Edge of Collapse Series (Book 2): Edge of Madness

by Stone, Kyla

  Bishop paused, stared off at nothing for a long minute. “They wanted a safe. Demanded to know where the gold was. They thought we were hiding something, something they wanted.”

  “Gold?”

  “They . . . did things. They hurt Daphne . . . just . . . shot her. Shot them. Right in front of me. I was tied up. I couldn’t help them. I couldn’t do anything.”

  “What gold?”

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head, brows furrowed in confusion, like he was trying to figure out the pieces of a huge and incredibly complex puzzle, trying and failing to fit them together. “There is no gold. There is no safe. There never was.”

  54

  Noah

  Day Eight

  “We will get the people who did this,” Noah said, his voice choked as he struggled to tamp down his own outrage. “That is the one thing I can promise you. We will get them, and they will pay the price for what they’ve done.”

  Bishop blinked. “Will they?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought they were already arrested. They were all in that old cell beneath the old courthouse. That’s what you told me.”

  “It was an accident. A terrible accident.”

  “An accident that they got out?”

  “We’re still investigating. It never should’ve happened.”

  Bishop touched the blanket his dead wife lay beneath. His face contorted in agony. “You’re better than that, Sheridan. ‘Be harmless as doves, but wise as serpents.’ I preach trust, compassion, and offering the benefit of the doubt. But this is too much to swallow, even for me. Even for you.”

  Noah was silent for a moment.

  “There are things you don’t see, Noah. Things you’ve never seen. Don’t want to see.”

  “What do you mean?”

  A muscle in Bishop’s jaw twitched. “There are rumors. Some of the people in this town have skeletons in their closet. More than one.”

  Noah stared at him in disbelief. “This is the work of lunatics. Of madmen. Nothing else.”

  “Someone always profits from atrocity,” Bishop said. “Who profits here, Noah?”

  It was his grief talking. The seething, helpless anger below the surface. Bishop was spiraling down a black hole. Clinging to a life raft of desperation, slinging blame and responsibility wherever he could. Even places it didn’t belong.

  It was a natural response to trauma, one Noah had intimate experience with. He needed to help him, to bring him back from the brink.

  “We need to take care of your family,” Noah said in a gentle tone, changing the subject and steering it in a more useful direction. “It’s time.”

  After a minute, Bishop nodded grimly. “Maybe you’re right.”

  Carefully, almost reverently, Bishop slid his wife from his lap and placed her beside his two daughters. He rose to his feet and stood over the shrouded forms. Tears dripped down his cheeks. “I cried out to God, but He didn’t hear me. ‘Oh Father, where are you?’”

  Noah had no answer to that. A crisis of faith was not a problem he knew how to solve. “Come with me. You’re staying with us. We have a spare bedroom at the Winter Haven house.”

  A shadow passed across Bishop’s features. “I’m not leaving.”

  Noah’s mouth dropped open. “What? You can’t stay here.”

  “This is my home. My church. My people.”

  “But—it’s a crime scene. There are bodies everywhere.”

  Bishop’s face turned a deeper shade of gray. He closed his eyes, his shoulders quaking.

  “I’m sorry,” Noah said. The very words he hated to say.

  Bishop opened his eyes and rubbed at his face. “At dawn, hungry families will be lined up outside. If I am not here, they will have nothing to feed their children.”

  “Those families can go to the high school emergency shelter for help. This burden is not yours to bear alone.”

  “It is the burden I chose to bear. I will continue to bear it as long as I am able.”

  Noah stared at him, uncomprehending. “Why? Why do you even want to stay?”

  “This is my calling. God put me here. God is still here, despite what you may think. He may have allowed my family to pass out of this world, but my faith is not shaken. I still believe. I will always believe. He has not forsaken me, and I will not forsake Him. I will not abandon my calling to help this town through its darkest days.”

  Maybe it made him a fool, but he’d always admired Bishop’s unshakable faith in something larger than himself. Sometimes, Noah wished he had something more to rely on than his own frail, fallible self.

  But this. This was something he couldn’t understand.

  “The food and supplies here belong to the church. If I’m not here, what will happen to it?”

  Noah couldn’t answer that question.

  “The council will confiscate it. Maybe some will get to the people. But some will line the shelves of the rich and powerful. It is the way of things. It always has been. This is the Lord’s tithe. One hundred percent of it belongs to those who need it—not in the hands of those who would steal it for themselves.”

  Noah shook his head. “Bishop, I don’t want to say this. Truly I don’t. But this is a crime scene. You cannot stay here.”

  Bishop’s expression hardened. He loomed over Noah, his burly muscles tensed and bulging, the intimidating soldier in him coming out. “Unless you handcuff me and drag me out, I’m not leaving. Are you prepared to do that, Noah?”

  Noah wasn’t. He doubted anyone else was either. Not now. Not after all this.

  “I’ll sleep in the bathroom down the hall. There are blankets. I have all the food and water I need. I’m staying.”

  Noah blew out a frustrated breath. “Fine. I’ll see to it you aren’t bothered. We’ve been keeping the deceased at the funeral home. There won’t be room for all these . . .” He almost said corpses but stopped himself. “The girls and Daphne will have a spot. They will. I’ll contact—”

  “I’m burying them. Tonight.”

