Sweet Dreams

By Mark S. R. Peterson

13-year-old HEIDI EARNEST has nightmares so frightening that, as the weeks and months go by, she is too scared to even fall asleep.
But she soon finds solace in a mysterious necklace and an even more mysterious visitor who frequents her nightmares. Is this the cure she's striving to discover? Or will it lead her further into darkness?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark S. R. Peterson
• Release date: Jun 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005477011

Mark S. R. Peterson

Born in small-town northwestern Minnesota, Mark S. R. Peterson knew he had a love of writing as far back as 2nd grade.His genre interests are as expansive as his musical tastes–from classics like Mozart and Beethoven to heavy metal like Poison and Metallica. He writes thrillers, horror, science fiction, and fantasy, and even dabbles into nonfiction and inspirational.He is a graduate of Bemidji State University, majoring in criminal justice and psychology. He wrote his first book between homework and achieving his 2nd Dan black belt in Tae Kwon Do. He has over 15 years of law enforcement experience and currently lives, according to a Washington Post article, in the “ugliest county” in the United States.BEHOLDER’S EYE is his first published thriller novel, the first in his Central Division Series. KILLZONE is the first in his Shadowkill trilogy.

Book preview

Part Four

To Live A Dream

Epilogue

Afterword

Views From The Outhouse

About the author

PROLOGUE

Jeremy!

Samantha Hill sprinted out the front door, a white cotton robe tied loosely around her. Her bare feet slapped against the asphalt like a snare drum.

Help! Jeremy!

Her husband, Robert, stopped in the threshold, cordless phone in hand. He wanted to run after her, but couldn’t. He didn’t want to lose the connection. No, sorry, it’s my son Jeremy who’s missing. My wife, Sam, just ran down the street. No, I don’t know where she’s going. She’s just screaming. She’s running toward downtown. Yes, Range Street. 1409. Yes, southeast. Please, hurry. Please.

The dispatcher asked him a question.

He slumped to the floor. His chest tightened. I . . . I don’t know. Sam was still up when I went to bed. It was just after the news, so . . . about a quarter after ten. I’m the SuperValu manager, so I get there early.

Far off in the distance, he could hear police sirens.

He closed his eyes.

Oh, God, where in the world did he go? Where is he?

The dispatcher’s next question jarred him.

Ran away? he asked. What for?

Sorry, sir, the dispatcher said, I’m just gathering as much information as I can.

He sighed. I know you are. He clenched his fists. No, I . . . I don’t think he went anywhere on his own. At least, I hope not. He’s a good boy. He always tells us if he’s going anywhere. He has a few friends. Sorry, I can’t think of their names. Sam would know. She always knows.

In truth, Jeremy had very few friends except Sky. Sky was their cocker spaniel, who tragically died this past spring. Sky was just a puppy, not even a year old, when Jeremy was born.

Robert made a wooden chest for Sky’s casket, and they packed his body with his favorite blanket and toys. Sky was buried in the backyard, under the oak tree that Jeremy used as his makeshift fort.

An officer should be there in a few minutes, sir.

He wiped his eyes as a white police cruiser parked in front of the house. He’s here.

Your son?

Lord, no. I wish. No, an officer.

He hung up. He dropped the phone, the battery cover popping off. Then, bracing himself between the door jambs, he pushed himself up.

The cop appeared to be in his early twenties, tall and stocky, with a blond crewcut. He introduced himself as Officer Spinoza. Your son missing?

Robert nodded. He didn’t recognize the cop. Must be the new one the PD hired this past spring. He is. I got up about . . . what time is it?

Spinoza glanced at his silver-colored watch. Six ten.

Crap, Robert said, rubbing his eyes. I’ll have to call someone to open the store. I’m the manager of the SuperValu.

The officer cocked his head a little. Doesn’t the store open at eight?

Yeah, but I get there about six fifteen. The bakery crew gets there about six thirty. No way I’m going in now. Unless he comes back.

Who comes back?

My son. Jeremy. He sighed. That’s why you’re here, right?

The officer took out a notebook from his shirt pocket. Of course. How old is your son? Jeremy, right?

Robert nodded. Nine. He guessed on the height and weight. Stuff like that was always in Sam’s realm of expertise. She’s the one who always took him to the doctor and such. Black hair.

