Diary of the Gone by Ivan Amberlake Read Free Book Online Page B

of
surgeons. The chief put his hand around my shoulder then called to
one of the policemen, a paunchy man with a thick mustache. “Swen,
it’s going to take a while so I’d appreciate it if you could take
Callum home.”
    “ I’d like to stay,” I said
with as much finality as my voice could muster.
    The chief lowered his black eyes at
me. “Are you sure?”
    I nodded once, then the chief turned
to Swen and said, “Okay, I’ll take care of him.” The policeman
shrugged and nodded, then stepped aside.
    I stood still with a hood over my head
to keep raindrops from saturating my face. I watched the men
looking for clues, taking pictures of the scene. Then they started
extracting the body from the ground. I winced every time they
thrust their spades into the ground. I thought it took them an
eternity to drag a rigid body out of its grave.
    “ Holy Mother of God!” one
of the villagers cried when they turned the body face
up.
    I set myself in motion, weaving my way
among the men, then peered into the placid features of the boy
lying there. If it weren’t for the dirt clinging to his face and a
slight bruise blemishing his right cheek, I’d think he was
sleeping.
    “ This is Greg Thornby,”
the chief confirmed, his lips forming a thin, grim line. “What the
hell is this?”
    He rolled the sleeves of his shirt up,
and I noticed the strange patterns cut into Greg’s right hand:
circles, triangles and number 2/7. I didn’t get what the numbers
meant, but the rest of the symbols looked the same way I’d seen in
the Shadow.
    I went rigid; my stomach turned and I
gripped it, retreating into the dark, away from the group and the
boy. I threw up, clutching with one hand at the wet ground while
the other clung to my stomach. With my eyes closed, I squatted,
taking short breaths, but it didn’t make me feel better.
    Bushes rustled out there in the
darkness; I jerked up my head, cold fear sliding down my back. A
figure stood in the underbrush, not moving, but whoever it was,
they were watching me. Fear constricted my throat, breathing
suddenly an impossible task. Was it my imagination conjuring the
image? I couldn’t move, like prey that spotted a hunter. My heart
stuttered, my mouth too parched to utter a sound.
    It’s just a tree,
that’s it, a voice in my head pacified
me.
    Yet I didn’t move a muscle, peering
into the dark. The chief came up to me from behind and tapped me on
the shoulder. “Here you are, boy. You all right?”
    I gave a nod, taking my eyes off the
underbrush.
    “ Time to go home,” the
chief said. “You had a rough day.” He helped me up with his strong
hands.
    When I looked back into the dark, the
figure was gone.
    What if it was Mrs. Palmer, the
raven-like librarian?
    I didn’t remember much of the trip
back, lost in thought about who might have been lurking among the
trees.
    Stars shimmered like diamonds in the
skies. The rain had stopped, crickets chirping their incessant
songs in the stillness. An owl hooted nearby joining the insects’
nocturnal performance. A translucent moon guided us out of the
woods.
    As I entered the yard the tension
inside me eased a bit. There was still hope of Nathan being alive.
Until he’d be found, I needed to believe he was okay.
    When I stepped over the threshold I
heard voices and laughter in the living room. It felt so weird to
hear it after what’d just happened in the Swamps. I peered into the
room to see the TV working and Mum sleeping on the couch. I tiptoed
to her and covered her with a blanket, then punched the remote, and
the screen went black. I moved straight to my room and was
surprised to meet Bev on the way. She was sitting next to my room
like a yogi, a book in her lap. She raised her eyes at me, and I
could see that her sarcastic attitude from the morning was gone,
replaced by worry. She pushed herself up from the floor, then
hugged me. I could swear it had to be the first time ever when she
did this voluntarily. After three Mississippis