She hadn’t been paying much attention until the anchor’s sharp voice prompted her to look up at the screen.
“A scare today at University Hospital,” the woman said in a tone that seemed to bark rather than inform. “A man walked into the emergency room with a rifle under his arm—and anger on his mind. Casey Gold is live at the scene. She has more ... Casey?”
The video wiped across the screen, revealing the somber-faced reporter holding a microphone to her chest as if it were a delicate, burning candle. Her expression seemed to mimic concern. Fast-paced music played in the background, communicating a distinct sense of urgency.
“Good evening, Dory,” Gold said slowly, with a tone declaring tragedy. “Everyone got out, but the suspect remained inside. Fifty-one-year-old Ronald Matherson refused to surrender.”
To Kyle, the scene didn’t look much different from any other day, save for the lone police car parked out front, its blue and red lights flashing on and off in short, contained spasms. It seemed obvious the news crew had arrived much too late. A woman strolled across the screen, looking as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
The reporter continued as images of a cold scene dragged on: “SWAT teams were called. The standoff went on for two hours, during which, Matherson made several demands. He asked for a cold meatloaf sandwich, heavy ketchup, crust removed, a peanut butter milkshake … and for the president’s resignation. He got nothing. Authorities decided to wait it out. About an hour later—” long pause “—he gave up, without incident.”
Kyle moved to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and surveyed the contents. Cooking would be too much of a bother, she thought, then closed the door. An all-night Chinese diner up the street seemed her only option at this hour. Kyle felt grateful they delivered, a true blessing for her tired muscles and aching bones.
She grabbed the phonebook and opened it to the restaurant section, and as she did, saw something out of the corner of her eye.
Something speeding across her living room.
She screamed and lurched back simultaneously.
It was gone before Kyle could look up to identify it, but she knew the figure was human, knew it was dressed all in white.
She blinked hard, then rushed into the room, heart racing—pounding—inside her chest. When she got there, Kyle instantly felt ice-cold air nipping at her skin, then a warm hand on the back of her neck. She jumped, turned around.
Nothing—or nobody—was there.
The sound on the television rose steadily, as if someone were hiking the volume with a remote.
“Six-year-old Bethany Foley, the youngest child, was also killed.”
Kyle froze, eyes gaping, slack-jawed, as if it were her own photograph on the screen.
The final piece of the puzzle was staring her right in the face.
Chapter Sixty-Four
45687 Monument Path Way
Albuquerque, New Mexico
Kyle had become used to seeing Bethany at the strangest times and in the most peculiar places, but never anything like this.
Before, she’d always appeared in her deceased state. Now, in the photo, she looked very much alive. Gone were the dark sunken circles beneath shadowy eyes, as were the filthy tangles of hair framing a frightened, despondent face. This Bethany was a striking contrast—a beautiful, golden-haired child with soft, pink skin, and stunning green eyes, as clear and bright as polished emeralds.
It created a new perspective for Kyle knowing there was another side to this lost and wandering soul. Bethany had had a life before all this. She’d been a happy, vibrant child, not the foreboding picture of despair Kyle had become so accustomed to seeing. It was almost as if she were looking at a different person.
Unfortunately, that feeling of warmth wasn’t a lasting one; it dissipated quickly, as pictures of the Foley murder scene flashed across the screen. Kyle cringed as she watched file footage of officials removing body bags from the house and rolling them toward plain white vans. One of them—about a third the size of the others—was hard to miss. It was Bethany’s body.
“Several days later, and authorities in Faith are still at a loss to explain why the son, eleven-year-old Ben Foley, gunned down his family, then took his own life,” the news anchor continued. “Sheriff’s deputies found the boy inside his bedroom closet—shot to death—an apparent suicide. The massacre is just one in a series of killings in and around the town, which, before this, was relatively crime-free. Officials in Faith remain baffled, unable to connect any of them, unable explain why they occurred.”
Bethany hadn’t died in an accident. She didn’t suffer from some sudden childhood illness, and she wasn’t part of the World War II scenario Kyle kept seeing in her visions.
As soon as the story ended, she made a dash for the kitchen. There was no time to check her computer; time was of the essence. She pulled open a drawer, grabbed a New Mexico road map. Struggling with its unwieldy size, and spreading it out on the table, she searched for Faith.
Spotting it down toward the bottom, she used her fingers to measure the distance between Faith and Albuquerque, then compared it to the legend, trying to figure out the drive time. The town appeared to be a good two-hundred miles south, about a three hour trip if she went the speed limit, less if she drove faster.
She grabbed the telephone and started punching keys, swatting at a lock of hair that had fallen down in front of her face, as if shooing away an annoying fly.
* * *
Josh was sleeping when the phone rang. He reached over and felt around for it on the nightstand. Running his fingers over the receiver, he fumbled before pulling it toward him and moaning, “hello.”
“It’s me,” Kyle said.
“Hi, you,” he replied with a groan and a yawn. “You sound funny.”
“I’ve got it.”
