Explore 1.5M+ audiobooks & ebooks free for days

From $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

Devil's Nightmare: Devil's Nightmare, #1
Devil's Nightmare: Devil's Nightmare, #1
Devil's Nightmare: Devil's Nightmare, #1
Ebook474 pages5 hoursDevil's Nightmare

Devil's Nightmare: Devil's Nightmare, #1

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars

5/5

()

Read preview

About this ebook

Detective Aaron Sanders is up against a murderous demonic force in this suspenseful blend of mystery and horror. Nothing could have prepared the seasoned detective for the mutilated remains of an eleven-year-old boy's parents or the equally vicious deaths of three more victims at a nearby cemetery. As Aaron works to solve the homicide cases and protect his only witness, Cody Sumner, he realizes a disturbing connection between the orphaned child and all five victims. Cody's testimony is beyond belief, but when Aaron comes face to face with the perpetrator, he's left questioning everything he's ever believed. True evil often hides in plain sight. 

Devil's Nightmare is an occult suspense horror novel by Robert Pruneda, who shakes readers with his visually graphic scenes, supernatural twists, and disturbing settings in this first installment of the Devil's Nightmare series.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherJagged Tooth Publishing
Release dateJan 6, 2016
ISBN9781386993018
Devil's Nightmare: Devil's Nightmare, #1
Read preview
Author

Robert Pruneda

Robert “Sharky” Pruneda is a native Texan, video game “enthusiast” [addict], and fan of all things horror. He left a career in the newspaper industry in 2011 to pursue the life of a nocturnal author, brainstorming new and creative ways to creep out his readers. He doesn’t only write horror though. He also pens the occasional family-oriented tale just to keep from going completely nuts with all those creatures of the night whispering in his ears. When he’s not pulling ideas out of his twisted brain, you’ll likely find him on social media or fighting alongside his fellow gaming buddies where their enemies shoot them up into Swiss cheese… or Sharky turns them into little bite-sized chunks because of his obsession with explosives. Medic!

Other titles in Devil's Nightmare Series (2)

View More

Read more from Robert Pruneda

Related to Devil's Nightmare

Titles in the series (2)

View More

Related ebooks

Horror Fiction For You

View More

Related categories

Reviews for Devil's Nightmare

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
5/5

1 rating0 reviews

What did you think?

Tap to rate

Review must be at least 10 words

    Book preview

    Devil's Nightmare - Robert Pruneda

    Prologue

    Cody’s lungs burned with each frenetic breath as he made his escape toward the gated entrance of the old cemetery. He ran past rows of tombstones and lost his footing several times, whimpering in fear as he picked himself up. His blood curdled from a distant scream. A loud explosion of thunder startled him as he checked over his shoulder and slipped, collapsing onto the wet, muddy ground. He pushed himself backward, his hands frantically splashing in puddles of muddied water. The darkness of the cemetery made it impossible to see anything more than a shadow, but Cody knew what stalked him. He knew the evil coming.

    He screamed and jumped back to his feet. He ran as fast as he could on the slippery ground. Another loud crash of thunder followed a bright flash of lightning. He was so close, so close to the entrance to the cemetery, but the rain, stronger than before, hammered down upon him. He splashed through puddles of water, flinching from the sheets of rain slapping his face. He struggled to increase his speed, his tears blending in with the rain. Four bicycles lay scattered on the ground near the entrance of the cemetery. Cody yanked his bicycle upright off the ground and checked behind him, but there wasn’t anything there. He hesitated, his heart breaking at the sight of his friends’ bikes lying next to his.

    I’m so sorry, he cried before mounting his own bike.

    The mud, caked onto the soles of his shoes, caused his feet to slip on the wet pedals. He peered into the dark depths of the cemetery again and found the familiar shadow creeping towards him. Whimpering again, Cody reached down to scrape the mud off with his bare hands, and then pedaled a mile to his home in the heavy rain.

    Rain-drenched, Cody jumped the curb in front of his house and dropped his bicycle on the lawn. He ran to his open bedroom window, stumbled through it, and fell onto the floor. His bedroom curtains flapped inward as rain splashed onto the hardwood floor. Picture frames on the walls rattled as Cody grabbed his bedroom window and pulled down on it several times until it slammed shut. He dropped to the floor and wept below the window with his head lowered and arms wrapped around his legs, tucking them close to his chest.

