Knock Out (17 page)

“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. Gabrielle 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 or 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, Dil-lon. 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 chas-ing
bank robbers.

Yes, I’ve been real busy here. I’m sorry. Tell me your last
name, Au-tumn, 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 heat of silence, but she saw a brief smile on his mouth.
Tell me what’s been happening.

She old 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, hut
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 any-body. 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 of 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 wanted 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.”

Shelock 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 super-natural 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 on. 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.