Chapter 40

But Rufus… Where was he? Was he safe? The thought chilled him, knowing that some young man, a man whose picture he had seen so recently, had been stabbed to death—out there, where Rufus was doing God knew what. His mind’s eye conjured up a grisly image—the boy whose picture he had seen, lying in the dirt, a pool of blood black as night spreading out beneath him.

Wren shivered. He would have to stay here, at least until Rufus returned.

Wren lay on his bed for what seemed like hours, waiting for the oblivion of slumber to overtake him. But sleep tonight was elusive, always just out of Wren’s grasp. He did manage to drift off once for a few seconds but awakened with a jerk and a startled scream. He had dreamed of a bloody hunting knife coming toward him.