The policemen who came to the school had also found Deke's notebooks while they were searching for evidence against Deke's grandfather. The notebooks detailed Deke's victims, his fears of Albert becoming destitute, and his dreams of joining the Army. They had been searching for Deke at the same time that the shooting occurred.
"He wanted to do good, Sam," she says. "He wanted to fight for our country. He was confused."
"It doesn't make what he did right," I tell her.
She nods. "I know. But it could help this town to know how to help other kids. They just need someone to lean on sometimes instead of carrying all of the weight they deal with."
I kiss her temple. "You're a good person."
She gestures into Lexi's room. We both walk in. John is slumped in a chair as Lexi lies in the hospital bed. They are both asleep. John softly snores.
Grace rests her head on my shoulder. "At least things can go back to normal now."
I wrap my arm around her waist. I doubt we can even understand the concept of normal at this point, but I'm willing to try to start over.
Lexi's eyes flicker open. She turns her head to see me.
"Dr. Meadows," she mumbles. I step up to her and kneel down, so we're face-to-face.
"Hey, Lexi," I say. "How are you feeling?"
"My back hurts."
I laugh.
"That's good," I tell her. "That means that you can still feel it."
She looks at me through bleary eyes.
"It's good that I feel pain?"
I glance over at Grace. I think about all she has been through, and even my own obstacles in life. I think about how scars shows someone who has lived thoroughly. It shows someone who saw his or her worst fears and kept pushing forward.
"It's good," I tell Lexi. She closes her eyes, satisfied with my answer. I turn back to Grace.
"I love you," I tell her. She leans down toward me.
"I love you, too," she says. She seals her words, her promise, her love with a kiss. I return all she has given me with the same fearlessness.
~~~~~
Epilogue
Francis Tate, 2014
PRISON IS A BITCH.
I run my fingers over the tattoo I got my second month in cellblock B. It was supposed to be a King of Spades, but all the ink bled and it looks like an abstract painting now, and it itches like crazy. I had gotten it five days before that prosecutor told me if I told the jury that my cellmate, Douglas, confessed to killing his wife and kid, she would get me out of prison early. A lie in exchange for freedom—I love this country.
I unfold the piece of paper from my pocket. I had called a series of numbers pretending to be a debt collector to get the address. It was easier than I thought it would be.
I keep walking, my canvas shoes getting more ruined by every puddle I step in. As it begins to rain, I pull my hood up and shove my hands into my sweater. I watch as the city atmosphere changes into suburbia. I stop in front of 5078 Cedar Street.
I don't see Grace, but two teenagers—one boy and one girl—are playing basketball in the driveway, undeterred by the rain.
"Come on, Kit," the boy says, dribbling the ball. "If you want to be seen as more than a cheerleader, you have to play like you want to win. You know what Dad says, 'Schneiders are winners because we never quit.'"
"Then you must be adopted," the girl sneers. "Because you quit more times than anybody I know."
I remember the feeling of the knife in my hand and the way it plunged into Grace. You don't know power until you are in control of whether or not someone lives or dies. You don't know what it's like to be God, maybe even the devil, until you feel the warmth of someone's blood on your hands. And now, Grace will see how much of a God I am. She will know that she made a mistake rejecting me and then trying to keep me imprisoned.
"Hey," I say to the boy, walking up to them with a smile. "Can I play?"
~~~~~
To be continued…in
Disturbed Mind—NOW AVAILABLE
Enjoy a sneak peek of the first chapter below.
Francis Tate, 2015
(March, Saturday, Late Afternoon;
Interstate-376, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania)
THE BOY—AN ADOLESCENT, REALLY—was dressed in jeans with threadbare knees and a leather jacket as he walks along Interstate-376 in Pittsburgh. I pull the Honda Civic onto to the shoulder. He walks up to the right side of my car as I roll down the window.
“Bad day?” I ask.
He flashes me a quick smile. “Nah. Bad two weeks. Do you have a cell phone I could use?”
“No, sorry,” I say. “I’ve never been a fan of technology.”
“Damn.” He rubs the side of his head, making his dark hair stick up. “You aren’t going to Bethlehem, are you?”
“Pennsylvania? No, but I’m going to Philadelphia after I pick up a friend in Virginia and it wouldn’t be a big deal for me to stop at Bethlehem for you,” I tell him. “Jump in.”
The boy opens the car door and bounces into the passenger seat. He sticks out his hand. “I’m Bryce. Bryce Ballentine.”
