snickered. “Told you so. Put that ring on their finger and they put a ring through your nose.”

Rob blushed. “Yeah, well I happen to like that ring. And I haven’t asked her yet.”

Carl stared at his partner, reading between the lines. “So when are you two leaving?” Carl’s mood had turned somber.

“Yesterday, if Cory had her way. She’s been driving me crazy ever since I told her.”

“You tell her about Jacody?”

Rob shrugged. “I tried. I don’t think she understands.”

Carl nodded. “I’ll keep trying to reach him, let him know what I find out in Washington.”

“Thanks, Carl. Cory and I are planning on leaving first thing in the morning. With the weather I figure it’ll take us at least a day and half to get there. I’ll call you,” Rob smirked, “I promise.”

Carl stood up, stubbed out the cigarette. “Still think I should go with you. Don’t like you boys pulling this Lone Ranger shit on me. Don’t like it at all.”

Rob grinned, sensing Carl’s frustration and anger in every step as he headed for the door. “Last time I looked, Carl, I was an FBI agent. All grown up.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 71

Jacody woke to the sharp rapping on the door. He’d fallen into an exhausted sleep in the early morning hours. He hadn’t even undressed. The sun steaming through the window told him it was mid morning.

“I’m coming!” He yelled, his patience with people wearing thin. Jerking open the door he scowled in anger. “What the hell. . .”

Katie took a step backwards.

Jacody ran a hand through his messed up hair, gave her a sheepish grin and opened the door wider. “Sorry. I’ve been a little tense.”

Katie shook her head. “I should have called first. How about I make the coffee while you shower and dress.”

Jacody took her up on the offer, coming out thirty minutes later cleaner and in better spirits. He stopped in the doorway. Katie was sitting on the couch, stroking Mariah’s fur. But that wasn’t what had stopped him.

“I see you found, Billy.”

Katie laughed, joy radiating on her face. “Am I that transparent?”

Jacody shook his head, following her lead. Keep it light, Ives, he thought. He nodded to Mariah. “How’d she get in here?”

“She knocked on the door, I answered it.”

“Mariah, meet Katie.” Jacody bent down to stroke the soft fur. “Katie, this is Mariah.”

Katie laughed again. “She wants us to take a walk with her.”

“She talks to you?”

“In her own way she talks to all of us.”

Jacody followed Mariah and Katie up the ridge, watching as they scampered playfully in the snow. They were wasting time. Time he wasn’t sure they had to waste. He had a million questions he needed to ask her. Things they had to talk about. A deep ache filled his chest as he watched them frolicking in the snow. Loneliness. Katie was happy. For the moment that was enough.

The snowball hit him hard, splashing into his eyes and hair.

“Come on, slow poke.” Katie scooped up another handful of snow. “Or do I have to hit you again?”

Jacody grinned at her, scooping up his own handful of snow, but missing her intentionally by a mile as Mariah ran between the two, playfully brushing against their legs.

They reached the ridge and Jacody brushed snow from a fallen log, sitting down to watch Mariah. He’d missed her.

“You should do this more often.” Katie spoke quietly beside him.

“There never was enough time.”

Katie heard the unspoken words. “And no one I wanted to be with.”

She reached for his hand, holding it firmly between her own. “Didn’t Miss Charity tell you that you were never alone?”

Jacody laughed out loud, the sound strange given his present mood. “Every time I saw her.”

“They’ve always been with you.”

“Who?” He asked, although in his heart he knew the answer. He’d always known the answer.

“The spirits.”

Mariah stopped her romping, came to Jacody and nuzzled his hand, growling softly. She raised her head as if to howl, but instead headed over the ridge, disappearing into the trees.

“So, if Mariah and Tall Feather are spirits, who are you?”

Brushing his check with a feather light kiss, Katie squeezed the hand she was holding. “The same thing all of this was. A moment in time.”

Jacody swallowed the lump in his throat, remembering his mantra. Don’t get close. The people who get close to you die.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 72

The white wolf howled. Billy pulled the Blazer to the side of the road and parked. A vision inside the cabin flashed before his eyes. For a moment the pain overwhelmed him. He’d lost Guy. It wasn’t supposed to happen that way.

The passenger door opened, Tall Feather slipped inside closing the door behind him.

“Thank you for coming.” Billy started to speak, stopped as he noticed the toothless grin.

“Young buck needed lesson.”

Tall Feather turned, eyed him. “He knew, yet he saved the wolf.”

Billy sighed in relief as understanding flowed through him. The return of what he’d lost. Only a good man would save the instrument of his own destruction. “Trust me, sir, I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Not yet.”

Billy cringed under the stare. “Miss Charity?”

Tall Feather didn’t answer.

Pain flowed through him again, followed by guilt. “Jacody?  Katie?”

Tall Feather still didn’t answer. They sat in silence, watching the fading light of day.

“Does she know?” Billy asked, his eyes still locked on a distant vision, a world seen by a chosen few.

“She knows.” Tall Feather clasped his shoulder, his grip strong.

“How long?” Billy asked, his voice filled with emotion.

Tall Feather opened the door to the jeep and stepped into the chilly night air. “Go.”

Billy closed his eyes. There was no time to grieve for Guy. For Jacody. He was running out of time. He had to find Miss Charity, and he had to get back in time to save Katie.

The earth shifted as Billy spread out his mind, searching, expanding, covering ground at the speed of light. He pulled her image close to his heart, her warmth, touching her energy. He felt her, followed her, zeroed in on the feeling and stepped back from it. The old barn. The burned out foundation of a house long overgrown. The slight disturbance of the ground. The fresh earth. He pulled back farther, distancing himself from the scene, back to the edge of the road, the road sign. Tarheel. He knew where she was.

Taking a deep breath Billy pushed forward again, entered the earth, down the dark steps to the concrete floor below. She was there, sitting quietly against the wall, hands bloody from where she’d pounded on the concrete cover at the top of the stairs.

“Darn you, Billy Dawson. Where are you?”

He pushed closer, touched her gently. “I’m coming Miss Charity.”

# # #

The cabin was warm, the coffee strong and hot, and the old sofa had never felt so comfortable. Jacody was reluctant to break the spell.

Katie stirred beside him. “Billy went to find Miss Charity.”

Jacody sat up straight. “He knows where she is?”

Katie shook her head. “Not yet, but he will. He went to see Tall Feather.”

Rage flowed through him as he stood up, pacing in front of the fireplace. He’d didn’t like being the brunt of their joke. “I’ll be damned. I should have seen it. Should have known the two of them were in cahoots. If they’ve hurt her. . .”

Katie stood up, faced him, anger flashing in her eyes. “It isn’t like that at all. And you may well be damned if you don’t wake up and understand that killing isn’t the only answer.”

Jacody flinched, opened his mouth, closed it.

“After all that Billy did for you.” Katie was on a tirade. “He gave up everything to give you a fighting chance. He sold his soul.”

“He did what!” Jacody shouted, finally finding his voice.

Running out of steam, Katie sat back down. “I don’t understand it all. Something about evil growing inside you. He was just supposed to summon Mariah, but Miss Charity believed in you. Loved you. So he couldn’t do it. He called upon the Elders. Pleaded for your life.”

Jacody sat down next to her. He didn’t know what to say. The story was preposterous, crazy, and yet. . .