When was the last time you saw him?

Christ, your dispatcher asked me that too. Okay, I’d have to say . . . ten fifteen at the latest.

Last night?

Robert sighed. Of course. It was right after the news and weather reports. I don’t stick around for the sports. Not a sports fan, to be honest.

The officer scribbled in his notebook. What time did you notice your son was missing?

I was up at five thirty. Today. Honestly, I don’t usually check on him before I go to work, but he was going to shadow me today. It was . . . I figured I’d let him sleep until five forty-five. We planned on eating breakfast at the store. Fresh pastries taste better than cereal. He forced a chuckle. That’s what Jeremy told me. Cherry-filled long johns with frosting are his favorite.

So is that when you noticed he was missing? Five forty-five?

Robert took a deep breath.

He remembered sitting at the dining room table, sipping on a cup of fresh coffee, counting down the minutes while at the same time feeling an odd sense of . . . emptiness. The house was always quiet in the mornings, but today felt different.

Too quiet.

As time slogged on, he felt a tug in his gut to go check on Jeremy. He didn’t know why. So he finally gave in. It was still a few minutes early, but he thought what the hell. Jeremy was always a happy boy, despite being an only child.

He knocked softly on the door, chuckling at the GENIUS AT WORK sign hanging from the knob. He opened the door a crack, called out his name, but didn’t hear anything. Besides, the room felt . . . empty.

When he turned on the light, he expected Jeremy to whip the covers over his head, telling him to shut off the lights.

But he didn’t.

Because the bed was empty.

* * *

Samantha fell on her knees. She gasped, struggling to breathe.

Where was he? Where in the world was her beloved little boy?

She was in front of The Gothic Corner, a store that was part oddities shop, part bookstore. As the name suggested, it delved toward the creepy and exotic.

Jeremy! she exclaimed, although her voice was soft and hoarse, having screamed her son’s name all the way here.

Where she was going, she had no idea. Jeremy wasn’t in his room this morning--her last sight of him was when she went to bed, right after The Tonight Show with Jay Leno. He was sleeping so soundly, so peaceful. She knew he was having sweet dreams. The book Treasure Island was on the nightstand, along with an array of Star Wars action figures, multi-colored dice, and pewter figurines.

His hands were curled around his Spiderman bed sheets. Posters around his room displayed his other interests, from Superman to Batman and Star Trek to chess. She imagined in a few years those interests would slowly turn to heavy metal music and bikini girls. It was also possible for him to gravitate to fishing and hunting too, like all the other neighbor boys.

Or even sports.

He played in the summer softball league, sponsored by the local Jaycees. He also liked to swim at the city pool. But that was about it for any sports.

As far as the neighbor boys were concerned, he never really did much with them. There were hordes of board games in his closet, and what fascinated her was how he devised a way of playing them by himself. His favorite seemed to be chess, although he dabbled with role playing games like Dungeons and Dragons from time to time.

He learned how to play it all by himself.

He explained it to her a few times, how he came up with challenges in the D&D world all by the role of the dice. Although he called them die instead of dice. She wasn’t ever sure why.

That’s what these books call them, he said, showing her a few guides about how to play the game--ironically, they gave him those books for Christmas last year, all obtained from The Gothic Corner.

Ma’am?

Samantha wiped her eyes. Whoever said ma’am sounded official, authoritarian. She can’t believe she didn’t hear the car pull up next to the curb, but when the driver turned it off an eerie silence filled the air. A silence that was usually filled with birds singing, cars driving by, the occasional song blaring from a vehicle’s stereo, and probably dozens of other sounds people don’t usually concentrate on until it’s all taken away.

Taken away like her Jeremy.

She painted the sidewalk with tears again.

Ma’am, are you Samantha?

She nodded.

My name is Nancy Holm. I’m with the Washburn PD. Another officer is talking to your husband. Are you able to come with me?

She felt a calm hand on her shoulders.

Again, Samantha nodded. Are you . . . gonna help . . . f-f-find Jeremy?

We’re going to do our best.

* * *

Do you know what Jeremy was wearing last night? Officer Pete Spinoza asked, jotting down notes as he walked around Jeremy’s room.

Pajamas, I guess, Robert said.

