Page 19 of The Pact

“Yes.” I show him my badge, just to keep things professional, and tell him about the two missing boys. “Mr. Henderson, the boys have been missing for some time now. As you can imagine, their parents are worried.” I pause, let the sound of sleet hitting the tin roof drive home my point. “With the weather deteriorating, we need to find them fast. Is it possible the trespassers were two boys?”

“Well, I didn’t get a good look at them.”

“How many were there?”

“Two, I reckon.”

I glance toward the barn, where I can just make out the yellow wedge of Tomasetti’s flashlight. “I understand they vandalized a fence?”

Henderson’s eyes skitter away from mine. “Just an old pen.” But he spots Tomasetti. “Who the hell’s sneaking around out there?”

“Like I told you, Mr. Henderson, we’re looking for two juvenile boys this evening.”

The old man’s eyes slide from me to the Explorer, wondering who else I might’ve brought with me. “All I want is for you to keep them stupid damn kids off my property. You hear?”

He doesn’t even realize that he just described the trespassers.

“Chief!”

I turn at the sound of Tomasetti’s voice. Not giving the old man an opportunity to protest, I pull out my Maglite and head that way. Henderson curses me, but I don’t stop. Sleet stings my face as I wend through a gauntlet of junk—a rusty washing machine, concrete blocks, and an antique-looking manure spreader—and find Tomasetti in an open area behind the barn. The beam of his flashlight reveals a falling-down chain-link pen that’s been cut open on one end. Inside, the ground is trampled. There’s a small water trough. A scattered pile of corn. Deer droppings everywhere. The pen is dirty, with no shelter from the elements.

“I’d say there was recently a deer inside that enclosure,” Tomasetti says.

I study the wire. “Looks freshly cut.”

“Hey!”

We look up to see Henderson approach. He’s slipped into insulated coveralls and a safety-orange beanie. He blinds me with his flashlight. “I told you they was gone,” he snaps.

“Mr. Henderson,” I say, firmly raising my hand against the light. “If those two boys were here, you need to tell me right now.”

He looks nervously at the deer pen. “Them thieving little shits ain’t my concern.”

“Did they cut this pen?” I ask. “To free the deer?”

Henderson’s eyes widen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growls.

Tomasetti crosses to the old man, takes hold of his flashlight, and points the beam to the ground. “You have thirty seconds to answer her question and it had better be the truth.” He lowers his voice. “Second offense for keeping wildlife in a pen is going to be very expensive.”

Henderson swallows, angry eyes darting from Tomasetti to me. “Look, I ain’t saying I had a deer in there. And I didn’t get a good look at whoever was out here and cut up that pen. But it mighta been them two boys.”

Tomasetti is already striding toward the tree line a few yards away, the beam of his flashlight on the ground. “I got tracks.”

I join Tomasetti. Sure enough, in the inch or so of snow that covers the ground at the edge of the tree line, I see tracks.

I point my beam toward the trees. “They went north.”

As we start that way, neither of us acknowledges the cloven hoof tracks that go in the same direction.

Kevin dreamed of the forest, as dark and cold as an underground river, and a magnificent buck that flew above the treetops. Aaron was there, too, but Kevin had lost sight of his friend. Around him, the trees roared and the air was hot and clogged with smoke.

Kevin woke coughing, his throat burning. Pushing his hood from his head, he sat up. Fear gripped him when he saw flames billowing from the fireplace, high enough to lick the ceiling. Squealing, he jumped to his feet. Black smoke filled the room.

“Aaron!” he screamed.

“Holy cow!”

Kevin glanced left, saw his friend scramble to his feet. Shock on his face. Eyes wide with alarm. Behind him, the flames roared.