The Walking by Bentley Little Read Free Book Online

that he, too, would be put to the stake. But dying this way had kept alive a flicker of doubt in the townspeople's minds, had guaranteed him life.
    Men like Stevens and his friends had killed his mother, and though he understood that they feared what they did not understand, it did not excuse their actions. He felt no qualms
    about putting an end to Stevens' life. It had been kill or be killed--as it was so often out here in the territories--and he would do the same thing over again if given the chance.
    But he had no time to dally. They would be back. He gathered his bag of writings and powders, took whatever food and clothing he could fit onto the horse, and headed out. He considered torching the house, leaving behind no evidence, but then they'd know for sure he'd fled.
    This way they'd search the house and the property before giving chase.
    It would buy him some time.
    He ran the horse at first, but then slowed it to a trot. If the gathering posse really wanted, he knew, they would be able to overtake him. Maybe not the first day. But the second. Or the third. And he thought it better to appear less desperate. Let them know he was leaving, but also let them think that he was not afraid, that he was confident enough of his powers that he did not need to run.
    From behind him, he heard the sound of a shotgun, its thunderous blast amplified and echoing in the cold winter night. He told the horse it was nothing and made the animal continue forward at its leisurely pace.
    Even if one of the men was shooting at him--which he doubted--none of the bullets would find their mark. The first thing he had done was cloak himself in a protective spell that was strong enough to shield him from all but a direct blow with a handheld weapon. "
    Ahead of him was blackness..
    Behind him echoed the sound of another shotgun blast. He looked up at the position of the moon. It was after midnight, he realized. It was Christmas. When the sun rose, the men behind him would be opening presents, giving thanks to God, going to church. =
    He sighed. It didn't matter.
    He continued slowly forward into the darkness.
    It wasn't a day he recognized anyway.
    The body was torn in half lengthwise. Literally torn. Like a piece of paper. With the entire right side of the connected head, torso and abdomen pulled down so that the man's left half and right halves were touching only at the feet.
    He had never seen or heard of anything like this happening before, and Miles stared with revulsion and horror at the spilled guts and broken bits of bone that littered the bloody hardwood floor. He felt like throwing up, and it was only through an effort of sheer will that he managed to keep down his breakfast.
    It was the smell that was the worst, the disgusting stench of bile and excrement and bodily fluids. He was forced to hold his hand over his nose, and he wished that the policemen and forensic experts would offer him a surgical mask like the ones they were wearing.
    Graham Donaldson had called him find Graham Stood next to him now, watching as the police dusted for fingerprints, collected trace evidence, and photographed the crime scene. Miles didn't know why the lawyer wanted him here-as a witness perhaps, as a nonofficial observermbut Graham was a friend, and he had come automatically.
    He had not been prepared for what he'd found.
    A criminalist crouched near the shattered left half of the head and gathered a sample of blood from the brain cavity. Miles turned away.
    His no irish fantasies had sometimes involved murder cases, but those dreams had crashed to earth
    in the first second he'd seen the body---or what was left of it. He realized how lucky he was to be working in a downtown office suite with computers and ergonomic office furniture and nice clean paperwork.
    He'd never complain about being a glorified clerk again. Miles turned to Graham. "So why, exactly, am I here?" The lawyer shrugged. "I thought you might be able to help me find out who did this. I