Dark Prophecy by Anthony E. Zuiker Read Free Book Online Page B

times!”
    “That’s good, baby.”
    “Maybe even fifty!”
    “Really,” Dark said. “That many.”
    He knew he should turn away from the wall. Close his eyes. Something, anything. Pay attention to your daughter, you asshole. But Dark’s eyes refused to move. His mind was waiting for something to snap loose in his mind. Why had the killer chosen to pose Green’s body like this? Was there something in the context of the murder scene he was missing? It was frustrating, having access to only a few of the pieces. To do this right, Dark would have to be there. See the body. Smell it. Touch it.
    After a while a sweet voice jarred him out of his fugue state.
    “Daddy?”
    “Huh? What, sweetie.”
    “Gramma says I have to go to bed now,” Sibby said.
    Before Dark could respond, there was a soft click. She was gone. Dark leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, closed his eyes. What was he doing? Why did he keep doing this to himself? This was not his case. This was not his business. Sometimes Dark wished he could just turn it off for good. Give himself just six months of being normal. Remind himself what it feels like, and maybe then he’d be okay.

II
    the fool
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    THE FOOL
    Falls Church, Virginia
     
     
    Jeb Paulson tried to remember where he was—what he was doing. He couldn’t. Which frightened the hell out of him. Even after the deepest sleep, his memory always reloaded in an instant. Stranger still was that he could see the star-studded sky, and was breathing in cold night air. There was tacky material under his fingertips. See? Nothing made sense. He wasn’t even sure what day it was. The weekend, he thought. Yeah, had to be.
    “Up,” a voice commanded.
    Metal jabbed at the side of his head. The business end of a gun. Paulson started to look in its direction when the harsh voice barked again:
    “Don’t turn around. Just get up.”
    Slowly Paulson crawled to his feet. He was shaking all over, like he had a fever. His skin felt tingly.
    “Now walk.”
    The gun jabbed him in a kidney. His muscles were ultra-sensitive. Everything felt tender. The slightest touch was agony. He hadn’t felt this bad since his last bout with the flu a couple of years ago.
    “Keep walking,” the voice continued.
    As Paulson walked across the tarred roof, he realized where he was. On top of his own apartment building. He recognized the tops of the trees across the street, the telephone lines, and the park beyond. What was he doing up here?
    Wait. It was coming back now. Last thing he remembered, he’d taken Sarge, their dog, for a walk. Sunday night, after dinner. He did some of his best thinking on those walks. So yeah, he’d been walking Sarge, and thinking about Martin Green, wondering what was next—trying to anticipate the killer’s next move. And then he woke up on the roof . . .
    No. That wasn’t it. Something happened before—Sarge barking, Paulson reaching for the door, hoping he made it back before Stephanie fell asleep.
    Oh God. Stephanie.
    “What do you want?” Paulson asked. “Do you want to talk to me? Is that it? You have something to say in private?”
    “Keep walking.”
    “You know, I’m going to run out of roof soon.”
    “Stop when you reach the edge,” the voice said. “I want to show you something, Agent Paulson.”
    “And if I don’t?”
    “I’ll shoot you and then go downstairs and pay a visit to Stephanie.”
    Right at that moment Paulson’s blood jumped. He wanted to turn around and just obliterate this bastard for daring to threaten his wife. He’d take a bullet—or three or four if he had to, he didn’t care. Paulson needed to stop this fucker now before he found himself completely helpless. At his mercy. Unable to save Stephanie.
    But that wasn’t how a Special Circs agent was supposed to behave. You don’t corner the monster. You draw him out. Paulson cursed himself.