“She sneaked it out of me, Mama. She was handing me a glass of really bad lemonade and she asked me—like she wasn’t really paying attention or she didn’t care—if I spoke to my daddy very often and I nodded before I thought about it. She smiled at me and said when my daddy was young, he could always call her from wherever he happened to be. She’d always been sorry she couldn’t talk back to him when he called her, but she couldn’t, but she bet I could, couldn’t I? I nodded. I told her I could talk to Daddy anytime because it never cost any money.
“She said she just knew my daddy hadn’t called her in more years than even she could count, and wasn’t that sad? I didn’t think it was sad because she’s so scary, but I didn’t say so. She said she’d tried and tried to call him, but it never worked. She asked if I would try to talk to her in her head, but I knew that wasn’t good. I ran away. I’m sorry, Mama.”
Joanna hugged her tightly. “It’s all right,” she said, though she knew it wasn’t okay at all. “I can see how it happened, sweetie.”
She looked at Ethan. “Martin never hinted that he had a gift. It was probably all tied up in his mind with his family, and he wanted no part of it. It was only after he went to prison that he called to Autumn telepathically, maybe because he missed her so much. She was only four years old, but he got right through. Apparently they could see each other while they spoke, so he did see his daughter growing up. Martin didn’t want Autumn to tell me about it until she was older because he knew I’d be upset, most likely not believe her, think she was sick. Then he died unexpectedly and Autumn told me.
“I knew Autumn was grieving him terribly, and I thought she was imagining it, that it was her way of not letting him go. But after visiting the Backmans, I believe her. I’ve talked to her about it for a very long time this past week, and she’s told me things her daddy said that she couldn’t have known about without his telling her.
“I wasn’t ready to tell you or anyone, Sheriff, because I haven’t figured out yet how I can protect this child, not only from Blessed but from anyone else who would take advantage of her. But I will do anything to keep her out of the Backmans’ hands. Anything.”
For the first time in his professional life, Ethan felt uncertain to the soles of his size-twelves. Joanna obviously believed it all, but she couldn’t prove it to him, or to anyone else. He was an earthling, and he felt like someone had thrown him into an alternate universe. Something within him fought against believing it, demanded more proof. But there was Blessed.
Always Blessed.
27
GEORGETOWN, WASHINGTON, D.C.
Monday evening
They arrived home about nine o’clock, the Porsche’s gas tank nearly kissing empty. They were greeted by a hysterical Astro, who’d been chasing kernels of popcorn Sean was throwing to him. Gabriella was on the living room floor, laughing as Astro jumped over her, back and forth, chasing more popcorn. They joined in the game but not for long. Both of them were exhausted.
Autumn called him at midnight.
Dillon? Are you there?
Autumn? That’s you, isn’t it? Where have you been? Are you all right? I tried to call you but you didn’t answer.
He turned on the bedside lamp. He was clearer to her now. She saw he had black whiskers. She could see his dark eyes. He looked wonderful.
She was so happy he was there she nearly burst with it. Hello, Dillon. I’m okay but just barely. I’m sorry you didn’t get me. I’m kind of new at this, just you and Daddy, really. Ethan told me how you were off chasing bank robbers.
Yes, I’ve been real busy here. I’m sorry. Tell me your last name, Autumn, and where you are. Who is Ethan?
I’m Autumn Backman, and my mom and I are in Titusville, Virginia, with Sheriff Ethan. He’s real nice and wants to help us.
Can you turn on a light, Autumn? I can’t see you as clearly as I’d like.
No, my mama’s asleep next to me. I don’t want to wake her up.
A beat of silence, but she saw a brief smile on his mouth. Tell me what’s been happening.
She told him about Sheriff Ethan Merriweather and his three pets, particularly all about Lula, who always caught the most kibble. She told him how maybe the sheriff really believed now that she was talking to Dillon, but…He doesn’t want to believe me because it’s weird and I’m a little kid. People don’t want to believe you when you’re only seven.
She told him how Blessed put the whammy on Ox, but Ethan had helped snap him out of it with a hard kick to his chin, how they’d been looking for Blessed, but he was hiding real good.