    Cody lifted his head when the bedroom light came on. Two adults stood in the doorway. His mother rushed inside the room while his stepfather, Tony, placed a hand on the door frame, his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed.

    What in hell’s wrong with ya, boy? Tony said in a deep southern drawl. His eyes dropped to Cody’s wet shoes and the muddied floor. And why in hell ya soakin wet? Goddammit, boy, ya sneaked out again, didn’t ya? And where in the hell is that—?

    What’s wrong, honey? Cody’s mother broke in, noticing her son trembling. Are you—?

    He’s in deep shit, that’s what! Told ya we couldn’t trust this little bastard. Tony pointed a stern finger at Cody and warned, Ya pull this shit again and I’m gonna bust yer ass! Now get yer ass up and—

    The lights flickered and went dark.

    Goddammit! Cody’s stepfather yelled. Piece a shit electricity always goes out when it rains. He grabbed his wife’s arm. Carol, get me the goddamn flashlight. And a mop so this little shit can clean up his mess.

    A flash of bright light shot through the curtains as Carol stepped towards the hallway. Cody’s eyes grew wide. He scooted backwards, mumbling and whimpering.

    What in hell’s yer problem? Tony said.

    Cody’s face whitened. Tears flowed from his eyes. He whimpered No repeatedly as he scooted further away, only to find himself trapped in a corner of the dark bedroom.

    Heavy rain poured outside as a web of lightning scattered across the sky. Intense thunder muffled the screams and breaking glass. A moment later, all was quiet. The rain stopped, the lightning dissipated, and the thunder grew faint in the distance.

    Chapter One

    Iarrived at the crime scene at seven-thirty on Monday morning and parked my black ’81 Corvette Stingray behind a police car that had the left rear door hanging open. A young boy with sandy blond hair sat in the back, staring at the seat in front of him. Emergency vehicles packed the street in front of the house. Police officers, crime scene investigators, and paramedics performed their jobs while reporters yelled out questions to anyone within earshot.

    A mob of reporters barked a barrage of questions at me, but I ignored them and ducked under the police tape, making my way to the front porch. A bloodstained curtain hung out of a broken window to the right of the front entrance. The shattered bay window to left of the entrance had pieces of the frame bent towards the interior of the house.

    The highest-ranking officer of the Austin Police Department, and an old friend of mine of many years, exited the home just as I stepped onto the front porch. I shook his hand.

    So, what’ve we got here, Chief?

    "It’s bad, Aaron. Tenemos dos víctimas."

    Chief David Hernandez spoke perfect English, and without much of an accent, but that didn’t stop him from throwing in a little bit of Spanish for my benefit. It was the chief’s not-so-subtle way of trying to mold me into a bilingual detective, which of course is useful in Texas. I still couldn’t speak the language, but, thanks to him, I could at least understand it.

    So, who are our two vics?

    Carol and Tony Scoletti. Whoever killed them must have been really pissed.

    Yeah, that’s usually the case I bobbed my head in agreement. Murderers do tend to have slight anger issues. So, we have a double-homicide. Doesn’t happen here much, but what’s so unusual?

    You haven’t seen the bodies... or what’s left of them, that is.

    Okay. I lowered my brow. Now you have my attention. Just what exactly are we dealing with?

    Follow me, he said, and led me to the living room.

    The body of a decapitated Caucasian woman lay mangled on top of a shattered glass coffee table. Her left arm hung from her shoulder, attached only by tendons. Intestines spilled onto the floor from her torn stomach. She also had three large gashes across her breasts and several more on her bare legs.

    Jesus! You weren’t kidding. What the hell did this guy come at her with, a chainsaw?

    You haven’t seen anything yet, Chief Hernandez answered, and then headed down the hallway towards the bedrooms.