“The Elders granted his wish, but they demanded a sacrifice. Tall Feather came, but Billy lost his gift, and if you fail, he’ll lose his soul. That’s why Mariah came also.”

“Do you know how crazy this whole thing sounds?”

Katie smiled at him, anger gone, green eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Yeah, but you know it’s true, don’t you?”

Jacody nodded. Crazy, insane, but true. Deep inside he knew it was true. “I’ll find Tall Feather, talk to him. I’m not going to let this happen.”

“No, you won’t.” Katie voice was strong, confident. The same voice she used in the boardroom. “Some things have to be just the way they have to be.”

Jacody gave her an incredulous stare. “You can’t tell me something like that, and expect me to sit here and do nothing.”

Katie returned his stare. “No, I don’t expect you to do nothing. I expect you to invite me to dinner at Herb Shank’s house tomorrow. I expect to go and have a good time. Then I expect you to come back here and prepare for the battle you know is coming.”

Katie stood up, walked toward the door, opened it. “And I expect you to win that battle, Mr. Ives. Because if you don’t, I’m going to lose the only man I could ever love, and you’re going to die.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 73

Billy jerked the shovel from the Blazer and ran. He attacked the slushy dirt with a vengeance, breathing hard. It had taken him almost eight hours to get here. She had to be cold, hungry, scared. Maybe even dying. The thought spurred him on, digging faster. The shovel struck something hard, rock like.

Kneeling Billy searched for the handle, found it and tugged, feeling the barrier give way, just enough to let in a small amount of air. He tugged harder, straining with all his strength until finally the opening was exposed. Stale air flowed upwards. He sat for a moment, catching his breath before grabbing the flashlight and heading down the steps into the darkness.

“Wake up, Miss Charity. It’s time.”

Charity opened her eyes and blinked. Her throat felt raw, and her hands hurt. Surely she wasn’t dead. Dead people didn’t feel pain, did they?

“About time you got here,” she whispered hoarsely.

Billy smiled, his face lighting up the darkness. “Yes, ma’am.”

Charity clucked and moaned. “Help me up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Billy reached down, pulling her to her feet.

“Guy’s gone, isn’t he?”

Even in the semi-darkness Charity could see the emotion flickering across the young man’s face. “Guy’s dead, ma’am.”

“Lord. Lord.” Charity felt the sadness, deep within her chest. “Such a waste. Such a terrible waste.”

“Lord. Lord.” Charity mumbled again, waiting for her legs to stop shaking, holding on to Billy. “Where’s Jacody?”

“He’s at the cabin, ma’am. Or at least he was.”

“Well, saints be praised at least for that. What are we waiting for?  Let’s go.”

“It isn’t time, Miss Charity. We’ve done all we can do. The rest is up to Jacody.”

Charity searched for words to reach him. Trying to decide if she was strong enough to take him. “Lord. Lord.”

“Here, lean on me.” Billy took her weight, leading her back up the stairs, out into the world.

“Jacody’s gonna die, ain’t he?” Charity asked the question, not truly wanting the answer. She could have saved him. She would have to live with his death for the rest of her life.

Billy waited until she was sitting down in the Blazer and then went to search for the first aid kit, avoiding her question.

“Here, we need to clean up your hands and get them bandaged.”

“Hogwash. My hands will be just fine. I asked you a question, Billy Dawson.” Charity’s voice was strong, compelling an answer.

Billy knelt beside her, gently wiping her hands with antiseptic. “The wolves inside him are fighting, ma’am.”

“Do you know?” Charity lifted her tear-stained face to his, searching the depths of his ancient eyes.

“No, ma’am.”

# # #

Katie knelt beside the tombstone, ran her hand lovingly over Aaron’s name. Tomorrow it would all be over. She’d finished most of her list of things she wanted to do. And as Miss Charity was so fond of saying, what would be would be. So many things were clear now. She wished she could tell him. Warn him. But she’d done all she could. Today would be a good day. She had today. And she was going to live it.

“I’ll be with you soon.” Katie whispered, standing up. “I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you.”

“A little morbid, don’t you think?”

“Clover?”

Katie stood still, head tilted to one side, listening. It was the first time Clover had spoken to her in a long time.

“I know a secret.”

Katie laughed, knowing anyone watching her would think her insane. But then wasn’t she?

“So are you going share it, or just tease me?”

“Everyone’s psychic, Katie. Read the cards.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 74

Jacody woke to the smell of fresh coffee, frying bacon. He sat up, momentarily confused. Something had happened. Something important.

“Katie?”

“Gone.” Tall Feather emerged from the kitchen, a piece of bacon dripping grease from his hand as he gummed at it. “Breakfast.”

“Who are you?” Jacody lashed out at him.

The old man blinked, grinned. “Tall Feather.”

Handing Jacody a cup of coffee he grinned again. “Drink. Clear head.”

“Yeah, you used three words. I can already see it’s going to be a great day.”

The old man cackled, gumming away on another piece of bacon. “I tell you story.”

Tall Feather made himself comfortable on the couch, rubbing his greasy hands on the fabric.

“I, too, at times have a great hatred for those who have taken so much with no sorrow for what they do. But hate wears you down, and does not hurt your enemy.

“It is like taking poison and wishing your enemy would die. I have struggled with these feelings many times.”

Jacody watched in silence as the old man stood up, disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a cup of coffee, picking up where he left off.

“It is as if there are two wolves inside me. One is good and does no harm. He lives in harmony with all around him and does not take offense when no offense is intended.

“He will only fight when it is right to do so, and in the right way.

“But the other wolf, ah! He is full of anger. The littlest thing will send him into a fit of temper.

“He fights everyone, all the time. For no reason.

“He cannot think because his anger and hate are so great. It is helpless anger, for his anger will change nothing.”

Tall Feather slurped his coffee, eyes distant, focused on things Jacody knew he would never see.

“Sometimes it is hard to live with those two wolves inside me, for both of them try to dominate my spirit.”

Jacody waited, but Tall Feather had stopped talking. In fact, he was moving as if he planned on just leaving without another word. “What about the third wolf?”

Tall Feather shook his head. “No third wolf. Only demon.”

Jacody sank back into the chair. Tall Feather had only said what he’d known all along. “So, what if I’m not the good wolf?  How do I stop the demon?”

Tall Feather smiled, rose, opened the door and headed for the ridge. “Don’t feed him,” he called over his shoulder.

Jacody rushed after him, stopping just outside the door as he realized he was barefoot.

“What the hell does that mean?” Jacody cried out as he watched Tall Feather trudge up the ridge.

“Tall Feather!”

Tall Feather stopped at the top, raised his hand in farewell and disappeared.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 75

Jacody looked down at Mariah. “Damn,” he cursed. He’d nicked himself again. Katie was going to be here any minute, and he wasn’t ready. He shouldn’t even be here. He should be out finding Lydia’s killer. Finding Miss Charity. But he’d promised Katie. Not in so many words, but the promise had hung there between them.

Mariah whimpered, lay down at his feet, tail wagging just like any other dog. Only she wasn’t a dog. Jacody had thought when Tall Feather disappeared before his eyes that he would never see Mariah again. He should have known. He knew why she was here.

