"No, but your kind harms everyone. Like the girl in the library. I saw what you did to her."

"I tried to help her-"

"No," he interrupted. "You made her have that fit, like that woman did to my mother. I know what witches do. Cousin Lucy told me all about witches, from the time I was a small child."

"But you said your mother had a heart problem?"

"That was a lie my father told to cover up what was happening to my mother. Cousin Lucy said he wanted her dead, so he let the witch curse her." He looked down at the knife in his hand. "I tried to help my mother, but my father beat me every time I did."

Peachy, I'm trapped in a room with a guy who'd had a sociopath for a nurse and a father who abused him.

"My father won in the end. The witch cursed her and she drowned in her own blood, like our ancestor. The one my father forbade Cousin Lucy to talk about," he said, pouting again.

Ancestor?

"Ah, this ancestor, he wouldn't have happened to have been a judge at the Salem Witch Trials, would he?"

"Yes," he said, his face brightening. "Have you heard of him? Judge Thorntun, spelled with a u u. Cousin Lucy said my great-great-grandfather changed the spelling of our last name because he was ashamed." Charles shook his head in disbelief. "Can you imagine? Ashamed of a man who fought evil. Cousin Lucy said we should be proud of the judge."

I was beginning not not to like this Cousin Lucy. to like this Cousin Lucy.

I looked down at the paper and noticed I'd drawn "frowny" faces all over it. Charles gazed at the paper and smiled.

When he raised his eyes to my face, he looked sad. "I'd hoped you were different, that maybe I could convince you to forsake your evil ways." Charles shook his head slowly. "I saw you crying at the hospital. And when the witch bottle didn't kill you-"

I broke in. "What are you talking about? Crying and a witch bottle?"

"Witches can't cry. You know that." Charles rolled his eyes as if he were talking to an idiot. "You must've faked it somehow. The Hammer of Witches The Hammer of Witches cautions to be alert for trickery when you see a witch cry." cautions to be alert for trickery when you see a witch cry."

"The witch bottle?"

"Oh, a bottle with nine nails, urine, and hair from the witch you want to kill. I know you found it; I went back to the ditch and looked for it. When you didn't die, I thought maybe it was a sign you could be saved. I even tried to warn you to abandon your ways by sending you the flowers. Red and white flowers are a sign of death, you know," Charles said in a rambling voice. "I thought maybe receiving them would scare you. Scare you enough to change, but I was wrong."

"Whoa, forget the flowers and back up a second-hair of the witch? That bottle Comacho and I found had my hair in it?" I was astonished. "How did you get any of my hair?"

"From your hairbrush. I picked it up when you spilled your bag at the restaurant."

I shut my eyes. The lab would come back with a positive DNA match when they compared my hair sample to what they found in the bottle. Comacho would see the report as proof I lied to him. By then, I'd be dead, but... I shook my head and opened my eyes.

Charles looked over his shoulder at the clock. "It's time to go," he said sadly.

I picked up the pen and doodled again. "Where are we going, Charles?" I asked. My voice sounded calm, but inside I was shaking.

"I told you I have something special for you. I thought about burning. I'd planned burning for the old man, the witch I buried in the ditch, but he died first." Charles lifted one shoulder. "But I remembered the judge hanged witches." His eyes lit up with excitement. "We're going back to where you dumped poor Beasley. Oh, don't look surprised," he chided.

I ignored him and continued to doodle.

"People in small towns talk. Your fight with him was all over town, and I know the sheriff suspects you killed him." He licked his lips in satisfaction. "You're going to hang yourself out of remorse. They're going to find your dead body swinging from the rafters."

I put the pencil down. "I didn't kill Beasley."

Charles smiled. "I know. I did."

Charles walked me out the back door of the library to where he'd parked his car in the alley. The whole time he held the sharp tip of his dagger in the middle of my back. Once at the car, he forced me to the ground, on my back. While he held me down with a knee to my chest, he tied my wrists with tape.

