It can't be true, he thought.
But he knew, then, that it was.
Something shifted in the darkness behind him. Twigs snapped.
"You shouldn't've come up here again, Alan," growled a deep voice. "Should've left it alone."
The voice sent a shiver up his spine and everything inside him seemed to let go. The fear came up in him full force, and he was not even breathing as he turned around. Alan did not dare to lift his flashlight. He did not want to see more than the moon and stars would show him.
For that was terrifying enough.
It was rows of razor teeth, and eyes that seemed to glow in the starlight. The thing's muscles rippled under its fur, and it seemed almost to be mocking him.
"You could run, you know," the Prowler said almost kindly.
As if a switch had been thrown, Alan came alive. He spun around, dropping his light, and sprinted toward the edge of the clearing. His breathing sounded impossibly loud in his ears. He reached for the weapon at his belt, unsnapped the gun, and drew it from its holster.
He felt the thing's hot breath on his neck, heard it loping after him.
He would be killed.
Alan turned, raised his gun, and fired once as he fell.
Then the monster was on top of him, cracking his ribs. His throat was torn out in a single gulp and his blood fountained onto the scrub brush. Then his chest was opened and his heart ripped out.
CHAPTER 12
Tina always felt small in John Tackett's office. When she was a girl, her father had visited Tackett from time to time, mostly to talk local politics. Boring talk, but Tina had been thrilled just to have her father take her along, and to have the sheriff 's office to explore. There was an antique globe in one corner, not far from the a table upon which the sheriff almost always had a vase of fresh flowers. Tackett's penchant for flowers had seemed odd to her, even as a child. She wondered if he kept them around because he enjoyed the scent, or if he felt it took some of the edge away from his status and demeanor.
For Sheriff Tackett's demeanor had always had an edge.
This morning that edge seemed to have been worn away.
"Tina, we'll get to the bottom of this. I promise we will," Sheriff Tackett told her.
His eyes were crystal blue sky, not a trace of tears, but the way his lips were pinched together beneath his thick mustache revealed the emotion roiling in him.
The rage and the grief. Or, at least, that was the way Tina interpreted his expression.
She saw herself reflected in his eyes, her hair a scraggly mess, eyes raw and red, mascara-stained tears on her face. Tina did not want to see that face, did not want to acknowledge her reflection. She closed her eyes tightly and more tears squeezed out to run down her cheeks. Though it was at least ninety degrees, she shivered and hugged herself tightly.
"Why'd it have to come to this?" she whispered, voice cracking with grief. "What the hell was he thinking, going up there by himself ?"
Tackett encircled her with his beefy arms. The aroma of his deodorant was strong and sweet and it gave her a little comfort, like cotton that had just been ironed. Her tears stained his shirt. Tina let out a long breath, coming to terms with the horrid truth of that morning.
Alan . . . her Alan . . . was dead.
He had never been a dynamic individual, but he was a good man, sweet and sincere, and he had loved her. Tina knew that as long as she lived, she would never really be able to forget the pain of the news of that morning, under the harsh sun. Sheriff Tackett had caught up with her outside the Inn.
That morning, when she went to assess the damage to the library, Lavinia Murray had been surprised to see Alan Vance's patrol car in the lot. After an hour or so with no sign of him, she had called the sheriff 's office. Tackett had immediately feared the worst, and a trip up to the ruins where they had arrested Jack and Molly the night before had led to the grisly discovery.
"It's not fair," she whispered.
Tackett gazed at her, a grim expression on his face. "No. No, it isn't. I've been to see Alan's mother already. You might want to go over there, now, Tina. She may need help making plans."
The edges of Tina's mouth lifted as if to smile, but the ache in her heart would not allow it to be truly born. She knew that the sheriff figured that she and Mrs.
Vance would both need to do some crying, and that they could lend each other support both needed. She also knew he wanted her out of his hair so he could continue his investigation.
"Thank you, Sheriff," she said, wiping at her eyes. There was a hollow place inside her, but she knew there was no going back.
The phone on his desk rang and Tackett gave it a hard look, as though he might shoot it. He gave her an apologetic shrug and went over to answer.
"What is it, Alice?" he asked. Alice Tyll was the department's receptionist.
As the sheriff listened, Tina began to wander around his office. He was a man who liked things neat and orderly, and yet that effort seemed to be undone by the number of knickknacks he had. Little antique picture frames, animals carved out of wood, and other odds and ends adorned the cabinets and bookshelves.
Tackett was an enigma, and always had been.
"Tell him he'll have to wait just a little longer," the sheriff muttered into the phone. "If you have to, tell him what's happened. Maybe he'll understand better. Just tell him to wait."
Tina let her fingers slide over the spines of the old books on the