“Any words of wisdom?” Jacody left the bathroom and rummaged through the closet, discarding one shirt after another. He really hadn’t packed for socializing. Mariah pushed past him, nipping a light blue shirt and pulling it forward.

“Blue, huh?” Jacody took the shirt and checked it for stains. Not his favorite, but certainly his best at the moment.

“Anything else?”

Mariah seemed to seriously study the remaining clothes in the closet. After study she nipped a pair of gray slacks with her teeth and pulled them forward.

Jacody took the slacks frowning. He didn’t remember packing any dress pants, but there they were.

He finished dressing, pulling on black boots and a dark blue sweater. He definitely wasn’t the picture of fashion, but not bad. Besides he had the feeling Mr. and Mrs. Shanks wouldn’t care how he was dressed.

A slight knock sounded at the door.

Jacody stopped, stroked Mariah’s head. Katie had been furious with him when she left. “Wish me luck, girl.”

Mariah whined softly, padding after him to the door.

Jacody opened the door, searching her face. She smiled, held up a small package. “Merry Christmas.”

Jacody flushed. He’d totally forgotten presents.

“You can give me my present later.”

Jacody knew what she was talking about. What she expected. Needed.

“Now, grab your coat, I’m starving.”

Mariah whined softly, nudging in between them. “What’s wrong, girl?” Jacody knelt stroking the soft fur, gazing into the emerald eyes.

Katie knelt beside him. “She wanted to say goodbye.”

Jacody found he couldn’t speak, couldn’t get the words past the lump in his throat. He’d said far too many goodbyes in his lifetime. Mariah nuzzled his hand and growled softly before racing toward the ridge.

“Anything wrong?” Jacody noted Katie’s slight worried look, her silence. He’d been so wrapped up in his own thoughts, his own grief over Mariah that he’d completely ignored her feelings. “Have you heard from Billy?”

Katie shook her head. “I’m worried about Claire.”

Jacody took his eyes from the road, glanced at her.

“She wasn’t happy about my leaving tonight. Said she and Aaron always spent Christmas Eve together.”

“But you came anyway?”

“Some things have to be the way they are.”

Jacody felt the shiver down his spine. Reaching over he took her hand, squeezed it gently. “Christmas, remember?  Miracles can happen.”

Except for his question about Billy they’d avoided talking about what had happened that morning. “I’m not going to fail, Katie.”

She didn’t answer, but squeezed his hand.

Jacody breathed a sigh of relief as the Shanks’ house came into view. He should have called. What if they’d forgotten?

“He didn’t forget,” Katie whispered.

The front door opened and Herb Shanks came out on the porch as they pulled to a stop. Smiling from ear to ear he waved them in.

They stomped their feet, dislodging as much snow as possible from their shoes before entering the warmth of the small farmhouse permeated with smells of delicious things.

Jacody and Katie were still laughing when they finally arrived back at the cabin. Jacody groaned, rubbing his stomach. “I ate far too much.”

“Me, too.”

Even through the laughter, Jacody heard the strain in her voice. It had been fun. Katie had made sure it was fun. A pleasant interlude before all hell broke loose.

“It’s coming isn’t it?”

Katie turned to him, nodded. “You’re ready now. As ready as you can be.”

“What about you?”

“I have to go. My destiny lies elsewhere.”

Jacody walked her to the car, stood staring down at her. “I’m not going to see you again, am I?”

Katie touched his face gently. “A part of me will always be with you. You’ll find it when you need it.”

Katie watched him in the rearview mirror as she drove slowly down the driveway. She wanted to stop, turn around, tell him. But she couldn’t. She’d done what Clover told her to. Read the cards.

Pulling onto the main highway Katie turned away from town. She hadn’t lied to him. Her destiny did lie in a different direction. If she wanted to live--she had to die.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 76

Charity looked at Billy suspiciously. “Yous’ done something to it, didn’t yous’?

Billy grimaced as he banged his head on the raised hood. “As God is my witness, Miss Charity, I didn’t.”

“Lord, Lord.” Charity grumbled, climbing back inside out of the frigid wind. They’d been sitting here all night. It was Christmas day. Wasn’t nobody she’d rather spend it with than Billy, but Jacody needed them.

Billy closed the hood, climbed in beside her, rubbing his hands together for warmth. “Keep your fingers crossed.”

The engine turned over on the first turn of the key.

“About time.” Miss Charity barked, sending a silent thank you to God.

Billy turned up the heat. “Let’s go home, Miss Charity.”

# # #

“I’m telling you, Simon, she would have called.”

Claire paced frantically from the living room to the kitchen, wringing her hands. Something was wrong. She knew. Felt it. Just like with Aaron.

“Something’s happened to her.” Claire whined as a knock sounded on the door.

Simon opened the door on the first knock, surprised to find Sheriff Tomlinson there.

“Dan?  Something wrong?”

Tomlinson removed his hat, stepped inside. “I was hoping you could tell me, Simon.”

Simon took a step backwards, away from the Sheriff’s icy glare.

“It’s Katie isn’t it?  I told you something happened to her, Simon.” Claire pulled at the Sheriff’s arm. “Tell me where she is.”

Sheriff Tomlinson pulled the clinging fingers from his sleeve. “Katie’s fine as far as I know.” He turned his gaze back to Simon. “But you and I need to talk.”

Simon laughed shakily. “Sure, Dan. Come on in. Claire, honey, could you get us some coffee?”

“Not here.”

“All right, Dan. Just let me get my coat and settle Claire down and I’ll be right with you.”

Simon waited until the Sheriff headed back to his car, pulled on his coat.

“Simon, what’s going on?” Claire asked, coming up behind him. “What did the Sheriff want?”

Simon smiled at her, kissed her on the forehead. “Daddy’s little girl. Nothing for you to worry about, sweetie. I want you to just sit on the couch and wait for me, okay?”

“Okay, daddy.”

Simon waited until the Sheriff pulled away from the house before speaking. “You want to tell me what this is all about, Dan, and where the hell we’re going?”

The Sheriff remained silent, hands gripped tightly around the steering wheel. “Tell me about Jeanie.”

Simon frowned, shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “It’s Christmas, Dan. You don’t want to talk about that.”

“Yeah, Simon, I think I do.”

The Sheriff pulled into his driveway, parked and got out. “Get out, Simon.”

Simon obeyed, watching the Sheriff carefully. Following him inside the house.

“Sit down.”

Once again Simon obeyed.  The Sheriff was pacing the small kitchen like a caged animal working himself into a real rage. “You lied to me, Simon!”

Simon leaned back in the chair, hands still shoved into his coat pockets. He’d seen the autopsy papers lying on the counter. He sneered. “Everybody lies, Dan. Some people are just too stupid to see it.”

Simon moved quickly, barely giving the Sheriff time to turn around before he pulled the trigger. Always be prepared. That was his motto.

“Hello,” Simon answered the cell phone that had been vibrating for the last five minutes as he watched the Sheriff fall.

“My car?  Well, a friend borrowed it last night. We were getting kind of worried.” Simon listened, his lips curving around the edges. “I see. No, I’m sure you’re right. She couldn’t possibly have survived that. Please let me know when you’ve retrieved the body.”

