http://www.amazon.com/Terror-Comes-K…/…/ref=tmm_kin_title_0…

Chapter One

Sam stood over his brother’s grave. A curious combination of sorrow and liberation flitted through him. Like a tapestry of death, its weave created patterns of loss and love that gutted his soul, twisting him inside.

The agony of grieving again for his little brother had hit him hard. Although he’d mourned in stages since Billy disappeared fifty years ago, he’d never had closure. Until now. A week ago, his three best childhood friends admitted to burying Billy’s body in the pool near Healey’s Cave. When the boy had slipped from the crossing log and slammed his head in a lethal fall, they’d panicked, afraid of being charged with murder. Their childish fears escalated, and they’d pinned Billy beneath heavy stones, his eyes wide open and dulled, hair waving in the water, skin wrinkled like prunes.

Sam shook himself.

Stop it. Stop torturing yourself.

He glanced at his SUV sitting under the shade a hundred yards away, its four doors gaped open to provide relief from the heat. With her motorized scooter parked alongside, his wife of forty years, Rachel, perched sideways on the passenger seat, a cell phone clamped to her ear. Their grandson Evan rhythmically tossed and caught a softball nearby. They’d accompanied him to the gravesite and had left after his request for a few minutes alone.

To think. To stare at the earth. To remember that the physical markers of Billy’s young life were just that. Placeholders. Reminders. Cold ground and stone.
Someone else’s funeral on the nearby hill ended, and its mourners scattered like dandelion feathers in the wind. Sam watched them drift toward the parking lot for a moment, then turned back to the grave.

He fingered the green marble in his pocket and looked up to the cirrus clouds that stalled overhead. Chalk white against a steel gray sky, they paused in their frenetic journey as if trying to get his attention.

I know you’re not really in the ground, Billy. I know you’re up there.

The cottonwood leaves rustled overhead, stirring in a breeze that came from out of nowhere.

Billy.

The marble warmed his fingers in response—his talisman, his connection with Billy’s spirit. He closed his hand around it so the people walking by wouldn’t see the glow of green blushing through his khakis.

The marble pulsed. Sam’s heart skipped a beat.

Billy’s spirit hovered in the clouds, the leaves, and in Sam’s heart. His very essence connected through the marble Sam clenched in his hand.

A cardinal hopped down from a nearby branch. He perched on the headstone, cocked his head at Sam, and twittered. “Weeka. Weeka.”

Sam refocused and straightened. A wry smile stole across his face. He nodded toward the bird. “You’re right. I should be going. They’re waiting for me.”

He headed for the parking lot, ambling under a sugar maple that arched overhead and cooled the grass below. He left its comfort and moved into the bright August sunshine, his steps lighter now.

A pair of young men hovered over a new grave, arguing. One man gesticulated wildly, flapping a bouquet of flowers back and forth. The stems bent and petals showered the mound of dirt below. As Sam passed, they turned their backs and lowered their voices.

Arabic? Sam thought. Strange. But not completely. The local college in Conaroga, New York, attracted students from all over the world.

The taller man hissed when he spoke. Sam couldn’t help but notice that no sense of grief arose from his tight posture and hot words. There was no quietude born of loss.

No sloping shoulders from the cold misery that accompanies death.

Sam shrugged mentally and moved on, disturbed by the intensity of the argument he’d overheard.

When he reached the Highlander, Rachel looked up at him. Gray bangs kissed her forehead and fluttered in the light breeze. She snapped her phone shut and slid it into her purse.

“Beth?” Sam asked.

She shook her head. “No. I still can’t reach her. I’m worried, Sam.”

Sam patted her hand, leaning on the roof. “I’m sure there’s an explanation. She might’ve gone away for a few days, maybe with her roommate, Zafina. She’s done it before.”

“I know. But she usually sends me an email. She doesn’t like to worry us.”

He straightened and nodded. “Wasn’t Zafina’s brother supposed to visit soon? First time in the country and all? Maybe they took him on a tour of the area. Let’s try her again tonight. Did you try her work number and her cell?”

“Mmmhmm. Got her voice mail every time.”

Sam walked around and started the car, pushing the air conditioner to max. He helped Rachel slide onto the passenger seat and watched as she buckled up. “All set?”

She smiled. “I’m good.”

He closed her door and walked around to Evan. “You okay, sport?” He slid an arm around the boy’s shoulders.

Evan leaned into Sam’s chest, wrapping an arm around his middle. He squeezed, then stepped back and looked up into Sam’s face. “I’m okay. How ‘bout you?”

Sam didn’t hesitate. “I won’t lie to you, son. It’s been hard. Very hard.” He lowered the ramp for the scooter, then guided it inside. “But I’m okay. Now, let’s go get your little brother.”

Chapter Two

Timmy strained against the shoulder straps on his car seat. “Wanna git out!” he screamed.

Rachel turned around and shushed him. “Timmy! Quiet, now. We’re almost there.” She faced forward again and flashed a tolerant smile at Sam. “Poor baby. He’s so tired.”