I need you, Dillon, my mama needs you. You’ve got to catch those bank robbers so you can come here and help us. Things are bad. Blessed is here. Blessed is scarier than the Phantom of the Opera.
Then she floored him. She told him about the dead people in Bricker’s Bowl, told him about Shepherd and Grace. She didn’t wink out once, her voice and face steady. Mama and I got away and drove to Titusville, but Uncle Tollie wasn’t here. He knows a lot of people, Dillon, but he’s old, maybe too old for you to know him.
What’s his full name, Autumn?
Tollie Tolbert.
She saw him scratch his chest. Then he smiled at her, sort of embarrassed because he’d forgotten she could see him. I know about Tollie Tolbert. He was an FBI agent, just like me. Everyone called him T Squared, you know, because both of his names begin with a T. So he lives in Titusville, Virginia, and you and your mama know him. I’m relieved, Autumn, because Tollie’s tough, doesn’t take grief from anybody. He knew my dad, worked with him occasionally in New York. My dad always said Tollie could make a witness talk faster than opening a can of tuna fish. He had this evil-eye thing going. Where is he, Autumn?
In a place called the Everglades. That’s in Florida. He hasn’t come back yet. We’ve been waiting for him.
Okay. Ah, maybe I’d better give you my cell phone number. Can you memorize it so you won’t have to turn on a light and wake up your mama?
He repeated his cell number three times, listened to her repeat it after him each time. Good. Now, Ethan was right. I’m up to my neck here in a pile of bad guys. I’ll call him in the morning, maybe get to Titusville in the next couple of days. How’s that?
I wish you were here right now. I don’t know if Ethan’s a hero like you are.
I’ll bet you Ethan is a real big hero. He’s watching over you and your mom now, isn’t he?
Savich clearly heard a woman’s voice say, “Autumn, sweetie?”
And Autumn said, “Mama, I’m talking to Dillon like I told you.”
He heard nothing else. Autumn said, Mama doesn’t want to believe I’m really talking to you, Dillon, but she says hello.
Hello to your mom too.
Will you get Blessed?
I’ll do my best.
Thank you, Dillon, and she was gone.
28
“THAT WAS AUTUMN?”
“Yes.” Savich looked up into Sherlock’s face, then turned off the bedside lamp. Her face was shadowed, since there wasn’t much of a moon to light their bedroom. He touched her hair and smiled. “She and her mom are in Titusville, Virginia, with Sheriff Ethan. She didn’t tell me his last name. They’re in trouble, according to Autumn. At least they’re staying at the sheriff’s house, deputies everywhere.” And he told her everything Autumn had told him.
“You never mentioned this Tollie Tolbert—what a name. He really knew your dad?”
Savich nodded. “He’s been retired quite a while now. Last time I saw him was at my dad’s funeral. I’d feel a whole lot better if he were there, but Autumn said he was visiting the Everglades. The sheriff sounds like he’s doing all the right things—of course, this is all from a seven-year-old’s perspective.
“I’m thinking given this special ability she has, Autumn has had to be growing up a lot faster than normal. She was pretty cogent, Sherlock, she spoke really well, but you know what, when I looked at that beautiful little face of hers, I wan
ted to drop everything and pluck her out of harm’s way fast. She’s in fear of some very strange relatives.”
“As strange as Blessed?”
“Yep. There’s Shepherd Backman, Blessed’s mom, and Grace, his brother.”
Sherlock tilted her head at him.
“What is it?”
She said, “I thought Blessed’s name sounded familiar, but I let it go. But those three names.” She ducked her head down to tuck against his neck. “I’ve seen those names. Where was it?” She reared up and smacked herself on the head. “Okay, I remember now. I was doing online research for that cult case we’ve got going out in Idaho, reading about religious cults, what they do, how they operate, how they indoctrinate their members.”
Savich eased his hand beneath her short pajama top and began rubbing her back. “What’d you find?”