    I followed him inside the first bedroom. Blood and gore painted the walls and ceiling. Only the torso of what used to be a body lay in the middle of the room in a pool of blood, guts and ripped flesh. Pieces of bloody flesh hung from the ceiling fan. There was a severed arm on a blood-soaked pillow on the bed and a detached leg protruding out from underneath it. Where was the rest of the body?

    This is the kid’s bedroom, he said.

    He’s lucky to be alive. I don’t mean to sound morbid, but why spare him? I noticed muddy footprints mixed in blood underneath the shattered window.

    Come on, Aaron. You don’t really think anyone would do this to a kid, do you?

    No, I didn’t, but you could never know for sure. Some people have absolutely no conscience whatsoever. The kid was lucky. After examining the remains of a man’s body, I asked, That kid in the squad car. Has he said anything?

    "Nada. Not a word since we arrived."

    I’ll go to talk to him. See if I can get him to open up.

    I tapped the shoulder of the crime scene investigator taking photos of the body. You have a swab kit I can borrow?

    Yeah, sure. The young CSI set her camera down and retrieved the items from her crime scene kit. Need me to come with?

    Nah, that’s okay. I got it.

    My heart sank from the boy’s blank expression. Dry blood splatter peppered his cheeks and forehead. The blood covering his clothes told me he’d had a front seat view of what had happened. A seat that would have also given him a clear view of the perpetrator.

    What’s his name? I asked the police officer in charge of babysitting the boy, while a bunch of strangers with badges, guns, and funny-looking suits, filtered in and out of his home.

    Cody Sumner, the officer answered. I can’t imagine what he’s going through. She shook her head and added, Poor baby.

    I knelt down next to Cody and introduced myself. Hi, Cody. My name is Detective Aaron Sanders, with the Austin Police Department. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? Cody didn’t acknowledge my presence.

    Are you hurt anywhere? Nothing. He just stared ahead.

    Can I see your hands?

    That time he gave me a subtle shrug. I put on a pair of latex gloves and tenderly turned his hands over. Dried blood covered his palms. I sighed and placed the boy’s hands back on his lap.

    I pulled a buccal swab from the kit that I borrowed from the crime scene investigator. I need to get some samples off your clothing and hands. It’s not going to hurt though. Can you give me a little nod if that’s okay?

    Cody faced me, his blue eyes watering, and said, They’re dead.

    I’m sorry. I placed my hand on the back seat. I promise we’ll find and punish the person who did this, Cody, but we need your help. Can you tell me what happened?

    Cody focused on the back seat again. His crying came in constricted whimpers and sniffling.

    That’s okay. I squeezed the boy’s shoulder. We’ll talk later.

    Aaron! Chief Hernandez yelled from the porch, gesturing me toward him.

    I met him halfway on the front lawn. What is it?

    We have another crime scene.

    Another one?

    "Memorial Heights Cemetery. Busy day for the APD, and it’s about to get even busier for you, amigo."

    Can we get Anderson or—?

    No, I want you on this. You should head over there right away.

    Why? What’s so special about this one?

    The grounds crew found three bodies. Two of them with their heads missing. He rubbed his hand over his face and took a breath.

    What? Finding dead bodies at a cemetery was normal enough, but they tend to arrive in caskets. And they typically have their heads attached. I asked again, What?

    "They’re kids, Aaron. Niños!"

    I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. What the hell is going on here?

    "I don’t know, pero we have one sick cabrón targeting children now. I need you to head over to the cemetery. I’ll call the FBI. This is way over our heads."

    Whoa, wait a minute. I hated dealing with feds. The last thing we need is a bunch of bureaucratic suits flashing badges around here and putting up a bunch of red tape. We can handle it ourselves.

    Aaron, this isn’t a typical murder case. I think we’re dealing with a serial.

    Yeah... maybe.

    Maybe? Chief Hernandez said. Decapitations and bodies ripped apart don’t exactly fit the description of a normal homicide. And speaking of decapitations, where’re the victims’ heads?

    Good question.

    All right, I see your point. I’ll check out the cemetery. What about that kid over there? Cody had stopped crying. A police officer handed him a bottled water. He’s our only witness.

    I’ll let you know where he ends up. Probably Brackenridge. Now go.

    All right, all right. I’m going.

