Both parents looked to Mary expectantly and she said a quick prayer for help. "It'll be a few minutes before the divers are in position," she said. "So why don't we all sit at this picnic bench and I can tell you about finding Ronny."

They followed her to the bench and sat down, Ian and Mary on one side and Wade and Elizabeth on the other. Mary leaned forward and clasped her hands together on the table top. She looked over to the corner of the table to see Ronny sitting on the same side as his parents. She winked at him and he winked back.

"In many cases, it's easier to demonstrate something than explain it," she said. "So, if you don't mind, that's what I'd like to do."

They both nodded at her.

"I'd like you to ask me a question about Ronny, something no one else would know but you and Ronny," she said.

"Why?" Elizabeth asked. "I don't understand."

"Please, just give me a chance to demonstrate," Mary said.

"Okay, what's Ronny's favorite breakfast food?" she asked.

Mary turned to Ronny and then repeated what he told her, "Mickey Mouse pancakes, no b.u.t.ter, maple syrup and whipped cream. He prefers bacon to sausage and likes his bacon crispy."

"How did you..." Elizabeth began.

"Ask me another one," Mary said.

"Who is Ronny's favorite superhero?" Wade asked.

Mary waited for Ronny's response. "I must have this wrong," Mary said, "because this guy is a famous painter, not a superhero, but it's Michelangelo?"

Wade nodded, "That's right. How are you doing this?"

She took a deep breath. "It's really easy because Ronny is here with us," she said. "Actually, right now he's laughing at me. But he's still with us."

She turned to Ronny. "Michelangelo?"

Then she grinned and turned to Wade and Elizabeth. "Oh, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, of course."

"Are you playing a game with us?" Elizabeth asked. "Because this is not funny."

Mary reached across the table and put her hand over Elizabeth's hand. "No, I'm not playing a game," she said, "and I'm so sorry if I came across that way. I've been with Ronny for a week now and he has a wonderful sense of humor. I tend to forget... Well, I'm sorry."

"You tend to forget?" Wade asked.

"A few years ago, when I was a police officer I was shot. They rushed me to the hospital and into surgery, but the wound was pretty bad and I ended up flat-lining on the surgical table," she explained. "I remember going towards this light. I didn't hurt anymore and I felt really peaceful. I hadn't quite reached my destination when I heard someone call my name. Then he told me I had a choice. I could keep going, or I could go back and be with my family for a while longer. But if I chose to go back, things would be different."

She met Elizabeth's eyes. "I chose to come back and be with my family," she said. "And when I got back I found I could see and communicate with ghosts."

"I don't believe in ghosts," Wade said.

Mary shrugged. "But you believe in G.o.d and angels and spirits, right?"

He nodded.

"Okay, then I can communicate with spirits who are still trapped here on the earth because of unfinished business," she said. "Ronny needed to say good-bye to you and he needed to have his killer found. Once that happens, he gets to go to that wonderful peaceful place."

"Say good-bye to us?" Elizabeth asked.

Mary turned to Ronny and then repeated his words.

"Mom. Dad. I wasn't disobeying you the morning I disappeared," he said. "I was getting wood for the fire. I wanted to surprise you. I was near the road when this guy in a pickup truck came by and saw me. He told me he knew where some perfect wood was, just up the road. Then he told me that I shouldn't get in a truck with a stranger, so he let me ride in the back of the truck. I thought it would be okay. But, it wasn't."

"We never blamed you, son," Wade said, through his tears. "We just wanted to find you."

"I tried to let you know," Ronny said. "I tried to talk to you, I just didn't know how."

"Ronny, we love you," Elizabeth said. "We never stopped loving you."

"That's good, because I love you too," he replied. "Mary told me that heaven is a cool place and someday we will all be together again."

Elizabeth wiped her sleeve across her face to blot some of her tears. "She's right," she said, her voice trembling. "We will all be together again."

"Don't cry, Mom," he said. "I'll be fine until you come. G.o.d will take care of me."

"Yes, he will son," Wade said, wiping his eyes and his nose with a handkerchief. "Yes, he will."

A shout from one of the divers interrupted them.

"We found him," one diver called from the boat. "We're bringing him up."

They all left the table and walked over to the edge of the lake. The divers brought up a large black plastic body bag and gently laid it in the bottom of the boat, and then the divers came ash.o.r.e.

"We're expecting the State's Attorney to show up here anytime," the lead diver explained. "And we have to turn the remains over to him for the time being. But, we did find something down there we thought we could let you have."

He opened his hand and a stainless steel chain with a small dog tag attached to it slipped from his hand into Elizabeth's. "Oh, I remember, he was wearing his dog tag," she said. "We got him ones to match his dad's set. Wade was in the Air Force. He never went anywhere without them."

She looked over to Mary. "Thank you," she said. "You found my son and brought him back home."

Chapter Fifty-two.

Allen parked the pickup in Chuck's driveway and pulled the fishing rod out of the back compartment before he strode across the yard and knocked on the back door.

"Who is it?" Chuck called.

Allen opened the door and let himself in. Mike followed behind him.

"What the h.e.l.l do you want?" Chuck asked. "It's Sunday, shouldn't you be in church?"

Allen laid the fishing pole on the kitchen table and looked up at Chuck. "This look familiar to you?" he asked.

Chuck paused for a moment. "Should it?"

