He didn’t have a clear-cut understanding of what was going on, but there was blood on his porch step and a late night visit by the strange Donnie Murphy. So, he had a reason to believe something was wrong with the world.
Back in the living room, he picked up the phone and called Donnie.
Then, he called the cops.
Chapter 12
At last, the moon began to smile down on the slumbering souls of Ogre’s Pond.
The Outcast turned the ignition on, and under the blessing of the lunar light, he drove off.
It had taken him a good while to finalize business with Donnie and get back to the spot where he’d parked his SUV. But he hadn’t regretted a second of the experience. In fact, he felt so elated, because he had spent some quality time with Donnie. Some kills took longer than the others. The longer and more complex they were, the more fulfilled he became. The job was all done now. It was time to celebrate the conquest.
But first things first. He would make one last visit to the River, a ritual he performed each time the eradication process of one more foe had been completed-with the exception of Trevor, of course. That was another reason he detested to relive his experience with the feeble man.
He drove back to the dirt road that ran parallel to the trail, which in turn ran along the bank of Sebastian River. He wanted to have one last look at Donnie’s body, to breathe in the air of fresh conquest and taste the sweetness of it.
If he hadn’t been very vigilant, or if he had completely given himself over to the deep euphoric feeling of his victory, he might not have noticed on time. Ahead, the Sheriff’s cruiser was parked in-between two fat oak trees, a set of
The Outcast swerved into an area of overgrown underbrush, farther away from the side of the road, and cut out the engine. He got out from behind the wheel, moved to a concealing spot, and crouching there, he watched.
There was a second police car parked several feet away from the Sheriff’s. It was completely blocked from view by a densely formed grove of oaks, and only the showers of light dancing around the trees gave it away.
He heard the loud voice of Sheriff Stack before he saw him emerge from the woods, moving into the open space. The Outcast could see that the man was clearly-and absolutely-ruffled.
Good.
He would give him a load of reasons to feel even more upset. That’s the beauty of the game-the beauty, the whole glorious point. Get him ruffled and puzzled. Let confusion and consternation set in.
He watched and listened.
Out here in the woods, even with a whisper, voices carried very easily and far in the quiet of the night. But Sheriff Brian Stack wasn’t whispering. He was actually screaming into the face of the night, obliterating every foundation of serenity. He held something in his hand, waving it in the air as he raved. The Outcast squinted to make out what it was. A book. Apparently, Robert’s book.
The boy must have brought his book to the killing ground again. The Outcast forbade him doing that, and he would have taken care of it had he known. He alone was to leave tracks behind at every scene. His True Blood was too green to demonstrate adequate finesse when it came to handling such responsibility.
Next time they met, he would address it. No big deal.
But then, The Outcast heard the Sheriff giving orders to his deputies. They were going to get Robert and put him in custody.
Not in a million years.
The Outcast had to move right away.
Had to spring into action and stymie them.
It was 12:01 A.M. on Thursday.
Robert curled up under his blanket, snoring peacefully, no ongoing nightmares. The bloody scythe felt cold against his flank.
There was a vicious rap at the door-the main entrance door, from the sound of it. And then another rap. There were frantic voices outside the house, too. Voices attempting to force their ways in through the smallest cracks available, and then straight ahead to intrude upon his calm world of no dreams.
He wriggled gently, rustling the blanket.
Then, a firm and callous hand slid up his arm.
Aroused from sleep and confused, Holly hopped out of bed and staggered across the room, heading towards the parlor in response to the cacophonous sounds of raps and voices.
“You didn’t lock the main door to your home, Mrs. Smallwood,” Deputy Allan Moore, who appeared to have forgotten Holly’s little instruction regarding what she should be called, said as Holly appeared.
Holly looked at him, not yet fully
“You didn’t even close it, let alone lock it,” said Deputy Crawford McGinnis, a very young and wiry man who had accompanied Allan to Holly’s house. “It was left ajar.”
Holly turned in Crawford’s direction. A veritable rookie. She put his age at twenty, maybe twenty-one. Assuming a stern disposition, she said, “What nonsense are you talking about? How could I have gone to sleep with my door left open, young man?”
“Um…” Crawford began, and shrugged, playing the role of a henpecked man who had just been browbeaten by his iron-fisted woman. His hand drifted to his gun holster with absently, and then stayed put while he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
Allan was riled by Crawford’s
“Oh, yeah. That’s what you found, damn right,” Holly burst. She was beginning to feel exhausted and sick of this whole thing. She had had enough-more than enough-of the officers’ crap. “It’s barely twelve in the morning, and you wouldn’t even let me sleep. Has my punishment climbed to that height? How did you get in and what’re you doing here at this ungodly hour? Have you got more evidence against him now? More evidence to pile up on top of the shitty ones you’ve already got?”
Allan opened his mouth to respond to the avalanche of furious words rolling out of Holly’s mouth, and thereby save the day, but he closed it back. Holly wasn’t done yet. He would have to wait his turn.
“Oh, save your breath, okay? You don’t even need to say a word. It’s all crystal-clear. Your boss has sent you to take him away from me at last. Isn’t that so?”
With his thumbs hooked in his belt-holes, Allan said, “Unfortunately, yes, ma’am. That’s exactly why we’re here.”
Everything happened so fast from that point on-until it all culminated in an unmitigated disaster.
Holly burst into tears, shaking her head and screaming something at the deputies-screaming some really caustic obscenities.
Allan was trying to speak above her screams, to explain to her that taking the boy away was inevitable, as much as he hated to do it. One more body had been found at the river bank-a body that had been identified as one of Robert’s teachers. More clues had emerged along to pull the boy into the center of the mess once again.
And Deputy Crawford McGinnis had decided to stop shifting from foot to foot, and instead had chosen to pull his gun out of its holster as his wide eyes beheld the behemoth of a monster who came flying towards him, sparkling knife in one hand and chimpanzee’s face in place.
Holly saw it shortly before Crawford did-and even longer before Allan. Her scream of invective changed to a
