While the Savage Sleeps

by Kaufman, Andrew E.

  “Thanks.” Cameron said, before going back to his work.

  Frank settled into the chair opposite the desk, locked his fingers behind his head, and then leaned back, appraising Cameron with interest.

  Cameron stopped what he was doing, but did not look up for a few seconds. When he finally did, he met his boss’s gaze, coupled with a shit-eating grin. Cameron folded his hands, rested them on his desktop, then returned a sarcastic smile. “Yes?”

  “Just got done talking to the M.E. in Albuquerque.”

  “Did you?” Cameron replied, shuffling more papers.

  “Yeah. Just finished Shawn Banks’ autopsy.”

  Cameron didn’t say anything. The words Shawn Banks and autopsy still didn’t seem to fit together. They never would.

  Frank held up a folder. “Got something for you right here.”

  Cameron looked up at him, drumming his fingers on his desktop. “If you know something, Frank, now’s the time to let it out.”

  “I do.” He paused for dramatic effect, then spoke around a widening smile. “Stomach ulcers.”

  ”What about ‘em?”

  “Shawn Banks had them.” Frank slapped the folder on top of what Cameron was doing. “How do you like me now?”

  “I like you a lot more,” Cameron said, grabbing the folder, opening it, while warming to the idea. “You mean ulcers as in, Ben Foley ulcers?”

  “I mean just like Ben Foley’s. And something else. They were able to get a better fix on them this time because they were far more advanced.”

  Cameron clicked his pen several times as he glanced over the folder’s contents.

  “And these weren’t your everyday, run-of-the-mill ulcers,” Frank continued. “There was a shitload of them, and very close together. The stomach lining looked like it was literally being eaten away.”

  “Eaten away?”

  “Yeah. Perforated all to hell.” Frank stopped himself, working through his own thoughts. “Say … were you ever able to find out if Ben was taking any meds that would’ve caused the ulcers, or if he had any medical history?”

  “I did. Negative. On both counts.”

  Frank nodded as if agreeing with himself, then gazed out the window.

  “What?” Cameron said.

  “That request you made with Gavin? The one to check Banks for the flu virus? Smart move—very smart, indeed.”

  With everything going on, Cameron had forgotten all about it. “Yeah? And?”

  Frank raised his eyebrows. “Had it.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  Cameron looked up as if watching an idea fly past him, then back at Frank. “Ryan Churchill still across the street in holding right now?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  His grin began to widen. “Wonder how his tummy’s feeling?”

  Frank nodded. “Ulcers.”

  “And if he does,” Cameron said, “I’m willing to bet Judith had the same symptoms as well.”

  “If we can just find her.”

  Cameron stood up and walked to the window, gazing sightlessly through it. “First they come down with flu symptoms, then the stomach ulcers … and then they kill. After that—after it’s all done—they have no memory of any of it.”

  “The hell’s causing it?” Frank asked.

  Cameron grabbed the phone, started dialing, then spoke into the receiver. “It’s Dawson. I need Rainey.” He paused and listened. “Find him. Right away … tell him to call me. Tell him it’s an emergency, that I need to send Ryan over to the hospital for tests. ASAP. ”

  A knock on the door interrupted them.

  Betty poked her head in. “Have a message for you,” she said, handing Cameron a card.

  He read it, then looked up at her, shaking his head.

  “She came by while you were at lunch,” Betty said with a shrug. “Says she has information that might help you figure out what all’s been going on around here.”

  “Doctor Kyle Bancroft,” he read aloud, trying to place the name. Then he looked over at Frank. “From Albuquerque?”

  Frank shrugged.

  Cameron flipped the card over, then read the handwriting on the back.

  Call me A.S.A.P. I think I can help.

  Staying at the Graybill Motel -- Room 167

  Cell Phone: 505-555-3434

  He picked up the telephone and dialed the number.

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Felice’s Diner

  Faith, New Mexico

  The lunch counter at Felice’s was the last place anyone had seen Shawn Banks alive. Cameron set his gaze on the exact spot where the deputy had been sitting and kept it there: a reminder of that day, he thought, doubting he’d ever be able to see it as anything else.