Closing the phone Simon looked down at the Sheriff’s body and smiled. So little Katie went off a cliff. Convenient. Christmas was turning out to be a joyful occasion after all. Two down. One to go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 77

Billy grinned when he saw the young couple stranded on the side of the road. Suddenly it all made sense. He knew why Miss Charity had been taken to Tarheel. Why the car wouldn’t start until this morning. He slowed the Blazer.

“Don’t you stop, Billy Dawson. We ain’t got time for this.”

“Some things you just gotta make time for, Miss Charity.”

Billy pulled the car over, parked and cut the engine. Opening the door he stepped out and waited as the couple approached.

“God, are we glad to see you,” Rob stuck out his hand. “Rob Walker.” He turned pulling Cory close. She stuck out her hand.

“I’m Corrine Larson.”

“Billy Dawson.” Billy opened the back door. “Get in, we’ll give you a ride to the cabin. This is Miss Charity.”

Rob noticed the huge black woman sitting in the front seat, hands bandaged, scowling at them. She didn’t look happy at all to see them. He hesitated, something he’d missed. Something on the tip of his tongue. Rob moved in front of Cory, shielding her. The deputy had said he’d give them a ride to the cabin. “How did you know where we were going?”

Billy smiled at him, a dazzling smile that went all the way to the deep brown eyes. “Gavin. You’re Rob right?”

Rob still hesitated. Charity stuck her head out the Blazer door. “Get in, stay out. Don’t make no never mind to me, but we can’t keep wasting time.”

“Rob?” Cory shivered behind him. The air was turning steadily colder.

Rob continued to eye the deputy. There was something about him that wasn’t quite right. “You know Gavin?”

Billy motioned to the back seat. “I know both of them. And Miss Charity’s right. We’re wasting time. If you want to see either of them alive you’ll get in.”

# # #

Jacody wasn’t sure what to expect, but he’d prepared for the worst. He’d even kept his promise and left Rob a note, explaining as best he could. Perhaps if there’d been more time. Grabbing extra ammunition for the Glock, he went back to the living room window. Time had run out. A car was approaching fast. Destiny.

He watched from the window as the Sheriff’s car approached. He should have known the Sheriff was behind it. Him and Davidson.

“Come out of there, Ives, or the girl dies.”

“You’re going to kill her anyway!” Jacody yelled back, watching the road. The Sheriff wasn’t with them, but he was probably right behind them.

Davidson laughed. “Maybe. Maybe not. But if you don’t come out, you know I will.”

Jacody heard the sound of the gun cocking. “Save her.”

Pushing the demon down, he gritted his teeth. “You haven’t won yet, you son-of-a-bitch.” He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t have Claire’s blood on his hands.

Opening the door he tossed out the Glock, held his hands above his head.

“Where’s Katie?”

“Dead.”

Something in the matter of fact way Simon said it convinced Jacody he was telling the truth. Davidson laughed, climbing out of the car, gun pointed at Jacody’s heart. “You really are a schmuck, aren’t you?  You think I’d kill my own daughter?” He glanced lovingly at Claire. “Daddy’s little girl.”

Claire giggled, opening the car door.

Simon motioned toward the cabin. “Let’s all go in and get comfy.”

Simon motioned again toward the cabin, backing Jacody inside with the gun.

“Why Katie?  Why’d you killed her?”

Claire stomped her foot. “No, daddy, you promised I could cut it out.”

Simon placated her. “Now, Claire, honey, we can’t have everything. I’ll let you have this one.”

Jacody continued to back towards the sofa. Looking for an opportunity. He wanted to hurt someone. Kill someone. “Where’s the Sheriff?  Figured he’d want to be here to see this.”

Simon snickered, motioning Jacody to the chair. “Yeah, well he couldn’t make it. Stepped in front of a bullet.”

Jacody sat down, mind racing. Simon was keeping Claire between them.

“Tie him up, honey. Then we’ll have some fun.”

Claire clapped her hands. “Oh, goody.” She raced out to the car returning seconds later with a rope. She wound it tight around Jacody’s arms and torso, pulling until his skin gave way against the pressure, blood trickled down his arms.

Jacody grimaced as the rope burned his flesh. He glared at Claire, hatred seething in his eyes. The demon laughed. “See what you sacrificed us for?”

“What about Miss Charity?  Where is she?”

Simon snickered again. “Probably dead by now. Couldn’t burn her at the stake like she deserved, so I buried her. Nosey old bitch.”

The darkness pulled him closer. Sharp claws sinking in, climbing upwards.

“Tell me about Lydia.”

Simon sat down, lit a cigarette and made himself comfortable. Jacody could feel Claire’s hands on his head. She ran them over his hair, his face, down to his shirt. Tugging and slicing she pulled until the shirt ripped free from his body. She ran her hands lovingly over his chest, giggling as she felt the beat of his heart. Leaning in close she ran the tip of her tongue across his lips. Jacody spat in her face. The demon so close now, he could smell its putrid breath.

“Katie died wanting to help you.”

Claire wiped her face. “Oh, pooh. She was always sanctimonious. Her and her precious Aaron.”

Simon shifted on the couch, tired of not being in the spotlight. “Mr. Ives wants to know about Lydia, sweetie.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 78

“Dad!”

Sheriff Tomlinson groaned, “Guy, that you son?  Where are you?”

“You got to get up, Dad. For once in your life, do something for me.”

Tomlinson groaned again, rolled over on his side and pushed himself to a sitting position. Blood covered the front of his shirt. He didn’t figure he had a lot of time. Maybe he’d have just enough to make things right. “I’m up son. I’m up.”

“He’s gonna kill Jacody unless you stop him.”

Pushing to his knees, Tomlinson stared at his son. “I’ll stop him, son.”

Picking up his gun from where he’d dropped it, he reloaded and holstered it, reaching to pull himself up. “I’ll stop him.”

“Guy?” The image began to fade. “I’m sorry, son. I made a mistake. A lot of mistakes. I love you.”

# # #

Jacody bit down hard on his lip and grunted as the scalpel slashed across his chest. Not deep enough to kill, just to hurt like hell. Rage filled him, and for just a moment he let the demon out, staving off the pain. He could taste the coppery saltiness of his own blood. Felt the need to choke the life out of Claire. Break her neck with his bare hands. See her eyes dim, fade. Send her to hell where she belonged.

The demon clawed inside him. “Let me out! I can stop them.”

Jacody grunted again as the scalpel slashed.  “No.” He’d rather be dead. Besides this way he could save Mariah the pain of having to kill him. He knew she was still out there somewhere. Waiting.

Simon Davidson grinned, making himself more comfortable on the old couch. Watching proudly as Claire carved little symbols on Jacody’s chest. They would leave soon. There was nothing really to tie them here.

“Enough, sweetie. I believe Mr. Ives has earned a small reward.”

Jacody glowered at him, a small trickle of blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

“People have breaking points, Mr. Ives. Everyone has one. As you’ll see.”

“What’s that got to do with Lydia?”

Jacody was surprised to find his voice weak, almost a whisper. He was losing blood. Dying.

“Lydia had the unfortunate gift of a good memory. She remembered me from a little stint we pulled together out in Wyoming.” Simon puffed on the cigarette, clearly enjoying himself. “There’s such a thin line between sanity and insanity. Sometimes it just cracks.”

Simon leaned forward, blew smoke in Jacody’s face. “Let’s see how strong your line is, Mr. Ives.”

