Waking Evil Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Teaser chapter

  About the Author

  An Age-Old Curse

  Mark shot Ramsey a look. “I think half of what the kids told us is fueled by that blasted legend folks ’round here insist on feedin’ regularly.”

  “Legend?” The case file contained only the facts of the case. But when facts were in short supply, other details took on more importance.

  “Guess you’ll be hearin’ it from ’bout every person you talk to in town. I know I can count on you, out of anyone, not to be distracted by nonsense.” Still, it seemed to take him a few moments to choose his words. “We’ve got somethin’ of a local phenomenon here called the red mist. Someone else could explain it better, but it’s caused by some sort of reaction from some plants ’round here and contaminants in the air . . . Once every blue moon, the fog in low-lyin’ areas takes on a red tinge for a day or two. Nothin’ magical ’bout it of course, ’cept the way it makes folks ’round here take leave of their senses.”

  “So the kids that found the body saw this red mist?”

  “That’s what they’re sayin’. And I do have others in these parts that claim they saw the same thing, so might’ve been true. But local legend has it that whenever the red mist appears, death follows . . .”

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  WAKING EVIL

  A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / October 2009

  Copyright © 2009 by Kim Bahnsen.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-14525-8

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  For Michelle—

  who was brave enough to join the family first

  and has been enriching our lives ever since.

  We love you!

  Prologue

  The canopy of trees blocked the full moon, allowing only an occasional sliver of light through the dense foliage. The branches were intertwined, like the fingers of lovers, but there was nothing romantic about the still, waiting air of the woods. Even the nightly serenade of nocturnal creatures was silenced for the moment in an eerie lull.

  “C’mon.” Robbie Joe gave a slight tug to Becky Ritter’s hand as he sent a quick glance behind them. No lights. The others hadn’t gotten this far yet. “Told you this was a shortcut. We’re goin’ to beat everyone for sure. The trail is right over here.”

  “That little bitty thing?” Becky came to a complete halt, playing the beam of the flashlight over the direction he’d indicated. “Robbie Joe Whipple, that is not a trail. It’s barely an animal path and leads right through those brambles. My legs are goin’ to get all scratched up if we follow it.” To remind him of the seriousness of the possible damage, she shone the flashlight on the legs in question. And they were, to Robbie’s adolescent mind, the stuff of fantasies, left bare by minuscule denim shorts. He could imagine how they’d feel under his hands, sleek and smooth, or better yet, wrapped around his hips, tight and demanding.

  But even more vividly, he could imagine beating everyone else back to Sody’s parking lot, lording it over the rest of the losers when they came straggling in. Or better yet, rubbing his feat in the face of that hotshot Timothy Jenkins, who was really such a candyass he probably would never get out of the car if he did make it to the woods.

  When Becky didn’t respond to a discreet tug on her hand, he switched tactics. “Girl, I purely can see why you wouldn’t want a scratch on those fine legs of yours.” He didn’t have to feign the admiration in his tone. “And I swear on my granddaddy’s grave, if you get one little ol’ mark on ’em, I will personally apply my grandma’s special ointment to every square inch. Scout’s honor.”

  She giggled and gave him a slight push. “Don’t you try your fast talk with me, Robbie Joe. I’ve heard ’bout your reputation.”

  “Now don’t you go believin’ everythin’ you hear.” Wise advice, since anything that would have reached her ears had been manufactured, exaggerated, and repeated by him in a diligent and as yet unsuccessful quest to end his blasted state of virginity. “If it gets too thick in there, we’ll turn back. You have my word on that.”

  But still she hesitated, looking over her shoulder and inching closer to him. “What about those sounds I heard earlier? The ones that sounded like screams.”

  “Told you, it was probably just a bobcat. And they’re scared of humans, so it’ll make itself scarce when it picks up our scent.” He hadn’t actually heard the sounds she referred to, doubted that she had either, but he wasn’t going to quibble with an opportunity to get his hands on the girl the football team called “Backseat Becky.” Slipping his arm around her waist, he gave her a light hug and hoped her reputation was more deserved than his own. “I’m not lettin’ anythin’ happen to you. And I’m not gonna let Cami or Merilee get that
batch of switchgrass back to Sody’s before you and blather about it for the rest of the summer.”