  Just that morning, Cameron had attended Banks’ funeral. Standing over the casket, he wondered how many more of these he’d have to see before long.

  Moving his eyes away from the lunch counter and across the room, everything looked like business as usual. The shattered window had been replaced, the blood cleaned up, even the bullet hole in the wall—gone—filled in and covered up by a fresh coat of paint.

  Nothing left, he thought, nothing except the memories, and no amount of paint, plaster, or soap could cover up those.

  As expected, an upper endoscopy had revealed that Ryan Churchill, in fact, did have stomach ulcers. Solid evidence, Cameron thought, showing a common connection between several suspects, evidence that could move him closer to the truth. Now he just needed to figure out what had caused them.

  Cameron looked at the door and then his watch. He’d done it about five times, maybe even more, since first arriving. He and Bancroft were supposed to meet at four o’clock. It was four-fifteen. She was late, and he was annoyed.

  He checked his watch, then the door again. As he did, a tall, slender woman with strawberry-blond hair falling just below her shoulders walked through. She wore faded blue jeans and a bright green polo shirt.

  Cameron stood up to make it easier for her to find him. She smiled as she joined him and sat down.

  “I apologize for being so late,” she said right away, scooting her chair forward. “It’s not my style at all, but a water main broke just outside my motel, of all things. Had to go up the street and check into another place just to take a shower … such a mess.”

  He knew about the main and forgave her lateness instantly. “Not a very nice way to welcome guests into our town, now, is it?”

  Kyle dismissed the comment with a wave of her hand while glancing around the restaurant. “No big deal. These things happen. I have to admit, I actually hadn’t expected Faith to be this nice. It really is quite lovely.”

  “Funny, people always seem to say that when they come here.” Cameron paused, then added, “Not sure why.”

  “I think it’s because we tend to overlook small towns,” Kyle said, smiling a thank you to the young waitress as she placed a glass of ice water before her.

  “You may be right about that,” Cameron replied.

  Before Kyle could say another word, a strange sensation overcame her. Waves—or something like them—moved on the air, glowing and expanding as they traveled. She began feeling disoriented and lost her sense of balance. It took a moment to realize that the powerful aura was coming from Cameron. Kyle watched wordlessly as the beam of energy expanded around him. Before long, it saturated the entire room with its white-hot glow.

  Trying to regain her composure, Kyle glanced away for a moment, hoping she didn’t look as dazed as she felt. Initially, Cameron had appeared gentle, quiet, and soft-spoken, but the force flowing out of him now was a study in contrasts; he was a powerhouse of continuous, blinding energy.

  “It’s a good life, though,” she struggled to say, her voice overshadowed by uncertainty.

  “I’m sorry?” Cameron asked, confused.

  “Living in a small town … I mean … there’s nothing like it.”

  Cameron gave a quick, single nod as if sudde
nly catching her drift.

  But Kyle couldn’t stop watching the aura stirring around him. Within the powerful strokes of light was a palpable energy mixed with emotions:

  Anguish, guilt, intense heartache. She not only saw the energy; now she could feel it, too.

  “You okay?” Cameron asked.

  Kyle reached for the glass of water, took a quick gulp, nodded. “Fine. Just feeling dehydrated. This heat you’re having is unbearable. Think it just caught up with me, is all.”

  Cameron nodded back, remembering where the conversation had let off. “You grow up in one? A small town?”

  Depression, deep and endless.

  “I did.” Kyle replied, battling to maintain her perceptual stability in the storm of raging emotions. Increasingly, she was feeling more disoriented, more dazed.

  Cameron noticed. He leaned in toward her, studying her eyes, unaware that he was the cause of the problem.

  For Kyle, this experience was different from the ones she’d had earlier. Gone was the flurry of images ticking through her mind; now there were feelings bombarding her, pure, raw emotion.

  Agonizing misery. Self-loathing.

