OCTOBER 5, 2017

Lisa waved hello to Chuck as he came in to the sheriff’s office bright and early at five AM, right on the dot. Lisa was supposed to be arriving at five as well, but she’d been there since three. It was one of the few bright sides that she could see to insomnia, that she could at least get an early start on her day. And she could start assaulting the mountain of paperwork covering her desk without too many distractions.

The only other person in the tiny county office at that ungodly hour was Walter, also known as Deputy Curtis, who was about six months shy of retirement. He mostly took the dispatch calls on the late shift, and since there weren’t many of those, he dozed off from time to time instead.

Lisa didn’t mind. She got plenty of work done that way.

“You, Sheriff,” Chuck grumbled to Lisa, “are entirely too goddamn chipper. Morning, Walter.” He shot like an arrow straight for the coffee maker, his hand already wrapped around an empty Wawa cup. With a grunt, he popped off the cup’s black lid, and drained what was left inside it into a mug that proclaimed WORLD’S GREATEST DAD.

“Which Wawa did you go to?” Lisa asked. “Rumley, or the new one over in Deversham?” Seeing the puzzled and somewhat still sleepy expression on her deputy’s face, she held up her own paper Wawa cup, along with her own ceramic mug.

“Oh, right. Yeah.” Chuck said. “No, here in Rumley. The Deversham Wawa looks pretty, but I like the one over here better.” He scratched his stubbly chin sheepishly. “That, and if you want to know what’s really going on in this part of the county, talking to that Mary at the counter’s the way to go.”

Doesn’t hurt that she’s easy on the eyes, Lisa thought wryly. Or single. She just nodded in agreement, though. And besides, Chuck was right. Sweet blonde Mary with the cute blonde bob and the sleeves of monster tattoos probably needed to be working for the FBI instead of the late shift at a convenience store. She knew everything.

Which reminded Lisa, since she’d gotten her first coffee of the morning from Mary, too …

“You heard about the Matanto deal?”

“Yeah,” Chuck replied affably. He took off his coat, draping it on the back of his chair. “That’s a good thing, right? On paper, anyways.”

“Well, it wasn’t doing this town or any of us here any good the way it was,” Lisa said. “So yeah, I guess.” She leaned back in her rickety wooden swivel chair, rolling her eyes. “But … just tell me why in the name of sweet Christ anyone would want to buy any part of Camp Matanto? ‘Cause I sure can’t figure it out.”

Chuck snickered. “When it comes to Matanto, nothing makes sense,” he replied. “You should know that better than anyone. I heard that the new buyers got plans, though. Big plans, says Mayor Flanagan. And it must mean a shitload of money for the township, ‘cause he looked just about ready to bust a nut when he told me about it.”

Mayor Flanagan told him? Not Mary? Lisa didn’t know whether to be surprised or annoyed. So she decided to be both. “That’s gross, but not surprising.”

“Well, the truth is sometimes gross,” Chuck said. He sipped at his own coffee mug, and then tipped it slightly towards Lisa. “Anyway, here’s to the new owners. May they bulldoze that nasty little corner of Hell flat. Cheers.”

“Cheers.” Lisa held out her mug, leaning forward out of the chair to click it against Chuck’s. “I’d love to see that.” She gulped down some off her coffee, savoring the slow burn down her throat from the alcohol that laced it, hoping it’d make the throbbing in her forehead go away soon. “Anything else fun going on that you heard about?

“Looks like Greg’s boys are up to raising a little hell,” Chuck.picked up one of the manila folders scattered on top of his desk, thumbing through the sheaf of papers inside. “Again. Possible vandalism, possible harassment, and …you going to talk to him?”

“I don’t want to, but yeah.” Lisa closed her eyes, not really wanting to think about it. “Those kids are getting feisty, and I’ve been hearing stuff that’s worse than their usual shit. Someone’s got to knock them down a peg or two.”

“And we get to do the knocking, huh?”

“Greg’s going to do it. Because I’ll ask him … don’t give me that look.” Even a couple of desks over, Lisa could plainly see that Chuck still wasn’t a fan of Rumley’s favorite son. “I’ll ask him, and he’ll listen. End of story. Won’t be thrilled, but he’ll listen.”

