The 5

Prologue

The girl fled through the night woods, blind in the dark but heedless of obstacles. Adrenalin fed her flight while terror threatened to close her throat and steal her breath, leaving her helpless before what was coming.

She stumbled over the lip of a slope, crashed through unseen brush, dodged the looming silhouette of one tree before caroming off another. Spinning, she fell headlong into dank forest loam. She whimpered, clutching her throbbing shoulder.

Breath coming in ragged gasps, she fought down the urge to curl up and drift away to some other place, a safe haven existing only in her mind. But the crackling of brush upslope spiked her terror and she lunged erect, staggering on through the pitch-black night.

The thick forest enveloped her. She smelled damp moss and the faint carrion scent of galax. Sensed the huge, old-growth trees crowding in.

A whisper of breeze sifted through towering canopies. Higher still, ragged clouds parted for an instant and a pale shaft of moonlight slanted through. The girl glimpsed shimmering silver just before the ground dropped from under her.

She tumbled down a bank choked with dripping vegetation, slid across a rough rock slab that ripped a pink Rebock from one foot and abraded the skin from her thigh.

Then, a shock of cold as she splashed down in knee-deep water, hissing as the icy liquid clutched at her bare legs. Slick rocks tripped her up and she sprawled in the creek, soaking her shorts and the front of her blouse. Scrambling on all fours, she managed to reach a sandbar, crawled up the opposite bank and collapsed.

She pressed herself into a bed of clammy ferns, trembling.

Mama, she whispered.

From the impenetrable dark across the creek came a low laugh.

I seeeeeee you.

The voice was rough and vile, somehow distorted, a gargling parody of a voice that sent a fresh wave of terror coursing through her. She moaned and staggered to her feet. Kicked off her remaining Rebock. Absurdly, she felt a twinge of loss. Her father had given her those shoes back in June, a gift for her 10th birthday.

Daddy, she prayed. Help me!

But even as she mouthed the words, she knew her prayer was a forlorn hope. Her father no longer loved her. He’d fled their home months before. Left her and her mother to fend for themselves.

Left her vulnerable to monsters.

Sobbing, she pushed on through the night.

The wind strengthened overhead, shredding the low-lying cloud cover into wispy fragments, and in the freshening moonlight the surrounding woods materialized from the cloying dark. Wraith-like understory trees crowded her, their misshapen trunks and crooked branches hemming her in. Thick brambles and wiry vines clutched at her hair and tangled her feet as she wound her way through the maze of vegetation.

Soon, however, the floodplain gave way to a rising upland of mature oaks spaced farther apart. The brush thinned, and she quickened her pace.

She tried to run, but managed only a feeble trot. She was spent. Cold gripped her in an iron vise, and her gasping breaths birthed clouds of vapor. Her shoulder throbbed in counterpoint to the pulse of her heart.

She plodded up the slope, striving for stealth, knowing to her pursuer she must sound like a drunken elephant lumbering through the woods. Tears slid down her cheeks, and a wet warmth slicked her leg where the rock had scraped it raw.

The grade steepened, and as she climbed her thoughts sparked like fireflies on a summer’s eve.

It was earlier in the evening. Her Mom had sent her on an errand, riding her bike to the store for milk and bread.

There was a van. Parked in an alley and cloaked in shadow. The back door gaping wide. And a man, asking for her help.

If you could just hold this flashlight while I change this tire…

And she’d been happy to, because she knew this man, had seen him many times. He’d visited her home, and had always been kind and friendly. She’d liked him.

Things got hazy after that. She remembered approaching the van. Taking the flashlight. Then, something damp and astringent, slapped over her face. Panic. Fighting a smothering embrace.

Darkness.

Awareness returned as pulses of color, like an oil slick crawling across black water. She was only vaguely aware of the van’s bare metal floor, the stink of oil and sour sweat, the rough duct tape abrading her wrists and ankles and the cloying taste of mold from the rag in her mouth. Muted traffic sounds filtered through the vehicles sheet-steel walls.

She drifted in and out of consciousness, and had no inkling of their location, or how far they traveled. The sound of traffic faded. It barely registered when the vehicle braked and turned off smooth asphalt onto a rougher road.

By the time she’d regained her senses the van was slowing. It rocked to a stop. The back door opened and the man jerked her out.

From the eerie crimson glow cast by the van’s parking lights, the girl saw that the man had parked on a rutted two-track lane. Trees loomed on either side, the spaces between their trunks clogged with ebony shadows. Terrified, she stood rigid while the man sliced through her bindings with a large knife. He twisted her around and ripped the gag away.