Any idea on what kind or color?

Robert sighed. "They were green. I think. Yeah, they were Hulk jammies. He usually takes a bath at night, and when he hugged me . . . he got the side of my face a little wet." His hands shook as he felt another wave of tears starting.

Out of habit, he checked his watch. It felt weird not being at the store already. Thank God Jacob West answered. And thank God he sounded marginally sober. Jacob was the assistant manager, and usually worked from noon until closing.

Today and tomorrow were supposed to be Jacob’s days off, the last ones until after the upcoming Labor Day weekend.

I’ll be right there, Jacob said after Robert explained briefly what happened. If there’s anything you need, let me know. Seriously. Anything. The store will be taken care of. Just take care of your family.

Robert stood in the doorway to Jeremy’s room as Officer Spinoza took notes and snapped pictures.

"After . . . we hugged, I pointed at the Hulk on his jammies and said something about not wanting to arm wrestle him because the jammies made him extra strong. He grinned, praying it wasn’t the last interaction he’d ever have with his son. So, do you think . . . someone took him?"

Pete took a picture of the window. His window is latched. That’s a good thing. Were your doors locked last night?

Of course. We always lock our doors.

Were they still locked this morning?

Robert stared down at the carpet, thinking about his morning routine. None of it involved the front door until he left for work.

He did recall Sam struggling to open the door after their frantic search around the house for Jeremy. But her struggle may or may not have been due to the front door being locked.

He shrugged. Sorry. I don’t know. I assume it was, but . . . wait. He bolted back through the house, toward the kitchen. He stopped at the sliding glass door leading to the back.

It was locked.

Damn. Okay. Whoever took him didn’t go that way. But where?

How has his demeanor been lately? asked Spinoza.

Jeremy? Oh, pretty good. He loves to play boardgames and ride his bike and read.

Is his bike here?

It’s in the garage. Robert led Spinoza through the kitchen, into the laundry room, and opened a door to the garage. The one-stall garage was packed floor to ceiling with boxes. Hence the reason his car had to stay parked in the driveway. Near the front walk-in door was a blue and yellow Huffy bike. Bought it brand new for his birthday a few years ago. He goes everywhere with it.

Is this a recent photo? Spinoza asked once they were back inside, pointing at a portrait in the hallway leading to the door. All of Jeremy’s school pictures were hung along there, from kindergarten up to fourth grade. Sam had a collage of baby pictures on the far end.

Yes. He was in Mrs. Glass’s class.

Does he have any siblings?

No, he’s an only child.

Did he enjoy school?

He does. I mean, as much as nine-year-old boys can be, I guess. He does well. A’s and B’s, mostly. Until . . .

Pete flipped a page on his notebook. Until when?

There were pictures all over their fridge too, including drawings Jeremy made. Sam could be a picture freak at times. She had at least six or seven photo albums full of pictures from the first two or three years of his life.

Among the cluster of pictures was one of Jeremy and Sky. Robert pointed at it. Those two were the best of buds. Sky was our dog’s name. He died in May. Jumped off the Southside Bridge. Poor thing never had a chance. The vet said he pretty much died instantly.

Jumped off the bridge? I think I was on duty that day. But I was on the other end of town when the call came in.

"Sky landed right on the banks. Right . . . on the rocks. Never knew why he did it. Sky was always healthy. Sam and I thought . . . maybe a brain tumor or something. But the vet didn’t think so.

Anyway, Jeremy pretty much fell apart after that. His teachers said he just quit doing his homework. The principal even suggested a therapist. So we took him to see Dr. Pennington to get evaluated.

Pete scribbled in his notebook. What were the results? If you wish to share them.

Robert sighed. Took all kinds of tests. He basically said he was a normal boy, and what he was experiencing was grief. Which makes sense, I guess. We never had a death in the family for him to remember.

I didn’t think Dr. Pennington was a child psychologist. I thought he dealt mostly with adults. Until his recent promotion.

Dr. Pennington was one of the psychiatrists at Redview Mental Health Center, and was recently named the facility’s executive director.

He does, Robert said. He’s been Sam’s doctor for many years. But he saw Jeremy as an initial evaluation, as a favor to us.

And your wife sees him?

Yes.