“If you say so.” Chuck tossed the folder back in the pile. He stretched as he stood up, making his way over to Lisa’s desk. “You talk to him much?”

“Not really.” Lisa glanced down to the lower drawers of her own desk. The bottle of Gentleman Gunslinger she’d used to punch up her coffee the past three days lay there, hidden behind a stack of fresh packing tickets. “Not anymore. No reason to. Don’t see him much, apart from the usual Friday night games each fall. But … yeah.” She nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “Like I said, I’ll swing by practice tomorrow.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. He might not want to, but he will.” Lisa drummed her fingers on the edge of the desktop, thinking about being at the boathouse with Greg all those years ago, and everything that had happened since. “He will. Refill on the java?”

“You know it.”

Lisa finished her mug, hoping that her deputy couldn’t smell any remnants of the generous dollop of bourbon she’d poured into it earlier. Yeah, it was gone now, but the bourbon was some potent shit. If he didn’t, Lisa guessed it would be because of the cold he was just getting over, not because he was thick. Chuck Halverson was only twenty-four – nearly half as old as Lisa, the pup of the Glasgow County Sheriff’s Department – but he was sharp as a tack. Not much escaped his notice, at least not on Lisa’s watch.

Chuck reached over the desk, taking her mug from her, holding it stiffly at his side as he ambled back over to the ancient coffee maker. Lisa found herself wondering if Chuck was holding the mug so awkwardly just so he didn’t have to smell it. Can’t convict if you can’t find the evidence, Lisa thought … and she reminded herself to relax. She had a habit of being paranoid, of which she was fully aware. Her therapist also told her on a regular basis that her paranoia was completely normal, considering she’d been stalked and hunted by a serial killer.

Twice.

“So, did our mayor happen to mention who’s actually buying the Matanto property?” Lisa asked. “Can’t imagine it’s anyone from around here.”

“Not sure. Some big industrial company, I think.” Chuck reached for the decaf – maybe as a joke, maybe not – but stopped cold as he noticed the nasty glare that Lisa shot his way. He quickly switched to the other carafe with the masking tape label HIGH OCTANE instead. “Mayor Flanagan wouldn’t say.”

“Wouldn’t say?” Lisa laughed. “That slick little fuck gossips more than a girl in middle school. He can’t keep secrets, Chuck. He can’t help it.”

“Yeah, but I think he’s saving it for the township meeting this Wednesday, and then he’s having a big press conference afterwards.” Chuck replied casually. “I know dear old Greg’s got the gift of blab, but for a big dramatic moment, like he’s the host of a reality show or something?” He handed Lisa’s freshly-filled mug back to her, clearly enjoying the shocked expression on her face. “He’ll keep his trap shut.”

“He thinks it’s really that big a deal?” Lisa replied. “And … hold on. Press conference?”

“Doesn’t matter if he thinks it’s a big deal, apparently the rest of the state does. And maybe the rest of the country, too,” Chuck said indifferently. “The Lehigh Valley and Philly TV stations are coming to cover it. So’s just about every newspaper in Pennsylvania, too. Wouldn’t be surprised if reporters even came out from New York City too, or the national ones, too. CNN, Fox, shit like that.”

“All that? For this place?” Lisa stirred in a packet of Splenda into her cup. “Crazy.”

“For the Devil.” Chuck took a seat at his own desk, just across from Lisa’s. “Of anybody in this town, you should know that, boss. Anytime his name comes up for anything, it stirs things up here. Shit, I’ve only been here a year and I know that. Remember how many media requests we got when that kid shot up the school down in West Virginia?”

Lisa nodded. “I remember. Shooter had a book about the Devil and the Matanto killings. Along with Grand Theft Auto on his Xbox and a couple of Slayer albums.” Lisa sipped at her mug, which was still steaming hot. She hadn’t quite realized before how much the Gentleman Gunslinger masked the utter shittiness of the coffee. “One of those news channels even wanted an interview with me, but I turned them down.”