“Got what?” Josh asked, feeling less tired but more confused.
“I’ve figured it out. I know who Bethany is.”
Josh swung his feet over the edge of his bed and leaned forward. “You do? Who?”
“She lived and died in Faith.”
“Sounds like the title of a book.”
“It’s a place, right here in this state, just a few hundred miles south of here. She was murdered, Josh, along with the rest of her family. Her brother did it, shot them all to death in the middle of the night, then killed himself.” She was still breathless. “I saw her, Josh. Caught it on the news. They showed her picture.”
Josh reached for the switch on the lamp, clicked it on, squinting while allowing his eyes to adjust to the light. “So you know why she’s been contacting you?”
“Yes … and no. It’s about what’s been going on in her town lately. There’ve been a bunch of murders. What it has to do with the images from World War II—that’s where I’m lost right now. Still can’t make a connection. It’s all from an era that happened long before she was even born.”
“Weird ... what now?”
There was a short pause, and then she said, “I’m going to Faith.”
“I don’t think I like the sound of that,” he said slowly.
“I’ve got to, Josh,” she insisted. “Don’t you see? This little girl’s been trying to tell me something. Now I finally know where she lived. This is huge. Everything I need is waiting for me right there. This is exactly what I’ve been looking for.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
“No!” Kyle said, sharply. “Don’t. Please. I need to go by myself. It would be too obvious if both of us showed up there.”
“I can’t let you go alone, Sis. You know nothing about this place or what you’re walking into,” he pointed out. “Don’t you get it? People are getting murdered. You wanna end up being one of them?”
“I’ll be okay, Josh. I’ve gotta go. I’ll be careful, I promise.”
“Jeez, Kyle.”
More insistent now. “I’m going, Joshua.”
He said nothing for a few seconds, thinking it over, then groan
ed. “You’re a grown woman, and about as pig-headed as they come. I can’t stop you—we both know that—but I can make demands, and I’m going to.”
Now Kyle was groaning. “Demands?”
“Yeah, demands. I’ll be damned if I’m gonna stand by and let you walk head-on into this kind of danger without doing something.”
“And what are these demands?” asked Kyle.
“You stay in touch with me. You call me … without fail. Understand?” He didn’t wait for her to reply. “You call me before you leave here. You call me when you’re half-way there, and you call me once you arrive. Got that? And after that, it’s every five hours—again, without fail—and I’m warning you, Kyle, if you don’t play by the rules, the rules change: this becomes my game.”
Kyle groaned again.
“That’s right. Big brother’s comin’ to town with both barrels loaded, and I’ll be bringing my posse with me. Think I’d be conspicuous at your side? Just you wait. I’ll stick out like a clown at a funeral.”
Kyle didn’t like his conditions or the way he was strong-arming her. But she had called him, and on some level, knew she needed the safety net he was offering.
“Okay,” she said, finally relenting, “if I must.”
“You must. And keep your cell phone with you at all times. I want to be able to reach you. No turning it off. No letting the battery go dead. I mean it, Kyle.”
“I swear. I will,” she said.
“And one more thing.”
“What now?” she snapped.
His voice softened. “Take care of yourself.”
“I will, Josh, I promise.”
“Love ya, Sis.”
“Love ya back,” she said.
Josh hung up the phone and smiled, but not for long.
He sat, thinking for a few seconds.
“Forgive me, Sis,” he said as he picked up the receiver again and dialed, “but you mean way too much to me, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let you walk through this fire alone.”
Chapter Sixty-Five
State Route 25
Albuquerque, New Mexico
By the time Kyle had gathered her things and headed out the door, it was close to midnight. If everything went as planned, she would be in Faith before morning.
Bethany had died at the hands of her eleven-year-old brother in a bloody massacre that ended not only her life, but her parents’ as well. Her sense of trust was no doubt destroyed the instant she saw him aiming the gun at her. If she couldn’t trust him, who could she? No wonder she always seemed to be running away. Kyle tried to imagine what that must have been like for the little girl to wake up and see her brother aiming the gun at her. Did she see his face? Look into his eyes? Could she feel the rage coming from him in those final moments before he pulled the trigger and ended her life?
Kyle chased the thought away with another, although it wasn’t much better.
According to the news, Faith had been a peaceful town before all this. Now Kyle wondered if she was putting herself at risk of becoming one of those statistics. Josh had probably been right in his hesitation to let her go there—maybe her adrenalin rush had clouded her better judgment, causing her to jump in too fast.
No turning back now, she thought as she watched her headlights tearing holes in the darkness.
After several miles and deep in thought, Kyle realized she’d lost track of time. A sign emerged from the shadows: FAITH, NEW MEXICO: 85 MILES.
Like a double shot of espresso to the brain, she perked up, feeling wide awake again. She’d be there soon. Her nerves re-activated as anxiety charged through her body.
About a half-hour later, signs of civilization began slowly emerging. On the distant horizon, tiny lights dotted the countryside, first spread wide apart, then, in tighter clusters, as Faith drew nearer. Kyle felt a push of adrenaline as she exited the highway off-ramp that would lead her straight toward her destination.
