The Devil's Footprints

Leaning her head against a newel post, she closed her eyes. Sean had asked her to wait while he finished up, but she was desperate to get home. She’d been outside for too long, and her face and hands were numb from the cold. But the frigid air had done nothing to dispel the dread still hammering at her chest. She recognized it for what it was—a memory trying to force its way out.

A therapist had once told her that every subconscious contained a special place—a vault—where lost memories were stored. Usually, those memories stayed locked up tight, but every once in a while, a song, a face or a seemingly random event could crack open the safe and provide a tantalizing, sometimes terrifying glimpse into the past.

The room upstairs had done that for Sarah. But the tumblers hadn’t been turned by the puddles of blood on the floor or even the tattoos on the victim. The vault had been breached by the killer’s message. And by the sight of her own pale face staring back from the mirror.

The door opened and Sean stepped out on the porch.

He moved up beside her. “Are you okay? You had me worried when you ran out like that.”

“Yeah, I was kind of surprised by that, too,” Sarah said. “I thought I had a strong constitution. Never considered myself the squeamish type.”

“Sometimes it hits you all of a sudden. I’ve seen it happen to guys who’ve been on the force for years.” Sean hesitated. “But maybe in your case, there’s a little more going on than a weak stomach.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were thinking about Rachel, weren’t you? Damn it, I could kick myself for dragging you over here like this. I should have thought about how it would affect you.”

She shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s a very big deal. I saw your face when you ran out. It was like you’d seen a ghost. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Here?” She glanced around. The professionals and onlookers alike were starting to disperse, but Sarah still had no intention of getting into something so private. “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do with your time.”

“I can spare a few minutes. Besides…” Sean sighed. “It’s the same old story. Nobody saw or heard anything. Not a lot more we can do tonight except file the report and wait for the autopsy. And it might help if you told me what happened upstairs.”

He put his hand on the railing next to hers. Not quite touching. Just close enough for her to know it was there.

“I don’t think so, Sean.”

“Why not? You always refused to talk about Rachel because you didn’t want to drag your past into our relationship. At least that’s what you said. What’s stopping you now?”

“Why do you even care?”

“Sarah.”

The mild rebuke sent a shiver up her spine. She could feel his eyes on her in the dark and she wanted to move away, but not nearly as much as she wanted to stay.

She looked out over the darkened street where moonlight softly illuminated frozen treetops. The flashing police lights reflected off tiny icicles, turning them into sapphires and rubies and in the distance, the palest of amber. The glistening neighborhood looked clean and beautiful and deceptively peaceful in the dark.

Sean shifted restlessly, impatient as always to cut to the heart of the problem. “After you and I got together, I read every newspaper account of the murder I could get my hands on. I even put in a few calls, tried to convince the local authorities to let me have a look at the police report. The one thing that seemed consistent in every account was the county sheriff’s conviction that it was a ritual murder. They found satanic symbols at the crime scene, just like upstairs. Is that what hit you so hard?”

Sarah pushed damp strands of hair from her face. “Just leave it alone, okay? I’ve told you a million times I don’t like dredging all that stuff up. It doesn’t do any good. I don’t remember anything about that night, and at this point, I doubt I ever will.”

“But you do remember. You’re just not letting those memories come out. That’s why you still have nightmares. It’s possible you know who the killer is. And you know he’s still out there.”

Sarah tried to muster an indignant response that would end this. “Oh, so you’re a shrink now?”

“It doesn’t take a shrink to figure this thing out. You were found near the crime scene covered in your sister’s blood. Whatever you saw that night traumatized you so badly you decided to forget what happened. But those memories are still buried in your subconscious. They come out when you dream. So you don’t sleep until your body shuts down from exhaustion because you’re desperate to keep them at bay for as long as you can.” Sean leaned down and said in her ear, “Why won’t you let them out, Sarah? Who are you trying to protect?”

Startled, she moved back, away from him, trying to put distance between herself and the past. But it was too late. She could feel herself slipping into that dark void of paranoia and guilt that had stalked her through most of her teenage years and followed her into adulthood. She found herself scouring the icy darkness, searching for the evil that she knew would sooner or later come back for her.

Sean touched her arm and she jumped.

“You remembered something earlier, didn’t you?”

Slowly she turned to face him. “Is that why you asked me to come here? Because you thought the crime scene would jog my memory?”

It seemed to Sarah that he couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “I called you because I want your help.”

She wasn’t convinced. There was something else at play here, something that Sean might not even be completely aware of himself. Somewhere along the way, he’d become obsessed with her sister’s murder. It was no longer about Sarah’s peace of mind. It wasn’t even about justice. Sean had convinced himself—knowingly or otherwise—that he was the one person who could catch Rachel’s killer.

“If you really want my help, why are you badgering me about something that happened fourteen years ago? Maybe you should try focusing on a crime you might actually be able to solve.”

He winced and she could tell he was on the verge of a retort, then he changed his mind and shrugged. “Okay. Maybe you’re right. Maybe this isn’t the right time to get into all that. But there’s something I need to know before I have Parks take you home.” His face looked both dark and pale in the light spilling out from the windows. “What did you mean earlier when you asked if we’d found any unusual prints around the house?”

Sarah glanced up at the sky. The swirling snowflakes reminded her of tiny, dancing angels. She put out a hand to catch one in her palm.

“What kind of prints were you talking about, Sarah?”

She remained silent as her fingers closed over a snowflake.

Six

Adamant, Arkansas

Christmas Eve

The temperature dropped after dark and it had started to mist. Ashe shivered in his lightweight jacket as he glanced yet again over his shoulder, making sure he couldn’t be spotted.

An unnecessary precaution, because the house was on a two-acre lot at the end of the street. Even if the closest neighbors should glance outside, they would see only a shadow beneath the DeLaunes’ living room window.

Nor was there any need to worry about passing cars. The streets were deserted. He couldn’t see anything but the kaleidoscopic blur of twinkling lights in the distance. On Christmas Eve, the good citizens of Adamant were home celebrating with their families.

But the night was like any other to him. He felt nothing more than a fleeting twinge of regret that no one knew or cared how he spent his Christmas Eve. He didn’t dwell on his loneliness, because being invisible had its compensation.

Shrugging off the disquiet, he turned back to the window. It was nearly midnight. Everyone except Sarah’s father had gone up to bed, and he sat dozing in an easy chair in front of the fireplace. Blissfully unaware.

Earlier, the family had gathered around the Christmas tree to exchange presents. The window was open a crack to allow the smoke from the old man’s pipe to escape, and Ashe had been able to hear their voices so clearly it was almost as if he were a part of the celebration. He’d followed the conversation with avid fascination, even though his eyes had been riveted on Sarah.

Dressed in jeans and a pale yellow sweater, her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, she’d sat cross-legged on the floor, opening her gifts with a brooding scowl that had irritated her father. The contrast between her sister’s girly squeals as she tore into one package after another had finally become too much for him.

“I’ve had enough of this.” He got up and strode over to Sarah, grabbed her by the arm and yanked her to her feet. “If you want to sit there and sulk, you can damn well do it in your room. You’re not going to ruin the evening for the rest of us.”

Her mother nervously rose to her feet. “James—”

“Stay out of this, Anna. I should have taken care of this at dinner when she was being so rude and aggressive with her sister. She’s an ungrateful little brat, and I’m not going to sit here and tolerate this surly behavior any longer.”

Still clutching her arm, he marched Sarah out of the room and up the stairs. He was gone for a long time, and when he came back, he looked flushed and angry.