Dawn's Light (18 page)

The work leading up to the event was grueling, but she loved every minute of it. Her time with Mark had been severely curtailed, but she hoped that after the Disbursement and the initial rush of applicants, things would settle down. She was with Craig constantly, however, and was impressed with how competent he was at multitasking. His law school skills gave him the ability to take in a lot of information in a short amount of time and retain all of it.

Despite the women who seemed to flock there looking for jobs in the offices or the field, Craig still seemed to have eyes only for her. She had to hand it to him. He'd come a long way from the detached fiancé who hadn't even tried to contact her in the first months of the Pulses.

The morning of the FEMA Disbursement, Deni's wind-up alarm clock went off at three a.m. She'd worked until eleven the night before, getting the high school football field ready for the event. Now she had to get there early enough to beat the crowds and get her teams in place.

She heard Craig moving around in Beth's room as she got up. Where did he get his stamina? She was exhausted after only a week on the job.

She glanced back at her bed, hoping the clock hadn't awakened Beth. But the bed was empty.

She struck a match and lit the oil lamp. As shadows climbed the walls, she saw her sister sitting on the window seat in her dormer.

“Beth, what are you doing up so early?”

Beth's short hair had a cowlick in the back. “I couldn't sleep.”

“Why not? I'd kill for another couple of hours.”

Beth just stared into the night. “I was just thinking about the Disbursement.”

“What about it?”

“I was wondering if Mom and Dad would let me stay home. I don't want to go.”

Deni opened her closet door and started dressing. “You have to go, or you don't get your twenty-five dollars.”

“But we just got all that money from the bank. Maybe we could do without it.”

Deni pulled on the red polo shirt that said “Alabama Recovery Team” on the front and back. “Beth, that's a lot of money for the family, and you have to be there to get it. Why don't you want to go?”

“Because I hate crowds.”

Deni shot her a look. “You've never complained about going before. You usually like all the drama.”

“Not now. I just want to stay home. Can't you get my money for me? You work for the government now.”

“No, I can't. I don't have access to the money.” She sat down on the bed and pulled on her socks and sneakers. “You'll just have to buck up. They're going to make you go.”

She went into the bathroom and washed her face, then brushed her teeth and hair. Then she put on the white sun visor she'd bought in Florida on her high school senior trip. She wasn't normally the visor type, but she hoped it would keep her from getting too sunburned. She'd run out of sunscreen months ago.

When she came out, she saw that Craig was waiting for her. “Your chariot awaits, Madame.”

She smiled and followed him to the car, glad she wouldn't have to ride her bike in the dark.

thirty-eight

A
S CHAOTIC AS EACH OF THE
FEMA Disbursements had
been, Beth thought today's was the worst yet. The new line for job applicants had complicated things, giving less room for the disbursement lines. Everything moved slower.

And to keep people from attacking the workers in an attempt to steal the cash, they'd put the tables up on raised platforms, with armed National Guardsmen around them. Only the families being served at each spot were allowed on the platform, so it kept a little more order.

She had worn her brother's T-shirt and a pair of baggy gym shorts, hoping she'd look like a boy. She hoped her disguise and sunglasses would keep the killer from spotting her. She stood in line now, perspiration dripping down her face in the hot June sun.

Beth scanned the crowd, looking for the face of the double murderer who'd changed her life. If he was from Crockett, he would be here today, to pick up his money. She knew he liked cash.

She sought out goatees and gray, beady eyes, heavy men shaped the same as the killer. Maybe he was lurking somewhere, waiting to steal someone else's money. He could even be waiting behind the Cracker Barrel again.

Guilt surged through her. Since she hadn't reported him for what he'd done, he was free to do it to someone else. But what was she to do? No doubt he knew her name and address by now. He could come at any time. He was probably just waiting to see if she told anyone.

The only reason she was still alive was that she'd kept her mouth shut.

“Are you okay, sweetie?”

Beth looked up at her mom and nodded.

“You're shaking. Why?”