The backwash from the parking lights splashed the man before her with lurid red light. At some point, he’d donned dark jeans and a black sweater. A bulky apparatus covered his eyes and made him resemble a preying mantis. She’d watched her best friend Amanda’s older brothers play the video game Call of Duty enough to recognize night vision goggles. A whimper started in her throat, fast building to a scream. The man aborted it with a slap that spun her half-around. Shocked, she touched her stinging cheek with trembling fingers. The flare of pain was nothing compared to the unexpected savagery. She’d never been struck in her life.

Save your breath for running, he said. His voice sounded like a rock slide grinding down a mountain slope.

He pulled an object from the back of the van, grabbed her by the nape of her neck and steered her further down the forest road, jerking her to a stop at the effective limit of the parking lights’ glow. He turned her to where she faced the looming, fathomless woods.

Take off, he growled. Run.

I…I can’t see, she said, and then her world went white as the man cuffed her on the side of the head.

You have five minutes. Then I’m coming for you.

She risked a glance over her shoulder. His formless bulk merged with the shadows. Please, she whispered. Don’t hurt me. Her lip quivered, and she choked out a sob. "Why are you doing this? You’re supposed to be my friend!"

Oh, I’m not going to hurt you. The man’s voice grated like stone on stone. "I’m going to hunt you."

He held up the thing he’d taken from the van, and the girl went cold as she recognized the sleek, deadly shape of a crossbow.

The man shoved her into the dark.

She ran.

***

The girl reached the top of the slope and paused to catch her breath.

Which way? In the cloying blackness, everything looked the same.

She started to turn right, along the ridge, and something struck the white oak beside her head with a brutal whack. Bark chips stung her cheek and she reared back with a gasp.

Moonlight glittered along the shaft of a crossbow quarrel buried deep in the tree trunk. It vibrated with a sound like an angry hornet.

Spinning, she sprinted as best she could through the trees. Tripped on a dead limb, and pain lanced through her bare foot, but she fought for balance and managed to keep from falling.

A second quarrel smacked into a yellow poplar on her left. She twisted away and ran on.

Twice more she was forced to change direction by a crossbow bolt striking a nearby tree.

With a sickening certainty, she realized the man could see her perfectly in the soot-black forest. He could have hit her anytime he wanted.

He was playing with her.

Ahead and higher up the slope, she spotted a patch of grey that stood out in the dark woods like a beacon.

She fought her way up the slight rise, pushed through a clinging curtain of muscadine vines, fell to her knees and scrambled through thorn-spiked brambles.

Abruptly, she emerged from the woods. She stood on a moonlit road. Far to the left, around a bend, the faint rose glow from the van’s parking lights shimmered through the trees. In her frantic flight, she’d traced a huge arc and came out on the same two track they’d used to enter the forest.

She turned and fled away from the van, keeping to the center of the old road.

Wet weeds slapped at her bare calves. Legs with little more to give threatened to fold under her with each step. She seemed mired in glacial ice, while the hulking black trees on either side of her lumbered past like a herd of migrating mammoths.

But a rising hope kept her moving. She’d outrun the bastard. All she had to do was reach the main road, flag down a passing car, and then…

She rounded a tight bend, hope blossoming in her heart, lending her speed—only to slide to a stop so fast she almost fell. Fear stole her breath like a fist to the belly.

Thirty yards away, a black-clad figure straddled the two-track.

In the distance, heat lightning pulsed, highlighting the scene in flickering amber. The girl blinked, wiped sweat from her eyes. The figure stayed put, as still and silent as death.

No! How had he circled around, gotten in front of her! It wasn’t possible! It wasn’t fair!

A flicker of movement, and a lance of fire slammed into her. She screamed and toppled back, landing hard on the ground, her fingers fluttering at the graphite shaft jutting from her abdomen like an invading parasite. She moaned, and hot bile spilled from her lips. Struggled halfway to her feet before all her strength seemed to leach from her at once. She slumped to her knees, fighting to focus on the approaching form.

Her breath came in hitching gasps. Blood pumped from the wound to the rhythm of her laboring heart and ran in rivulets down her belly as well as her buttocks.

She knew the arrow was sticking out her back. Suspected it had struck something vital. Sensed she had only moments to live.

The figure stopped in front of her. Raised a gloved hand, and in one smooth motion pulled the insect-like covering from its head.

The girl’s eyes widened. She was hallucinating. She had to be.

