But what about his medication? Without any identification he’d never be able to get any. As bad as he was with his meds, he was much worse off without them.

Sighing deeply, he rolled to his feet and went inside the hut. The last half of the chicken was still where he’d left it, wrapped securely in the grocery bag. He undid the knot and removed the meat, spread the bag out on the floor, and laid the chicken on top. He wasn’t all that hungry, but he knew he must eat to keep his strength up.

He ripped apart the carcass and frowned at a small plastic bag inside the bird. He pulled it out, unzipped it, and removed a folded piece of paper. When he flattened out the note, he recognized his mother’s handwriting.

“Adam,” the note began. “Meet me in the morning, Thursday, at the old Cochran house. You know where it is. It’s been empty now for some time but you’ll be able to get in the side door. I’ll leave it open for you. I’ll be waiting for you at nine. Be careful and watch out for the police. They’re in the area all the time now and they’re also watching my house.” The note was signed, “Mother.”

Adam folded the paper and laid it on the shelf. She would likely bring him some clean clothes, maybe some more food, and whatever else she thought he might need. He looked forward to seeing her, and he knew the house she mentioned, but he would have to be careful.

Food was what he needed most, and an idea came to him. If he ran low, the grocery store where he used to haul the carts around wasn’t far away and he knew the place well. If he was careful, he might be able to slip in the back door and help himself to the rows and rows of food and supplies he knew were there. He would keep the idea in mind for the future should it become necessary.

He’d have to be careful and watch out for Paul Patton, though. The bully who had tortured him at school worked there, stocking shelves, but was often the only one who ventured into the storeroom. Paul was kind of dumb anyway, and it wouldn’t be hard to get around him.

The more he thought about it, the better the idea sounded. But it presented a problem. He would have to go during the day when the store was open, and that increased his chances of being seen by the cops in the neighborhood. If only he could disguise himself in some way, something they would never suspect, like a woman, maybe pushing a baby carriage.

He laughed at the idea, the first time he had laughed in a while, and it made him feel better.

Then as if his rare outburst caused an eruption inside of him, in his mind, he felt himself slipping into a panic attack. He looked around fearfully. He heard them outside the hut, creeping in on him. They had him surrounded. He dashed from the hut and spun around, straining his eyes in all directions. They were well hidden, but they were coming for him. They were going to take him away and lock him up forever.

“You’ll never get away,” a voice said. “You have to fight for your freedom.”

Then another voice. “If you hide, they’ll leave. Just hide.”

“No. You must bury yourself in the swamp. They’ll never find you there.”

Adam covered his ears, let out a roar, and fought to keep his sanity. The voices were in his head. There was no one in the swamp with him. They were inside him, torturing him, goading him on, attempting to drive him to his own destruction.

“Go, Adam. Release your pain. Go into the swamp. It’ll take care of you.”

“No,” Adam shrieked. “No.”

“You must, Adam. It’s the only way. Trust me.”

“Don’t listen to him, Adam. Don’t listen. Hide, Adam. Hide.”

Adam clenched his fists, dropped his head back, and howled, “Leave me alone.” He raised a fist, punching himself in the side of his head, over and over. “Get out of there. Go away.”

“You must listen to me, Adam. You’re injuring yourself. You’re not hurting me. If you want me to go, then bring me some blood. You know where to find blood, Adam. Just one more time and I’ll leave you alone. It’s what you need.”

“Adam, no. Don’t listen. You must hide. Run and hide.”

Adam roared again, then turned and dashed into the hut. He fell down on all fours, resting on his elbows, pulled the blanket over his head, and screamed. He would drown out the evil voices with his own. He wouldn’t listen to them anymore. They brought him nothing but despair and pain.

He continued to scream, his mental anguish increasing, his voice growing hoarse, his lungs bursting.

And still, he screamed on.

Chapter 32

Wednesday, 7:21 p.m.

HANK YAWNED and snapped his briefcase closed. He had been in the habit of taking files and reports of ongoing cases home with him, and this case was no different. It continually weighed on his mind, and he never knew when a thought might strike him, often in the middle of the night.

Besides, he seemed to have a habit of working himself to sleep every evening. The anguish of victims, and the suffering of their families, became his cross to bear, and he found it hard to set a case aside when the lives of innocent people depended on him.

That commitment was to blame for his minimal social life, specifically his love life. When he’d met Amelia a few months ago, it had been a turning point. At that time, he vowed to himself he would keep his job separate from his personal life; however, he found that resolve not only difficult to keep, but impossible at times, especially when he was involved in a case like the current one.

He would have to make it up to Amelia when this was all over. He owed her that much for her undying patience and understanding. Perhaps a week or two away—far away—would be exactly what he needed. What they both needed.

Hank sighed. The problem was, she’d heard that before and the time never came. Something always got in the way. Yet she still loved him in spite of—and perhaps because of—his dedication. But for how long? He prayed he would never have to look back on this day, filled with regret because of the wonderful woman he had let slip away.

He pushed back his chair, stood, and looked around the quiet precinct. Callaway worked on. Three or four officers chatted at the watercooler, soon to be on their way home. The night shift would arrive soon, a bare skeleton remaining in the precinct, others patrolling the streets. Perhaps one of them would turn up Adam Thorburn tonight.

He picked up his briefcase, crossed the floor, and poked his head into Diego’s office.

The captain sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair, absorbed in some papers. He looked up at Hank and motioned for him to come in. “Sit down a minute.”

Hank stepped inside, settled into a chair, and set his briefcase on the floor beside him. “What’s up, Captain?”

Diego slid the papers onto his desk, gave a long noisy stretch, and dropped his elbows on the rests, clasping his hands in front of his rounded belly. “I’ve been going over what I have on the Thorburn case,” Diego said. “Are you making any headway in finding this guy?”

“Some, Captain. We know he’s still in the area. He had a run-in with Jake Lincoln earlier, but unfortunately, he got away.”

“Lincoln? What happened? Why didn’t he nab him?”

“They had a chain-link fence between them and he couldn’t get at him. Jake tried to chase him, but no luck.”

Diego folded his arms. “So nothing solid on Thorburn’s current whereabouts?”

“Only that he’s close by,” Hank said. “It’s just a matter of time. The public’s on the lookout as well. We’ve fielded several calls today from people pointing us toward someone who fits Thorburn’s description. Officers have checked them out, but so far, all false alarms.”

Diego frowned and adjusted his cap. “How much longer can this guy elude us? I don’t want any more bodies.”