What time did your wife go to bed?

Robert shrugged. I . . . maybe eleven. Eleven thirty. Sorry, I didn’t look at the clock.

Did you hear anything in the middle of the night? Anything in the house? Or maybe outside?

Robert rubbed his chin. No. I don’t think so.

The cop’s radio squawked. He pressed a button along the side of the unit attached to his shoulder. Twelve, go ahead.

The radio squawked again.

Ten-four. Spinoza gestured to the front door. An officer brought your wife back.

Robert ran to the door. A female officer--Nancy, he thought her name was--was leading Sam by the elbow to the house.

Yes, ma’am, we’ll do everything we can to find your son, the female officer said to her.

Jeremy, Sam said. His name is Jeremy.

Of course, ma’am.

Are you going to do one of those alert things? asked Robert.

You mean an Amber Alert? the female officer asked. If it meets the criteria, we’ll definitely get it out there.

What do you mean, my little Jeremy’s missing? Gone? Sam staggered, the knot in her robe loosening almost to the point of coming off.

Robert ran up to her, quickly tied her robe, and took her other elbow.

We’ll get the word out, Officer Nancy Holm said. We’ll do our best to find Jeremy.

PART ONE:

TO CATCH A DREAM

CHAPTER ONE

His Mom’s grocery list was short--immediate essentials, she called it--but it still took Brandon Tellis longer than usual to find everything.

The news of Jeremy HIll’s disappearance this morning was unsettling. What was even more disturbing were the rumors. Stranger abductions were rare--this was according to all of the true crime shows his Mom watched--but that didn’t stop his disappearance from falling into that category, despite what appeared to be any lack of evidence as the police weren’t sending out an Amber Alert.

Jeremy’s Dad worked at the SuperValu grocery store, a store where Brandon just walked out of, and one of other rumors was that his parents killed him, buried him out in a field, and were planning on collecting on Jeremy’s life insurance. Whatever life insurance was.

But, if that was the case, why would Jeremy’s parents call the police?

Or did they?

Washburn, Minnesota, was a large town by small town standards. Sure, it wasn’t the size of the Twin Cities, but it was as large as Bemidji and Brainerd, two other towns in central Minnesota that Washburn was sandwiched between. Washburn wasn’t a blink-and-miss kind of town, with a population just under fifteen thousand. It had large town amenities, like a mall, a multiplex movie theater, and fast food restaurants, while it shared the blessings of a low crime rate and friendly atmosphere that was synonymous with small town life.

On a normal day, his Mom would have no problem with him going to the store. But his baby brother, Ethan, got an ear infection or strep throat or something bad like that, and she had to stay home to care for him.

She trusted him to be quick and to stay away from all strangers.

Besides, with his pocket knife stuffed in his back pocket, he felt safe. Kind of. It still didn’t make looking for items on Mom’s list any easier, with him darting from one aisle to the next, not daring to ask any of the employees for help. He even eyed the lady cashier with a bit of suspicion.

Aside from being classmates, Brandon and Jeremy played in the same summer softball league for as far back as he can remember. For the past two summers, they were on the same team. Last year, Jeremy hit a grand slam at the bottom of the ninth, with bases loaded, during the championship game. Their opponent was undefeated, and Brandon’s team was down by two. After Jeremy secured their win, they carried him off the field, just like something out of a Hollywood movie.

Their coach treated them to supper at Pizza Hut and a handful of quarters for the arcade.

But this year, Jeremy could do nothing right. He wouldn’t hang out with anyone, and if he got one hit a game it was a miracle. He overheard someone say he was having nightmares, but who in the heck didn’t? Everyone had bad dreams from time to time. Brandon tried talking to him, but Jeremy would just mumble something and take off on his bike.

Everyone knew about Jeremy losing his dog, but again who the heck didn’t have a pet who died? Sure, he was sad when his hamster Fred died. But it didn’t affect his life very much. Pets die.

Brandon hopped onto his red BMX, wrapped the handles of the plastic bag a few times around his hand, and took off, repeatedly glancing over his shoulder. He soon came upon Viking Green Drug. Ray Simmons, a chubby gray-haired clerk, was sweeping the front steps. Once a week, he would go to Viking Green to see if they had any new comic books.