Beth hadn't realized it. “Because it's hot.”

“You don't usually shiver when you're hot.”

She shrugged and leaned to look around her. Last night she'd dreamed that he had caught her, and she couldn't scream. Would she be able to scream now?

She stayed at the center of her family, hidden by the people pressed in around her. It was stifling, but it was safe. Maybe she could get through the day without him seeing her.

Finally, Beth and her mother and brothers made it to the front of the line, and Deni and her father took a break from their posts and joined the family to collect their own disbursements. There were only three families in front of them, and the Brannings were next to step up onto the platform. As they moved closer to the steps, Beth felt more vulnerable.

Beth followed her family up the stairs. She felt exposed, put on display, and it seemed as if the thousands of people in line were focused on her. As she got to the top of the platform, she stepped in front of her father and peered off to the side, out over the sweating crowd.

She saw a man with a goatee, a black baseball cap turned backward on his head. Though she couldn't see his eyes, he was the same weight and height as the killer.

Terror shot through her.

She leaped off the stage and ran through the crowd. Behind her, she heard her mother calling, “Beth? Where are you going?”

No, Mom, don't call my name
!

“Beth!”

She bent low and ducked between legs and arms, worming her way to the other side of the crowd. Finally, she broke free near the bleachers of the football field, and ducked between two of the steps. Coming out behind the bleachers, she blasted toward the trees.

Hiding behind an oak, she looked back, breathless. No one was following.

Maybe it wasn't even him.

But what if it was? She had to get out of there.

Sweat burned her eyes and soaked her shirt. Her lungs filled like balloons, trapping air.

She spun and ran through a neighborhood, cutting through the yards. She could work her way home through the back streets.

She ran as fast as she could the five miles home, praying the killer wouldn't come.

thirty-nine

W
HAT HAD GOTTEN INTO HER
?

Kay stood at the edge of the platform, trying to see which way Beth had gone. “Doug, I have to go after her! Something's wrong!”

Already she had lost her in the crowd.

“We can't get out of line, Mom,” Jeff said. “We're all the way up here!”

Kay bent over the table. “Stamp me. He has the papers.”

The woman took her time taking the papers.

“Please, I have to go after my child.”

The woman sighed and stamped her hand. Kay turned and ran down the steps and burst through the people packed tightly in lines.

Maybe it was the post-traumatic stress disorder kicking in with a vengeance. Maybe Beth was flashing back to some of the other trauma.

Kay squeezed and pushed through the people, and finally made it to where they'd locked their bikes. Beth hadn't had the key to get hers unlocked, so it still stood where she'd left it.

She spun in a circle, her eyes frantically searching the crowd for Beth.

What if something had happened to her? What had prompted her to run off the platform? Where had she gone?

She pushed back through the crowd, searching, calling out, “Beth!” Running up and down the snaking line, she searched for her child.

There was no sign of her.

Finally, she saw the family coming off the platform. She rushed to her husband. “Something's happened, Doug! I can't find her!”

Doug looked back at the platform. “We'll look for her here, and you go see if she went home.”

Kay nodded and sliced through the lines again. She got back to the bikes and unlocked the chain, pulled hers out, then locked the others back together. She rode as fast as she could pedal down the long country road to Oak Hollow.

She should have brought a gun, she thought as she rode. Even though she had no cash on her, riding alone and unarmed was like riding through the valley of the shadow of death, knowing that bandits and thieves waited to take what wasn't theirs.
Dear God, let Beth be safe
!

Thankfully, she didn't run into trouble. She turned into the neighborhood and made her way to their house, threw down her bike, and opened the garage door. She pulled the bike in, then hurried inside. “Beth! Are you here?”

She saw dirty footprints on the kitchen floor. They hadn't been there earlier, and they were Beth's size. She must have come home.

She went from room to room, calling for Beth. No answer. Finally, she went into Deni's bedroom and saw the dirty footsteps across her carpet. She followed them to her bed.

But Beth wasn't in it.

Slowly, she lowered to her knees.

