.30/30 caliber.
The impact from the blast had probably slammed Ben against the rear wall. From there, he likely plummeted forward, chin tucked against his chest as he flipped sideways, leaving the body strangely contorted on the floor.
For Cameron, no matter how many times he’d seen death, smelled it, and touched it, each time, it seemed just as familiar, just as vivid, and worst of all, just as unsettling as the last. As much as he wished it would, the ugliness never faded.
Cameron stepped away from the closet and turned his attention to the rest of Ben’s room. All around were signs of a burgeoning adolescence beginning to take shape. It seemed a contradiction of sorts, a typical representation of a boy passing from childhood into his early teens—still a lot of little-boy things, but also signs of approaching pubescence. The baseball memorabilia was falling away, becoming upstaged now by his new heroes, the ones holding electric guitars instead of baseball bats. It seemed Ben had bypassed the rap scene in favor of heavy metal. Posters hung along the walls featuring his favorite groups: Mary’s Stepchild , Revenge, and Daily Spawn . Typical kid stuff, he figured , a boy struggling to find his way in the world, searching for something to which he could relate.
Cameron walked over to Ben’s dresser and began pulling out drawers. After removing the clothing, he looked inside, searching for false bottoms, then he held them up and looked underneath; these are common places kids often use to conceal contraband, but there was none. He walked over to the stereo speakers positioned on the floor and removed the cloth grills, shining a flashlight through to the hollow spaces inside, but again, nothing was there.
* * *
The sun was beginning to rise as Cameron headed out the front door. It imbued the air with warm, orange-hued rays of light, almost as if washing away the lingering negative energy surrounding the place.
Almost, but not quite.
Except for a few stray reporters and their crews still wrapping things up, and some deputies, things were beginning to settle down into a dull hum. The curious onlookers had finally gone to bed, probably exhausted by what they’d seen.
About twenty feet from the house, Cameron stopped and turned around to take in the scene. A gloomy cloud of uncertainty had wandered not only over the Foley house, but also over the entire town of Faith, casting its shadow, leaving everything unsettled, uneasy, and–worst of all—unsaid.
Five murders and one suicide in just a few days—all in a town, which before this had never seen even one suspicious death. A deputy lay dead, the victim of a sadistic murder. Next, a teacher, slaughtered like a piece of meat while she was still alive. Now, Ben Foley, a boy who had appeared as normal as could be, had waged bloody war on his entire family before ending his own life.
What the hell is happening to this town?
Cameron turned away from the house, trying to do the same with his mind, then felt his past catching up with him again, paying yet another unwelcome visit. He’d moved back to Faith so he could come home, start anew, and forget the pain he thought he’d left behind.
But it seemed that the harder he tried to resist or ignore it, the harder it seemed to come right back at him, lingering, much like a bad stain. Every time he saw someone’s life come to a tragic end, it was just like going back and reliving that horrible day all over again.
Cameron was learning that the past is a lot like a shadow on the ground behind you. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not still there.
Chapter Fourteen
Abrams Medical Center
Albuquerque, New Mexico
Kyle Bancroft was examining a patient at her Albuquerque office. That was when it started.
A torrent of images blew through her mind at warp speed, each one leaping over the next, like bending back the pages in a book, releasing them, then watching them flutter down. Some passed as
The impact from the blast had probably slammed Ben against the rear wall. From there, he likely plummeted forward, chin tucked against his chest as he flipped sideways, leaving the body strangely contorted on the floor.
For Cameron, no matter how many times he’d seen death, smelled it, and touched it, each time, it seemed just as familiar, just as vivid, and worst of all, just as unsettling as the last. As much as he wished it would, the ugliness never faded.
Cameron stepped away from the closet and turned his attention to the rest of Ben’s room. All around were signs of a burgeoning adolescence beginning to take shape. It seemed a contradiction of sorts, a typical representation of a boy passing from childhood into his early teens—still a lot of little-boy things, but also signs of approaching pubescence. The baseball memorabilia was falling away, becoming upstaged now by his new heroes, the ones holding electric guitars instead of baseball bats. It seemed Ben had bypassed the rap scene in favor of heavy metal. Posters hung along the walls featuring his favorite groups: Mary’s Stepchild , Revenge, and Daily Spawn . Typical kid stuff, he figured , a boy struggling to find his way in the world, searching for something to which he could relate.
Cameron walked over to Ben’s dresser and began pulling out drawers. After removing the clothing, he looked inside, searching for false bottoms, then he held them up and looked underneath; these are common places kids often use to conceal contraband, but there was none. He walked over to the stereo speakers positioned on the floor and removed the cloth grills, shining a flashlight through to the hollow spaces inside, but again, nothing was there.
* * *
The sun was beginning to rise as Cameron headed out the front door. It imbued the air with warm, orange-hued rays of light, almost as if washing away the lingering negative energy surrounding the place.
Almost, but not quite.
Except for a few stray reporters and their crews still wrapping things up, and some deputies, things were beginning to settle down into a dull hum. The curious onlookers had finally gone to bed, probably exhausted by what they’d seen.
About twenty feet from the house, Cameron stopped and turned around to take in the scene. A gloomy cloud of uncertainty had wandered not only over the Foley house, but also over the entire town of Faith, casting its shadow, leaving everything unsettled, uneasy, and–worst of all—unsaid.
Five murders and one suicide in just a few days—all in a town, which before this had never seen even one suspicious death. A deputy lay dead, the victim of a sadistic murder. Next, a teacher, slaughtered like a piece of meat while she was still alive. Now, Ben Foley, a boy who had appeared as normal as could be, had waged bloody war on his entire family before ending his own life.
What the hell is happening to this town?
Cameron turned away from the house, trying to do the same with his mind, then felt his past catching up with him again, paying yet another unwelcome visit. He’d moved back to Faith so he could come home, start anew, and forget the pain he thought he’d left behind.
But it seemed that the harder he tried to resist or ignore it, the harder it seemed to come right back at him, lingering, much like a bad stain. Every time he saw someone’s life come to a tragic end, it was just like going back and reliving that horrible day all over again.
Cameron was learning that the past is a lot like a shadow on the ground behind you. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not still there.
Chapter Fourteen
Abrams Medical Center
Albuquerque, New Mexico
Kyle Bancroft was examining a patient at her Albuquerque office. That was when it started.
A torrent of images blew through her mind at warp speed, each one leaping over the next, like bending back the pages in a book, releasing them, then watching them flutter down. Some passed as
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