The boy had tumbled from his crib and crept into their bed at three in the morning. They’d been babysitting for both boys since their daughter-in-law was called away to tend to her seriously ill father in St. Louis. Since their son Andrew Moore had been shipped off to Iraq, Sam and Rachel pinch hit as babysitters all the time.

Today, Sam had planned the cemetery visit during Timmy’s nursery school.

In the dead of night, Sam had made a nest for Timmy between them, and the boy thrashed elbows and knees into his grandparents until they finally gave up and rose at five thirty. Sam’s eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep.

Timmy squealed again. “Want nuggets!”

Evan rolled his eyes. “Geez, Timmy. It’s right over there, see? You’re gonna get your nuggets. Don’t worry.”

Timmy’s face lit up, but his eyes still looked overtired and almost frantic. “Nuggets!” he screamed. “Fetch Fies!”

Sam spun the wheel to the left. The Highlander bumped over the parking lot, and he pulled into a vacant space near the entrance. Rachel slid her cell phone out of her purse and flipped it open. “Let me try just one more time before we go inside, honey.”

“Sure.” Sam went around to get the scooter out of the back.

Timmy shrieked again and thrummed his feet against the car seat. “Fetch Fies!”

Evan shushed him. “Be quiet, buddy. Gramma’s tryin’ to make a phone call.”
Timmy’s face lit up. “I call! I call Mummy!”

Sam opened the door and unbuckled the baby. Timmy slid down to the floor and began to pick up the stale Cheez-its that had fallen beneath the seat. “Nummy,” he cooed.

Sam grabbed his hand just as Timmy was about to mush them into his mouth. “No, buddy. Yucky. Just wait a sec now. We’re almost ready.”

Rachel groaned. “She’s still not answering, Sam.”

A flicker of alarm shot through him.

Where the hell is Beth? Why hasn’t she called?

He closed Timmy’s door momentarily, then opened Rachel’s door to help her into the scooter.

“Papa! Papa! Wanna git out!”

“I know, buddy. Just hold on one little second.”

“I’ve got him, Grandpa. Don’t worry about it.” Evan lifted him out and slung him onto his hip.

Rachel snapped her cell phone shut, and her frown melted as she watched Evan. “What a big help you are, sweetie. Thank you.”

He shrugged. “I’m used to it.” He shifted the toddler around to his back and piggybacked him inside.

With Sam’s help, Rachel slid onto the scooter and zoomed up behind him. He clicked his keys toward the SUV. The lights flashed and the horn honked.

Minutes later, they sat around a table munching on salty, fried food. Today was Wednesday, senior discount day in the local fast food restaurant. Sam tolerated it, but given his druthers, he’d prefer seafood. Alaskan king crab legs. Shrimp scampi. Maine Lobster dripping in butter. He almost drooled over the fantasy.

Shoving away the vision of white succulent seafood, he returned to his cold fries and dipped them in the small white cup of ketchup.

Timmy grabbed for his milk carton, trying to drink out of it as if it were a sippy cup.
Sam’s hand shot out and grabbed it before the boy dumped it all over his shirt. “No, Timmy. Don’t tip the carton. Drink it like this, buddy.” Sam held the base of the milk tight to the table and watched Timmy suck it through the straw.

When his thirst was quenched, Rachel reached over to dab his ketchupy mouth with a wad of napkins. “What about Beth’s boss’s number, Sam? You have it, don’t you?”
“I do. It’s at home on the computer. I’ll call them this afternoon. At least they should know if she’s on vacation.”

Rachel accepted his suggestion and sat back heavily in her scooter.
“Tired, honey?” Sam asked.

She nodded, then closed her eyes and grimaced. Her hands reached up to her middle, kneading her abdomen. The constricting muscles wrapped around her, pulling tight from her back and around to her belly. She’d described the sensation to Sam months ago when the new symptoms cropped up. The nurse at the multiple sclerosis clinic had responded to the phone call with near jocularity. “Oh, yeah. We know all about that. We call it the MS hug.”

Rachel’s eyes had widened in disbelief when Sam told her. “The hug?” she asked.
“My God, it feels like my insides are being squeezed out. It hurts.”

They’d prescribed some muscle relaxants and suggested a warm bath. But Rachel had to be careful about that, too, because the hot water could set off her leg weakness. Heat and MS were not mutually well-suited.

Sam pulled himself back to the present and stood. “Come on, boys. Let’s get out of here. Time to go.”

Evan rose and collected the garbage, neatly stuffing it back into the paper bags.
Timmy held his arms out to Sam. “Uppy.”

“Okay, little man. Here we go.”

“Ride on Gamma?” His eyes widened with expectation.

Rachel scooted backwards, then held out one arm. “Okay. As long as Grandpa holds onto you, too. Just a little ride, baby boy.”

Evan dumped the trash, grabbed Timmy’s plastic toy that came with the meal, and rushed to open the door for Rachel. Timmy enjoyed a short ride to the door, and Sam scooped him up and carried him to the Highlander. The boy snuggled into his neck, suddenly tired. As they drove the five short miles toward home, he fell into a deep sleep.

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