“There were hundreds of blogs written by the cults themselves—recruiting, I suppose—and there were newsletters, some out every month, subscription only. I found one that had to do with the supernatural power of the mind, and it talked about three people who had names like that—Shepherd, Blessed, and Grace, I think. First names only.”
He gave her a huge kiss. “You’re incredible,” he said, rolled her off him, and got out of bed. She grinned as he grabbed a pair of sweats and pulled them on.
“Tell me the name of the blog.”
“Something about sunset, sundown—something like that. It’s in my files. Wait, I remember—it’s ‘Children of Twilight.’”
He shook his head at that. “I’ve got to take a look at this. Thanks, sweetheart. Go to sleep.”
29
TITUSVILLE, VIRGINIA
Tuesday morning
Ethan woke up at six o’clock in the morning. He knew better than to get up or the animals would begin pretending they were starving with barks and loud meows punctuated by cat storms, Big Louie in pursuit, all through the house. He didn’t want Autumn or Joanna to wake up that early.
So he lay there, listening to Lula snore lightly, watching Big Louie twitch in his sleep. As for Mackie, he cocked an eye open at Ethan, stretched, and went back to sleep. Ethan lay there, wide awake as soon as he thought about Blessed.
Blessed was still here, had to be, lurking somewhere, probably in the wilderness, waiting, biding his time to get Autumn. He wondered if somehow Blessed had gotten himself into Autumn’s head without her knowing it, and that was how he’d found her. Joanna had mentioned this, but this was the first time Ethan had let it into his brain as a real possibility. He shook his head. He was beginning to think as if he actually believed everything Joanna had said. Well, maybe he did. There was one thing he was doing, though, that wasn’t good—he was building Blessed Backman up to be an omniscient monster.
Where are you, Blessed?
He nearly leaped off the bed when his cell phone rang. “Merriweather here. What’s up?”
“Ethan, this is Chip Iverson, Titus Hitch ranger district.”
Ethan had known Chip for two years. The man sounded like he’d had his brains shot out of his head. No, he sounded like he was in shock. Ethan slowed his voice. “Chip, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”
Ethan heard the rock-solid Chip draw in breaths, knew he was trying to get himself together, and Ethan felt his own heart kick up, felt the jump in adrenaline.
“Sheriff—Ethan, we’ve got a bad thing here.” Chip’s breathing broke off and Ethan heard him gagging, then vomiting.
Ethan waited. He heard Chip gasping for breath, heard a man say something behind him, heard him chug down some water, spit it out. Finally Chip came back on the line. “Ethan, it’s a dead man, he’s been savaged by a bear, but it’s not right, just not right. Please come fast.”
Ethan drove his Rubicon as far as he could into the wilderness on the fire road, Big Louie in the passenger seat, his head out the window. Then he and Big Louie ran the quarter mile to the southern fork of the Sweet Onion River.
It had taken fifteen minutes, and every one of those minutes, Ethan was thinking, A man savaged by a bear? How was that possible? There was plenty of game, no reason for a bear to seek human prey. It didn’t make sense. It happened rarely, but sometimes some brain-dead idiot would bait a black bear, just to see what happened.
“I don’t think so, Big Louie,” Ethan said, petting his head as they neared the sound of muted voices. “I don’t believe in coincidences, way too convenient. It’s Blessed, Big Louie, I know it.”
Everyone in uniform within fifty miles was looking for Blessed Backman. Ethan had spoken personally to as many of them as he could and had given out the facts he had, that Blessed had tried to kidnap a young girl and had shot at several police officers. He also told them Backman was a powerful hypnotist, so you couldn’t look him in his face, told them the safest course was to shoot him on sight. If some of them doubted that, they didn’t say so. He knew they would use deadly force, and whatever the legal rules, he knew it was righteous. It was the only way to bring the man down.
Big Louie began to whine, low in his throat. He pressed against Ethan’s leg. The four people, rangers all, stood in the water reeds that grew wild beside the Sweet Onion River, two of them actually in the water up to their ankles.
Big Louie whimpered.
Chip Iverson called out, misery in his voice and in his eyes, “Over here, Sheriff. We haven’t touched anything.”
