Allan disregarded the last question. “If I were you, Sheriff,” he said defiantly, “I’d be thinking of saving my ass rather than having a morbid passion about conscience and studying the best way it should be used.”
“You’re damn right about that, because you’ll have to devise a way to save your ass in the office tomorrow when you give a detailed reason for your insubordination-”
“If we made it past today, Sheriff.”
Ahead, the huge figure began to tie Robert’s wrists together, but then had a change of mind. The robed man scooped the boy up instead, and ran across the murky woods.
“Where’s he going?”
“Or taking the kid?”
They stood up, craning to see him disappear into the shadows of the trees.
Then, they followed, cautiously, slowly.
A car engine roared to life.
“Shit,” Brian said. “We gotta move. He’s got the…” He stopped, looked at Allan, and asked for the second time, “Where’re your guns?”
Allan’s response astonished Brian.
Hurrying along the rustling dead leaves on the floor, Brian said, “You’ve got some explaining to do. In the meantime, go back to Craig’s car and make a call to the office. Need the emergency workers here ASAP to attend to Dwayne, and let the coroner and his men be informed while you’re at it. I want you to stay with Dwayne, to give whatever support you have left in you. And don’t you try to leave.”
Allan wanted to speak. Brian didn’t give him a chance. He didn’t believe in the crappy tale about Dwayne’s entrails being spilled all over the place.
He went in pursuit of The Outcast.
Chapter 21
They raced after him, tires whirling plumes of dust in the air.
The Outcast (Brian had resorted to calling him that now) drove Dwayne’s patrol car.
Even though Brian drove fast to gain on The Outcast, the gap kept widening. The big bastard knew the geography of the terrain more than anyone else.
“Where’s he taking the boy to?” Craig asked, straining against his seat belt as he craned towards the glove box, as if that would speed up the cruiser and make them close the gap.
“I don’t know. I’ll assume the boy’s house. Robert mentioned something about the son-of-a-bitch having a notion that they’re of the same blood-true blood, he called it-and that Robert should grow up on time to carry on his assignment. And that the final ritual of consummation will be at the boy’s place.”
“Oh, you already talk to the kid about this?”
“Well, not exactly. I read the boy’s “journal” earlier tonight. Claims everything he wrote down came from his dreams. Including the description of how we track the lunatic down in the woods.”
“All of it from his dreams? Wow.”
“Wow’s right,” Brian said, negotiating a bend, and closing the gap a little bit at last. “It’s kinda creepy, especially if you consider that his description was perfectly right-bare of the little delay we had before you discovered the clearing.”
“I know I might sound like doubting Thomas here, but the kid’s probably lying. Maybe this is just pure coincidence. What’d you think?”
“I think that’s irrelevant. Saving his life is what matters now.”
They had gained more distance on The Outcast, but Brian made sure they weren’t too close. And he was right. The bastard was driving the boy to his mother’s home.
Brian pulled to a stop about ninety yards away from Holly Smallwood’s house on Bran Street, parking the car diagonally at the center of the narrow pavement, an effort to make a passable if not most efficient roadblock.
Inside the house, all lights were out.
Craig turned around to look back the way they had come, looking this way and that. Watching. No signs of danger as far as he could tell. “How are we gonna work things out, Sheriff?” Not surprisingly, the little courage he had built recently began to melt away like a box of wax in the heat of the sun. Now that a bloody battle was about to begin, an intense chill rushed through him. “I mean, how are we-”
“Be damned if I know, Craig. But one thing I do know is, we’ve got to do something. And do it really quickly. Where’s my fucking thinking cap? I need it right now, you know? Hell, I’ve needed it all along.”
Brian’s statement didn’t demand an answer, but Craig nodded all the same. As he spoke, a little tremble found its way into his voice. “Yes, it’s about time.”
Light came on from one of the rooms in the left wing of the house.
“Put on your vest,” Brian said.
Craig did. He edged a little forward, towards the front of the cruiser, making an attempt to get a good glimpse of whomever was in the lit room.
Brian leaned forward and smacked him in the back of his neck. “God, make yourself small, Craig. You don’t have to go to the front of the car to see who’s in there. If you can’t see diddly from where I am standing here, then you can’t see it anywhere. Come on over here.” Craig moved closer. “See? This is the car’s highest point. The best spot for cover.”
From within the house, a woman screamed and began to cry. Apparently Holly. Her voice reached a crescendo, then fell to a barely audible sound. The light went off again.
“Oh, Jesus,” Craig gasped, his voice growing more tremulous by the passage of time. “Could he possibly have just killed her?”
An idea struck Brian. Not the best in the world, but the best his befuddled brain could come up with. He resorted to using the megaphone to warn The Outcast.
“This is Sheriff Brian Stack-with my deputies. We’re here to help-not to hurt you. I advise that you lay your weapons down peacefully and surrender willingly. We don’t have any desire to use force.” Brian wished he had a name to attach. But he would just have to keep it that simple, unless he was ready to hazard the idea of calling him The Outcast.
They shifted into a shooting position behind the safety of the car. Waiting for the door to open. Hoping to see the big guy emerge, sober at last with a blush of repentance coloring his face.
Time ticked.
Nothing happened.
Brian’s patience was speedily running out. He was thinking fast, and then un-thinking even faster those ideas he considered annoyingly impracticable.
Little did he know that the boy’s mysterious account would once again be his directions.
The Outcast, in his fury, threw Holly against the wall. She landed with a yelp of agony. Crumpled on the floor beside her son, she began to cry.
Robert was whimpering, too. This time, his tears weren’t shed because of the heinous acts The Outcast had made him witness over the course of time, but because of the throbbing fear he had for his own life-and his mother’s.
“You ungrateful brat,” The Outcast exploded, pointing in Robert’s direction. “You’ve betrayed me. I called you into the glorious fold; and when I turned around, what did you do? You snuck-yeah, you snuck up and stabbed me in the back. You revealed my place of abode.”
“Don’t hurt us,” Holly wept, pulling Robert closer to her, cradling him. “Whatever you want, please, don’t hurt