"Got any new Punisher comics, Mr. Simmons?" asked Brandon.

Ray leaned the broom against the side of the building, then stroked his chin. You know, we got a shipment in this morning. He grinned. I think we should check ‘em out.

Viking Green wasn’t the only store in town to sell comics. There was a B. Dalton’s in Carnegie Mall and, of course, The Gothic Corner had a decent collection too, although the latter leaned toward the horror comics.

There were three racks of comics near the back, next to the pharmacy. Viking Green always had a weird smell, like the floor was coated in cough syrup and the air was laced with cinnamon.

Along the far right aisle, next to the first aid stuff and special female items, was a small section of candy. There were the usual candy bars and licorice, but always seemed to be an odd assortment found nowhere else.

Next to the candy, at the end and right across from the comic racks, was a chest cooler filled with frozen treats. His favorites were push-ups and ice cream bars. But he may not have enough if he found a new Punisher.

Unless he used some of the change from what his Mom gave him to buy her essentials. She usually let him have a treat, and he didn’t get anything at SuperValu. He didn’t even think about it as he wanted to get the heck out of there as fast as possible.

Now, thoughts of Jeremy’s disappearance seemed to be the farthest thing from his mind.

It’s a shame to hear about Jeremy Hill, Ray said.

Until now.

Huh? asked Brandon.

Oh, you didn’t hear about Jeremy HIll?

Oh. Yeah. I did. Brandon looked over his shoulder. His bike was outside, leaning against the building. The bag of essentials were wrapped around the handlebars.

Strange for something like that to happen around here, Ray said. Down in the Twin Cities, I can understand. And that Jacob Wetterling boy near St. Cloud too. That close to the Interstate, weirdos can come and go. But around here? He shook his head. "It’s just a shame. I feel bad for his parents.

Find what you were looking for?

The comics weren’t in any kind of order, so he had to start at the top and work his way down. Or vice versa. A quick glance gleamed nothing, so he went through each rack, turning them more than once to guarantee he didn’t miss one. He found an X-Men and a Daredevil that he already owned, and a few new Spiderman and Superman and Batman comics that looked promising, but he only had enough allowance money left for one.

Then, at the bottom of the last rack, he spied a darker cover with Frank Castle, sporting his trademark black shirt with white skull, with a pistol in each hand. He didn’t have this one.

Jackpot!

Ah. You find one?

Brandon beamed. Yes. He set the comic on the counter, then took out his wallet. After digging out what little cash and coins he had, he discovered he had enough for a small frozen treat. A popsicle, perhaps. Or a push-up.

Unfortunately, the push-up box was empty, so he chose a cherry popsicle.

* * *

Brandon pedaled hard, using the slight incline on a driveway to launch himself a few inches off the ground. He kept going, watching for oncoming traffic as he came to Range Street. With no one around, he flew through the stop sign and skidded through the turn, the plastic bag slamming into the bike.

He prayed that the bag would hold together. He didn’t want to rip the bag and have his Mom’s essentials--and his new Punisher comic--spilling all over the ground. Truth be told, he was more concerned about the latter than the former.

He slowed a little. The bag was still good, the paper bag containing his comic held tightly between the box of chocolate cake mix and baking soda.

Grinning, he glanced back, confirmed there was no traffic, and zigzagged back and forth along the street.

The cherry popsicle had long since been ingested, but he continued to suck on the stick. He spotted an oncoming car, so he stayed on his side, leaping off of every driveway he came upon. Then, once the car passed by and he saw there were no other cars, he quickly angled over to the other side, ramped off another driveway, and tossed the stick into the grass.

Stupid litterbug!

He almost fell over when he heard the girl scream at him. Not only from the scream, but also knowing he wasn’t quite alone out here.

He looked back, saw a girl, who was holding a bouquet of flowers, shaking a fist at him, demanding that he pick it up.

No way!

Snickering, he stood up higher on his bike and pedaled as fast as he could.

* * *

Heidi Earnest found the popsicle stick stuck in the grass.

She couldn’t believe what just happened. Of all the unnerving things that boys did, being pigs was near the top of the list.

Her older brother, Ross, wasn’t a pig--well, not very often, but then again he was older than her. That boy was younger, and she thought his name was Brandon. Or Jordan. No, she was pretty sure it was Brandon.

