get back to work, Dr. Piedmont. I really need to.”
The doctor nodded. “I understand. Have you had any headaches? Blurred or double vision? That must have been quite a knock you had.”
“No. No. I’m fine. Absolutely fine.”
The doctor nodded. “I’ll write you your note, but if you do have headaches or eye trouble, I suggest you don’t ignore them. Untreated head injuries can result in blood clots, you know. Blood clots in the brain can cause brain damage and are often fatal. There’s nothing else you’re not telling me, is there, Bobby?”
“No, sir. Not all.”
The doctor stared at him shrewdly, then jotted a note on his memo pad and handed it to Bobby.
“There you go. I’m pretty certain this is just a common subconjunctival hemorrhage. Can be caused by vomiting, coughing, or even a hard sneeze. Nothing to worry about.”
Bobby hurried out to the truck, note in hand, reasonably sure he didn’t have to worry about a blood clot, since he’d never actually hit his head. Besides, he was feeling fine now. Except that every time he blinked, the victim’s body was there, silently accusing him with its taped-shut eyes, begging him to do something. Anything.
How could he know if the grisly memory was real or not? What physical evidence did he have to back up any of the visions he’d had, except the tattered gown the sheriff had found in the Dumpster? And he’d never even seen that. With his eyes shorting out all the time, it was hard to tell the difference between what he’d really seen and what he thought he had seen.
Then Bobby remembered the scrap of material he’d stashed in the toolbox. He wasn’t even sure what color it was, if it was the same blue silk as the missing girl’s gown. He was going to have to look at it.
Bobby drove a mile out of Salisbury and pulled over to the side of the road.
If the scrap was the same blue silk as the gown the sheriff had found, maybe he was on the trail of an actual killer.
And he or she was still out there.
Bobby squeezed his eyes closed and slowly unlatched the toolkit. It only took a quick peek for the headache to hammer him.
He couldn’t risk losing another day of work to the sickness. He’d have to bring the fragment to Sheriff Barclay and explain where he’d found it. Which would make the man even more suspicious of Bobby than he already was, but it was the only way.
If only he knew what secrets were hidden in those woods, why he had had such a strong reaction to the path that lead deeper in. But he couldn’t chance going back there, either. It was starting to dawn on Bobby that, each time he had a vision, the physical reactions got more severe.
He’d have to do his research remotely.
The small library was quiet and empty, the three computer terminals unoccupied. Bobby holed up at the corner workstation in case anyone he knew came in. He was pretty sure everyone in Graxton and Greater Waterbury had heard about poor Bobby Pendell and his freak-out the night before.
Fortunately, no one came in, and the librarian was too discreet to bother him.
He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. There was very little information on murders in the Waterbury County area. The ones that came up were either the result of domestic violence, robbery, or related to the crystal meth underground.
The search was a dead-end, so Bobby tried a different tack. After about an hour, he’d found an aerial view of Graxton and its surroundings, circa 1957. The black and white photo showed the terrain to be remarkably similar to current-day Graxton, except for the fact that where the reservoir and dam was currently, there had once been a town called Perryville. The modern-day reservoir was at the far end of the woods that bordered the ball field. Bobby peered closer—set in the woods between current-day Graxton and what used to be Perryville was a large estate.
Further research indicated the estate belonged to a very rich family named Galloway, who had built it in
The doctor nodded. “I understand. Have you had any headaches? Blurred or double vision? That must have been quite a knock you had.”
“No. No. I’m fine. Absolutely fine.”
The doctor nodded. “I’ll write you your note, but if you do have headaches or eye trouble, I suggest you don’t ignore them. Untreated head injuries can result in blood clots, you know. Blood clots in the brain can cause brain damage and are often fatal. There’s nothing else you’re not telling me, is there, Bobby?”
“No, sir. Not all.”
The doctor stared at him shrewdly, then jotted a note on his memo pad and handed it to Bobby.
“There you go. I’m pretty certain this is just a common subconjunctival hemorrhage. Can be caused by vomiting, coughing, or even a hard sneeze. Nothing to worry about.”
Bobby hurried out to the truck, note in hand, reasonably sure he didn’t have to worry about a blood clot, since he’d never actually hit his head. Besides, he was feeling fine now. Except that every time he blinked, the victim’s body was there, silently accusing him with its taped-shut eyes, begging him to do something. Anything.
How could he know if the grisly memory was real or not? What physical evidence did he have to back up any of the visions he’d had, except the tattered gown the sheriff had found in the Dumpster? And he’d never even seen that. With his eyes shorting out all the time, it was hard to tell the difference between what he’d really seen and what he thought he had seen.
Then Bobby remembered the scrap of material he’d stashed in the toolbox. He wasn’t even sure what color it was, if it was the same blue silk as the missing girl’s gown. He was going to have to look at it.
Bobby drove a mile out of Salisbury and pulled over to the side of the road.
If the scrap was the same blue silk as the gown the sheriff had found, maybe he was on the trail of an actual killer.
And he or she was still out there.
Bobby squeezed his eyes closed and slowly unlatched the toolkit. It only took a quick peek for the headache to hammer him.
He couldn’t risk losing another day of work to the sickness. He’d have to bring the fragment to Sheriff Barclay and explain where he’d found it. Which would make the man even more suspicious of Bobby than he already was, but it was the only way.
If only he knew what secrets were hidden in those woods, why he had had such a strong reaction to the path that lead deeper in. But he couldn’t chance going back there, either. It was starting to dawn on Bobby that, each time he had a vision, the physical reactions got more severe.
He’d have to do his research remotely.
The small library was quiet and empty, the three computer terminals unoccupied. Bobby holed up at the corner workstation in case anyone he knew came in. He was pretty sure everyone in Graxton and Greater Waterbury had heard about poor Bobby Pendell and his freak-out the night before.
Fortunately, no one came in, and the librarian was too discreet to bother him.
He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. There was very little information on murders in the Waterbury County area. The ones that came up were either the result of domestic violence, robbery, or related to the crystal meth underground.
The search was a dead-end, so Bobby tried a different tack. After about an hour, he’d found an aerial view of Graxton and its surroundings, circa 1957. The black and white photo showed the terrain to be remarkably similar to current-day Graxton, except for the fact that where the reservoir and dam was currently, there had once been a town called Perryville. The modern-day reservoir was at the far end of the woods that bordered the ball field. Bobby peered closer—set in the woods between current-day Graxton and what used to be Perryville was a large estate.
Further research indicated the estate belonged to a very rich family named Galloway, who had built it in
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