  “That’s true.” To his relief, she began moving toward the path. “Cami does like to go on. And if Merilee and Jon win, we’ll never hear the end of it, either.” Merilee was her latest frenemy, although the girls spent so much time together Robbie had to wonder when Becky had had occasion to earn her famed reputation.

  “Here, give me the flashlight.” He noted that the beam had gone dimmer and prayed the batteries lasted until they got out of the woods. He hadn’t made this trip for years, not since he was a kid, and never at night. With false bravado, he said, “I know this area like the back of my hand. We’ll be back at Sody’s before the rest of those guys even get here.” Already he was wondering how many of the other couples would make it this far. Easy to talk big back at Sody’s. But laughing at local superstition safely in town was a lot different than being smack-dab in the center of the woods at near midnight.

  He swallowed, wished for some water. The night air felt thick and close, as if the dense canopy above shut out oxygen the way it did light.

  It was slow going, seeing as how he had to hold the briars out of the way each time for Becky to walk through. And the trail had gotten more overgrown since the last time he’d been here—what? Three years ago? He hoped they’d still be able to get to Ashton’s Pond this way. Becky would never forgive him if they had to turn back without getting that batch of switchgrass that would prove their bravery to the others.

  “Oh my gosh, this is so spooky.” Becky’s giggle sounded a little strained. “How much farther to the pond, do you think?”

  “It’s not far now,” he lied, although, truthfully, Robbie couldn’t recall exactly how much longer they’d have to walk. He tripped, nearly fell, and threw a hand up to halt Becky while he played the light over the ground beneath him. “Watch out for this log. Almost fell on my ass.”

  But when he tried to help her over it, Becky stood stock-still. “What . . . what’s that?”

  Those looming shadows had to be trees, didn’t they? Trees and thickets and overgrown brush. He played the flashlight around, saw nothing but a pair of yellow eyes peering at him from a low hanging branch.

  Relief flooded him. “That? It’s just an owl, Becky. Can’t hurt you.”

  “Not that, ’tard. That!” She flung her hand out, her voice growing shriller. “Where’s that fog comin’ from?”

  He saw it then, little curls of vapor rising from the ground. Wrapping around tree trunks, winding through bushes. A sheet of ice kissed his skin. Because this was no ordinary fog, that was for damn sure. This was red mist. The stuff of local legends.

  For an instant, for one terrifying moment, Robbie Joe was afraid he was gonna pee himself then and there. He didn’t even have time to be grateful for the way Becky launched herself into his arms, barely registering that the position had her boobs flattened against his chest. He could only focus on the fog—the red mist—and how it wound around his legs, seeming to grow thicker by the moment.

  “Shit,” he whispered, his mind blank with panic. His muscles went tense as he poised to run, to race the hell out of there, the dare be damned. But then he saw the lights. Little dancing balls of it, flickering all around them, bouncing high and then skipping from shadow to shadow. He went limp with relief. “Sheeeee-it,” he repeated, louder this time, and added a laugh for emphasis. “If that’s the best you can do boys, you need to spend more time in chemistry. Mr. Stokowski would be purely disappointed that you couldn’t come up with anythin’ better than this.”

  “What?” Becky hissed her fingers clenched on his sides. “What is it?”

  With his free arm he guided the girl in the direction of the pond again, kept his voice loud enough to be overheard by the guys who must be hiding nearby. “Just some of the assholes thinkin’ they can scare us with some lame-colored smoke and covered flashlights.” Leastways, he figured that’s how they did it. Chemistry, or school in general, wasn’t his strong suit. “C’mon, we gotta hurry.”

  He held tight to Becky, and she stumbled along beside him, questions spilling from her lips. “How do you know it’s them? How do you know it’s not . . . ?”

  “Because there’s no such thing as the red mist,” he said grimly. “It’s all a bunch of superstitious shit dreamed up by drunks in our parents’ generation.” But there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that it was his generation responsible for him nearly disgracing himself back there.

