While the Savage Sleeps (29 page)

Outside, Geller leaned against the brick wall, tilted his head back, and released a drawn-out breath. As he did, Cameron looked down at the deputy’s hands; they were still shaking.

“
Why don’t you tell me what happened, Ronnie, from the beginning,” Cameron urged, gently.

Geller looked at Cameron, his expression void. Then, after a few moments, he spoke with a trembling voice. “I came in to grab some lunch. Shawn was at the counter with his back to me. Figured I’d go over and invite him to join me at a table.”

Cameron nodded.

Geller took a long, shaky breath, then said, “Pretty much immediately, I realized something wasn’t right. He had his face buried in his hands, like he was upset or something. I said his name a few times, but he wouldn’t answer, you know? Wouldn’t even look up.” He paused. “I knew him and his girlfriend split up a while back, so I figured maybe it was about that.”

“
You thought he might still be upset,” Cameron confirmed.

“
Yeah. I was worried about him, and I could tell the people around him were, too—they were staring, and everyone was looking at me, like,
do something.
So I put a hand on his shoulder and asked him if there was anything I could do to help him, if he needed something, you know? But he just sat there, totally unresponsive. I thought maybe he was sick or something, like he needed medical attention, you know? I didn’t know
what
was going on, but I knew I couldn’t just leave him there like that. I kneeled down at his side, like this.” Gellar knelt next to Cameron. “Then, all of a sudden, he just explodes, knocks me, and I go flying, right onto the floor—totally unexpected—I mean, it came outta nowhere. I was stunned. I couldn’t believe he did it. I know Shawn, a real nice guy, you know?”

Cameron nodded. This was starting to sound familiar.

“
Knocked the wind right out of me, you know?” He stood up. “When I finally got to my feet and got my bearings, I saw him standing there, looking me right in the eye. It was the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen, boss. It was like I barely even recognized him.

“
Why was that?”

“
This is gonna sound strange,” Ronnie paused, trying to find the right words. “He had this wild look in his eyes. I mean,
really
crazy
… and creepy, you know?”

“
Creepy? How?”

“
It’s hard to explain. The eyes—they were, like, dark … and flat, like there was nothin’ behind ‘em. Like they didn’t reflect any light.”

Cameron looked away from Geller, thought about it for a moment, then back at him. “
Dark
?”

“
Yeah. Like they were almost black.”

“
Ronnie?”

“
Yeah?”

“
Shawn’s eyes were blue.”

Ronnie appeared stunned, said nothing.

“
Blue,” Cameron repeated. He was talking to himself as much as to his deputy.

“
I … I’d never noticed before—to tell you the truth—but take my word for it, boss: They were
not
blue when I saw them. They were dark—dark as night, as tar.”

Cameron felt his cheeks getting warm. “So what happened next?”

“
So he was standing there. His face … he looked so … angry. No, it was worse than angry, much worse. I’ve never seen him like that before.
Never.
You know how Shawn is …” He stopped, shook his head, then spoke quietly. “I mean,
was.
Easygoing, always seemed so happy. But this was like, something else.”

“
Like what?”

Ronnie spread his fingers apart on both hands and looked down at them, then up into Cameron’s eyes. “I don’t know, like he wasn’t even human.”

Cameron swallowed hard, forced his words out. “Then what?”

“
He pulls out his gun and takes aim, right at me. You shoulda seen the look on his face—I’ve seen that look before. I knew what it meant. He was going to kill me. I had to think quick. So I lunged at him. As I do, he squeezes off a round. It missed me by a hair, went right over my shoulder and through the front window. Before he could take another shot, I landed right on top of him and his gun fell out of his hand. I got up and reached for mine but as I did, he reached over for his—it was laying on the floor, just a few inches from his hand. He fired off another round but couldn’t get good enough aim ‘cause of how he was lying there on the floor. But
I
could … and I
did
.” Geller threw his hands out, palms up, pleading, tears forming in his eyes. “I
had
to do it, I had to kill him.”

“
He was going to kill you
,
Ronnie. You did the right thing.”

“
I
killed
him,” he said, staring at the ground shaking his head. “I killed Shawn.”

Cameron stepped back and locked his hands behind his back, watching Geller try to compose himself, before speaking again. “And you have no idea what got into him? What might have caused all this?”

“
Sheriff,” Geller said, “you know him …
I know him. To tell you the truth, I don’t have a clue
what
the hell happened back there. But as sure as I’m sitting here, I do know one thing.”

“
What’s that?”

“
The person I killed back there—that wasn’t Shawn.”

Cameron tilted his head, narrowed his eyes. “Who was it, then?”

“
That,” he said, “was some kind of monster.”

Chapter
Sixty-Two

City Morgue

Faith, New Mexico

Faith Community Hospital’s morgue was the holding area for all deceased persons prior to autopsy or burial. Cameron and Frank felt an obligation to go there—one, to pay their respects to a fallen deputy, and two, to see if they could find evidence that might help explain why things went so wrong, so fast.

Shawn’s body lay on a metal table with the standard white sheet covering him. Not long ago, they’d been standing over Bradley Witherspoon’s corpse in much the same manner. Although the circumstances were a lot different here, it didn’t change the haunting fact: both were deputies. Both were dead.

A gentle electrical hum buzzed steadily in the background, practically inaudible, though for Cameron, it seemed to blare.