    Chapter Two

    Police blocked the entrances to southwest Austin’s Memorial Heights Cemetery, making the entire area a crime scene.

    Who was the first officer on scene? I asked the officer manning the entrance.

    Officer Garza. He pointed towards a tall Hispanic young man standing next to a backhoe. There by the dozer.

    Thanks.

    No problem.

    Officer Garza? I asked as I approached the officer by the yellow dozer. Detective Sanders, Robbery-Homicide. Were you the first responder?

    Yes, sir. The grounds crew called it in about an hour ago. He nodded over to a group of men in coveralls. They were about to dig a grave when they found... The officer choked up as he gazed past the yellow police tape marking off the crime scene. I’m sorry. It’s just... the bodies are so... God, it’s horrible.

    The officer’s young face and inability to detach himself from the scene told me he was a rookie, probably straight out of the academy.

    I know. You’re doing a good job.

    Thank you, sir. Let me... Let me know if you need anything.

    I nodded and made my way over to the crime scene. The sight of the three mutilated bodies lying among the headstones shook me. I closed my eyes for a moment. No training or experience could prepare me for something that horrid.

    Only one body still had its head attached. I exhaled and stepped closer to the victim. The youngest of the three, maybe nine or ten years old, had two large gaping wounds across his face, his right eye torn from its socket. His left hand was missing two fingers, and had a large cut in the palm, likely a defensive wound. He also had a large tear in his stomach, with his innards strewn out. I tilted my head up and took a deep breath. What sick bastard would do that to a child?

    I viewed the remains of the other two victims. The mutilated torso and upper legs of one victim lay face down on top of a freshly covered grave. I swallowed back the bile in my throat and gathered my composure. Where was the head? The arms? I scanned the scene for them, my eyes stopping on the second victim. Another torso, with the upper legs still intact, rested against a tombstone. Blood covered what was left of the boy, and it took me a moment to realize the perp had left the kid with one arm attached.

    Have we located the heads? I asked one of the officers.

    No, sir, we haven’t. We searched the perimeter, but didn’t find anything.

    What about I.D.?

    The officer handed me a plastic bag with a vinyl wallet inside of it. I put on latex gloves and removed the wallet. Inside, I found thirteen dollars in cash, a baseball card, and a library card. The photo on the library card matched the only victim that still had his head attached.

    Jason Dexter, 6th Grade, Westgate Middle School. I stared at the photo for a moment. Jason smiled at me from the palm of my hand.

    I’ll find out who did this to you, I promised in a low voice, as I looked at Jason’s damaged face. No smiles there. And when I catch the bastard, I’ll make sure he burns in hell for this.

    There you are, a familiar voice spoke behind me.

    Donald Luther, the county’s chief medical examiner, approached me. I placed the wallet back inside the plastic bag, sealed it, and removed the latex gloves before shaking the man’s hand. What kind of sick bastard butchers a bunch of kids like this, Don?

    After twenty-five years in the business, I have never seen anything like this. Don motioned to the headless body against the tombstone. I need to show you something.

    We knelt down next to the body. Don pointed to the chest. Look closely at the wounds here.

    I leaned closer, but I didn’t find anything, other than ripped flesh and part of the boy’s rib cage. What am I looking for?

    They didn’t come from any weapon I’ve ever seen before. Don stood and stepped around the body to face me. Take a closer look. His face. Do those look like claw marks to you?

    You think this was an animal? I shook my head. Let’s be realistic here. When’s the last time you saw an animal around Austin big enough to rip a body apart?

    He shrugged, and suggested, Maybe it was a large bobcat. Or something bigger.

    It’d have to be the size of a tiger to do this much damage. And a bobcat isn’t going to tear up three kids like this. No, we’re looking for a man with some type of blade, homemade or something. Not an animal.

    Homemade weapon? Don said. Our prime suspect is Freddy Krueger now? Get a grip, Aaron. I’ve been doing this a long time, my friend. These wounds were not made by any blade.

    Until you convince me otherwise, this is a homicide. I placed one hand on top of the tombstone and lifted myself up. Prove to me a wild animal did this, and I’ll call Animal Control and Jack Hanna myself.