The four rangers moved aside for him. Ethan looked down at the devastated remains of a man who’d probably been alive and laughing twelve hours before. His body was sprawled beneath a huge willow tree. He indeed looked like he’d been savaged by a bear.
Big Louie backed away, then stopped, threw back his head, and yowled. One of the rangers went onto her knees and hugged him to her, and spoke to him, tried to calm him.
Ethan swallowed the bile that rose in his throat, accepted the handkerchief a ranger handed him, and tied it around his face against the overpowering stench. He went down on his haunches and forced himself to study the man’s face, what was left of it.
Chip was right. This man had been torn apart. One of his eyes was gone—ripped out by teeth or claws—and his other eye stared up at Ethan, sightless, filled with black blood. His throat was torn open, his chest flattened, his entrails ripped out. His clothes were shredded.
“This isn’t right,” he said aloud, twisting back to look up at the four faces. “You can see for yourself—tracks, claw marks, a bear for certain, but here’s the thing. A bear ripped him apart, but why would he do that without devouring him? There are no major parts of him missing.”
Four voices, hollow, terrified, sickened, agreed this wasn’t right. A moment later Ethan saw the tangled threads of a skinny rope beneath one of the man’s mangled wrists. A rope? No animal he knew of could tie a man’s wrist, except the two-legged variety. Blessed, he thought again. Of course it was Blessed.
Ethan looked at the man’s feet and nearly dry-heaved. The man’s feet and lower legs were mangled nearly beyond recognition. The rest of him was bad, nearly unendurable, but not like his feet and lower legs. Thing was, they weren’t feet any longer, but gore and bone, the ankles nearly gnawed through as—what? As the bear pulled and jerked his body down. Ethan heard Big Louie still whimpering, heard a soothing voice. He continued to breathe lightly into the handkerchief. He said aloud, “Look at his feet. Why would a bear do that?”
The four voices were silent.
Chip said, “We found pieces of his boots. They were ripped off his feet and chewed to bits, covered with blood.”
Ethan nodded, then leaned down to gently remove the threads of the rope beneath the man’s wrist.
“What’s that?” Chip asked, staring down at that frayed rope, wet and black with blood.
Ethan showed him. He rose to look up into the thick branches of the willow tree. It didn’t take him long to find the branch someone had tied the man up to. The branch was hanging low, nearly broken off, because the body that had hung from it had been p
ulled and jerked down. He could picture it happening. Someone tying his wrists together, throwing the rope over a low branch, and hauling the body up, but not too high up, no, only high enough so a bear would have to stretch himself to grab at his feet and ankles, to pull him down.
This was what the killer wanted to happen, what Blessed intended to happen.
Chip said, “The bear must have jerked and pulled until the rope tying his wrists gave way. See, the bear pulled him nearly to the water’s edge, about ten feet from the tree.”
“A bear doesn’t feed like this,” said Primo, a ranger from Montana who’d been at Titus Hitch six months. “Animals eat what they kill. If the bear wasn’t ready to eat him, he wouldn’t have mauled him like that. He’d have just come back later. The sheriff’s right, this doesn’t make sense.”
Chip was shaking his head. He said, “What doesn’t make sense is why anyone would do this to another human being. I mean, what’s the point? Only a monster—”
Chip broke off as he studied Ethan’s face. “You think Blessed Backman did this, don’t you? He went to all this trouble to kill this man and set him up for the bear to obliterate him?”
Ethan stood up. He still held the rope. “Oh, yes, Blessed did this.” He looked at each of the rangers. “Have any of you ever seen an animal wreak this kind of damage on a human being”—he forced out the words—“without some sort of encouragement?”
Paulie Burdett had been in the Park Service for twenty-four years, and was usually unflappable. But not now. Now he was mad. “In the Serengeti I remember a guide was savaged like this, but he’d been reduced to bones. I’ve never seen animals who went to the party but didn’t eat the cake.”
No one laughed.
“Thanks for that image, Paulie,” Chip said.
Ethan checked the man’s pockets. No ID.
The FBI Thrillers Collection: Vol 11-15 Page 80