  The sensations were becoming intolerable. Kyle threw her hands over her face and shook her head, as if trying to hide from them, but it didn’t work. She looked up, rolled her eyes into the back of her head, and began falling from her chair.

  Just that instant, Cameron reached across the table and grabbed onto both her wrists, but to his surprise, felt a burning, stinging sensation—she was hot to the touch. Instinctively, he loosened his grip, releasing her, causing her to lean and fall—slowly at first, then more quickly—out of her chair.

  Cameron raced around the table just in time to catch Kyle before she hit the floor. Other people in the restaurant saw the commotion and began to stir, realizing something was wrong.

  “Call an ambulance!” Cameron shouted out, lowering Kyle gently onto her back, her limp body hugging the floor. Within seconds, her skin had gone from scorching hot to icy cold. He reached over and felt for a pulse. To his relief, she still had one, although rapidly pounding.

  An anxious crowd gathered around them, whispering and wondering who this stranger was, passed out on the floor.

  Several minutes later, two paramedics came rushing through the door, and Cameron felt a wave of relief as they took over, attaching tubes, checking her vital signs, and trying to get her to wake up. She was unresponsive. The medics slid her onto a scoop stretcher, pulling canvas straps across her chest and legs.

  Cameron stood back, watching, worrying, but most of all, with many questions still wandering through his mind: who was this woman, and why had she come here? Even more troubling, what had caused her to collapse onto the floor?

  Within seconds she was gone, rushed off to Faith Community with Cameron in his car, following closely behind.

  Chapter Seventy

  Community Hospital

  Faith, New Mexico

  Kyle opened her eyes to find Cameron sitting motionless, just several feet away, and watching her. It only took her a few seconds to realize where she was and what had happened.

  The menacing aura that had surrounded him earlier was gone now; still, she knew that even though she couldn’t actually see or feel the energy, it hadn’t gone far. This sort of thing often changed in form and intensity, but rarely did it ever go away completely. Kyle couldn’t help but wonder from where it was coming. Even more of a concern was what had caused it.

  “Feeling okay?” Cameron asked.

  “I’m not sure yet,” Kyle replied, her voice soft and breathy, her mind still groggy.

  “Do you remember what happened?”

  “No … I mean yes … well, sort of.” She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms, then suddenly looked up. “What time is it, anyway?”

  Cameron turned his wrist to look at his watch. “About seven forty-eight.”

  Kyle shifted her gaze out the window next to her bed. A remnant splash of ginger sunlight streaked across the western skies. Was it the settling dusk or the rising dawn? She couldn’t be sure. Time had evaded her the minute she’d lost consciousness. She looked back at Cameron. “As in seven forty-eight … at night?”

  “You got it,” he replied, letting a yawn escape and feeling the long day wearing down on him. He still had no idea who this woman was, or why she’d come to meet him. Her collapse only seemed to widen the mystery.

  As soon as Kyle found the clock on the wall, her expression fell.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” But she was thinking of her obligatory call to Josh. Kyle had been doing well keeping in touch until now. She eyed the phone on the nightstand. If she called him soon, she’d still be okay.

  Cameron followed her glance with curiosity. “Got somewhere you have to be?”

  She looked up at him quickly and tried to appear casual while forcing a laugh. “Do I look like I have somewhere to go?”

  “We were having coffee,” Cameron said, changing the subject. “Or about to, anyway.”

  “That part, I remember.”

  “Then you passed out.”

  “That’s where things got a little murky—actually, a lot murky.” She rubbed the back of her head, a shadow passing over her expression.

  “Took quite a fall there,” Cameron said, turning his head to look out the window.

  Kyle took the opportunity to size him up. Nice looking, she thought, if you like the type—a blond-haired, blue-eyed Ken Doll. She’d dated a few in her time, but nothing good ever came from any of them—always seemed to lack substance, and too self-absorbed to be able to give very much of themselves.

  Cameron looked back and caught her staring. She looked away, pretending it meant nothing. He pretended not to notice, then said, “There’s this matter about why you came here.”