“I’m F—” I’m about to say Francis, but I realize for the first time since getting out of prison that I could create a whole new identity. I didn’t have to be Francis, the nerdy teenager with a stuttering problem, or a young man diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder, narcissistic personality disorder, and claustrophobia. The prison’s psychologists loved me and I loved manipulating them. If I had stayed a little bit longer, I’m sure I could have gotten the redhead to help me escape. “I’m Freddie. Freddie Hayes.”
“Hey, Freddie.”
“Hey, Bryce Ballentine,” I say. “So, what are you doing out here?”
“I was heading for Broadway,” he says. “But since I’ve left home, I’ve been robbed, I’m in a cell phone dead spot, and my car broke down. I think it’s a sign. God is taking His time to tell me, No, Bryce, go back home. Sleep in your nice, warm bed and eat Cheetos on your couch. The only bad part is that I need to apologize to my parents. Can you imagine that conversation? Ugh.”
“You shouldn’t give up. Genius is ninety-nine percent perspiration,” I tell him, remembering what Grace used to tell the class. WWGD? What would Grace do? That’s how I’ve been functioning in society, though the answer that keeps popping in my head is she would send you straight to prison to rot for a decade. “I’m sure that once you get to Broadway, it will be worth it. You seem like you have a big personality. You’ll fit right in there.”
“Have you been there?”
“Yeah,” I lie. “I have a few friends who work in the business. I could get you some connections.”
He smiles wide, so full of false belief that someone cares about his future endeavors…the same false belief that I had about Grace. “Thanks, Freddie. You seem like you have a big personality, too.”
“I do.” I smile.
He’s the one. My first kill after prison.
~~~~~
After we have crossed into Virginia and we’re only one town away from Murray, Bryce and I stop at a liquor store. This gets him to admit that he recently turned eighteen years old, so he stays in the car while I buy cheap vodka. I’ve prodded information out of him throughout the drive, using all of the same techniques Grace used on me—compassion, sympathy, eye contact, a ridiculous amount of time biting my tongue. He has a younger sister—thirteen years old and could possibly be a piano prodigy—his mother is a librarian and his father is a history teacher at Freedom High School. Bryce has two close friends—Emily, who he dated for a few months when he was a sophomore, but they switched back to being friends easily (which means that it wasn’t an easy transition for her) and Zach, who is obsessed with some multiplayer online roleplaying game that involves ogres and damsels in distress.
He has also never been convicted of a crime. If he had been, I might have let him live. Or maybe not.
We sit in the car in front of a biking trail, which runs along the Neabsco Creek, t
aking sips of vodka as dusk begins to settle in a small town called Pearland. I’m not sure if it’s supposed to be Pearl-and or Pear-land, but I suppose it’s irrelevant.
“You’re not going to drink and drive, are you?” he asks.
I shake my head. “We can sleep here. The cops don’t mind. Nobody even comes around here because the lake has so much algae and the mosquitos are obnoxious, so they won’t come here either.”
“You’ve been here before?” he asks.
I frown. “Yeah, when I was a kid. My father used to try to take me fishing.”
“Try?”
“I wasn’t good at it.” My tone makes it clear that the topic was over.
Bryce takes another sip of vodka. I’m guessing that he hasn’t had much experience drinking because his movements are already clumsy.
“Have you ever smoked weed?” Bryce asks.
“Yeah. Back in college,” I say. “It’s not as big of a deal as people make it out to be.”
“Oh,” he says. “What was college like?”
“Better than high school, but everything is still reliant on people’s perceptions of you,” I tell him. “But you don’t have to worry about that. You’re going to make it big in Broadway.”
“You really think that?”
I nod. “I would bet on it. In fact, why don’t you give me your autograph? That way I can make some money when you’re famous.”
“Aww, I’m not going to be famous,” he says. I open my glove compartment, take out a pen and a scrap of paper, and hand it to him. “You’re embarrassing me now. Should I write To Freddie?”
“Sure,” I say, as he begins to jot down a note, something long and sentimental. I take out the bowie knife from the glove compartment. I grab him by the hair and in one, quick motion…I slice his throat from the right ear to the left carotid artery. Who knew that dating a paramedic in college would be so useful?
Bryce makes a choking noise. One of his hands tries to stop the bleeding and the other halfheartedly reaches for me—as if I would help. I watch him struggle, the blood spraying the side window, the glove compartment, the door. It’s not like what you see in the movies—it’s not a shower of blood, but it’s the most real, thrilling thing I’ve ever seen.
A couple of minutes pass before his body slouches over completely and his eyes stare blankly at the car floor.