Could be Brady though. Starts with a B, that much she knew.

Anyway, she set the bouquet of daisies on the sidewalk, knelt in the grass, and grabbed the stick. Oddly enough, she could only pull it up an inch or two. Something was wrapped tight around it.

It was a silver-colored necklace. Whatever was attached to it was stuck in the ground. She gave it a quick yank, and pulled it free.

Attached to the necklace was a pewter figurine. It was a little over an inch in height, and the figurine looked like Buddha, with a bald, oval-shaped head, sitting cross-legged. Coming out of the center of its chest appeared to be a small tube. She blew on it, dislodging any soil stuck in the tube.

She stood, staring down at the figurine.

How in the world the popsicle stick landed so perfect, to get wrapped in the necklace, was beyond her.

She glanced over at the house she was in front of and immediately her legs started to give way. She snatched up the daisies, pocketed the necklace, and walked briskly away from Jeremy Hill’s house.

CHAPTER TWO

Pete Spinoza parked in front of Something Different, praying there wasn’t much of a post-lunch crowd. And from the looks of the street and parking lot adjacent to it, the crowd would be minimal. He was starving and didn’t feel like grabbing anything from McDonald’s or Burger King. He wanted to sit down and enjoy a hearty meal.

If he could actually enjoy it with all that had transpired so far.

Nancy Holm pulled up next to him from the other direction. She rolled down her driver’s window. I swear I’ve been down every road and alley and trail in this whole town. Road blocks haven’t turn up anything. Not that I expected it. Depending on when he . . . left, he could be anywhere. He could’ve been five or six hours away by the time they called.

Or more.

She nodded. Sure you wanna eat here?

Hardly anyone inside.

Except them.

Through the front window, they could see a table of three farmers, peering out at them while drinking coffee.

It’ll be fine, he said.

The owner, Barney Smith, was wiping down a table near the three when they entered. Pete ignored them as they inquired if they could help to find little Jeremy, and asked Barney for a table in the far, far corner. In her best diplomatic tone, Nancy handled them far better than what he could, deflecting their pleas for assistance with prayers for the family.

One of them drained their cup, nodded, and said, Praying we can do. But there has to be more we can do than that.

Nancy picked up the coffee pot in the center of their table, told them to listen carefully to the news, and filled all of their cups. He patted one on the shoulder. We appreciate you checking your fields though too. Just in case.

Will do.

Anything suspicious, call us. Please.

She strode over to Pete’s table. Barney followed close behind with a full pot of coffee, two cups, and two menus.

Why in the name of God would someone take little Jeremy? asked Barney, deftly pouring their coffee while setting silverware and menus in front of them. I pray you find him safe and sound. And soon.

Us too, Pete said. If he was even taken at all.

Once Barney left with their orders--Pete with a clubhouse sandwich and Nancy with a double burger and onion rings--Pete leaned toward her. My interviews with all the neighbors, and everyone else in a three or four block radius, have turned up absolutely nothing. Nothing. The HIll’s are happily married. Jeremy is a bit of a loner, and aside from his failing grades after the loss of his pet, what else is there? If he ran away from home, he had to have a key to lock it behind him. Robert was pretty sure the doors were locked. And Samantha is too much of a wreck to answer any questions.

Unless they had a key stashed outside.

Pete clenched his fists. Damn. Never asked about that.

I’m gonna check on them after we eat, she said, taking the ketchup and mustard from near the napkin dispenser, and moving them closer.

What for?

Investigations like this need to be handled with care, and with something as big and personal as this, we need to be in constant contact with them.

You mean, like checking their demeanor and all?

She cocked her head a little. Something like that. You’ve never had very many big cases like this, have you?

Pete glanced back at the farmers, noticed how they were chatting away while only mildly interested in the other customers, and said, You should know that as good as anyone. Graduated from Northland Technical in Thief River Falls two years ago, and it still took me close to a year to land any sort of police job. The number of cop jobs to candidates had to be like twenty to one. If not more. I saw many of the same people at the job testings.

But you still got it.

He chuckled. Sure. After the first two they wanted to hire didn’t pass the background tests and the next one after that failed the drug test. I applied for every single job in the state, even the State Patrol.

