Dark Rivers of the Heart

hushed that he felt as though he would be able to hear the earthworms deep in the ground, below the frost line, if only he could clear his mind and listen for their telltale writhing.
        When no one responded to the bell the second time, Spencer retrieved the spare key from the hiding place atop the door head. The Dresmunds had been instructed to leave it there, in the event that it was ever needed by the owner. The dead-bolt locks of the house and barn were keyed the same. With that freezing bit of brass half sticking to his fingers, he hurried back to the black pickup.
        The driveway forked. One lane led past the front of the barn and the other behind it. He took the second route.
        "I should go inside the same way I went that night," he told Ellie. "By They parked where the van with the rainbow mural had stood in a long-ago darkness. That vehicle had been his father's. He'd seen off the property and registered under a false name. It was the hunting wagon in which Steven Ackblom had traveled to various distant places to stalk and capture the women and the girls who were destined to become permanent residents of his catacombs. For the most part, he'd driven it onto the property only when his wife and son had been away, visiting her parents or at horse shows-though also on rare occasions when his darker desires became stronger than his caution.
        Ellie wanted to stay in the pick-up truck, leave the engine running, and keep the computer on her lap, with her fingers poised over the keys, ready to respond to any provocation.
        Spencer couldn't imagine anything that she could possibly do, while actually under attack, to force a call-back of the agency thugs.
        But she was dead serious, and he knew her well enough to trust that her plan, however peculiar, was not frivolous.
        "They're not here," he told her. "No one's waiting for us. If they were here, they'd have been all over us by now."
        "I don't know….
        "To remember what happened in those missing minutes, I'm going to have to go down… into that place. Rocky isn't company enough. I don't have the courage to go alone, and I'm not ashamed to say so."
        Ellie nodded. "You shouldn't be. If I were you, I'd never have been able to come this far. I'd have driven by, never looked back."
        She surveyed the moon-dappled fields and hills behind the barn.
        "No one," he said.
        "All right." Her fingers tapped across the laptop keyboard, and she pulled back from whatever computer she had invaded. The display screen went dark. "Let's go."
        Spencer doused the headlights. He switched off the engine.
        He took the pistol. Ellie had the Micro Uzi.
        When they got out of the truck, Rocky insisted on scrambling out with them. He was shaking, saturated by his master's mood, afraid to go with them but equally afraid to stay behind.
        Shivering more violently than the dog, Spencer peered into the sky. It was as clear and star-spattered as it had been on that July night. This time, however, the cataracts of moonlight revealed neither an owl nor an angel.
        In the dark gallery, where Roy had spoken of many things and the artist of the approaching truck brought a temporary halt to the sharing of intimacies.
        To avoid the risk of being seen, they took one step back from the window. They still had a view of the driveway.
        Instead of stopping in front of the barn, the pickup continued around to the back of the building.
        "I brought you here," Roy said, "because I have to know how your son's involved with this woman. He's a wild card. We can't figure him.
        There's a feeling of organization about his involvement. That disturbs us.
        For some time, we've suspected there may be a loosely woven organization out to undo our work or, failing that, cause us as many headaches as it can. He might be involved with such a group. If it exists. Maybe they're assisting the woman. Anyway, considering Spencer's… I'm sorry. Considering Michaela military training and his obvious Spartan mind-set, I don't think he'll crack under the usual methods of interrogation, no matter how much pain is involved."
        "He's a strong-willed boy," Steven acknowledged.
        "But if you interrogate him, he'll break wide open."
        "You might be right," Steven said. "Quite perceptive."
        "And this also gives me a chance to help right a