Divine Evil

you like. We have nothing to hide.”
    Annie wasn't in her trailer. Nor could Cam find her in any of her usual haunts around town. The best he could do was have a neighbor promise to see that she stayed put when she got back.
    He was running in circles, he thought as he headed back to town. Chasing his tail just like they wanted him to. He knew more than they realized. He knew that the passbook with Kimball's and Biff's names had been a plant. What he didn't know was whether Bob Meese had found it or had merely been following orders.
    He knew that rituals were held on a regular basis. At least monthly, from what Mona had finally told him. But he didn't know where.
    He knew there were thirteen men involved, from Clare's sketch and Mona's corroboration. But he didn't know who.
    So when you added it all up, he thought as he pulled up in front of Ernie's house, you still got zero.
    The worst was that he couldn't afford to share what he did know with anyone, not even Bud or Mick. Even in a town as small as Emmitsboro, thirteen men could hide easily.
    He hoped Ernie would answer the door. He was in the mood to choke some answers out of the boy. But it was Joleen Butts who answered.
    “Mrs. Butts.”
    “Sheriff?” Her eyes darted behind him. “Is something wrong?”
    “We're conducting a house-to-house search.”
    “Oh, yes. I heard.” She twisted her beads. “I guess you can get started. Excuse the mess. I haven't had a chance to pick up.”
    “Don't worry about it. Your husband's been a big help with the search party.”
    “Will's always the first to volunteer, the last to leave. I guess you'll want to begin upstairs.” She started to lead him up, then stopped. “Sheriff, I know you've got a lot on your mind, and I don't want to sound like an overanxious mother, but Ernie … he didn't come home last night. The therapist says it's a very common behavior pattern, given the way Ernie feels right now about himself and his father and me. But I'm afraid. I'm afraid something might have happened to him. Like Clare.” She rested her hand on the banister. “What should I do?”
    Cam was on his way back out of town when he passed Bud's cruiser. He signaled, then stood, straddling his bike as Bud backed up and leaned out the window.
    “Where's Mick?”
    “Supervising the search on the other side of Gossard Creek.” Bud wiped his sweaty forehead with a bandanna. “I had radio contact about twenty minutes ago.”
    “Did you finish the house-to-house?”
    “Yeah. I'm sorry, Cam.”
    Cam looked out, over a field of corn. There was a haze of heat hovering like fog. Above, the sky was the color of drywall. “You know that kid, Ernie Butts?”
    Sure.
    “The truck he drives?” “Red Toyota pickup. Why?” Cam looked back at Bud, steadily. He had to trustsomeone. “I want you to cruise around, keep your eye out for him.”
    “Did he do something?”
    “I don't know. If you spot him, don't stop him. See what he's up to, but don't stop him. Just contact me. Just me, Bud.”
    “Sure, Sheriff.”
    “I've got another stop to make.” He checked the sky again. It was the longest day of the year, but even that didn't last forever.
    As Cam parked in front of Annie's trailer, Clare tried to claw her way out of the sticky mists the drug coated over her mind. She recited poetry in her head, old Beatles lyrics, nursery rhymes. It was so hot, so airless in the room. Like a coffin. But you were cold in a coffin, she reminded herself. And she'd already soaked through the sheets that day.
    She wasn't certain how much longer she could take lying in the dark. How much time had passed? A day, a week, a month?
    Why didn't someone come?
    They would be looking. Cam, her friends, her family. They wouldn't forget her. She'd seen no one but Doc Crampton since the night she'd been brought there. And even then she wasn't certain how many times he had sat beside the bed and popped a drug in her veins.
    She was afraid, not only for her life but for her sanity. She knew now that she was too weak to fight them, whatever they did to her. But she was desperately afraid she would go mad first.
    Alone. In the dark.
    In her more lucid moments, she plotted ways to escape,then expose them all and clear her father. But then the hours would pass in that terrible, dark silence, and her plans would turn into incoherent prayers for someone, anyone, to come and help her.
    In the end, it was Atherton who came. When she looked up and saw him, she knew she