I thought about kicking him, but I remembered what he'd done out of anger to Brian. Screaming wouldn't do any good; the alley was empty and all the businesses were closed. I'd wait till we reached PP International. Lots of places to run and hide there. And who knows, maybe someone would find the clues I'd left on my desk in time to save me.

"The tape might leave residue," he explained while he wrapped my wrists. "I'll have to clean your wrists with alcohol later. I was afraid a rope would cause bruising and the sheriff might wonder if you went willingly. Can't have that." He pulled me to my feet and smiled into my face.

The trip to PP International was silent. It was as if Charles had used up all his words in the library.

I hadn't. I had a few questions. Why had he killed Beasley? And how? I thought about using the standard line "You won't get away with this," but he already had. While the police had been trying to tie Brian's murder to the Harvester, Charles Thornton had been living his life, safe in his paranoia. And was Brian his first murder or had there been others?

When we reached PP International, Charles kept my door locked and got out on his side. Moving around the front of the car, he unlocked mine and pulled me out of the car. With his knife pointed at a spot between my shoulder blades, he marched me to one of the abandoned buildings.

As we walked, we were close enough to the sewage lagoon that the smell of hydrogen sulfide burned my nose and made my eyes water. I looked to my left and saw the lagoon. To the right of the lagoon was the old trailer the manager had lived in.

Tilting my head back, I looked at the night sky. It reminded me of the vision I'd had the night I worked with the runes. A full moon shone and the sky was covered with stars. Their reflection floated on the dark surface, as they had in the vision. But the water in the lagoon wasn't clean and cool, like the pool; it was oily and dank. And I didn't see a dark warrior to help me tonight. Tonight I was on my own.

A slight jab in the back quickened my steps.

We approached a building that was open on one side. In the bright moonlight I saw the empty hog crates where the animals had spent their entire lives. What a place to die.

No, I stopped the thought before it had formed. I wasn't going to die. I'd fight with all I had. All I had to do was get away from Charles and his knife.

When we reached the building, Charles shoved me up against the fence separating the stalls. Holding me in place from behind with his body, he reached around and tied my wrists to the fence with more tape. I squirmed against his weight, but he grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. I stopped struggling.

Charles anch.o.r.ed me to the fence. "If you'll excuse me, I have to get things set up," he whispered in my ear before he walked away.

I heard Charles making noise in the building behind me and a sense of urgency shook me from the inside out. Think. How ami going to get out of this Think. How ami going to get out of this? I pulled against the tape.

I felt the tape wrapped around the fence loosen. I tugged again and wiggled my wrists. I felt the tape on the fence give. I took a quick look over my shoulder at Charles, still arranging the scene of my hanging. No longer attached to the fence, I worked my wrists back and forth, loosening the tape. When I had enough s.p.a.ce, I pulled one hand free. Another quick look over my shoulder and I took off, running for all I was worth.

I ran toward the lagoon. If I reached the other side of the lagoon, I could hide near the old trailer. Maybe even find a phone inside.

My legs pumped and my muscles began to burn. I didn't have much time. Any minute Charles would turn around and find me gone.

"Hey!" Charles yelled.

Guess that minute is now.

I ran harder when I heard footsteps pounding behind me. I'd almost reached the lagoon when Charles tackled me, knocking me down. In the bright moonlight I saw his knife spin over my head and into the lagoon. He flipped me over and gave me a hard right to the jaw. I saw stars, but not the ones in the sky. They floated like tiny lights behind my eyelids. Shaking them away, I opened my eyes to see Charles's face looming above me.

His eyes were wild with rage and his lips were pulled back, exposing his teeth in a bizarre grin. And his hands held my shoulders to the ground.

I bucked and kicked, trying to throw him off, but he was too heavy.

He yelled and screamed at me, but I didn't hear the words through my fear. His face got closer and closer as he shrieked.

Raising my head, I smashed my forehead into his nose. Charles reared back and grabbed his nose in pain, releasing my shoulders. No longer pinned beneath him, I jerked my knee up, making contact with his lower back. The force threw him off-balance, and with a push, I shoved him off me. Rolling the other way, I crawled away, trying to get to my feet.