    DON IDENTIFIED THE one-armed boy within several hours as Cullen Chandler, a thirteen-year-old whose fingerprints triggered a match in the Juvenile Justice Information System database. The boy had two arrests on his record for assault and possession of marijuana. He also had quite a lengthy record of fighting at school.

    What about the other body? I asked Don, while retrieving contact information for the Chandler youth’s parents.

    With only a torso to go by, and no DNA to match up with, it’s a bit of a challenge. So far, we don’t have anything. I do think our victim was probably around fourteen to sixteen years of age, judging by the size of his remains. That’s all the information I can provide you for now.

    Guess we’ll just have to keep an eye out for any missing teens reports. What about the weapon? Have a chance to examine the wounds?

    As I suspected, they’re inconsistent with any conventional blade. My theory of an animal attack is looking more substantial. Don handed me a small plastic bag. I found these brown hairs inside one of Cullen Chandler’s wounds.

    I examined the hairs through the clear plastic bag. And I suppose you think the lab will determine these are from a big cat or something. I handed the bag back to Don.

    They were embedded inside the wound, Aaron.

    We’ll let the lab results tell us more, but until then, we’re looking for a man, not a man-eating cat. I grabbed the copy of Cullen Chandler’s juvenile record and emergency contact information and headed towards the door. Give me a call when you get the results. In the meantime, I’ve got to go knock on some doors and place a few phone calls.

    AFTER LEAVING THE MEDICAL Examiner’s office, I attempted to locate Jason Dexter’s parents, but no one answered their door, and my phone calls went straight to voicemail. I left a message to have Jason’s parents call me as soon as possible, and then drove to Cullen Chandler’s house to deliver the difficult news.

    I arrived at the Chandler residence a half hour past five in the afternoon. I parked my car in the driveway behind its younger, more exotic cousin, a brand new, bright yellow late model Corvette ZR1, with paper dealer plates.

    After salivating over the American supercar, I approached the front porch and pressed the doorbell. That triggered the high-pitched yapping of several small dogs from somewhere inside the house. A man yelled at them to shut up, and then a moment later, he opened the door. The dogs continued to bark, but presumably from the back yard.

    The tall, middle-aged man, dressed in Texas Longhorns sweatpants and a matching t-shirt, pursed his lips and shook his head when he noticed the badge clipped to my belt. What did he do this time?

    Are you Kenneth Chandler?

    Yeah, that’s me. What mess did Cullen get himself into?

    Mr. Chandler, my name is Detective Aaron Sanders with Austin PD. May I come inside?

    Mr. Chandler cocked his head back. Detective? I don’t understand. A regular cop usually drags Cullen’s ass home after he’s done something stupid.

    Mr. Chandler, I’m with Robbery-Homicide. May we speak inside?

    Concern crossed Mr. Chandler’s face. Without another word, he stepped aside and gazed in the direction of the living room. He led me to a leather couch and offered me a cup of coffee, his voice constricted and shaky.

    No, thank you. Is Mrs. Chandler home?

    She left the house to pick up a few groceries, but she should be home soon. He sat on the edge of a leather recliner. So, what’s this about?

    I think we should probably wait for your wife, Mr. Chandler.

    Whatever you have to say, you can tell me right now. We don’t need to wait for her.

    I really think we should wait, if that’s okay.

    I always hated informing people that one of their loved ones died, but this was especially hard because it involved the brutal death of a child. I certainly didn’t want to have to tell each parent separately.

    Once is bad enough.

    Sir, with all due respect, you tell me you’re with Robbery-Homicide, and here about my son, and then you expect me to wait for who knows how long for my wife to come home? You need to tell me what’s going on right now.

    Mr. Chandler, you don’t understand. Your wife needs to—

    No, sir, you don’t understand. Cullen is by no means a perfect kid, and he’s had his share of trouble, but he would never do anything serious enough for a detective to get involved. So, whoever is accusing him of whatever it is you think he may have done, you can talk to my attor—

    Mr. Chandler, your son is dead.

    The blood drained from Mr. Chandler’s face, leaving an empty expression. He remained silent for two long minutes, and I struggled to come up with something comforting to say. Then the front door opened.

