The Other Daniel - A Camille Grisham Novella

THE

OTHER

DANIEL

A GRISHAM/SULLIVAN
NOVELLA

JOHN HARDY BELL

Copyright © 2014 John Hardy Bell

All rights reserved.

This e-book is intended for personal use
only, and may not be reproduced, transmitted, or redistributed in
any way without the express written consent of the author.

This is a work of fiction. All of the
organizations, characters, and events portrayed in this novel are
either products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously.

For more, visit my website
http://jhardybell.com

Twitter:
@johnbellwrites

Facebook:
facebook.com/Author.
John
.
Hardy
.
Bell

Email:
[email protected]

Contents

Title page

Copyright

Dedication

Other Titles

Prologue

Chapter
1.

Chapter
2.

Chapter
3.

Chapter
4.

Chapter
5.

Chapter
6.

Chapter
7.

Epilogue

For the fans who convinced
me that Camille’s story was worth continuing

Thank you

PROLOGUE

THE OTHER DANIEL – BY JACOB DEAVER

Between 2008 and 2012,
Daniel Alexander Sykes savagely murdered twenty-seven people,
including the FBI agent who was attempting to capture him. Sykes
was a monster in every sense of the word – a true representation of
the worst that humanity had to offer. And as the grisly details of
his four-year crime spree slowly emerged, no sane person would have
dared argued otherwise.

But as you are about to
read, there is much more to Daniel Sykes than the man who the world
came to know as ‘The Circle Killer’. He was a first-grade teacher
from Kutztown, Pennsylvania, a loving husband, a doting father,
and, dare it be said, a human being. By the time you are finished
with this book, you may very well want to label me more
pathologically twisted than the subject I am writing about. Or you
may come to a more rational and balanced conclusion: that it is
very easy to judge someone without first knowing everything about
them. But it isn't always fair to do so.

Meredith Park slowly
exhaled
as she put the two-paragraph
manuscript down on her desk, only now realizing that she had been
holding her breath the entire time she was reading it.

The author of the manuscript sat across from
her, nervous anticipation accentuating the tightness of his face.
"So? What do you think?"

Meredith carefully considered her reply as
she scanned the top of the page. "I think the title is
brilliant."

The author smiled the same way all authors
smiled when they heard the 'B' word. Images of Hemmingway and
Salinger were undoubtedly swirling through his head, and Meredith
knew she had to bring him back into the realm of the living -
quickly.

"But I'm not seeing much else of value
here."

She had never seen a face drop faster.

"I'm sorry, Jacob. I've always believed in
the concept, and I still do. But the fact of the matter is that
it's been three months since you've collected your advance. I know
I don't have to preach to you about the importance of deadlines,
and given your track record I’m confident you'll find a way to meet
this one. I just thought there would be a little more meat on the
bone by now."

Jacob Deaver's stiff
posture was betrayed by the pronounced quivering of his chin. It
was a reaction that Meredith had seen too many times before. In her
experience, writers were the most prideful human beings on the
planet, and no matter how much they extolled the virtues of honest
feedback, deep down the only feedback they truly valued was the
kind that confirmed the perfection of their words. Entering her
tenth year as a literary agent, Meredith had come across perfection
only a handful of times. In three years of critiquing his work,
Jacob had yet to come close. But
The Other
Daniel
contained all the necessary
elements of a potential bestseller: dark subject matter, intriguing
players, and most importantly, controversy. It was the kind of book
that got people talking. And no matter if that talk was positive or
negative, it was still talk, which in Meredith's business was
everything. She was on the verge of reminding her client of this
potential, but felt no need to further inflate his ego. She needed
words on the page. And no matter how much potential the book had,
two paragraphs in three months simply wasn’t enough.

"The publisher hasn't asked for a progress
report yet, but it's only a matter of time. And when the time does
come, they are going to expect a lot more than this. Frankly I
expect more too. A lot of people are sticking their necks out to
get this to press. It's time to give them a reason to believe that
it's worth it." She sighed, then slid the manuscript in his
direction. "What are you going to do to make them believe?"

Jacob eyed the page as if the answer was
hidden somewhere deep in the margins. "It's going to come together,
Meredith." His tired brown eyes communicated a doubt that his words
did not.

"How? When?"

"The outline is finished and the basic
narrative is laid out. The problem has been getting people to talk
to me."

"I thought all you needed was some
background on the guy. How hard is it to get people to talk about
what kind of teacher he was?"

"Now that word is
spreading that this book is some kind of sympathy piece on Sykes,
which we both know isn't true, it's been incredibly hard. I've been
to Pennsylvania twice now. I've seen where Sykes grew up, visited
the school he taught in, I even sat through a church service with
his old pastor. The people I encountered couldn't have been nicer,
until I told them who I was and what I was doing there. Then
I
suddenly felt like the
mass-murderer. People hate this man. Even the ones who love him
hate him. To them, the life he lived prior to becoming a killer
doesn’t even exist."