The scalpel made new slashes. Deeper this time. His chest was on fire and he could tell Claire was becoming angry with her inability to make him scream. The pain was becoming unbearable. All he had to do was last a little longer. A few more minutes and she’d kill him.

“Would you like to hear more, Mr. Ives?” Simon stubbed out the cigarette. “Would you like to know where it all began?”

# # #

Billy pulled the car over at Miss Charity’s house, parked and cut the engine. They were within three miles of the cabin, but this was as far as he could go. Every man had to face his own destiny. And every man had to face it alone.

“Lord, child, we ain’t got time to stop now.”

“Sorry, Miss Charity, but this is where we wait.”

“What’s going on?” Rob sat forward, gripping the wire between the front and back seat.

Charity sputtered for a moment, looked at the hills and then back at Billy. “No changing it?”

Billy shook his head sadly. “No changing it, Miss Charity.”

Charity looked again at the hills. Some things had to be the way they had to be. Good and evil had to play the parts assigned to them. All the way to the end. Bowing her head she prayed for Jacody. He was a good man. And there just weren’t that many good men left in the world.

Cory reached for Rob’s hand, sensing the gravity of the conversation in the front seat. “What’s going on,” she whispered to Rob.

Rob reached for the door handle, realizing too late that the Blazer was equipped as a police cruiser. He couldn’t get out. Letting go of Cory’s hand he reached inside his jacket, pulled out his badge and pistol, holding up the badge.

“I’m an FBI agent and I’m ordering you to let us out of this car right now.”

Billy turned around in the seat, eyeing the gun leveled at his head. “Put down your gun, Rob. The forces you’re fighting are immune to it.”

Rob lowered the gun, something in the deep brown eyes so compelling he knew the words were true. “So, what the hell is going on?”

Billy stepped out of the Blazer, opened Rob’s door. “Let’s take a walk.”

“You got anything to eat besides bacon and eggs?” Charity yelled after them.

“Yes, ma’am. Got some chicken salad sandwiches.”

Billy opened the back of the Blazer, taking out a small cooler and thermos of coffee, handing them to Miss Charity. “Figured you might get hungry.”

He motioned Rob to follow him a short distance from the car. “You want Gavin back?”

Rob nodded, fear clutching his stomach.

“Then listen and believe.”

Billy told a story as ancient as time itself. Of good and evil. Of demons and hell.

Rob frowned. He’d listened, but he wasn’t sure he believed. “What’s worse than you?”

“So, how long do we have to wait?” Rob asked, stomping his feet in the snow. Light was fading. It would be dark soon.

“Not long.” Billy had felt the shift in the air. The ebbing of life energy. Jacody was weakening. The demon gaining strength.

“Listen, Dawson, I can’t do this. That’s my brother up there, and demon or no demon, I can’t just stand here and wait for him to die.” Rob pulled his gun from inside the jacket, pointed it at Billy. “Whatever I’ve got to fight, I’ll fight it.”

Billy sighed. He didn’t know where Katie was. He’d almost lost Miss Charity, and he was pretty sure Guy was dead due to his interference. He couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t intervene.

“Don’t feed it.”

The old man’s voice carried on the wind. He couldn’t interfere, but Rob could.

Billy pulled out his cell phone, dialed a number and handed Rob the phone. “If you want him to live, tell him about his sister. Tell him you’re coming. But most of all, tell him you love him.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 79

Simon lit another cigarette, leaned forward on the couch. Madness gleamed in his eyes. “See it all started with Jeanie Tomlinson. A truly beautiful woman. Desirable. I wanted her. Needed her really. And why shouldn’t I have her?  I was a doctor. Respectable.”

Simon took a deep drag on the cigarette, memories twisting his face into a mask of hatred. “But all she could see was that stupid sheriff, Dan Tomlinson. So she threatened me. Said she was going to tell Dan. I couldn’t let her do that. It would have ruined my career. My marriage.”

Simon smiled, glancing at his daughter swaying from side to side, humming her little song. “I really had no choice you see. Claire was with me, so we made it a game, didn’t we sweetie?  Made up our own little song.”

Claire, lost in her own world ignored them both as she continued to hum the tune.

Simon continued. “Had to leave after that, of course. Went to Wyoming, opened up a new office, started a new life. But, as I said, Mr. Ives, everyone has their breaking point. I reached mine one day during an operation. Just snapped. Started slicing her up.” Simon laughed again. “You should have seen their faces.” His face began to contort, twist. “Then they put me in that place. Me, a doctor, with all those whores and crazies.”

Jacody felt himself weakening. Loss of blood and pain making him lightheaded. He could feel the darkness growing, pulling him closer. The demon fought for dominance.

“What about the nurse?  What sin did she commit?”

Simon sneered at him. “Nosy and ugly. Did the bitch a favor.”

All three turned to the phone as it rang once, twice, three times before the answering machine kicked in.

“Hey, Gavin, Merry Christmas bro.”

Rob hesitated, feeling Billy’s eyes boring into him. It sounded simple, but wasn’t as easy as he’d thought it would be. Cory came up beside him. “Tell him.”

“Remember how you’re always telling me I should get out and meet somebody?  Well, I did. And you’re gonna love her.” Rob put his arm around Cory, pulling her close. “I know I do.”

Cory took the phone from him. “What Rob isn’t saying, Gavin, is he run a DNA test on me. Found out I have a brother. A twin.”

Rob smiled at her, took the phone. “That’s where you come in. When Mom and Dad adopted you they didn’t know about Cory because she’d been adopted a couple of days before that. She’s your sister, Gavin. Your twin.”

Jacody drew in a sharp breath. The curtain shifted.

“Anyway,” Rob continued, the words coming easier now, “I know you told me you wanted to be alone, but hey, it’s Christmas. Cory and I are right down the road. We had some car trouble, but Billy and Miss Charity gave us a ride and we should be there in a few minutes.

“And I know how you feel about all this mushy stuff, but I love you, Gavin.” Rob paused, looked at Billy, “And if you’re listening to this message, Jacody, we love you too, you stubborn bastard.”

The room was silent. Simon glared at the phone. The demon growled deep inside as the curtain parted. “We’re at the crossroads, bud. Fight your instincts. Don’t feed it. Claire’s the key. She’s always been the key.”

Jacody felt the pain lessen, his strength returning. He wasn’t alone in the battle anymore. Gavin stood beside him, sharing the pain, blocking the door to the hell inside them. “Rob will be here soon. All we have to do is stay alive.”

A picture of Katie’s sweet face flashed before him. Her tender smile. The young man standing at the edge of the cliff. Save her.

The ebony eyed psychic smiled at him. Don’t falter at the crossroads. Only through saving them can you save yourself.

“What about Claire?”

Simon glanced at his daughter. “Oh, that was a bit tricky at first. I worried for a while. But children are so malleable. A little hypnosis and Claire went to her own little place. Hidden away for years until I came back.”

“What about Aaron?” Jacody knew he had to keep him talking. He studied Claire. There had to be a way to reach her.

Simon’s face twisted again. Emotions churning inside him. “It was all his fault. Made Claire feel guilty with all his religious crap.”