  Noah balked. “You can’t just—the ground is frozen.”

  “I’ll soften the ground with a bonfire first.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You can’t just bury bodies in your backyard—”

  “Don’t you get it yet, Noah?” Anger warred with the sorrow marring Bishop’s features. “It’s all over. Everything’s falling apart. What should I do? Call up the funeral home? Request an undertaker? They aren’t at work. They have no electricity just like the rest of us. The only bodies they’re worried about now are their own. They’re worried about keeping themselves and their families alive. Whatever we need now is up to us. No government officials are wasting time handing out citations for improperly buried bodies. And if they do, let them come. I’ll accept the consequences.”

  Noah wanted to argue. If he wasn’t so utterly exhausted, so traumatized from this night of death and carnage, he might have. Instead, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Let me at least help you.”

  But Bishop shook his head wearily. “This is my cross to bear. This I will do alone.”

  His tone brooked no argument. “Go home to your son. Hug him tight and tell him that he is loved.”

  Fresh guilt speared Noah. He could hardly look Bishop in the eye. “Do you need anything?”

  Bishop shook his head wearily.

  As Noah turned to leave, Bishop spoke one last time. “Keep your eyes open, my friend. The devil is a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour. And he is not always who you think.”

  55

  Noah

  Day Eight

  Noah and Julian finally returned to the superintendent’s home well after two a.m., bone-weary and utterly exhausted.

  Normally, they would just be one part in a massive cog of paperwork and processes. There was evidence to be compiled and collected, statements to take, witness canvasing, prosecutors and defense lawyers and court dates. Trials and verdicts and prison sentences.

  Now he di
dn’t know what was supposed to happen.

  Hayes had radioed in two hours ago. They’d tracked Ray, Billy, Octavia, and the others to the Carter place, a sprawling forty acres across the river a few miles north of Fall Creek. The wooded property was located atop a hill that abutted the river, with a steep ravine along the western perimeter.

  A half-dozen trailers littered the crown of the hill, along with several large barns, sheds, and other outbuildings. They had a well, access to the river and the woods for hunting and firewood. The location on top of the hill gave them the high ground.

  Twenty to thirty people lived there at any given time. All lowlife criminals and their women, along with a few ragged, snotty-nosed kids.

  Ray’s crew had made it there ahead of the police. When Briggs attempted to arrest them, they were met with a barrage of firepower and driven back. Reserve Officer Clint Moll was injured—shot in the arm—before they were forced to retreat.

  They needed to regroup and plan a raid of the property.

  It would be far from easy. Ray, Billy, Tommy, and the others would be prepared. They would be ready for the law.

  The confrontation would be bloody and brutal. The Fall Creek police department was vastly outnumbered. And from the reports of multiple semi- and automatic weapons at the church, outgunned as well.

  But that was a problem for tomorrow. So was the conundrum of what to do with the victims’ bodies. The cemetery vault at the Mercy Funeral Home was already overfilled.

  As a temporary emergency measure, they’d wrapped the bodies in industrial garbage bags and transported them to Paul Eastley’s large metal pole barn. The cold temperatures should preserve the bodies long enough to figure out a plan.

  Tomorrow, volunteers would go out searching for more mortuary refrigerators in funeral parlors and health care facilities.

  But he couldn’t think about any of that right now. He was completely spent physically and emotionally. He had nothing more to give to the town right now. Milo was his only concern.

  As soon as Julian unlocked Rosamond’s front door, Noah went straight to the guest bedroom. It was dark, but the moon had appeared behind the clouds, and the faintest silvery light glimmered across two sleeping forms.

  They were bathed and clean, wearing borrowed pajamas, their hair freshly washed—Quinn’s blue again, Milo’s black and curly and damp against the pillow. They were both half-buried beneath a mound of blankets. Quinn’s body was curled around his son, enfolding him against her body, protecting him even in sleep.

  Noah’s chest squeezed, overwhelmed with the intensity of his love.

  He let them sleep and returned to the sofa in the living room. Within five minutes, he’d passed out, still fully clothed.

  Sometime after dawn, Milo padded out to the living room and clambered on top of him. Half-asleep, Noah wrapped his son in his arms and simply relished the feel of him, his warmth, the fresh smell of green apple shampoo in his hair, his little heart beating against Noah’s chest.

  An hour later, Rosamond finally managed to coax Milo from his father’s arms and Quinn from the cocoon of the bed with the promise of an egg and pancake breakfast—with peanut butter and whipped cream topping for Milo.

  The eggs were powdered, and the pancakes were from a box, but no one cared. Surprisingly, everyone had an appetite.

  Maybe facing death made one ravenous for life. Even when the mind couldn’t process the horror and trauma, the body knew what it needed. The body sought to live.

  After breakfast, Noah and Julian cleaned up and did the dishes in silence. Noah gave Milo another double dose of his meds and checked him for symptoms.

  Milo insisted he was fine.

  He sat at one end of the island and worked on a coloring book. His shoulders were hunched, his expression closed. He colored in the same tree, over and over, with a red crayon. His face was pale and wan.