For the duration of Jacob's ham-handed
explanation, Meredith found herself doodling on her desktop
calendar. It was a portrait of her family - husband, herself, and
three daughters in stick figure form with tall grass, lush trees,
and a smiling sun high above. Her six-year-old would have been
proud of the craftsmanship. The doodle was designed to keep her
calm, to maintain perspective, to prevent her from unleashing an
unruly temper on her already fragile client. It only worked for a
moment.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I assumed the
purpose of this book was to use the people in Sykes' life – namely
family and friends - to show the world that he was more than the
headlines portrayed him to be."

Jacob ran fingers across the dense stubble
on his otherwise smooth, youthful face. “That’s right.”

"So if you can't talk to these people, you
don't have a book. Is that what you’re telling me?"

The author's long frame sank deep into his
chair, weighed down by the defeat of her perceived rejection. In
addition to being prideful, writers were entirely too damn
sensitive, Meredith thought. She forced a smile in hopes of easing
the tension.

"Okay, what do you say we change course here
and do a little brainstorming. Is there anyone on your list whom
you haven't yet spoken to?"

Jacob remained quiet and Meredith could see
the wheels of his memory turning. When his blank eyes met hers a
few moments later, she knew what the outcome of his mental query
had been. Still, she waited for him to say it.

"Not really."

Meredith's sigh was louder than she
intended.

"Cut me some slack here, would you? It's not
like I can talk to any of Sykes' victims. In case you haven't kept
up with the story, they're all dead. That leaves me with a bunch of
family members and friends who spend most of their waking hours
trying to disown the guy. I've tried just about everything short of
putting a gun to their heads. Trust me, no one is biting."

The resolve in Jacob's
voice almost had Meredith convinced of the futility of the project
and she had just begun contemplating how she was going to recoup
the publisher's advance. Then she thought about something Jacob
said:
I've tried just about everything
short of putting a gun to their heads
. It
came to her like a flash of light, so brilliant that it almost
blinded her. An idea. A solution. A book.

"Camille Grisham."

Jacob's mouth flew open before he could
formulate the words to come out of it. "The FBI agent?"

"Former FBI agent," Meredith corrected.
"Look, I understand it's a bit outside of the box."

"A bit?"

"But it's also the perfect angle. Camille is
the only person we know of who saw the worst of Sykes and lived to
tell the tale."

"The problem is she isn't telling that tale
to anyone. Do you know how many people have angled for the rights
to her story? We're talking huge names offering huge money. And
Camille has said no each and every time. What makes you think she'd
give me two seconds, let alone enough sit-down material for an
entire book?"

He made a good point, and deep down Meredith
knew he was probably right. But she refused to let her enthusiasm
be sobered by something as trivial as reality. She wrote the words
'tortured FBI agent equals guaranteed bestseller' next to her
family doodle, and knew that in the world she operated in, it
absolutely did. The look of borderline horror that colored Jacob's
face let her know just how far in she would have to dig her heels
in order to convince him. Fortunately for Meredith, nobody dug
deeper.

"If we can assure the
publisher that this is possible,
The Other
Daniel
immediately becomes their top
priority. That means a faster pub date, comprehensive marketing,
and an author whose value suddenly becomes
immeasurable."

The expression on Jacob's face softened as
the wheels in his mind started turning again. Meredith knew exactly
which buttons to push and how hard to push them. In Jacob's case,
the celebrity-author button worked every time.

"Granted it will be tough
getting to her,” she continued. “But if you do, if
The Other Daniel
hits
shelves with Camille Grisham front and center, you can spend the
rest of your career writing your own ticket. Doesn't that make the
effort worthwhile?"

Without saying a word, Jacob pulled out his
cell phone. He punched the keypad for several minutes before
Meredith finally decided he wasn't going to let her in on his
query.

"May I ask?" she said, offended by his
absence of consideration.

"You know her best friend was murdered two
days after she left the FBI, right?" he said without looking up
from the phone.

Meredith's eyes dropped to the Pilot pen
that she had been twirling in her hand. "I'm aware of that."

Jacob continued scrolling. "Then you’re also
aware of the crazy claim she's making about who is involved."

"According to some people, the claim isn't
so crazy. Still, it sounds like she's going to have a hard time
proving it, no matter how determined she is to do so."

"Knowing all of that, do you honestly think
I'd have an iota of a chance with her? Daniel Sykes is something of
a sore subject to begin with. I don't think she's going to
appreciate someone showing up at her doorstep attempting to reopen
that wound when she's still dealing with a fresh one."

"Like I said, Camille is determined to tell
her story. The problem is no one is hearing that story. You have
the opportunity to give her a voice."

Jacob smirked. "I’m a regular patron
saint."