Suddenly it all came clear to Jacody. Claire had confessed to Aaron. It wasn’t his vows that kept him from talking. It was his love for his sister. His need to cleanse and save her soul. He’d loved her enough to die for her. It was the only way he could save her. Katie had known that too.

The battle inside him had stilled. The curtain was gone. He’d hated them because of Katie. But Katie had loved Claire. Seen something inside her worth saving. And Claire was still in there somewhere. The Claire that Aaron had loved. The Claire that Katie had loved. The Claire that they must now love if they were going to save her and have any chance of saving themselves.

The phone rang again.

“Hey, Jacody, answer the damn phone.” Carl’s voice bellowed over the line. “Hate these damn things,” he muttered. “Listen I been trying to reach Rob about that nurse, Sally Morse. Found a connection to Richardton. A Dr. Simon Davidson left Washington the same day she disappeared. He was traveling with an unconscious patient. Female. Fits the description.”

The phone was silent, but Jacody could hear Carl in the background lighting another cigarette, puffing and blowing. “Dammit, call me back.”

Jacody watched Simon’s face. The hunter had become the hunted. The walls closing in on him. His secrets being exposed.

“Kill him, baby. We have to go now.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Claire approached him again.

“Don’t do it, Claire.” Jacody held her gaze, his voice gentle. “Remember Aaron, Claire?  Aaron loved you.”

Claire hesitated, confusion on her face.

Jacody continued, his voice stronger now that he wasn’t alone. “Aaron prayed for you, Claire. He forgave you. He didn’t die for Katie. He died for you.”

“Shut up!” Simon leaped from the couch, pulling at his hair as he screamed at his daughter. “Kill him, Claire!”

Jacody ignored him. Ignored the gun and continued to work on Claire. “Remember Katie, Claire?  She loved you. I don’t know how she died, but I do know she would have died for you.”

“Shut up!” Simon was screaming, waving the gun. “Kill him!”

“I love you, Claire. If I have to die to save you I will.”

Claire looked from Jacody to her father, eyes misting, hands starting to tremble. The scalpel fell. “Simon?”

“See what you’ve done!” Simon was frothing at the mouth, eyes bulging.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” Claire was crying, staring at the blood on her hands. “Please forgive me.”

“I’m your God!” Simon screamed, the sound of the gunshot filling the small room.

Claire stared down at the blood soaking her shirt, spreading across her chest. She smiled at Jacody. “Thank you,” she whispered as she slumped to the floor.

Simon screamed again, pulling at his hair as he pointed the gun at Jacody. “See what you made me do.”

Jacody braced himself for the bullet he knew was coming.

The cabin door burst open.

“Put down the gun, Simon.” Dan Tomlinson stood slumped against the door frame, his face twisted in pain. Bud Lynton stood a few feet behind him.

“You!” Simon sneered.

“Yeah, me. Put it down, Simon. It’s over.”

Jacody struggled to stay conscious. “Hang on, buddy. I want to see my sister before I die.”

“She was mine. She never belonged to you. You hear me, Tomlinson. She was mine!” With a roar Simon twisted, gun pointed.

“She was never yours.” Dan Tomlinson emptied the gun, continuing to pull the trigger long after it clicked on empty cylinders.

Mariah lifted her head, her song a sound of beauty. A sound of joy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 80

They all heard the wolf’s cry, but only Billy felt her pain. All the way to his soul. “It’s time.”

“What happened?” Rob asked. He still wasn’t sure he believed everything Billy had told him, and the last ten minutes had been the longest in his life.

“Hush, boy.” Miss Charity admonished him, her face a mass of worry lines. “We got work to do.”

Billy covered the distance quickly, speeding up the tree lined driveway and sliding to a stop. He could see the Sheriff slumped against the doorframe with Bud Lynton holding him up. Hopping out he opened the door for Rob and Cory. “Help Jacody.”

Rob pushed past him, rushing into the cabin, Cory on his heels. “Oh, God, no,” he muttered rushing to Jacody’s side. There was so much blood. He raised Jacody’s head gently.

“I’m here, Jacody. Dammit, don’t you leave me.”

Jacody gave him a lopsided smile, grimacing as a fresh wave of pain washed over him. “Didn’t plan on it. Wanted to say thank you before I left.”

“Don’t talk.” Rob pulled at the ropes, careful not to pull them over torn skin.

“We won, Rob.”

Rob nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. “We need a doctor!”

Billy touched Miss Charity on the shoulder. “I believe you’re being paged, Dr. Howard.”

Charity glared at him. No one had called her that for twenty-five years. No one was even supposed to know that. “You been messing with things again, Billy Dawson?”

Billy handed her the black bag before moving to help Bud support the weight of the Sheriff. “Yes, ma’am. Reckon I have.” His grin widened. “Destiny is a funny thing.”

Charity squared her shoulders, raised her head high. A man couldn’t outrun his destiny. Woman either. Pushing past Billy she entered the cabin, her voice proud. “I’m a doctor.”

# # #

Father Peter stuck his head inside the door. “You have company.”

Gavin sat up, resting against the pillows as Bud Lynton walked through the door, followed by Ginger.

Bud sat down on the edge of the bed. “Wanted to thank you. Say goodbye. We’ll be leaving in the morning.”

“We?” Gavin glanced from Bud to Ginger. Ginger smiled at him and he noticed the changes. Her face was freshly scrubbed, not even a trace of mascara. Hair held back from her face with a blue ribbon that matched the long sleeved dress.

Bud grinned at him. “Ginger wants to take a shot at farm life. Figured I’d give her a try.”

Gavin glanced from one to the other, wondering if they knew exactly what was in store for them. He met Ginger’s gaze, saw something in her eyes he hadn’t seen in a long time. Hope.

“Might have to make a trip down there. See what kind of vegetables you two come up with.”

Bud rose from the bed. “Wish you’d do that sometime, son. I really do.”

“You found her?”

Bud nodded, sadness creasing his face. “Your brother got a team to come out, excavate the grave. We’re taking her home today.”

Gavin nodded, knowing there was nothing he could say. The pain would never go away, but maybe with Ginger’s help it would lessen some.

“You two take care of each other.”

Gavin felt the loneliness creep in after the two left. At his insistence, with a little help from Miss Charity, Rob and Cory had gone back to Virginia. They’d called every day, but at least they weren’t hanging around.

“Cheer up, bud. You still got me.”

Gavin laughed softly. He’d get used to the voice. Maybe. The curtain was open now, and if they were lucky it would stay open. He had all Jacody’s memories, and maybe eventually they could mend the split. Be whole again. But they both knew the demon wasn’t dead. He would be back. There was no escaping that.

“Hey.”

Gavin felt a sharp pain, fought it. She wasn’t Miranda. “Katie?”

Walking into the room, Katie sat down on the bed, took his hand. “The reports of my death were slightly exaggerated.”

“You’re okay?”

“Perfect.  Turned out the only thing wrong with my heart was the medication Simon was giving me.”

“Billy?”

A soft expression came over her face, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “He’s a little upset that I didn’t tell him my plans. I guess that’s a man thing?”

Gavin laughed. “Yeah, I suspect it is. What happened?”

Katie stared into the distance, the same stare Jacody had seen on Tall Feather’s face. A look into other worlds.

“I knew they were going to kill me. And if that had happened Claire would never have gotten over it. Never forgiven herself. So I faked my death, knowing it would be several days before they could get to the car, find out it was empty. Then I simply hid out at Miss Charity’s until it was all over.”