Tears sprang from her eyes. Weakly, she shook her head. Held out a hand in as much denial as supplication. No, she whispered. Please, don’t…

Hello, silly girl, the figure said. The knife in its hand gleamed in the moonlight.

Mercifully, the girl slipped away as the cutting began.

Chapter 1

Ben Hilary stood on the sidewalk in front of his grandparents’ house and watched his dad’s Lexus receding down the road.

I won’t cry, he told himself. I won’t.

The vehicle shrank to the size of a Matchbox car on the straightaway. Swept through a final curve. Ben stared after it until his view was blocked by the massive soybean plant that loomed, like the abstract creation of some mad sculptor, at the edge of the Sutton city limits.

He drew a shuddering breath, but the hollow ache in his chest remained. Unshed tears stung his eyes with a gritty heat.

A cool hand touched his shoulder.

Buck up, buckaroo, Candace said. It’s only for the summer.

Ben stared at a jagged crack in the sidewalk. Dad should have taken me with him. I wouldn’t have been a burden. I could have helped.

His sister’s slim fingers massaged the taut muscles at the back of his neck. Hey, we both got our marching orders. It’ll take a lot of elbow grease to clean this old house, not to mention closing down Grandpa’s dental office. He and Grandma are counting on us. And Matt needs Dad to cart him around to his tennis matches.

Ben sniffled, but covered the slip with a cough. It’s always about Matt. ‘Matt’s been chosen catcher for the District traveling baseball team, I’ve got to be there for him.’ Or ‘Your brother’s top seed on the state junior U.S.T.A. circuit, I’m making a photo record of his season.’

Candace sighed. "Did you really want to tag along while Dad chauffeurs Matt to all those tennis gigs? Stand around in the heat watching sweaty boys with too much testosterone bubbling in their veins knocking a fuzzy yellow ball back and forth? You don’t even like tennis."

I could’ve assisted him, though. Carried his equipment and stuff.

"Hell would freeze over before John Hilary let anyone touch his precious cameras. Even his kids."

I’m not a klutz, Ben said. He scowled. You know I wouldn’t break anything.

Well, duh. I realize that, but Dad’s paranoid that way. His photography gear is strictly off-limits.

I thought if I helped him, maybe he’d acknowledge my existence.

Candace’s voice was gentle. You know how he gets when he’s behind the lens. He can barely remember to breathe, let alone make time for anything or anyone around him.

Ben stared back down the empty road. I was hoping…he said he’d take me bass fishing at Reelfoot Lake before he left.

Candace laughed. Her fingers moved from his shoulder to his head and ruffled his unruly black hair. You don’t like to fish, either.

He glanced at her. At seventeen, his sister was a pixie. Trim and petite, she carried herself with a natural, unconscious grace. Her strawberry blond hair barely brushed her shoulders and shimmered like spun gold in the soft afternoon light. A sprinkle of freckles dusted her cheeks. Emerald green eyes shone with intelligence from behind stylish, black-framed eyeglasses perched on the bridge of her pert nose. Energetic and ever optimistic, Candace always seemed to seek out the silver lining behind every dark cloud. Just walking in her shadow lifted Ben’s spirits.

I only wanted to spend some time with him, Ben said. "But I’m not like Matt. I don’t care about playing some stupid sport. I suck at sports.

"I’m good at other things, though. Like writing. And…and I’m interested in birds and animals and…why doesn’t Dad like me?" His lip quivered, and a single tear escaped to track down his cheek, threatening to become a full-blown flood. He wiped it away with an angry swipe of his hand.

Candace reached out to smooth a stray lock of his hair and he jerked away, irritated. "He loves you, dopey. But Dad’s one of those type A personalities. As in action-oriented, Alpha male."

She shook her head. Sometimes I think he believes he’s an old-time adventurer. A ‘man’s man’. I guess I can understand that. He’s followed the lure of that camera lens to some hairy places. The tougher the assignment, the more he wants it. He thrives on being in the thick of things.

Her voice dropped. It’s not only his passion, though. It’s his job. Sometimes, as much as he might want to, he can’t take time for us. She looked away, and Ben realized no matter what his sister said, she harbored her own doubts.

What a crock. He’s always gone. Santa Claus hangs around longer than Dad.

Candace held up a hand. I’m not apologizing for his choices. We could both use a little more quality time with him. But don’t think he doesn’t care because he’s not into reading or bird watching or the other passive pursuits you like. His interests lie elsewhere. Plus…he’s had a lot to deal with these past few years other than work.

Ben sniffed. He thinks I’m a wuss.

The squeak of a screen door opening behind them drew their attention before Candace could answer. They turned.

