What’d gone wrong with him?

The faint laughter of children sounded off in the distance. The pumpkin farm.

He tried to yell and pain ripped through his neck and head. He’d been kicked in the throat, which had effectively destroyed 95 percent of any sound he could make.

But I’m still alive.

How long had Scott kept the other victims alive?

Blackness started at the back of his brain and slowly crept forward; he fought to stay conscious but it rushed through him like a tsunami, and he was swallowed by its depths.

36

Scott darted between the rows of corn, ignoring the strong odor of gasoline.

He knew the layout of the farm next door like the back of his hand. He’d explored the property since he was in grade school. His farm was three boring flat acres, but the farm next door was huge, with a large grove of firs and acres and acres of different crops. A river cut through the southwest corner. It’d been heaven for a boy with a wild imagination.

He’d spend entire days during the summer climbing the trees, spying on the workers, and hiding in the barns. Occasionally he’d find a small treasure . . . a tool left behind . . . a dropped thermos . . . a sharp knife.

His collection of weapons had started with the discovery of a simple pocketknife. A rich prize for a ten-year-old boy. He’d carried it with him everywhere, showing it off to the other boys at school. At night he’d hide it, worried the owners would come knocking on his mother’s front door, demanding that he return what he’d stolen.

Finders keepers.

No one ever came.

He continued to comb the farm, searching for more treasures. He didn’t notice when the crops started to take up less and less space. His mother mentioned that their neighbors were struggling to make a living off the farm, that times were hard. He knew he and she were poor, but he’d always considered the farmers next door to be wealthy. Surely someone who had all that land and a half-dozen huge tractors must be rich?

Eventually the neighbors opened the farm store, putting a big sign out at the road and selling local produce to passersby. Then they added pumpkins at Halloween and trees at Christmas. More people stopped as they expanded their seasonal entertainments for children.

Scott had been in high school when they started the Halloween haunted forest. The first year he’d stayed at the periphery, watching as actors lurched out of the woods to scare the customers. Soon he joined, buying his own fake blood and costume pieces, and blended in with the staff. They never questioned his presence, in fact they often complimented his makeup.

Hiding and scaring the crap out of families was a mind-blowing rush.

The productions got bigger and better. Corpses hanging from trees, dead bodies in shallow graves, an insane asylum in the north barn. Scott loved it. Every year he watched and spied as his neighbors prepared for that season’s scary scenes.

He dreamed of doing more.

Real blood. Real bodies. Shocking the spectators.

His anger had been fueled by the men who used his mother and left her crushed. Mason Callahan had been typical. His mother told him how he’d call her or take her out to lunch while he was at school. Mason swore he’d leave his wife and son and make their family his new one. His mother had been over the moon with anticipation.

Scott was convinced she’d found the right man.

Until the day Mason had told him he wasn’t coming back.

He held his cowboy hat in both hands, twisting it in front of him, and Scott instinctively knew the cop had something bad to tell him. He’d picked him up without coming in the house as usual. His mother had told him to ask Mason to stay for dinner. “He keeps promising he will,” she’d said. “He needs to make good on that promise.”

The man had taken him to a local arcade, bought him a soda, and asked him to sit down to talk.

Scott knew it was serious.

“I’m leaving the Cops 4 Kidz organization,” he said. “I’m going to continue to help out at the main office, but I’m not going to go to kids’ homes anymore.” Mason looked him in the eye, and Scott knew he was lying.

“You don’t want to visit us anymore,” Scott said.

“That’s not it. I have a family and my wife feels she never sees me and she’s right. I work twelve-hour days and then spend my days off still doing things for my job. I need to make a change.”

“You said you’d stay the full six months.”

“I did and it kills me to go back on my word, but my wife is going to divorce me if I don’t spend more time at home.” There was a forced lightness in his tone. He lied. Scott knew he’d told his mother he wanted to leave his family to live with the two of them. He must have chickened out.

Or maybe he didn’t like Scott.

His mom would be crushed. She’d already talked to Scott about how the three of them would go camping together, and how they could plan a wedding at the beach.

How dare he do this to his mother?

Mason was just like the rest of them. He looked away when Mason dropped him back at home. He wouldn’t let the asshole cop see him cry.

He didn’t see Mason again until Scott’s first Cops 4 Kidz board meeting. He’d nearly vomited as they’d shaken hands, but Mason didn’t recognize him after all those years. Scott had changed his last name after college, wanting to distance himself from a father he’d never known.

He’d studied marketing and management in college. When he saw the opening for a director at the volunteer organization, he jumped on it. The appeal of the position that put him in a superior position over tons of cops was strong. The group had been a source of frustration for his mother and him for years. The salary was laughable, but he didn’t care.