  Quinn slumped beside him, staring off at some invisible point in the middle distance, her eyes far away. She’d hardly said a word. Neither had Milo.

  Noah was worried about him, about both of them. Physically, but also emotionally. Both kids needed intense counseling. They’d endured a horrible trauma.

  Normally, he’d have access to a slew of professionals to turn to for help. But now? There were no phone numbers to call. No electronic databases to access. He had no addresses to visit any child psychologists in person.

  After a while, Quinn asked to return to her grandmother’s house. Since the Orange Julius was still parked at Molly’s, Rosamond offered to let her borrow one of the UTVs—utility terrain vehicles—that Tina Gundy had managed to get working again.

  Quinn’s quintessential sullen scowl had disappeared—for the moment. She looked younger and far more vulnerable without her heavy eye makeup. Even with the swollen purplish bruises and cuts marring her face, she could’ve passed for an elfin thirteen, not sixteen.

  Noah marveled at this teenage girl. So young and vulnerable, so tough and resilient. She was a survivor. Stronger and braver than anyone gave her credit for.

  Milo fiddled with his medical bracelet. He looked up. “Don’t go, Quinn.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Small Fry.” Quinn jumped up from the counter, wrapped Milo in a tight embrace, and whispered something in his ear that Noah couldn’t hear.

  Milo didn’t smile, but he nodded and let her go.

  “I know a local therapist,” Rosamond said after Quinn had left, quietly so Milo wouldn’t overhear. “Last night, Officer Truitt went to Shen Lee’s house and brought him over. He examined the children. Milo is untouched—physically. We can’t test his hormone levels, but he recommended that you continue to double up on Milo’s dosage for a few more days. Quinn sustained a blow to the head and has a mild concussion. Her nose looks broken, but it isn’t. Physically, she’ll be fine.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Yes.” Rosamond managed a tight smile. “And I have something else for you.”

  She pressed a prescription pill bottle into his hands. He stared down at it in shock, turned it over, read the label and then read it again. “This is—this is hydrocortisone. Milo’s medication.”

  “I know.”

  “Robert Vinson said the pharmacy was out.”

  “I know.”

  “Where in the world did you get this?”

  She smiled tightly. “It’s good to have friends in high places, Noah. Remember that. It’s more important now than ever. This is from Mattias Sutter. My cousin. You’ll meet him later. I told him about our needs, and he managed to find a nearby town with a pharmacy that had it in stock and bartered for it. He brought it to me as a gesture of goodwill.”

  “Goodwill for what?”

  “You’ll see soon enough. And there’s more where that came from.”

  Noah pocketed the precious pills. Another month’s worth. He could have wept with relief, with gratitude. “You’re so good to us, Rosamond. How can I ever thank you?”

  She squeezed his arm. “You and Milo are thanks enough, dear.” She turned toward the kitchen for a moment and cleared her throat. When she faced him again, her eyes glimmered. Tears smeared her perfectly-applied mascara.

  Noah stared at her, startled. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen Rosamond Sinclair cry in his entire life. She prided herself on always keeping her cool, on maintaining absolute control of her emotions. But she wasn’t in control now.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  Julian rose from his stool. He’d been unusually quiet all morning, his face drawn, his eyes bloodshot. “Mom?”

  “You don’t know how worried I was. Just frantic for you. For all of you.” Her gaze flitted to the end of the island where Milo sat, then to Julian and back to Noah. “I said this to my son already, but I’m so very, very sorry. What happened last night . . . to think, it was almost Milo. I just . . .”

  Her hands trembled as she rubbed her nose with a tissue. She wiped daintily at her eyes. “I thought I was doing the best I could to
protect us, and then this happens. On my watch. Maybe I should step down. Maybe I’m not the right person to keep us safe.”

  “Mom,” Julian said sharply. “Don’t talk like that.”

  Noah hugged Rosamond. For such a formidable woman, she was short, only coming up to his chin. He pulled away. “Julian is right. You’re doing everything you can, and then some. We all failed yesterday.”

  Rosamond nodded and sniffled. “Thank you, Noah. You always know what to say. That’s why you’re so important to me. You’re all I have left.”

  Julian stiffened. A shadow passed across his face.

  Noah knew she felt the disappearance of her eldest son keenly. He’d been her right-hand man. Her confidante. “He’s just stranded somewhere like a million other people. He’ll get home.”

  “I know.” She drew herself to her full height and straightened her shoulders. “He’s smart and resourceful. He’ll get here when he gets here. I could sure use his help, though. Gavin’s always been the dependable one.” Her gaze settled on Julian. The corner of her mouth twitched. “You’re going to have to step up now.”

  Julian’s expression flattened. “I already am.”

  “Of course, dear.” Rosamond smiled a strained smile, already dismissing Julian, and turned to Noah. She smoothed the sleeves of her lavender pantsuit. “The rest of the council will arrive shortly for an emergency meeting.”

  “I promised Atticus Bishop we would get justice for his family,” Noah said. “For all the families.”

  Rosamond pursed her lips. Her eyes flashed with a dark anger. “I will take care of Fall Creek. Trust me.”