Bess Hilary stood on a flagstone landing outside her home’s screened-in front porch. A short flight of stone stairs descended from the landing to the sidewalk where they stood, and the old woman seemed to loom over them. Ben could see she had her patented Black Scowl working. She’d pulled her grey hair back into a tight bun, and that, along with the wrinkles crevassing her face and her ever-present frown, made her resemble an ill-tempered bulldog.

It’s time to start supper, children, their grandmother said. Candace, I suppose you can help me in the kitchen. And Benjamin. Your grandfather would like to see you. He’s waiting in his study. She scowled at them for a heartbeat before turning and stepping back inside.

Ben stared after her. Grandma’s weird. She kind of scares me.

We only visit once a year, Candace said. Barely enough time to get to know her. She bit her lip. Remember. It’s only for the summer. The tentative way she spoke, however, made Ben think she might be harboring second thoughts herself.

I wish Mom was here, he said. I miss her.

Yeah. Me too.

Candace’s lips curled in a smile. Hey, no worries. The book worm can hang with the computer geek. She bent and kissed his cheek.

Gross, he said, and swiped at his face. Candace grinned.

Don’t waste time wishing to be like your brother, Ben. Matt’s too full of Matt. He’s all about sports and jock stuff. He’s…one-dimensional.

She tilted her head and stared at him with that serious, grown-up expression that always made him smile. You write well for a twelve year old, she said, and your imagination is off the charts. I think there’s no limit to your dimensions.

Ben glanced down and kicked at some crabgrass growing in the sidewalk crack to hide the flush on his cheeks. Candace laughed, and started up the stairs.

"I know why you want to stay, he called after her. His tears were forgotten. You’re stuck on that guy who lives across the street. Jeff Benson."

Candace’s face bloomed pink. Her gaze darted towards the door of their grandparents’ house, then flicked to the Benson home, a white frame dwelling on the far side of the road. Shhhh, she said. You don’t know what you’re talking about.

Yeah, sure, Ben said. "Jeff and Candace, sittin’ in a tree…"

Benny! Candace said. Then she smiled and, quick as a skittish colt, darted up the steps, tugged open the screen door, and disappeared inside.

Slowly, Ben’s smile dissipated. He glanced back down the deserted highway, where the Lexus had long since vanished, taking with it his last chance to get out of this back-water town and spend time with his father. Even if his dad decided he didn’t want him along on the road trip, Ben would at least be back home in Georgia, where he could lose himself in the comforts of his room and his books. The familiar sameness of his life that made him feel safe.

His father would never allow him that freedom, however, as Ben would have to stay home alone.

Because Mom was gone.

The lump that hunkered behind his breastbone reared up, swelling his throat and threatening to choke him.

He sighed. He couldn’t match Matt’s athletic abilities. That was why his father didn’t want him around.

There was something else, however. A darker truth. The real reason the man avoided him, one that populated Ben’s sleep with nightmares.

His dad blamed him for his mother’s death.

John Hilary had never said as much, or done anything to make Ben think he held him accountable. Nevertheless, Ben knew his dad believed it, because it was the truth. His actions had, indirectly, killed his mother.

Ben’s hands clenched into fists. He shook his head. No more tears. Time to stop feeling sorry for himself. Somehow, someway, he had to make amends. Had to do something to get his dad’s attention. Make him proud, and earn his forgiveness.

He expelled another long breath, forced himself to relax. Then he turned and looked in the other direction.

The cracked, oil-stained asphalt of State Route 5, Main Street, ran straight as a plumb line to where, two blocks away, the small, sleepy town of Sutton, Tennessee simmered in the late afternoon haze.

The town was a short step above a wide place in the road. Wasn’t even large enough to support a theater.

Ben grimaced. Nothing to do but live out the sentence. Make the best of it.

He started up the stairs. The sun was a shimmering orange ball fading to the west that caused the elm trees lining the edge of the street to birth long, questing fingers of shadow.

The long summer day was unraveling into evening. A sudden breeze, smelling of future rain, quickened the elms’ leaves. Their rustling sounded like the murmur of barely discernible spectral voices.

A chill swept up Ben’s spine. Against his will, his gaze crawled up the house’s front facade to rest on the leaded-glass windows set in a pair of matching attic dormers. Beveled panes caught the light from the setting sun and flared with opaque crimson fire. Ben shivered. The house seemed to stare at him from blind eyes.

It wasn’t Grandma who made him uneasy. It wasn’t Grandma he was afraid of.

It was this house.

Ben averted his eyes, and, reluctantly, followed Candace