The Highwayman

Chapter 8: The Boy in the Woods

Chapter 8: The Boy in the Woods

June 7.

10:23 A.M.

The Gostner Building—Room 728

Downtown Pittsburgh

Damian looked down at his most recent pencil sketch in shaded black and white, admiring his work. A naked and young man was sleeping in what looked like a twin-size bed. An indentation of a second body was on his left side; the spot was empty on the bed. He scrawled out the word KID below the bed. In his distant sketch-world, he had also drawn a window in the upper right-hand corner. Woods were scribbled in the window. Below the window was the word CLARION.

Ten minutes later Ridge Tyson entered Damian’s office. Ridge was tall, handsome, and knew how to treat a man. He was beefy and worked out whenever he could. Most of the time he was chewing down protein bars. The look in his steel-gray eyes suggested a new move forward in the case. When he dropped an eight-by-ten color photograph on Damian’s tidy desk, he said, “We’re heading to Clarion. Petri says we can find the cabin.”

“There’s no body,” Damian said. “Highwayman let this one live.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ridge replied. “We have to catch the monster. We can’t sit here and wait for another body. We have to react. Maybe the cabin boy can help us.”

“Petri’s orders?”

Ridge nodded. “He runs the show. You know that.” He stepped up to Damian, rubbed the base of the man’s chin with two fingers since we they were the only two agents inside the office, always keeping their intimate relationship discreet. Then he leaned over Damian and said, “Don’t be pissed. I know what you do for this team. You’re important, Damian. Everything about you is talent. Realize that.”

Frank Petri and Damian disliked each other for the past two years. Even though the man was Damian’s immediate supervisor, he still pissed Damian off. Petri liked to take the credit for everything pertaining to the case. No one walked away with any “good jobs” or pats on their backs because Petri was an asshole. Another reason why Damian and Petri had a rift was simple: Petri thought Damian was a complete charlatan, and his so-called talent was a joke. Petri didn’t respect the world of psychics, witchdoctors, and people with telekinetic powers, among other strange talents. In fact, he thought of such persons as misfits, unbalanced, and complete wackos. Deranged often came out of his mouth referring to Damian, which Damian didn’t appreciate, and would someday place a harassment lawsuit against the guy if he didn’t let up.

“I’m not pissed, Ridge. You know me better than that.”

“I worry about you,” he said. Ridge applied an open-mouthed kiss to his lover of eight months, drew a hand through Damian’s coal-black hair, and then said, “Someone has to worry about you.”

“We should leave before Petri walks his cocky ass in here.”

“Good plan.”

“Who’s driving?”

“I will, in case you have to sketch.”

Damian believed that his mysterious sketching was done for the day, particularly after the detailed work he had just created of the boy in the woods. Then again, he never could tell when a sketch was going to be crafted. Never.