Beth was under the bed, shivering in a ball.

“Beth, what are you doing?” She pulled Beth out. Reluctantly she came, trembling. Kay pulled her into her arms and held her tight. “What happened, honey? Did someone hurt you?”

Beth shook her head and just stared at the doorway.

forty

“W
HO ARE YOU AFRAID OF
?”

Beth just shook her head. “No one.”

Beth kept looking at the door, so Kay took her chin in her hand and made her look into her eyes. “Beth, I can't help you if you don't tell me the truth.”

“I am telling you the truth.” Beth's voice wobbled.

Her denials were knives cutting into Kay's heart. “Then why are you shaking? Why were you hiding?”

“I don't know … all those people. I felt like they were staring at me—”

No, that couldn't be it. Beth loved to have people looking at her. That's why she did the plays. “You jumped off the platform and ran five miles home. That wasn't self-consciousness, Beth, it was fear.”

“I saw a puppy,” Beth muttered. “I thought somebody was going to step on it, so I jumped down to help it.”

A puppy? “So where is it?”

“Where is what?”

“The puppy. Where's the puppy?”

“I … it got away after I rescued it.”

“But I didn't see you rescue a puppy, Beth. I saw you take off through the crowd like you were being chased.” Frustration and her own fear brought tears to her eyes, and Kay's face twisted. “Beth, please don't do this to me. I have to know the truth. You're my child. I want to help you.”

That only made things worse. Beth's upper lip seemed to swell as she let out another wail. “Don't cry, Mom. Please don't cry.”

“I'm worried about you!” Beth reached for her then, and Kay clung to her, feeling as if some unnamed threat—real or imaginary—was pulling her child away. How could she stop it if she couldn't make her talk? Maybe she should get tough with her. Demand that she open up. Force her to spill her secret.

But Beth looked so fragile. “I'm just jumpy, that's all,” she said. “I feel like things are getting worse. Bad things keep happening.”

“But good things are happening too. Why can't you see that?”

“Because the terrible things are bigger.”

Spoken like a victim of post-traumatic stress disorder. Wasn't this just what Anne Latham described? The events over the last year had piled one upon the other, until Beth felt crushed beneath the memories. Maybe this was all psychological. No physical threat. No logical explanation.

Beth needed anxiety medications, antidepressants. Were those even available now?

Eventually Doug, Jeff, and Logan made it home, relieved to find that Beth was here. Her behavior had been a reason for low voices and whispers, rather than laughter and mockery from her brothers.

Kay sat on Deni's bed, holding Beth in her arms as she cried. Her mind raced for answers.

But for the life of her, she didn't know how to help her child.

forty-one

B
ETH DIDN'T SLEEP THAT NIGHT
. S
HE LAY AWAKE IN
D
ENI'S
bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering where the killer was. For all she knew, he could be out murdering others, since he'd gotten off scot-free.

She thought of that conversation she'd overheard at the park. Blake Tomlin's wife, defending her husband and marriage to an insensitive friend. She was probably up tonight, as well, wandering the house and praying that her husband would come home.

Someone had to tell her. Beth got up and went to the window, looked out into the night. There must be some way she could let the woman know without alerting the killer. If she could just get a message to her, letting her know that her husband was dead.

It wouldn't make Mrs. Tomlin feel better, but at least she'd know the truth. A woman needed to know when her husband was dead.

Beth decided to go downstairs and write a note. She could slip it in the Tomlins' mailbox tomorrow.

She went into her dad's study and lit the lamp. Pulling a piece of paper out of his desk, she began to write her note.

I saw your husband murdered the day the banks opened. A man with a goatee killed him behind Cracker Barrel. He killed another man, too. I don't know what he did with the bodies.

I didn't want you to think he ran off. I can tell from his picture he was a nice man.

She looked at her scrawl, wondering if she'd said too much. What if Mrs. Tomlin called the police, and they called the newspaper, and the letter was printed? The killer would know that she'd described him. He would come after her for sure.