“That’s what I mean. Shooter barely had anything to do with dear ol’ Dev, and we still got flooded with calls. Now that something straight up legit is happening to his favorite stomping grounds?” He swirled around his mug, staring idly down at the steam drifting up out of it. “Crazy couple of days ahead, I think.”

“Yeah.” Lisa watched the steam rise from her own mug. “Fun, fun, fun.”

“Fun,” Chuck agreed. “We’ll be fine.”

Walter started to snore.

Both Chuck and Lisa both tried to keep straight faces, and then both began laughing.

“So, big press conference, huh?” Lisa asked.

“Yup.”

“In just two days?”

“Yup.”

“You think our mayor might mind telling his sheriff about that sometime soon?”

“If he remembers.” Chuck shrugged. “He’s a big picture guy. I’m sure he’s told you.”

“Once or twice.” Lisa fired down most of her refill, feeling a little better. The throbbing had subsided to a gentle thumping instead. “I’ll make sure to accidentally bump into him so I can officially find out.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” He glanced over at Walter, slumped in his seat and snoring louder. “Should I wake him up?”

“Only if you need backup for something,” Lisa replied. “And it’s been a slow night, knock on wood. So probably not. Anyway, time to make the rounds” She rose to her feet. giving the old map behind the desk a sour frown. “Do me a favor, will you? Give the folks over at the Big Pain a call. Make sure my favorite pal’s sitting right where he’s supposed to be sitting, okay?”

“Really?” Chuck tried to play off not being surprised. Lisa thought he sucked at it. “What’s the occasion? The camp, or your last visit there?”

“Both,” Lisa admitted. “That fucker always worms his way back into things whenever shit starts happening at Matanto … sure feels like it, anyway. I just want to make sure that his ass is still parked in solitary, and he’s still staring at a concrete wall.”

“Okay, cool.” Chuck put down his coffee and held up his hands, grinning an awkward grin. “Gotcha. I’ll get on the horn right away. And if something – anything – is up, I’ll let you know.”

“Cool. Like you said.” Lisa pulled on her jacket, and picked her hat off her desk. “Later.”

She knew deep down that Chuck was probably right. But she’d learned the very, very hard way that when it came to matters involving one Damien Devlin – also known as the Devil Killer, also known as the Devil of Rumley, also known to Lisa as the Goddamn Psycho Motherfucker Who Just Didn’t Know When To Die – that not only was the impossible expected, it usually fucking happened. And people usually died, especially the people she loved and cared about the most. So she wasn’t about to let a little thing like Devlin being locked away in a Federal high-security prison for the better part of the past twenty-eight years give her any peace of mind.

Every day, Lisa thought, as she got into the black county cruiser, quickly driving out of the parking lot and into the traffic cruising up Route 429 North, every day of my life since my sixteenth birthday, I’ve thought about that miserable asshole. He doesn’t just haunt my dreams, he haunts most of my waking moments, too. It’d be so nice if I could go one day – one goddamn day – without even thinking his name, or wondering where he is.

A red light at the intersection of 429 and 323 gave Lisa the chance to give the glove box a quick check. Her silver flask still lay there, just like she’d left it during her previous shift, along with her cell phone. Still full, too. She hadn’t cracked it open while patrolling the county in close to three months. The only drinking she’d done on the clock came in the form of her morning coffee chaser. She was doing lots better.

Lots.

Really.

Honest.

Red turned to green. A flip of her hand shut the glove box, and she turned up the volume of the scanner. Not much chatter this fine morning. Sounded like there was a fender bender up by Edenbridge, no major injuries, but it was clogging up traffic, and the ex-wife and ex-husband whose vehicles had collided didn’t seem to be helping to clear things up much. Also a drunk-and-disorderly, down over at the Rumley VFW. No name on the suspect, but from the description given by the officer at the scene, Lisa guessed it was Jeremy Hogan. She’d closed a bar or two with Jeremy before.

Red and blue, red and blue, the flashers went on. Lisa decided that Edenbridge might need her assistance more, for some reason. She stomped on the gas and headed up that way, not thinking about Camp Matanto or Devlin.

Honest.