  “Yeah. I know. I’d hoped to get to that. But I need to give you some background before I go into …”

  Just then, the doctor walked into the room, changing the topic, changing the mood. “Good evening,” he said, his voice brisk, while appearing preoccupied. He flipped through pages on a clipboard, sighing the whole time. “Well, doctor, everything looks fine. You’re in excellent shape. All your tests came up normal. No real explanation for why you passed out. Could be exhaustion.” He glanced up. “You do appear a little dehydrated. How about sleep? Getting enough?”

  “Not very much,” she admitted.

  Now Cameron was checking her out. She caught his gaze, then shot him a look that mixed curiosity with annoyance. He didn’t shy away. Instead, he smiled.

  “Well, there you go, then,” the doctor said, as if solving some sort of medical mystery. “Anyway, I’ll go ahead and let you check out tonight—no need to keep you here. I’ll spare you the get-more-rest-and-drink-more-fluids speech, you being a doctor and all.”

  “Thank you,” Kyle said, forcing a thin smile.

  “I’ll also suspend with the Doctor, heal thyself lecture as well and just remind you that you can’t take care of others if you don’t take care of yourself.”

  “Yes, yes, you’re right,” she said, feigning obedience. “I do need to watch myself better.” His bedside manner sucks, Kyle thought, but she was glad he’d diagnosed her with a simple case of exhaustion, relieving her of having to account for something she couldn’t explain.

  The doctor scribbled a few notes on his clipboard, looked up, then attempted another polite smile before leaving the room.

  “Whatever happened to small-town doctors with charming bedside manners?” Kyle asked.

  “They went the same way as the eight-track tape?” Cameron suggested. “How ‘bout I give you a lift?”

  Kyle was sitting on the edge of her bed. She got down, slipped her jeans on under her gown, paused to think, then looked up at Cameron. “Look. I appreciate what you’ve done so far, coming here and all—I do—but you don’t have to—”

  “You’re welcome,” Cameron interrupted. “I
t would be my pleasure.”

  Kyle glared at him. “As I was saying, you don’t have to do all this. I’m fine.”

  “I know that,” Cameron said. “That’s not why I’m here.” He grinned.

  “It’s not?”

  “Nope. Our meeting over coffee proved nothing short of a disaster. Hoping dinner might be better. I’m just making sure you don’t sneak out of town without making good on it.”

  “Tell me you’re joking.” But she was smiling, too.

  “Just the part about making sure you don’t sneak away. But I’m dead serious about the dinner. I’m starving. I was thinking maybe Italian. We might do better with that. I like Italian. In fact, you can take me tonight, if you’re feeling up to it.” I’m babbling, he thought irrelevantly. What’s going on?

  Kyle turned away, pulled the gown over her head, exposing her bare back to him, then tossed the garment onto the bed. After pulling on her shirt, she turned around and smiled. “Okay, Italian it is, then.”

  Chapter Seventy-One

  6623 Hunter’s Run

  Faith, New Mexico

  If they were serious about Italian food, Cameron and Kyle were out of luck. The only place in town that served it had already shut down for the day. The closest they were going to get was the local pizza joint on Cedar and Third. Since neither had eaten all day and both were famished, they settled for pickup and dinner at Cameron’s house.

  A pebbly driveway led to a craftsman-styled bungalow, complete with wrap-around porch and a set of short-stacked steps tumbling down the center. Almost immediately, Bentley materialized in the doorway, launching himself off the top step, and hitting the ground running, his thick club of a tail swatting the air. Kyle froze as the robust canine continued charging toward her at a rapid clip.

  “Bentley, off!” Cameron shouted.

  Immediately heeding his owner’s command, the dog twisted direction just before plowing into Kyle. Once past her, Bentley turned and walked back, tail tucked between his hind legs, gazing up at Cameron with big brown eyes that seemed to beg forgiveness. While passing Kyle he licked her hand, the canine equivalent of passing the olive branch. From there, he moved over to Cameron to do the same.