She was not prepared, however, for what she saw next. If she thought her excitement was elevated before, Kyle was in for an even bigger surprise now—it was about to reach new heights.
Nesting on a grassy knoll, was a church with a large sign out front: it listed service times, invited people to Friday Night Bingo, and announced the upcoming chili cook-off. But that wasn’t what caught Kyle’s attention. Beneath those words, there were more—ones that sent a chill sailing up her spine:
Empty hearts make empty souls.
Words with a haunting message.
Words that had become familiar to Kyle.
Now she knew why.
Chapter Sixty-Six
State Route 25
10 Miles outside Faith, New Mexico
Empty hearts, empty souls.
Kyle had been trying to figure out the meaning of those words ever since Bethany had first said them.
The Restoration Church stood on the edge of Faith’s outer limits. Since there was only one way in and one way out, anyone wishing to enter the town needed to pass by. Bethany had planted the seed early on, knowing Kyle would recognize it when the time was right.
She descended a steep mountain grade, then traveled onto the main artery leading directly into town. Though it was still dark, Faith’s charm shone through. Quaint little shops lined both sides of the street, flanked by neatly groomed tree lawns. The whole scene looked almost too perfect. How, she wondered, could something so ugly have happened in a place this beautiful?
Kyle yawned. Not sleeping all night was finally taking its toll, and she felt exhausted, desperately in need of rest. Off in the distance, a motel seemed to call her name, its flashing, neon vacancy sign winking at her with the promise of a warm bath and clean sheets.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Felice’s Diner
Faith, New Mexico
One o’clock in the afternoon.
A late lunch for Cameron. It seemed as if he’d barely had time to breathe, let alone eat. The shocking news about Shawn Banks had sent his mind reeling, his body feeling like it was running on empty. He’d decided to drop by Felice’s for a quick bite.
On his way out, Cameron watched a woman and a boy crossing in front of him; the child sneezed.
“Mijo!” she fussed. “Cover your mouth when you sneeze. You want to get everybody else sick?”
Everybody else sick.
Just a cold, he tried to tell himself, but then another thought quickly entered his mind. Another murderer? Another boy waiting in the wings? Waiting to kill?
He pushed it away. Calm down, Cam. But how could he? How could he be calm knowing this thing—whatever it was—had been taking hold of his town, sweeping through it like a deadly tornado, one that seemed to be gathering intensity with each passing minute?
Someone else coughed. Cameron swung his head in the other direction—an older man. He waited with caution for the cough to continue. It did not.
Cameron suddenly changed his course, heading straight toward Blake’s Pharmacy.
“Afternoon, sheriff,” said the pharmacist, looking up from behind the counter with a smile, as Cameron entered.
He barely nodded back; he was on a mission. Bypassing several aisles, he headed for the cold and flu section. When he got there, he stopped and stared.
The flu medicines were gone. All of them.
“Blake?” Cameron said, his eyes still fixed on the one spot.
“Something wrong, sheriff?” Blake replied, now standing beside Cameron, interest piqued.
Cameron directed his focus on the shelf again. “Been selling a lot of ‘em lately?”
“I can look in the back and see if I have more. You got a case of the flu, sheriff?”
“No, Blake,” he replied. “I have something worse.”
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Sheriff’s Station
Faith, New Mexico
Cameron went back to his office.
All the pressure, the strain, they were playing tricks on his intellect, causing his imagination to work overtim
e, something he didn’t need right now. If he worried about every cough, sniffle, or sneeze, he’d drive himself crazy, and that, he decided, would only drive him back instead of forward.
I need to stay on track … stay with the facts.
He thought about his two deputies, one dead, the other his killer.
Shawn Banks had managed to fly under the radar, where he’d remained throughout the other murders. Nobody saw him acting any differently, and even if they had, most would have attributed it to the breakup with his girlfriend.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to offer much.
Shannon Westerly hadn’t seen anything unusual in her ex-boyfriend’s behavior prior to the breakup—at least nothing that she was willing to admit; in fact, when asked why she’d ended the relationship, her answer was simple: he bored her—both in bed and out.
Not the answer Cameron had hoped to hear. For one, he wasn’t interested in his deputy’s sexual prowess, or lack thereof, but most importantly, it led him straight into yet another dead end. He didn’t need any more of those; in fact, he was sick of them.
In effect, all it proved was that Shawn’s inclination toward violence had started post-breakup. That meant there was nobody around to see his personality take such a drastic turn, and that meant Cameron was stuck exactly where he’d started.
Another brick wall.
Someone pounded on the door.
Grabbing a handful of paperwork, Cameron shuffled through it, trying to appear busy, then shouted, “Come in!”
Frank stuck his head in. “What’s with the closed door?”
“Needed to clear my head,” Cameron replied. “A few moments of solitude.”
Frank entered, stared at him for a moment, thinking it over. “You look like shit.”
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