    Mrs. Chandler stood in the doorway, two cloth grocery bags in her arms. Ken, are you going to help me with the groceries? And whose car is that in the driveway? When she noticed me, she said, Honey? What’s wrong? Who’s this?

    Mrs. Chandler? I stood and introduced myself. I’m Detective Aaron Sanders with the Austin Police Department. I’m afraid that I—

    Mrs. Chandler dropped her groceries. Eggs cracked in their carton as the bags hit the floor and Cullen’s mother fell to her knees.

    MRS. CHANDLER HANDED me a cup of coffee and sat next to her husband on the couch. I took a sip and set the cup on a coaster on the end table next to the recliner I occupied. Mrs. Chandler pulled a tissue from a box on the coffee table and wiped tears from her eyes.

    Are you sure it was him? Cullen’s father asked. I mean, he sneaks out a lot, but I figured... um... when he didn’t come home last night, I... I just thought... He struggled to maintain eye contact. I could tell the man was attempting to hold back his tears, but the red in his eyes gave him away. He gets into trouble a lot, but... are... are you sure it’s Cullen?

    We ran his fingerprints in our juvenile system. I’m afraid there’s no question it’s your son. I’m sorry.

    But don’t you need us to identify him before you can be sure?

    I hesitated, uncertain of how to explain that Cullen’s killer had decapitated him and ripped open the boy’s torso. Identification through fingerprints is adequate enough. That should do it. Why go into the gruesome details? However, if you want further confirmation, we could order a DNA test.

    DNA test? What do you mean? the boy’s mother asked. What happened to Cullen? She straightened her shoulders and jutted out her chin. I want to see my son.

    I glanced at Mrs. Chandler, her eyes pleading for more information.

    I exhaled a soft sigh and said, I really think we should wait until—

    He’s our son, Detective. We have the right to see him, don’t we?

    Of course you do, Mrs. Chandler. I glanced at her husband and then asked her, May I speak with your husband outside for a moment?

    She answered only with sullen eyes.

    Mrs. Chandler?

    She finally nodded her approval. I followed Mr. Chandler to the end of the driveway and explained my hesitance. I didn’t want your wife to hear this.

    Tell me.

    The reason I’ve been so vague is because your son experienced a very brutal death.

    Brutal? Mr. Chandler swallowed and scratched his cheek in a nervous tic.

    What were the right words to explain the condition of his son’s body without being too gruesome? Your son was...

    He was what?

    We found his body dismembered and decapitated.

    Mr. Chandler’s eyes grew wide. He stepped backwards, bumping into the driver’s side door of his car. Oh my... Cullen... He leaned forward, clutching his stomach, and vomited on the driveway.

    His wife stepped outside with her hand over her chest. Her eyes met mine with despair. Her husband wiped his mouth, glanced back at her, and cleaned his chin with his shirtsleeve. Where did you find him? he said without eye contact. What happened... exactly?

    We found him and two other boys at Memorial Heights Cemetery. It’s just speculation right now, but it could’ve been a wild animal. Until we can confirm that, we’re treating their deaths as homicides.

    Wait, what? Two other boys? An animal attack? None of this makes any sense.

    Like I said, until we can corroborate the animal attack theory, we’re treating this as a homicide.

    And if it wasn’t an animal? Can you promise me you’ll find the son of a bitch that butchered my son? Can you promise me that?

    I placed my hand on the man’s shoulder. Trust me, Mr. Chandler. If that turns out to be the case, I will find the person who did this. I can promise you that.

    What about the other boys? Do you know their names?

    The only other victim we’ve been able to identify at the moment is an eleven-year-old boy named Jason Dexter.

    Jason Dexter?

    You know him?

    Yeah, I know him. That’s my manager’s kid.

    I’ve been trying to locate his parents.

    My boss is out of the country on business. Sometimes his cell phone doesn’t work when he’s overseas.

    What about Mrs. Dexter?

    Divorced. He hasn’t been in contact with that bitch... um, ex-wife... for years.

    Do you know who takes care of Jason while his dad is away?

