Page 40 of Midnight Creed

She added more tinsel to the tree, fancier meals, and then one year she even added a stepfather.

She still didn’t have a clue.

He wondered why the holidays invoked an invitation. Why was that the only time of year that anyone out of sight seemed to come to mind? Did she not think about him for the rest of the year? If it wasn’t for the money, she would have lost track of him long ago.

Maybe his father had known that all along. Why else would he leave his oldest son such a fortune? Had he realized that if he was gone from their lives that his wife might need extra incentive to take care of the son she didn’t understand? The son she really didn’t even like.

He looked at the photo of his mother in the magazine. Stared into her eyes, and silently asked, “Is that it, dear ole mom? Are you running low on cash? Are you still after dad’s money? My money?”

He glanced out into the falling snow. It was supposed to have stopped by now. Maybe his mother was right. Maybe it was time for a family celebration. If nothing else, it’d be nice to feel warmer temperatures. Distract the loop in his brain. The nightmares had been showing him new and compelling details, teasing at a truth he never imagined.

He’d spent the last several years trying to dismantle the images that haunted him by setting the record straight. By trying to kill proxies of the man who had killed his father—that transient pretending his old pickup was stalled on the side of the road.

It wasn’t until the last few weeks he started to realize those homeless men were insufficient proxies. His brain was unleashing new information. Maybe the killings were the catalyst. Something had dislodged the revealing details. His subconscious began showing him more and more of who that man was. The man who bludgeoned his father on the side of the road twenty years ago.

Just as he looked back from the window, a familiar figure walked by down on the street. He watched as if mesmerized. The snow formed glitter on everything it touched. Steam rising from the sidewalk grates set it swirling. So frickin’ magical, even the homeless plodding along and swaddled in thick layers made it look like a scene out of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol.

And that reminded him of his father, too. He had taken them to a live production at the Saenger Theatre. Gregory was only seven and completely captivated by the costumes, the lights, the sounds. Every time he glanced his father’s way, he saw him smiling at him and nodding, knowing his oldest son would be as delighted as he was.

Christmas, happiness, joy...they all died along with his father. And yet, he had to be bombarded with songs of yuletide cheer. With fat snowflakes that glittered and twinkled and stuck to every surface.

Yes, he needed a change of scenery. But maybe he also needed one more killing to nudge his subconscious into finally showing him the face of the man who murdered his father.

28

Santa Rosa County, Florida

“There actually are other reasons for a body to be disarticulated,” Sheriff Norwich explained as she led Creed and Jason down into the woods. Grace and Scout followed along.

Creed figured she was talking to fill the silence. Both he and Jason knew from experience what could happen to a body on land, in the ground, and even under water. He was half-listening while his eyes darted around. He didn’t recognize this area, and yet, it had to be close to their search from yesterday.

Norwich had given them directions to a narrow two-lane about a mile from Caleb Monroe’s neighborhood. Crumbling asphalt erased the faded white lines that hadn’t been updated. The road curved between the trees so many times he’d lost track of direction. Now, Creed tried to draw a map in his head with this new entrance into the woods and place it next to yesterday’s.

“Bears are notorious for breaking apart a body,” Norwich continued.

This time, Jason shot Creed a “what’s up” look with a chin-poke toward the sheriff’s back. She was in the lead and couldn’t see them, so Creed shrugged at him.

Maybe she was trying to convince herself that there was no foul play involved.

“You both, of course, remember last summer? Those bodies we found in the middle of the Blackwater River State Forest. Nature has a way of reducing a body on its own without human assistance.”

“And that was exactly what the killer intended,” Jason said.

Norwich’s head bobbed in agreement without glancing at them.

Creed didn’t need a reminder about that case. His back still ached at night from the bruises of being dragged and bounced along the forest floor. The killer had attempted to burn away the crime scene evidence along with Creed.

Without warning, just like yesterday, they stumbled upon a garbage dump. Creed gestured to Jason, and they brought the dogs to a halt. Norwich had also stopped, hands on her hips as she turned and scowled at the debris piles.

Before any of them had time to respond, both dogs’ heads jerked up and looked in the same direction, bodies going rigid. Then Creed could hear a vehicle’s engine slowing to a stop but idling. The sound came from behind a ridge of trees at the top of an incline.

Both men looked over at Sheriff Norwich.

“I didn’t know there was another road up there,” she told them.

“Is it worth checking out?” Jason asked.

Norwich was considering it just as a crash of branches and shrubs gave way to something tossed over the ridge. They were close enough to see huge chunks of concrete tumbling down.