Authors: Craig Thomas
“
Wow,” Brian said.
“
Yeah, that’s right. It
wowed
us all, too—when we learned of it. But that isn’t everything.”
“
It’s not?”
“
Oh, no. It’s just the beginning.” Donnie swallowed, preparing to keep the words of revelation rolling off his lips without any impediment. To Brian, the potbellied man appeared to be having a whale of a time divulging the clandestine handiworks of the ‘evil lady.’ “It’s been found out that she committed similar atrocities against the two men that came ahead of Charles, whom she called husbands.”
“
Murdered them, too?”
“
Correct. Murdered them and thought she could bury the secrets forever.”
“
But she should’ve understood better,” Brian said. “She should’ve known the truth would out at some point. It almost always does.”
“
Oh, not within her own assessment. A wicked woman destined for a massive shame and destruction just at the peak of her evil carrier couldn’t have seen beyond her heart, a place that is nothing but absolute darkness.”
“
Hmm … appropriately put,” Brian observed. “I must acknowledge I didn’t sniff around hard enough on the case, which explains why I never had access to this golden piece of info that was supposedly at my disposal. A man in my office couldn’t be disappointed in himself any more than I am at present—disappointed for letting my people down.”
“
It’s all right. That’s why I’m here. Now that you’re in the know, it’s time you acted with great speed. Holly’s hell-bent on wiping this peaceful community out, and she’s started doing so in dribs and drabs, one man at a time, until every soul is consumed. But we can’t let her.”
Brian shook his head. “Not in a million years. I’ll see to doing everything within my power to stop her before she gets too far.”
“
Awesome,” Donnie said, brimming with exhilaration. “While you’re investigating the case of the little boy, who has been a kingpin of his mother’s heinous company for a while, I’d suggest you do an even more intense one on Holly herself.”
Brian kept on nodding, like a man completely enthralled by another’s profound rationality.
“
I really don’t want to appear unreasonably outspoken, Sheriff—but allow me to say she’s the real brains behind Trevor Carter’s murder.”
“
No, you’re not unreasonably outspoken. In fact, you’re not outspoken at all. You’re only presenting the case in its true light. I’m really appreciative of your effort to make things right.”
Donnie relaxed in his seat.
“
So,” Brian said, “why on God’s green earth are you doing this?”
Donnie tensed, building an instant scowl that spread widely across his features. Apparently, the question hit a raw nerve. It made him appear somewhat thrown
Brian proceeded. “I mean, what’s your gain in this bold
venture
? What do you intend to obtain when it’s all over?”
Speechless, Donnie shook his head slowly, still wearing the big frown, as if he was in great shock that such an irrelevant question had been posed at a moment when he should have scored big.
“
Come on, Donnie. There’s gotta be something in it for you.”
“
There’s nothing in it for me,” Donnie snapped, having found his tongue at last. “My interest only lies in the well-being of my people—
your
people. I’ve come to let you know she’s gone to town on killing more people. My interest—my
gain
, as you’ve put it—is the people’s safety.”
“
And you’ve done a marvelous job telling me. No one could’ve done it better. There’s an opening in the department—as you might have gathered, since you hear and see a lot. Deputy Todd Kilgore is leaving. You might want to step in his shoes so you could express your true devotion to your beloved town more effectively.”
Donnie recoiled, lowering his gaze.
“
I’ve wanted to talk to you about Rob, but not about the rubbish you’ve been spouting since you stepped in through the door.”
Donnie grunted.
“
Saying stuff like this, based on mere hearsays that are largely unfounded, can
easily
land you in jail.”
“
I can provide witnesses—sure witnesses, who will—”
“
What’d you know about Robert Smallwood?” Brian cut him short. “What’re the possible challenges he might have been going through?”
“
There are no challenges besides the ones common to every student. Not that I know of, anyway.”
“
Common challenges like what?”
Donnie shrugged. “The common experience. The teenager’s inevitable struggle to keep from being unruly and stay obedient. Some of them—a fairly good number—also struggle with their academic works. Stuff like that, you know.”
“
How’re his academic and extracurricular standings?”
“
No great shakes, but there’re worse kids in his class.”
“
Does he get bullied by other students capable of such act?”
“
No.”
“
You ever observed he’s lonely, Donnie? Has there ever been a time you noticed the boy might have been thrown out of the walls of the school and left forgotten in the cold—in a manner of speaking?”
“
No.”
“
Not even on a single occasion?”
“
I’ve never made such an observation, Sheriff. Not even once.”
Brian realized the acting principal’s replies were coming really fast—too fast—and he had stopped meeting Brian’s gaze as he spoke. He had also become taciturn since the switch of subject. “Well, one can safely assume the boy’s never suffered a bout of loneliness at any point in time while at school. Is that correct?”
“
Maybe, maybe not—I don’t know. It’s pretty hard for me to give any reliable reports on what the boy has or hasn’t suffered. The things I know, I’ve already shared.”
The things Donnie knew were wrapped in his effort to cast aspersions on the personalities of Holly and her son. Brian didn’t bother about that aspect of their talk. It had been rendered a forgotten territory. “How so? Why’s making a dependable report such a difficult task?”
“
I’m not the one directly responsible for the boy. Don’t even teach his class any subject. Cheryl Ferguson and Blake O’Neal might be the suitable pair to help you in that regard.”
“
Oh, sure—I understand that,” Brian said. “I get it you’re in the towering office, attending to things much more important than babysitting one irrelevant boy. But I thought perhaps—just perhaps—there might have been at least one instance where coincidence had played itself out, allowing you a glimpse into the boy’s world, even amidst your super-busy schedule.”