"Yeah, it should," he replied. "It belonged to Timmy Beck."

"Go ahead, ask him where he got it," Mike said.

"So, what's that got to do with me?" Chuck asked.

Allen jumped forward and pushed Chuck against his chest, knocking him into the wall. "You told me Emil Forrest killed those boys," he shouted. "When I found this fishing rod in the back of your pickup truck, you told me you found it on the side of the road. I believed you."

Chuck pushed him back, causing Allen to stagger backwards into the table. "If you had really believed me, you wouldn't have saved that pole for all these years," Chuck countered. "You didn't turn it in because you didn't want the n.o.ble name of Richards to be sullied."

Allen shook his head. "That's not true," he said. "I believed you. I didn't turn this in. I didn't go to the police. And you killed all those boys and set Emil Forrest up to take the blame."

"What?" Mike cried. "Uncle Chuck? Uncle Chuck killed those boys? Not you...but Uncle Chuck?"

Chuck walked closer to Allen. "The problem with you, Allen, is that you still believe in good guys and bad guys," Chuck said. "It ain't about good and bad. It's about opportunities. You should be grateful I stayed away from Mike."

Allen charged at Chuck and knocked him on the floor. "How could you do it?" he screamed at him, clutching his collar in his hands. "How could you do that to those little boys?"

Chuck reached over and grabbed the fishing pole that had fallen to the ground during the scuffle.

"Watch out, dad," Mike yelled, even though his dad couldn't hear him.

Chuck whipped the stainless steel pole against Allen's face, slicing his cheek and knocking him over. Chuck rolled over and kicked Allen in the side, and Allen doubled over in pain. Breathing heavily, Chuck stumbled backwards to a kitchen cabinet, reached in and pulled out his service revolver.

"So, the Richards' name is going to be sullied after all," he gasped. "The whole town is going to be talking about how surprised they are that quiet Allen Richards was really a murderer and a pervert. How did Alice live with him all those years and not know?"

Allen rolled over and looked up at his brother.

"Oh, don't worry," he said. "I'll take care of Alice. I'll be the town hero. I had to shoot my own brother in self-defense. He tried to kill me, just like he killed those little boys."

Allen tried to stand up, but Chuck pointed the gun at him. "You move again and I'll shoot you now."

Mike had been standing motionless, in shock to learn that Chuck was the murderer and was about to get away with it. His dad, his innocent dad, was going to get blamed.

"No," Mike screamed.

He slammed his fist on the table and felt it shake beneath him.

"What was that?" Chuck asked, startled.

The kitchen cabinets began to crash open and closed, as their contents spilled out onto the countertops and floor. "What the h.e.l.l?" Chuck yelled, staring at the chaos around him, his focus away from his brother.

A cast iron frying pan flew across the room, just missing Chuck's head. "What's going on?"

More pots and pans shot across the room and Chuck screamed as he dodged them.

Allen rolled over and got into a crouching position. He waited until Chuck tried to dodge another pan and then sprang at him. He caught him mid-chest and barreled against him, knocking him to the floor. The gun skidded across the room. Allen punched Chuck in the jaw and knocked his head against the floor.

Chuck pummeled Allen's ribcage with his fists. But Allen continued to fight, keeping Chuck underneath him. Chuck reached out and found the frying pan that had missed him. He grabbed it in his hand and began to bring it up when he heard it.

"Click!"

The sound of the hammer being pulled back on his gun. He froze and looked up. The pistol was hovering in the air just feet from his forehead, aimed at him.

"Don't...don't shoot me," Chuck begged.

Allen looked over at the gun and slid off Chuck. The gun never wavered, pointing right between Chuck's eyes.

"Mike," Allen said. "You can't shoot him."

The gun moved just slightly in an up and down motion, then went back in place.

"No, you can't," Allen said, "because it would lower you to his level."

Mike continued to point the gun at Chuck. All of those little boys. All of his friends. Chuck deserved to die. He deserved far worse than just a bullet to the brain.

"Michael Samuel Richards, you give me that gun right now," Allen said.

The gun wavered.

"Come on, Mike," Allen said. "Think about how much fun Chuck's going to have in prison. An ex-cop, a pedophile and a child killer? Yeah, he'll get his payback."

The gun lowered slowly and floated over to Allen. Allen took hold of it and shook his head. "Your mother was right," he said. "You are here. Thank you, son. Thank you for saving my life."

We need back-up, Mike thought. He looked around and saw a whiteboard on the wall near the door. Picking up a marker he quickly scrawled, "Keep the gun on him, Dad. I'll be back in a minute with help."

Bradley was driving down Cedarville blacktop towards Lena because he had promised Boettcher and Mary he'd meet them at the lake. He was nearly to Flansburg Road when Mike appeared in the pa.s.senger seat next to him.

"Hey Chief," Mike said, "you've got to make a detour."

Bradley swerved slightly, but compensated quickly.

"I wish you'd stop doing that," he said.

Mike chuckled. "You'd think you'd have better driving skills."

"I'm going to the lake," Bradley said.

"No, you're going to Chuck Richards' house on Schuyler Avenue," Mike said, giving Bradley the address. "Because that's where my dad has a gun pointed at Uncle Chuck."

"What the h.e.l.l?" Bradley asked, switching on the siren and increasing his speed.

"Yeah, turns out Uncle Chuck was the bad guy all along," Mike added.