Scare Tactics by John Farris Page A

He saw it again, the oblong white space that mystified him, and Taryn’s flitting, ghostly form, running, naked, across—but he couldn’t identify where she was.
    “What’s a matter?” the Lieutenant said with a trace of contempt. “You enjoy it when my hand gets close to your balls like that?”
    “I am not a homosexual,” Hero said.
    “You don’t seem to have any kind of identification. Mind telling us just who you are?”
    “My passport is in my knapsack. Also my traveler’s checks—you will see that I am not an indigent—and my address book, with the names and telephone numbers of many friends and relatives who will vouch for me.”
    “What’s that bracelet on your wrist? One of those medical ID’s?”
    “Yes. I have ... a form of epilepsy.”
    “I see. You just stay standing there, Mr. Flynn, while I have a look at that passport and the rest of your belongings.”
    “I believe it is unlawful for you to search my knapsack without my permission.”
    “May I have your permission, Mr. Flynn?”
    “By all means. I have nothing to hide.”
    Hero stood patiently. The dog growled, but not at him; a squirrel perhaps. There were mourning doves in the nearby trees, a buzz of boats on the sunset lake below, the shouts of children.
    “Been in this country a little more than three weeks?”
    “Yes, that is correct.”
    “How long have you been camping at Shoulderblade?”
    “I believe I arrived on 27 July.” Hero heard the click of the blade on the horn-handled knife he carried with him. “Have any other weapons in your possession?”
    “I don’t consider the knife to be a weapon—only a tool.” The Lieutenant grunted skeptically. Hero’s bedroll was shaken out.
    Hero said, “She is dead, isn’t she? But why on earth should you suspect me of doing harm to Taryn?”
    Silence. He heard the Lieutenant walking up behind him. “You can turn around, son.”
    Hero turned slowly and looked into the eyes of the gray-haired deputy.
    “How well did you know Taryn Melwood?”
    “I talked with her several times at the restaurant where she’s employed.”
    “You been here in these woods all day?”
    “I moved my camp this morning. I was closer to the public area before.”
    “You don’t appear to have a radio. Maybe you overheard something about it while you were down there using the crapper.”
    “The—? Please, would you tell me what’s happened?”
    “Taryn Melwood was killed last night. A maniac got hold of her and cut her to ribbons.”
    Hero’s eyes rolled back in his head, but this time he’d had sufficient warning and was able to block the seizure.
    “Hey! Hey, sit down, Mr. Flynn, take it easy. You on some kind of medication for this epilepsy you got?”
    “No,” Hero said, but he accepted the invitation to get off his feet. The shepherd pulled Deputy Maxwell a couple of feet closer to Hero. “Medication interferes with my efforts to effect a healing through holistic and cosmic means. It could only delay or abort my progress. I’ve become sensitized to the onset of seizures, and quite often I am able to—”
    “I don’t feel like you’re making perfect sense, Mr. Flynn. I’d like for you to explain how you knew Taryn Melwood is dead.”
    “I intuited the fact of her death during an Occurrence last night, and then again very early this morning.”
    “Explain what you mean by—”
    “In everyday terms, I frequently have clairvoyant and clairaudient experiences.”
    “Oh, well, that flat does it. Mr. Flynn, you’re going to have to come along with us.”
    “What do you mean? Are you arresting me?”
    “No, sir. We just want to ask you some questions in town. But first I need to have a look at that campsite you occupied before you moved up here on the hill. Think you can remember where it was?”
    “Yes, of course. I’ll show you.”
    “Bring your backpack and your bedroll with you.”
    Hero gathered up his things and led them, in the lingering dusk, down the hill toward the