“I’m sorry, Katie. I couldn’t save her.”

Katie hugged him, careful not to touch his chest. The change had been quick, silent, and only those who knew Jacody intimately would have noticed it.

“You did save her. Not her life--but you saved her soul.”

“And what about Billy’s soul?” Jacody had not forgotten the sacrifice the young deputy had made for him.

“According to the cards there’s a little dark haired, green eyed boy in our future. So I think he’s been forgiven.”

“It wasn’t your fault or Gavin’s fault she died.” Katie continued. “She loved you. She wouldn’t want you to hate. She wants you to do what she was doing. Stop the evil when you can. Save those you can. That’s all any of us can do. And the universe has plans for us all. Your destiny now lies in another direction.”

Jacody felt his eyes closing. The soft pressure of Katie’s lips on his. Her hand touching his face. “Don’t forget to open my present.”

Gavin didn’t hear her leave, but knew she was gone. It would take time for him to get used to the switching.  Maybe in time there wouldn’t be a need to switch.  Tomorrow he’d clean out the cabin, find something to do with it. Say goodbye to Miss Charity and go home. The loneliness deepened. Just a word, not a place.

“I want to say goodbye.”

“Yeah, me too,” Gavin whispered, opening his eyes. All his life he’d been saying goodbye.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Like petals on the rose

Clinging tenaciously

To the flower of reality

Only to wilt and break free

In the winter of disillusion

Though plucked early

For the marriage rite

And showered for hopes and dreams

Scattered like frail droplets

Looking to be found in cracks

The wind of lies would blow

Dispersed over a thousand lands

Hiding in the darkest of reaches

Until a lone traveler

Stumbles into the pit

Crawling out of the thorns

With beauty for all to see

Charles W. Prather, Jr.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 81

Gavin took one last glance around the cabin. Somehow he knew neither he nor Jacody would ever want to come back here. Too many memories. Too much pain. Their sanctuary had been invaded. Picking up his bag he opened the door, stood staring at the ridge. They were all gone. Maybe they could rest now. Find the peace that had eluded them in life.

“Need some help with that?” Sheriff Tomlinson walked around the corner of the cabin. He’d given Gavin a ride, but took a walk, sensing Gavin’s need to be alone. He wasn’t a bad man after all.

“No, I’ve got it.”

Tomlinson followed Gavin’s gaze to the ridge. “You can see them, can’t you?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes I just feel their presence.”

“I loved my son. I thought. . ., well, you know what I thought.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Sheriff. Simon manipulated everyone. People in power do that. He used his doctor’s license as a license to kill. Look at what he did to the nurse. Drugged her, carried her here under the guise of a sick patient and killed her. Nobody questioned him. Nobody tried to stop him.”

Sally Morse had been the one link that didn’t fit. One that Carl had pieced together while Rob and Cory were on their way to Richardton.

“I found the autopsy papers laying on the table that morning. Don’t know how they got there. I put them away years ago. Never read them. Somebody put them there. Wanted me to read them. You think it was Guy?”

Jacody remembered the creaking door in Billy’s house. The eerie feeling of cold.

“I’d say that’s a safe bet, Sheriff.”

“They found Jeanie’s heart. Simon still had it. God only knows why.”

“Everyone has a breaking point, Sheriff. He was insane. The fact she loved you, didn’t want him, drove him crazy. He took her heart because she wouldn’t let him have it.”

Tomlinson nodded, his eyes wet. “Thinking about retiring. Maybe buy myself a little cabin somewhere. Do some fishing.”

Gavin heard the fast approaching vehicle. Grinned. He should have known. “How would you feel about this one?”

The Sheriff turned, looked at him. “You sure?”

Gavin nodded, watching as Rob hopped out of the car, followed by Cory and Carl Jackson. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Hey, bro, you okay?” Rob eyed the Sheriff suspiciously. “Don’t get mad at us. I had to come back to get the car.”

Cory wrapped her arm around Gavin’s shoulder. “Bull, we came to take you home and you know it.”

Gavin forced a smile. “Something I have to do first.” He held his hand out to Tomlinson. “Sheriff. I’ll send you the deed as soon as I get back to Richmond.”

Tomlinson took the extended hand, eyes still searching the ridge. “Thank you.”

Rob picked up Gavin’s suitcase, grinned.

“Are you gonna tell him or not?” Carl asked, lighting a cigarette.

“Tell me what?”

Rob flushed as Cory pulled him towards the car. “There’s plenty of time. It’s a long drive.”

“Shit,” Carl muttered tossing the cigarette. “Let’s go then. I hate secrets.”

Gavin walked behind them, wondering what the two were up to. He glanced at Cory, seeing her mischievous smile. Make that what the three of them were up to.

“Think we’ve got time to stop by Miss Charity’s, get a piece of that famous butterscotch pie?” Rob grinned at Gavin. “That’s some woman you got there, bro.”

Gavin grinned back, sitting down easy and closing the door. Rubbing his chest he looked toward the hills. He was walking proof of just how good she was. Between her and Tall Feather his wounds were healing beautifully.

“Aw shucks, Rob. Can’t we tell him?” Carl whined as Rob started the car, easing it down the long driveway.

Gavin glanced at his adopted brother and then back at the road. “You better tell me before the old man back here has a heart attack.”

“We’re engaged.” Cory turned around, holding her left hand over the seats so Gavin could see the ring.

Something clicked inside him as he gazed into the deep brown eyes so much like his own. His sister. His twin. The missing piece he’d always felt, but couldn’t quite put a memory to. He smiled at her. A real smile. “Congratulations.”

Gavin sat back in the seat, staring out the window, saying a silent goodbye. The world never quite stopped spinning. Life went on. People fell in love, married, died.

“Can you stop by the cemetery for a minute, Rob?”

Rob glanced in the rearview mirror, concern reflecting in the light blue eyes. “Sure. No problem.” Rob pulled in between the gates, parked the car.

“Give me a minute.” Gavin climbed out of the car slowly, picked up the box of roses he’d purchased that morning and walked to the freshly dug graves. The headstones were all set in a row, starting with Aaron Davidson. The Sheriff had arranged that. Said he thought they’d all be happier together. Gavin placed a rose at the foot of each stone. Aaron, Claire, Guy. He bowed his head, knowing they weren’t really gone. Just in another dimension. Another moment in time. But he would miss them. Good had triumphed over evil again, but at a cost. There was always a cost. Taking the gift wrapped package from his pocket he opened it.  His Christmas present from Katie. She said he’d know when to open it. There would never be a better time. The box contained a heart shaped rock, engraved with the words “Friends Forever” on it, and a short note. Gavin opened the note, blinked his eyes to clear the mist.

“Aaron gave me this when I was 12, and life separated us. We wanted you to have it. We’ll always be with you. A part of you. One of your precious moments in time.” Love, Katie and Aaron.

Gavin felt Rob’s presence behind him. They stood in silence for a moment. “Tell him, Gavin. The truth may not set you free, but it will remove the clouds of darkness.”

“I killed George Menelaus.”

Rob took a deep breath, body tense as he remembered Jacody’s words. “Gavin’s torment will never end until he tells you the truth.”

“I’m listening, Gavin.”

