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with a police investigation, but in many ways Cross County was a world unto itself, with its own rules. This would hardly be the first time Dale had pitched in to help the Sheriff’s office. Besides, Joanne doubted she could stop Dale even if she wanted to. And she didn’t. Dale had his own sources of information, his own connections, some of which Joanne knew, most of which she didn’t. If her Feeling had been right, and something truly awful was coming, then she was going to need all the help she could to deal with it.
    When it came right down to it, despite Dale’s less-than-forthcoming nature, Joanne trusted him more than anyone else she’d ever known. After all, if it hadn’t been for him, she wouldn’t be alive right now.
    • • •
    Dale sat on his couch, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, as he looked down at the newspaper clippings spread out on the surface of his coffee table. Dale’s apartment was located in downtown Rhine on Fairfax Street, above the
Echo
office. It wasn’t much — living room, kitchenette, bathroom, bedroom, a couple of closets — but it was big enough for him. He didn’t spend a lot of time here anyway. Usually, he was downstairs working or out somewhere, investigating a story or just visiting folks, maintaining relationships with sources and sniffing around to see what was happening in the county and if it was worth writing about. His furniture, what little he had, consisted of Goodwill rejects, and every time he sat on the couch, he remembered just how uncomfortable the damned thing was, and he vowed to get a new one soon … when he got around to it.
    The blinds in the living room were up — Dale never lowered them. He didn’t feel a need to here on the second floor — and glowing fluorescence from the streetlight spilled in from outside. It was the only illumination in the apartment, but it was enough for him to see by. Dale had spent a good part of his life in the darkness, and he’d long ago learned to be comfortable among the shadows.
    He’d lied to Joanne. He was tired, but he didn’t want to go to sleep, not yet. He had work to do. Besides, whenever he lay down and closed his eyes, he found himself thinking of Marianne and their daughter Alice. Alice would’ve been close to Joanne’s age today if she …
    Well, he’d left a lot of things behind in Chi-town when he’d departed, and his love of sleep was least among them.
    If Joanne had been here — not that she’d ever been to his apartment — she would’ve been surprised to see that he’d removed his suit jacket and tie. She’d have been even more surprised to discover the clippings Dale was looking at had nothing do with the Carl the Cutter.
    LOCAL GIRL REPORTED MISSING. NO CLUES IN CHILD’S DISAPPEARANCE. POLICE CONTINUE SEARCH FOR MISSING CROSS COUNTY CHILD. LOST GIRL FOUND!
    Dale had written some of the articles, but not all. His paper,
The Cross County Echo
, only came out weekly, and the case had caught the attention of newspapers throughout Ohio: Cincinnati, Dayton, Columbus, even as far away as Cleveland. And the papers’ fascination with the story had only grown after the girl was recovered.
    MISSING GIRL, MISSING MEMORIES. LOST FOR SIX DAYS, GIRL ASKS, “WHERE WAS I?” POLICE AT A LOSS TO EXPLAIN GIRL’S DISAPPEARANCE.
    But among the blaring, sensationalistic headlines, one caught and held Dale’s attention like no other —
    GIRL FOUND WANDERING IN WOODS BY
ECHO
REPORTER.
    It was one of his articles, and though he hadn’t re-read it for years, he recalled it word for word. It was one of the finest pieces of fiction he’d ever written.
    Oh, some of it was true. He
had
found Joanne and he
had
returned her to her parents, but the rest was nothing but lies. Necessary ones, perhaps. But lies nevertheless. Dale had been a reporter all of his adult life, and he regretted having to falsify this story. More, he regretted having to lie to Stan Manchester about what had really happened. Stan had