You’re lucky your employer then let you have so much time off. Must not have been easy to drive all around the state.

He sighed. I was lucky. That’s true. The manager of the grocery store I worked at was a huge supporter of law enforcement. He even helped out with hotel rooms and gas money. I kept telling him that I’d pay him back when I got my first full-time cop job. You know what he said? He told me to pay it forward to someone else in need.

That’s a good plan.

Barney arrived with their meals. Enjoy. If you have room for dessert, Doris has a few slices of fresh apple pie. He winked. On the house.

* * *

The grave was between two towering oak trees, the headstone surrounded by a multitude of other bouquets, most either roses or wildflowers.

But daisies were her favorite. Not very many knew that.

Heidi Earnest situated her bouquet in front, careful not to step right above where her best friend forever laid to rest.

The headstone was new, having been installed a few weeks ago. Before this was a plastic marker. The front read:

VANESSA ANN HALL

April 12, 1983 - July 4, 1996

Beloved daughter, sister, and friend

On the back was the inscription:

"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me

All the days of my life; and I will dwell

In the house of the Lord forever."

Psalm 23:6

She knelt beside it, placing a hand on the rough side of the stone. Two months, she whispered. My God, I can’t believe it’s been two months. I’m so, so sorry, Goose.

She closed her eyes, tears falling onto her cheeks.

It seemed like yesterday Vanessa and her were sitting on the roof of the school, with fireworks blazing the sky overhead, reflecting upon the Golden River below. Vanessa said it would be the best seat to watch it.

Heidi tried to talk her out of it, but Vanessa said it would be fine.

The doctors said she died instantly.

But Heidi didn’t think so. She swore, even to this day, that she could see her best friend gasp her last breath while blood oozed from her mouth. It was dark, that much was true, but both the fireworks and the nearby security light gave off enough for her to see.

One last breath.

Her eyes staring up at Heidi, with an outstretched arm, reaching . . .

Heidi opened her eyes, wiping the tears away. Then, she noticed something green coming toward her from around one of the oak trees. Whoever it was happened to be running, breathing heavily.

Help me!

She nearly fell over. The boy looked familiar. She wiped her eyes again. Sure enough, it looked like him.

But what were the odds of that happening here?

Then, the gravity of what he was saying, his plea for help, alerted her senses to immediate danger.

The boy stopped a few graves away, panting, looking back over his shoulder. Heidi expected to see a man in a black trenchcoat, armed with a shotgun or a long knife. But there was no one there.

Please . . . h-help me!

What is it? she asked, standing.

Jeremy Hill looked at her, then back over his shoulder. Why can’t I? Why can’t I let her see? No . . . no! He ran off, and she tried to follow.

But as soon as he ran around another oak tree, he . . . disappeared.

* * *

Officer Terry Sprague quickly pulled over when he spotted the girl running toward him, waving her hands in the air.

He jumped out. You okay, miss?

I . . . I saw . . . Jeremy . . . Jeremy Hill.

Christ Almighty!

He studied the area where she came from, but didn’t see anyone else. Are you sure it was Jeremy Hill?

The girl leaned forward, her hands on her knees as she took a few deep breaths. Positive. I was visiting a . . . friend. And then he just appeared. I know it sounds weird, but he just did.

What was he wearing?

"Green. Pajamas, I think. I think it said Hulk on them."

Where is he now?

She pointed behind her. By that oak.

He ran toward it.

But he’s gone, she said.

He got to the top of the small incline, and studied the entire area. Nothing but graves. No other visitors that he could see.

And certainly no one wearing green Hulk pajamas.

CHAPTER THREE

Heidi jerked awake, her Minnesota Vikings nightshirt clinging to her shivering body. The only sound was the hum of the air pump from the aquarium across the room. No salivating snarls. No deep growls. No claws scratching on the bed.

She peered over at the digital clock on the wooden nightstand next to the bed. It was ten after seven. She wondered if her Dad and brother, Ross, had left yet.

Not quite daring to set a foot out of bed, for fear that she was still in the dream, she whipped the covers to the side. She crouched low, and leaped as far off the bed as possible, landing in front of the closet. She turned on the light.

Nothing was under the bed.

She sighed.

She turned on the aquarium light.