Donnie didn’t utter a word. He kept his gaze on the floor.
“
Do you care for every single kid at your school, Donnie? I mean, besides nourishing them academically, do you really look after them every step of the way to sufficiently familiarize yourself with what they’re going through, as though they were your children?”
Donnie looked up, face burning with anger. “Of course, I do. Isn’t that supposed to be my duty?”
“
Sounds a bit contradictory to me, but it’s all right. I must say I’m glad to hear you’re willing to do that which is expected. On that note, I’d like to ask a favor of you before letting you go.”
Donnie cocked his head to one side, a funny posture akin to a dog waiting for its master to drop a rejected drumstick for its own lovely consumption. “I’m all ears.”
“
I want you to keep your eye on Rob henceforth. I want to know what goes on between him and every other student he comes in contact with when he gets back to school.”
Donnie’s eyes widened. “When he gets back to school?” he said. “You dropping the charges against him, Sheriff?”
“
I’m not dropping any charges because none has been preferred against him in the first place. Not yet, Donnie. And if it would make you feel a little better, I’d say he might be locked up like a monster he is at the end of the day. Or he might escape it and rejoin your company. I don’t know—let’s wait to find out. In the meantime,
if
he gets back to school, keep your eye on him.”
Chapter 9
He was an outcast—The Outcast.
He had no friends, just enemies.
Well, that wasn’t purely true. He had one friend, who made his heart leap for joy, warts and all. He was his only True Blood. And he would kill anyone who got in the way of either him or his True Blood.
Now, Sheriff Brian Stack had begun to poke his nose where it didn’t belong, doing everything to interfere with The Outcast’s noble assignment. He and his deputies had commenced investigation, hoping to find an adequate explanation for the enigma surrounding the recent murders. But they would get none—adequate or not. In lieu of an answer, they would be inundated with more questions—more riddles to solve. They would continue to lose sleep and keep worrying at it till they saw their lives fade away. He would stop at nothing. The killing spree had just begun. Soon, he would hit again.
The Sheriff was on his hit list, somewhere down there, but The Outcast would drag him up and make him breathe his last on a timely fashion. The fool had been messing around a little too much. Very soon, he would be licked away by the fury of The Outcast. He would be no more.
But right now, The Outcast had no desire to expend his mental resources on the Sheriff, especially when there was a more pressing issue to which he must attend tonight.
He was lying in his recliner in the dark, tearing at a fat roasted chicken thigh and washing it down with apple juice. There was a ghostly quiet hanging everywhere around him, which he cherished, and the intermittent soughing of the wind against the eaves of the roof outside pleased him—the sound was reminiscent of his victims’ last keening cries as they hugged death powerlessly against their bosoms.
Out here in the coolness of the cave, where the fauna and the flora were his only neighbors, and where the terrible stinks of the impure blood had no power to reach, he was a king. Being cast out of the community had been a blessing in disguise for him, but a big mistake on the part of the inhabitants of Ogre’s Pond who had hated him with their all. Without the myopic action of those fools, he couldn’t have become the rod of justice. The same ones who cast him out of their sights would be cast into the site rich in fire and brimstone.
He smirked in the dark.
And stretched.
His mind wandered off to his only True Blood.
He felt a momentary twinge of concern about the little boy, who, though destined to be great—even greater than he—had been demonstrating a troubling token of weakness and disinterest lately.
At first, when the process of emancipation had begun, The Outcast’s enthusiasm about their glorious future of reign together had been met and
watered down
by the boy’s shameful nerves and whimpering. But he’d waved it aside as insignificant, assuming it to be a minor foible that would fix itself on the lap of time. After all, the boy had just turned eleven at the time, and there was ampleness of space for growth. But the more time rolled by, the worse the situation became.
He had to do something about it.
Maybe he would expedite the process, call the ultimate ritual into existence faster than he had planned. But to achieve that, he would need to seek understanding and directions from the gods.
He rose.
Tonight, he needed to finish a project he had recently embarked on. It would turn out to be the best of his operations so far. He was sure of that. When it was done, he would rest for a while before planning the next execution—unless his enemies showed any potential to outpace him, in which case he would put rest aside and rise to strike instead.
He wondered why Donnie hated his True Blood so much, but he couldn’t arrive at any reason. Not that it mattered. He loved the way the pot-bellied man reasoned and acted. The Outcast loved Donnie’s hostile disposition towards the boy. Hatred towards the little True Blood was hatred towards The Outcast, and that adequately helped fuel The Outcast’s own animosity towards Donnie. It was a perfect cycle—the way it had been predestined to pan out.
Tonight, he would strike like a python ready for the kill.
******
10:26 P.M.
Wednesday, August 19
Donnie Murphy was rushing out through the front door of his apartment when the vicious blow smashed into the left side of his head.
Earlier in the night, Jennifer Foster had called to remind him of their date. The rendezvous was her place, at 11:45 P.M.
By 8:58 P.M., Donnie had done everything he needed to do. He sat in the living room, glancing at the wall clock while he sipped his red wine, and wishing the clock hands would get some
oomph
and just hurry the hell up.
Now that Trevor had been murdered by the troll boy (a little uncertainty he had been teaching his mind to just accept as true—but then, who gave a damn who killed whom?), the world was his oyster. He didn’t realize how much of an impediment Trevor had been until his death. Amazing how luck had worked in his favor and made his two enemies collide, how it had used one to
take care
of the other. And the one that remained would soon follow, too. In spite of Brian’s indifference to the case, Donnie would see his wish come true. He would do everything to send the little disgusting devil to where Trevor had gone.