He slowed, reading the house numbers, and found the one from his email last night. Stew Evans. An old entry-level Toyota hatchback sat in the driveway, in front of a single-car garage. The garage door was lined with glass windows at the top, and Tom saw boxes piled high. He wondered when someone had last parked inside.
His own father had collecting issues, and it had forced Tom to be the polar opposite. He was a minimalist in most ways – so much so that when his wife had kicked him out, he’d only taken one box and a suitcase. He didn’t own much more. If he died today, someone would have an easy job of cleaning out his house.
Tom stepped out of the car and walked to the guy’s door, knocking three times. An older, portly woman answered, clothed in her sleeping attire. Tom wished she’d at least thrown a robe on. There was far too much trying to push up and out.
“Is Stew here?” Tom asked.
“And you are?” the woman asked curtly.
“Detective Tom Bartlett of the Gilden Police Department.”
“What did Stewart do? He’s a good kid. Kind of dumb, Detective,” she said.
“Nothing like that. Is he…”
“Mom, tell him to meet me out back!” a voice called from somewhere in the house.
“He said he’ll…” the woman started, and Tom raised a hand to get her to stop.
“I know. In the back. Thank you, ma’am.”
He heard her mutter something about being a ma’am as she shut the door. Tom walked to the yard, opening the gate from over the fence. He scanned the area and saw no one back there. Just as the gate latched, the back door opened, revealing a man. He was several years younger than Tom and was surprisingly put together, not what he’d expected after meeting the mother.
“Sorry about that. She’s a little…” He laughed. “Sorry, I don’t have a word for it.”
“Tell me what you saw that night, Stew,” Tom prompted, not wanting to waste his day on leads going nowhere.
Stew led him onto the patio, which was a balcony connecting to the rear of the home. It took eight steps to get up.
“I was in the bedroom upstairs.” He pointed to the other side of the house. “This is the same level, so you can get the perspective. I was watching the field and I saw a figure.”
Tom nodded. “What were you doing looking at the farmer’s field?”
“It was one of the best storms to hit the Creek in a long time, and we usually don’t get such powerful ones this early in the year. I like the thunder and lightning show. It makes me feel alive; energized. Sorry if that doesn’t make any sense,” Stew said.
“Makes perfect sense,” Tom said, without even knowing what he was saying. “Go on. What did you see?”
“At first it was nothing. Lightning flashed, and I thought I saw a form moving in the field. There were still some snow patches out there and one bright bolt, and I thought it was a bear or something. Big black figure. I followed its path with my eyes and kept a lookout for the next flash. Only the next time, it wasn’t a big black form any longer. It was a woman.”
“A woman?” Tom asked, wondering if he was actually getting anywhere. “Could it have been Brittany Tremblay?”
The man shook his head. “No. Don’t think so. She looked older. White jacket. I know Brittany.”
Tom’s hackles rose. Most serial killers were between twenty-five and thirty-five, single white males, and this one lived at home with his mom. He could almost see the FBI profile on a whiteboard in DC. “How did you know her?”
The guy must have realized Tom’s reaction, because he lifted his hands. “No. Not like that. I grew up here. Hell, I used to play baseball with her dad, Ben. I see her around the block all the time. We’re that kind of street where some people wave. I wave to her whole family.”
For a second, Tom wondered if the man’s guilt drove him to make a call with a story to throw them onto a fake trail, but then he relaxed. He believed the guy. “What else can you tell me about the woman you saw?” He was making notes on his paper pad.
“Not much else to say. She didn’t look tall. Didn’t look fat or thin. Just normal.”
“Hair color?” Tom asked.
“It was far away, and I really only noticed her during a few separate lightning strikes. A couple of them lit the sky up like the Fourth of July, though. Otherwise, I’d have even less to offer you,” Stew said.
“And this was what time?” Tom’s pen waited on his paper, drawing a light line on the page as he watched Stew.
“Had to be ten. Yeah, ten, because the show I’d been watching was ending. I missed the last part before the credits while I stared out the window. I had to rewind it. Gotta love digital television.”
The timeline seemed to add up. “Good. Good.”
“There’s something else.” Stew looked nervous, and he wrung his hands together to prove it. “I don’t want to sound crazy here, but I just want Ben and Carol to get their girl back, so I’m going to tell you.”
“What is it?”
“She changed. Disappeared. Turned into something else.” Stew’s voice was quiet, and he glanced hesitantly at the door, probably making sure his mom wasn’t listening.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tom was getting tired of this town’s fascination with the supernatural, and