    Mr. Chandler explained that his boss didn’t have any brothers or sisters, and both of his parents were deceased, so it was pretty much just him and Jason. He did remember his boss saying something about Jason staying at a friend’s house.

    Do you have a name?

    I know his last name is Smith, only because it’s so common. I can’t remember his first name, though. Justin? Maybe Jacob?

    I wrote the information down and thanked Mr. Chandler for his help. Before I left, I gave Cullen’s parents my business card and contact information for a psychologist I knew. I encouraged them to set up an appointment as soon as possible.

    What about our son? Mr. Chandler asked. When can we... when can we bury him?

    A funeral home can help make arrangements with the Medical Examiner’s Office about releasing Cullen’s body. It was a bit blunt, but I didn’t know what else to tell them. I couldn’t even muster the proper words of condolence, for fear of saying the wrong thing. Instead, I chose to stick with what I knew... and that was simply being a cop.

    Chapter Three

    Iwaited at the counter  of the administration office at Westgate Middle School for one of the staff members to check on the principal’s availability. A few minutes later, a short, heavyset brunette entered through a doorway to the left of the front counter.

    Hello, I’m Principal Whitmore. How may I assist you? We shook hands.

    Detective Aaron Sanders, APD. Several office workers stared at me as I showed the principal my badge and ID. We spoke on the phone earlier.

    Yes, of course. We can speak in my office.

    I followed the principal and politely declined her offer to get me something to drink. She shut the door behind her, while I took a seat in front of a large and very organized cherry wood desk. She took the seat behind it while holding a Texas Longhorns coffee mug in one hand. Are you sure you wouldn’t like a cup?

    No, really. I’m good. Thank you, anyway.

    She took a sip and set a manila folder on the desk in front of me. The attendance records you requested. As I opened up the file and scanned through the list of absentees over the last couple of days, Principal Whitmore asked, Does this have anything to do with the news yesterday? You know... about the cemetery?

    I peered over the document, and said, I see you have Cullen Chandler, Jason Dexter, and Cody Sumner marked ‘truant’ on this attendance report. What’s your truancy policy here?

    We have an automated system that makes a robo-call to the primary contact number. If we don’t hear from the parent or guardian by lunch period, our attendance clerk attempts a notification. If we are still unable to resolve the absence by the end of the school day, we flag the student as truant and follow AISD guidelines for truancy intervention. She handed me a pamphlet that explained the intervention steps for students and parents. We rarely require the involvement of social services.

    So, your attendance clerk made calls for all three students?

    Yes, I believe so. She pulled a keyboard drawer out from underneath her desk. If you would give me a moment, I can check their records on the computer. She clicked her mouse and made a few keystrokes. Yes, our attendance clerk contacted all three, but she only managed to make contact with Mr. Chandler yesterday morning. This was Cullen’s third unexcused absence. I show we’ve already sent a warning letter and scheduled a home visit for this evening.

    I set the attendance record on the desk and rubbed my forehead. You can cancel that home visit.

    It took a moment for the principal to make the connection, but then the expression on her face told me she understood. She placed her hand over her chest. Cullen is... Is he dead? Are they all dead?

    Department policy prohibits me from releasing the names of any victims until the next-of-kin have been notified, and we’ve been unable to locate the father of one of the victims. I can confirm that Cullen Chandler is in fact deceased.

    Principal Whitmore reached inside of her desk and pulled out a tissue. She wiped her eyes, smearing her makeup. I just cannot... What about Jason and Cody? Are they—?

    You haven’t been able to reach Cody’s parents, because they’re also deceased, as of Sunday night. I could tell by the principal’s emotion and tears that she cared deeply for the students at her school.

    Cody wasn’t hurt though. He’s... um... he’s going to be okay.

    Principal Whitmore closed her eyes and said, You didn’t come here to inform me of what I would eventually read in the paper. She opened her eyes and gazed into mine. You needed the attendance record to see if it would help you put names to the bodies you found. Cullen Chandler, Jason Dexter... and another that you still cannot identify.

    Protocol kept me from answering that, but I needed her help. Without addressing her question directly, I said, "Mrs. Whitmore, it’s apparent that you

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 26