“
You wanna to do the honors, or shall I?” Frank finally asked with a combination of regret and disgust.

Frank’s sorrow did not evade Cameron, who said nothing, then reached for the corner of the sheet, lifting it. As he did, he could barely feel his fingers or even the sheet in his hand. His body and mind were both numb.

They both looked down at Shawn’s face.

Cameron reached to pull the cover back over the body.

Suddenly, Frank threw out his hand.

Caught off-guard, and blocked from going any farther, Cameron looked up. “What, Frank? What’s going on?”

Frank said nothing. He dropped his hand and continued staring at Shawn’s corpse: eyes wide and round, face frozen, breathing and heavy, loud.

Cameron noticed his boss trembling. “You’re scaring me, Frank. Say something
.”

Slowly, Frank pointed toward the body. His voice was labored and hoarse. “The finger … look at his finger.”

Cameron gazed at Frank, then at Banks’ hand. As he did, his eyes widened with recognition. “Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head vehemently, as if begging the truth not to exist. “
Oh … no
.”

On Banks’ left finger was a gold ring, the Masonic logo imprinted on its face, and on each side, a trillion-cut, black onyx.

With a chip missing from one of them.

Frank slowly raised his gaze toward Cameron. “The fragment you found on Witherspoon … the stone.”

It was the exact same shape and size. Cameron couldn’t speak; he could barely even breathe.

“
Christ,” Frank said. “
Holy
… Shawn Banks killed Bradley Witherspoon.”

Chapter
Sixty-Three

Albuquerque, New Mexico

It was late evening and Kyle had finally arrived home. She’d hoped to get there sooner, but one of her patients had forced a change in plans—the boy had fallen and busted his sutures wide open. Kyle had to spend the last few hours cleaning and repairing the damage.

She plopped down onto her couch and opened a can of grape juice she’d planned to drink earlier. It was warm now, but she didn’t much care—it was still wet, and that was all that mattered.

Sitting motionless for a few moments, Kyle enjoyed the near-silence surrounding her. The only sound she could hear was the refrigerator as it clicked on and off to the commands of an indecisive thermostat. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. Right away, thoughts of Bethany crept into her mind, but she quickly chased them away.

She reached for the remote on the coffee table and turned on the television. After mindlessly flipping through channels, she settled on the local news. As the opening music started, Kyle realized she hadn’t been keeping up on events lately. Time just hadn’t permitted.
Bethany hasn’t permitted
, she thought as she propped her feet up, grabbed a copy of
Cosmo,
and began flipping through the pages.

She hadn’t been paying much attention until the anchor’s sharp voice prompted her to look up at the screen.

“
A scare today at University Hospital,” the woman said in a tone that seemed to bark rather than inform. “A man walked into the emergency room with a rifle under his arm—and anger on his mind. Casey Gold is live at the scene. She has more ... Casey
?
”

The video wiped across the screen, revealing the somber-faced reporter holding a microphone to her chest as if it were a delicate, burning candle. Her expression seemed to mimic concern. Fast-paced music played in the background, communicating a distinct sense of urgency.

“
Good evening, Dory,” Gold said slowly, with a tone declaring tragedy.
“
Everyone
got out, but the suspect remained inside.
Fifty-one-year-old Ronald Matherson refused to surrender.”

To Kyle, the scene didn’t look much different from any other day, save for the lone police car parked out front, its blue and red lights flashing on and off in short, contained spasms. It seemed obvious the news crew had arrived much too late. A woman strolled across the screen, looking as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

The reporter continued as images of a cold scene dragged on: “SWAT teams were called. The standoff went on for two hours, during which, Matherson made several demands. He asked for a cold meatloaf sandwich, heavy ketchup, crust removed, a peanut butter milkshake … and for the president’s resignation. He got nothing. Authorities decided to wait it out. About an hour later—” long pause “—he gave up, without incident.”

Kyle moved to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and surveyed the contents. Cooking would be too much of a bother, she thought, then closed the door. An all-night Chinese diner up the street seemed her only option at this hour. Kyle felt grateful they delivered, a true blessing for her tired muscles and aching bones.

She grabbed the phonebook and opened it to the restaurant section, and as she did, saw something out of the corner of her eye.

Something speeding across her living room.

She screamed and lurched back simultaneously.

It was gone before Kyle could look up to identify it, but she knew the figure was human, knew it was dressed all in white.

She blinked hard, then rushed into the room, heart racing—pounding—inside her chest. When she got there, Kyle instantly felt ice-cold air nipping at her skin, then a warm hand on the back of her neck. She jumped, turned around.

Nothing—or nobody—was there.

The sound on the television rose steadily, as if someone were hiking the volume with a remote.

“
Six-year-old Bethany Foley, the youngest child, was also killed.”

Kyle froze, eyes gaping, slack-jawed, as if it were her own photograph on the screen.

The final piece of the puzzle was staring her right in the face.

Chapter
Sixty-Four

Albuquerque, New Mexico

Kyle had become used to seeing Bethany at the strangest times and in the most peculiar places, but never anything like this.

Before, she’d always appeared in her deceased state. Now, in the photo, she looked very much alive. Gone were the dark sunken circles beneath shadowy eyes, as were the filthy tangles of hair framing a frightened, despondent face.
This
Bethany was a striking contrast—a beautiful, golden-haired child with soft, pink skin, and stunning green eyes, as clear and bright as polished emeralds.