I managed to stand, but he was on me in an instant. His hands tightened around my throat and he shook me like a dog shaking a rat.

"I'm going to kill you with my bare hands," he shouted, the blood dripping from his nose. "I'm going to throw your wretched body in the sewer where it belongs."

I clawed at his wrists with my hands, fighting his grip.

"Then I'm going after the evil woman who sp.a.w.ned you-the old lady, your beloved grandmother. She'll know the fires of h.e.l.l before I'm finished with her."

His words finally penetrated my fear-soaked brain. Abby-he planned to kill Abby!

A scream of pure animal rage ripped from my raw throat. And with it, I brought my knee up with a force I didn't know I possessed.

A howl tore from Charles while his hands fell away and he dropped like bag of cement. He rolled on the ground in pain, closer and closer to the edge of the lagoon.

Rubbing my aching throat, I staggered after him.

Standing above him, I looked down at him.

His face, contorted in pain, was smeared with blood from his bleeding nose. His eyes were scrunched shut.

This was the man who'd killed Brian and Fletcher Beasley; who'd scared a harmless old man to death; and had caused misery in the lives of innocent people.

"I'm not the one who belongs in a sewer," I said, placing my foot on his hip. "You are."

Using all the energy I had left, I pushed against his body with my foot and watched, with a grim smile, as he rolled off the edge of the lagoon and into the hog s.h.i.t.

Chapter Thirty-Four.

"I wasn't going to let him drown, honest," I explained in a sincere voice. "See." I pointed at the ground. "I have a rope. The rope he planned on using to hang me. But you got here before I had the chance to throw it to him."

The dark warrior had finally shown up, a short time after Charles took his header into the lagoon, and now I was trying to convince him I really hadn't tried to commit murder.

Comacho eyed me skeptically.

Bill was at PP International too. Right now, he refereed a dispute between Alan and another one of the deputies. Their voices carried to where we stood.

"You take him in your car," said the young deputy.

"No. Put him in yours," Alan replied.

"But I cleaned mine out today," the other deputy whined.

"Clean it out again," Alan said.

"Boys. We'll draw straws." I heard Bill's voice say.

The softly muttered d.a.m.n d.a.m.n floated on the night breeze. And the voice didn't belong to Alan; it belonged to the other deputy. He'd won the privilege of hauling the manure-covered Charles to the county jail. floated on the night breeze. And the voice didn't belong to Alan; it belonged to the other deputy. He'd won the privilege of hauling the manure-covered Charles to the county jail.

"Hey," Bill's voice called out, "be sure and hose him down before you book him. I don't want the jail stinking."

"Yeah," Alan's voice joined in. "You might want to drive back to town with the windows down."

The other deputy muttered while he stuffed Charles in the back of his patrol car.

"Okay, let's go through this again," Comacho said, pulling his hand through his hair.

"Henry, I'd watch that if I were you," Bill said as he walked by.

Comacho turned and gave Bill a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

"Pulling your hand through your hair. It's a real easy habit to develop when you're around Ophelia too much." Bill pulled his hat off and pointed to his head. "How do you think I went bald?"

I rolled my eyes. Bill was all fun and games, now that I'd caught his killer for him.

Comacho took a deep breath and lifted his hand to his head again. Realizing what he was about to do, he shook his head slightly and dropped his hand. "Okay. Where were we?"

I groaned. "About to go over what happened for the millionth time."

"All right, we'll drop it for now." He looked at me sternly. "But I want to talk to you tomorrow."

"After we get Abby home," I said, crossing my arms and planting my feet.

Comacho looked surprised. "The doctors are releasing her tomorrow?"

"Yes. Except for some weakness in her hand, everything's normal. They wanted to observe her for twenty-four hours, just in case."

"Wow, that's amazing. Especially for a woman her age."

I laughed. "You'd better not let her hear you say that."

"What?"

I laughed again. "Never mind. Are you finished with your questions?"

"Yes." Comacho turned on his heel and started to walk away.

"Wait a second," I said, grabbing his sleeve. "It's my turn now."