  Already he was plotting revenge. Which ones were in on the joke? Arends, for sure, that rat bastard. Maybe even Gallop. Yeah, this was Lenny Gallop’s speed, all right. He heard nothing around him. Certainly not Gallop’s obnoxious donkey bray of a laugh. Which meant the guys were already heading back to Sody’s to tell how they scared the shit out of Robbie Joe Whipple.

  And everyone would have a good laugh at his expense. The knowledge burned in his chest. He’d never hear the end of it, no matter how many times he denied falling for the prank. Unless he put a spin on it, walked back into Sody’s with a handful of the switchgrass everyone was supposed to get, and act like he hadn’t been phased a bit. Shoot, was that s’posed to scare me? Must not have spooked me much if I went ahead to the pond and got this.

  Becky was breathing hard, but he barely noticed. He was too concerned with the upcoming scene back at Sody’s. Yeah, that’s how he’d play it, calm and unconcerned. Looks like I was the only one with the balls to go clear to the pond. So who you callin’ the candyass?

  “You’re sure it was some of the guys?” Her voice was shaky. “Because the fog’s up here, too.”

  “Yeah. But we’re goin’ to show them all up when we get back with that switchgrass.” They broke through the trees ringing the water then, stepped into the clearing with a suddenness that was disorienting.

  “They must be still ’round here,” Becky whispered. “The lights . . . see them? If they’re doin’ that somehow with their flashlights . . .”

  “Maybe that part wasn’t them.” And he was in no mood to linger here, even if his friends were still somewhere in the woods behind him. Ashton’s Pond wasn’t inviting in the daylight, and night didn’t improve the atmosphere. Its deep, dark depths were still, and he knew from experience that the waters held a smell that didn’t wash off the skin, no matter how you tried. He’d seen copperheads here before, and Robbie played his flashlight carefully over the area to be sure they wouldn’t encounter one.

  “Those lights are probably just caused by fireflies. They have those special ones in the Smoky Mountains. Ever hear ’bout that? They all turn on and off at the same time.”

  “Oh.” Becky’s voice was steadier now. “It’s sort of pretty. And . . . wait!” She grabbed his arm, guided the flashlight to the weeds growing near the water’s edge. “There’s the switchgrass. All we have to do is cut some and head back. Where’s your knife?”

  He dug in his jeans for his pocketknife and opened it before handing it to her. She walked gingerly on the mucky ground surrounding the pond before squatting next to the weeds, while he trained the flashlight on the clump she was interested in.

  “If you’re right, and some of the guys were back there, then some of the girls are in on it, too,” she said, her voice muffled by her position.

  Robbie was only half listening. Her shorts were low riders, and her position gave him an excellent view of the crack of her ass. He was more a tit man himself—at least he’d like to be—but Becky did have a very fine ass. Timothy Jenkins claimed to have tapped it on prom night, but Jenkins was a liar about most things, so his story about pounding it to Becky doggy style in the back of his mama’s van was most likely a fantasy. But the vision did hold an allure that Robbie Joe couldn’t help but contemplate.

  “If I find out that Merilee planned this with Jon, I’ll slap her senseless.” She sawed at the clump with determined motions. “You and I will have to synchronize our stories. We don’t want them tellin’ everyone that we . . .”r />
  Her scream then echoed across the pond and back, reverberating through his skull, bouncing off the trunks of trees surrounding the area. She scuttled backward, whimpers coming from her lips in staccato bursts. When she hurtled into his arms, the flashlight went sailing from his limp fingers. He stared in horror at the sight she’d uncovered.

  The flashlight rolled, its beam bouncing crazily until the Mag-Lite came to a rest shining on the spot where Becky had been cutting switchgrass at the pond’s edge.

  Spotlighting the human foot that had been hidden by the tall grass.

  Attached to a body immersed in the cool dark water.

  Chapter 1

  The helicopter landed in the clearing with a slight bounce before settling on the ground again for good. Ramsey Clark shouted her thanks to the pilot, shoved open the door, and jumped lightly to the ground, her lone bag slung over one shoulder. She ran in a crouch to avoid the rotors, heard the whop-whop-whop behind her indicating the pilot taking off.