KnockOut

because of the Internet, but I don’t think Messed needs the Internet. She says that’s why we’re in the boondocks. It’s nowhere, she says, and maybe they won’t find us here, maybe even Messed won’t find us here. It’s real pretty, lots of trees, and the mountains are everywhere, all around you, and they go on forever, but today was real hot. She hopes Uncle Tollie can help us, but he isn’t home yet, so we’re waiting for him. He knows people like you, that’s what Mama says.
    Can you tell me who’s trying to find you, Autumn? This man named Messed? Is he from Bricker’s Bowl?
    Yes, his name’s Blessed. It’s a neat name, but he’s creepy. Mama says that’s because of what he’s like. I think that house in Bricker’s Bowl is creepier. That’s where they buried — no, Mama said I can’t ever ever tell because it sounds too crazy and nobody would believe us. At least we have some money. Mama found it in Daddy’s safe deposit box. It’s not just Blessed, Dillon, it’s all of them. What do you think we should do?
    First, tell me where you are. What’s your last name?
    Her small face blurred. I can’t—
    Yes, you can. Autumn! No, wait —
    He heard a distant echo of her voice, as if she were calling him from inside a well. I can’t see you!
    It’s all right. Just relax and try again.
    Her voice was more distant now, only a whisper, her face a blur. I’ll try to call again so you can tell me what to do.
    But who are you? Where are you?
    The little girl was gone, like someone flipped a switch. Where there had been bright color and light and a child so close he could touch her, there was now only empty blackness and his racing thoughts. Savich kept calling to her, but she was gone. It was evidently only a one-way circuit. She hadn’t connected psychically with anyone except her father, now dead, so she would have to learn to control the psychic communication with him. Autumn and her mother were in big trouble, and here he was helpless, since he had no clue who she was or where she was.
    Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Her name was Autumn and she was in the mountains, probably in the Appalachians, he hoped close by, maybe somewhere in Virginia. Tomorrow he’d make some calls to police chiefs and sheriffs he knew throughout the state, have them call others. She and her mom were new to town. That would help. Uncle Tollie? He’d throw his name in the computer, see what popped up. Retired? What was his real name? Surely not Tollie. He sighed, closed his eyes, and tried once again to call her.
    No answer. No flicker of an image.
    He lay there, arms crossed behind his head, staring up at the dark ceiling. Did Autumn’s mother really accept that she had this amazing gift?
    Sherlock’s sleepy voice sounded against his neck. “Dillon? Why are you awake?”
    He settled her face against his shoulder, kissed her nose. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll tell you in the morning.”

3
    TITUSVILLE, VIRGINIA
    Saturday evening, two days later
    Ethan Merriweather felt hopelessness sweeping over him like a tsunami. It didn’t help that the sky was blacker than the bottom of a cauldron tonight—no moon, no stars, only drooping, bloated clouds pressing down on the thick-treed hills like so many black hats. His grandpa would have poked his arm and told him he was sounding like a long-haired poet again. His grandpa would have said it with a sort of Scottish lilt in his heavily accented voice, a spoken song, Ethan had always thought, one of his thick, white eyebrows arched higher than any eyebrow Ethan had ever seen. He’d practiced for hours in front of a mirror but never achieved his grandfather’s lift.
    He knew it was time to call it a day. Or a night.
    Where are you?
    Ethan’s cell screamed out “Blood on Your Hands,” a grinding death- metal rock ringtone that spiked his brain better than a double espresso. He picked it up and said right off, his heart speeding up a bit, “Tell me she’s been found.”
    “Sorry, Sheriff, still no sign of her,” said Ox, his senior deputy. “I called to tell you the three rangers from Thunder Ridge district are ready to call it quits for the night, said they can’t do anything more now that it’s dark.”
    “Yeah, they’re right. I’ll call Faydeen, have her round everybody else up, tell them to go home. We’ll pick it up tomorrow morning. How you feeling, Ox?”
    “I’m hunkered down beside you in a swamp of worry, Sheriff. Even my evening