I wait and listen to the absolute silence in the car. After a few minutes, I get out of the car, walk around to the passenger side, open the door, and jerk Bryce’s body out. I get a tire iron out of the trunk.
I was telling the truth when I said no one comes around here, especially at night, but the thought of someone coming excites me. I want to see the shock on their face and that moment that they realize I am their new god—I could take their life without a second thought. I could be the manifestation of their worst nightmares.
I take Bryce’s cell phone and wallet. I put them in my pocket. I use the tire iron to shatter Bryce’s jaw and knock out his teeth. I make sure to collect each tooth, so it can’t be used to identify him. I think about his fingerprints. I should have asked if he had been fingerprinted for a Child Find program when he was a kid. I can’t risk it. I use the bowie knife to cut away at his fingertips and cut off all of the birthmarks that could identify him.
I flay his face clean before I bust in his skull. I put the mutilated body behind the wheel of the car and clip the seat belt around him. I drive the car toward the river, stopping right before it would begin to roll down the hill. I get out and place a rock on the gas pedal. It speeds down the grassy hill before sliding into the river. The back tires are still spinning as it disappears under the surface of the water.
I roll a few of his teeth in my hand. I’ll bury most of them, but keep a couple. They’re not really trophies. They’re more like mementos. I want to remember the feeling of his skull collapsing.
I pull off my shirt. I’ll need to burn it.
Beep, beep
What the fuck? I look around, searching for a hidden camera or some other technological device someone put in the middle of the woods to catch cold-blooded murderers.
Beep, beep
Then, I remember. Bryce’s phone.
I take it out of my pocket and slide my finger across the screen to unlock it.
Kayla: Hey. How’s your trip?
Kayla: Are you annoying that Freddie guy?
Kayla: When will you be back?
I smile. Kayla is Bryce’s thirteen-year-old sister. Kids these days with their cell phones and their belief that the only monsters were banished from under their beds. I type back to her.
Me: Trip is good. I found a bus that will take me to NYC. I’ll be back in a couple months. I want to settle down in the city before I return.
Kayla: Oh, okay. I thought you would return sooner. Keep in touch.
Me: I will.
I open Bryce’s wallet and take out his driver’s license. He’s a bit shorter and less muscular than me, but our hair and eye color are the same.
I am Bryce Ballentine. A man from Bethlehem, in search for Grace.
~~~~~
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About the Author
Charlotte Raine is the author of several romantic suspense books with more on the way. She worked in marketing and advertising for 15 years before focusing on her true passion, telling great stories. Charlotte gets inspiration for her writing from the scenic but serene mountains around her home in Vail, Colorado.
When she is not writing you will find her after a long day of skiing at one of the many lodges in Vail. She will most likely be next to a warm fire, drinking a glass of wine and telling stories.
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Disturbed Mind
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Devil’s Dawn
A Grant & Daniels Romantic Suspense Trilogy Book 2
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Table of Contents
Grace, 2014
Sam, 2014
Deke, 2014
Grace, 2014
Deke, 2014
Sam, 2014
Sam, 2014
Sam, 1987 (27 Years Ago)
Deke, 2014
Grace, 2014
Grace, 2010 (Four Years Ago)
Sam, 2014
Deke, 2014
Deke, 2001 (13 Years Ago)
Sam, 2014
Deke, 2014
Grace, 2014
Grace/Francis, 2012 (Two Years Ago)
Grace, 2014
Sam, 2014
Sam, 1993 (21 Years Ago)
Sam, 1993 (21 Years Ago)
Grace, 2014
Sam, 2014
Grace, 2014
Sam, 2014
Grace, 2014
Deke, 2014
Deke, 2003 (11 Years Ago)
Grace, 2014
Sam, 2014
Deke, 2014
Sam, 2000 (14 Years Ago)
Sam, 2014
Deke, 2014
Grace, 2014
Sam, 2014
Grace, 2014
Grace, 2012 (Two Years Ago)
Grace, 2012 (Two Years Ago)
Sam, 2014
Grace, 2014
Deke, 2014
Deke, 2014
Deke, 2005 (Nine Years Ago)
Sam, 2014
Grace, 2014
Deke, 2014
Sam, 2014
Grace, 2014
Sam, 2014
Grace, 2014
Sam, 2014
Epilogue Francis Tate, 2014
Thank You
About the Author
Discover Other Titles by Charlotte Raine
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Teacher Beware (A Grace Ellery Romantic Suspense Book 1) Page 14
