Divine Evil

adolescence.
    He could see himself, a bundle of Dopper's corn in his arms, a couple of beer bottles clanging in the sack along with a pack of Marlboros and wooden matches. He might have been alone, running off to lick the wounds his stepfather so gleefully handed out. Or he might have been with Blair Kimball, Bud Hewitt, Jesse Hawbaker, or one of the others he'd hung out with during those long gone days.
    They would have sat by the fire, with the smell of roasting corn and hot dogs, guzzling beer, lying about girls, telling Junior Dopper stories designed to make the skin crawl.
    Funny how often they'd gone there, even though the hairs on the back of their necks stood up. Probably because of it, he thought. It had been their place, haunted and eerie.
    And sometimes, they had been sure that something walked through those deep and silent woods with them.
    The involuntary shudder had him chuckling to himself. Some things don't change, he thought, grinning. Junior Dopper's faceless ghost could still bring a chill to the base of the spine.
    He swung away from the woods, deciding to run by the development and assure the latest angry resident that Matt Dopper's dogs would be chained. The car purred up theslope, around the winding curves, making him think of his recent bike ride with Clare.
    It had been fun, easy, an unexpected taste of childhood. Sitting with her by the stream, lazily talking, had been a homecoming.
    Kissing her hadn't been like coming home at all. It hadn't been comforting or friendly or sweet. It had been like getting scorched by a lightning bolt. He wondered how in the hell he'd missed Clare Kimball the first time around. He didn't intend to let her slip by again.
    When he was done here, he thought, he would just swing by her house-hoping she was welding-and see if she was interested in a meal and a movie in Hagerstown. If he had any luck, and his assessment of her reaction to him was anywhere close to target, he'd see about talking her into coming back to his house. Then they'd play it by ear.
    She didn't want to be rushed, he reminded himself. It was too bad that patience had never been one of his strong suits.
    Around the last curve, he spotted a couple of kids with bicycles. Hooking school, he thought, and had to appreciate the spirit of it on such a terrific May morning. It was with regret that he pulled over and prepared to give them the routine. He got out of the car and walked toward the boys.
    He recognized both of them-the curse or blessing of small towns. Cy Abbot-younger brother of Josh, from the cemetery disturbance-and Brian Knight, Min Atherton's nephew. Though a part of Cam wanted to wink and grin and wish them well, he strode forward, sober-eyed. They were both a little green around the gills, he noted, and wondered if it was being caught by the law that had shaken them up or if they'd been practicing chewing tobacco.
    “Well, now.” Cam put a hand on the handlebars of the dirt bike the Abbot boy was straddling. “Little late for school this morning, aren't you?”
    Cy opened his mouth, but only a wheeze came out. Turning a paler shade of green, he leaned over the side of the bike and vomited weakly.
    “Oh, shit,” Cam muttered, and put two hands on the bike to steady it. “What the hell have you two been up to?” He looked over at Brian since Cy was busy gagging.
    “We were just fooling around. And we-we-” He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, hard, and Cam noticed there were tears welling in his eyes.
    “Okay.” He softened his tone and put an arm around the now shuddering Cy. “What happened?”
    “We just found it.” Brian swallowed deeply, and his spit tasted foul. “We were going to pull our bikes down and go wading in the creek, that's all. Then we saw it.”
    “What did you see?”
    “The body.” Despite the humiliation of being seen blubbering, Cy began to sob. “It was awful, Sheriff. Awful.
    All the blood.”
    “Okay, why don't you guys sit in the back of the car? I'll go take a look. Come on, we'll put your bikes in the trunk.” He led the two shaking boys to the rear of the car. Probably a deer, maybe a dog, he told himself. But his hands were icy-a symptom he recognized. “Relax.” He opened the back door of the car and tried to lighten the mood. “You're not going to be sick all over the carpet, are you?”
    Cy continued to weep as Brian shook his head. He gave his friend a little punch on the arm for comfort.
    Beyond the gravelly shoulder of the road,