“I drugged your coffee.” Gavin turned, looked into the light blue eyes, shadowed now with concern. “You stopped to stretch your legs, remember?”

Rob nodded, the fog of his memory slowly starting to clear.

“Not enough to make you pass out. Just enough to make you sleepy, get you to stop for a minute.”

Gavin turned back to the gravestones, unable to meet Rob’s searching gaze. He continued, his voice distant, reliving the nightmare. “I got Menelaus out of the car. Stood next to him. I knew he’d go for the gun. I let him.”

Rob shuddered slightly as the fog totally lifted. The deserted stretch of highway. He could see the three of them next to the car. Watched as Menelaus reached for the gun. His yell coming too late. Hand going for his own weapon too slow. The sound of the gun, the thud of the bullet striking him. Pain. Darkness.

“There was only one bullet in the gun, Rob. I thought he’d kill me. Then you’d kill him.” Gavin bowed his head as Rob stepped closer, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“When I saw you lying there I snapped. Menelaus was still pulling the trigger, clicking on empty cartridges. I grabbed him, broke his neck.”

They stood together, silently sharing the memory, the pain. The guilt.

“I almost got you killed. And I killed an unarmed man.”

“Look at me, Gavin.”

Gavin turned, met the fierce blue gaze. “You ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll kick your ass. And if that doesn’t work I’ll have Carl beat the hell out of you.” Rob softened his voice, “Let it go, Gavin.”

Rob turned away from him, afraid to let Gavin see the truth in his own eyes. A truth Rob had hidden, even from himself until now. “If you hadn’t killed him, I would have. He would never have made it back to Virginia.”

Gavin heard the truth in his brother’s voice, saw it in the stiff back. “Smart guy. Let it go, Gavin.”

“So what happens to Jacody now?” Rob asked. “I never got a chance to thank him. He turned, searching Gavin’s eyes.

“Damn, I’m impressed. Never thought I’d hear the boy scout admit he missed me.”

An impish grin crossed Gavin’s face. “He said you’re welcome.”

Rob held him with his gaze, searching his eyes as if searching his soul. Satisfied with what he saw he grinned. “Yeah, I just bet he did. Tell him not to get too comfortable in there. We’re going to need him in a few months.”

The two turned back to the gravestones. Stood once again in silence.

What though the radiance which was once so bright

Be not forever taken from my sight,

Though nothing can bring back the hour

Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;

Grief not, rather find,

Strength in what remains behind.

Very wise words, Gavin thought. If Jacody could quote William Wadsworth then maybe living with him wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

“That’s some girl you’ve got there, Rob.” Gavin placed an arm across Rob’s shoulder.

“Let’s go home.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

EPILOGUE

Miss Charity watched anxiously as Tall Feather talked with Billy, handing him the pipe. She knew Billy had been worried about what the Elders would do with him. Take away his position. Give the pipe to another watcher. “Thank you, Lord,” she whispered to the night. They didn’t come no better than Billy Dawson. Would have been a pure shame for the world to lose him.

Billy took the pipe, returning it to the ancient leather case. He’d broken the rules. And because of that he’d almost lost Miss Charity and Katie. Guy and Claire had given their lives in the fight against evil. He would have to live with that knowledge, as well as the pain. The Elders had felt that was punishment enough.

Tall Feather gave him a gummy grin and walked away.

“Old softy.” Charity punched him on the arm affectionately as he joined her in front of the cabin.

“He’s a good man.” Billy said, watching the sun rise over the ridge. “Too few good men in the world as it is.”

Billy smiled, punched her. “So when are you leaving?”

“Camp won’t be ready for another six months. Expect you’ll have to put up with me until then.”

Billy felt the shift in the universe. A foretelling of things to come. A vision of a young girl with strawberry blonde hair flashed in front of his eyes. His destiny with Jacody wasn’t over.

“Katie said we should go with you. Figures you’re gonna need somebody to keep you out of trouble up there.”

Charity felt the wind sniping through the layers of clothing. An ill wind. One that bore no good intent.

“It ain’t over, is it?”

Billy turned to her, his dark eyes filled with love, compassion and understanding. “No, ma’am. I don’t reckon it is.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

As a reader who follows specific authors, and loves their characters I’ve often wondered what would my readers like to know about me? It was easier with my published book as I met many of those readers and spent time talking with them, answering their questions, and getting to know them. I actually made several wonderful friendships through those endeavors and we still stay in touch by email. EBook sales are substantially different in that I rarely, if ever, meet my readers now. And I miss that. I miss that one-on-one contact of discussing writing, characters and life in general.

One of the most often questions asked is: Are any of my characters a part of my own persona? Well, yes, many of them are. Let’s take a look at Sacred Secrets, the prequel to The Gifts.

I believe we all have a dark and a light side. Thus Gavin McAllister a/k/a Jacody Ives. Gavin, the “good” personality, and Jacody the “not quite so good” personality. The deeper, darker, more angry personality. In Sacred Secrets, I explore the trauma behind the split and the creation of Jacody Ives. So, yes, I feel a definite connection with both Gavin and Jacody.

Clover is a young girl who reads tarot cards, auras and believes everyone is psychic. I too believe everyone is psychic, and many of my own characteristics are a part of Clover’s personality.

Katie has lived the majority of her life on “death row” knowing that without a heart transplant she would die. I too was told early in life that without a pancreas transplant my days were numbered. After being placed on the transplant list my doctors discovered that I was allergic to the medications I would need for the operation. The surgery itself would kill me. So I know what it’s like to “be on death row”. And my short time on the transplant list is responsible for my interest in cellular memory.

Billy Dawson, the Dream Weaver. An interesting character. Torn between what he believes to be right, and his obligations. Don’t we all feel that same soul searching crisis throughout life?

Miss Charity, my own deep scars and wounds. Which, I hope you’ll forgive me I prefer not to share.

Those are just a few of my favorite characters in Sacred Secrets, which I believe are a part of my own persona.

As Sacred Secrets is the prequel to The Gifts, I did sort of a Star Wars on myself. In The Gifts Gavin and Jacody are no longer totally separate. They function as one, although not totally one.

Sarah, the town Sheriff, like Gavin has what her grandmother called “The Gift”. To Sarah it has always been more of a curse. Like Gavin, she dreams things. Things that happen. And therein lies her frustration. There’s no way she can ever know if what she dreamed is real until it happens, and then it’s too late to do anything about it. What kind of gift is that?

Nikki, Sarah’s five year old daughter reminds me of myself at her age. Yes, even then I was a little weird in the fact that I sometimes saw things or dreamed things that later I found out really happened.

I would love to believe that I have many of Millie’s charming characteristics. I know I have her propensity to feel that trust is essential in a relationship, and that without that trust nothing else matters.

When I started writing The Jacody Ives Mysteries I knew I wanted to write traditional mysteries to keep the reader guessing until the very end. I’ve been told many times that I accomplished this with The Gifts. The jury is still out on Sacred Secrets and I’ll have to wait for reader’s reviews to know if the twist at the end was enough. I will have to say it shocked me, as many times my characters go off in directions I had no idea they were going to take.

So now you know a little more about me, and my characters.  Stop by my website and blogs and say hi.

http://www.prather-author.com

http://www.jacodypress.blogspot.com