The backlash from Judge Evans's dismissal of Lester's case was mighty and swift. The Sentinel's headline read: Judge dismisses case against alleged murderer. The picture that accompanied the article was stunning. The photographer's camera, trained on Lester's face to catch his reaction to the judge's ruling, had inadvertently captured the moment just before the rock—which had been thrown from behind the photographer—connected with Lester's left temple. Out of focus and frozen in time, the rock hung in midair, halfway between the person who'd thrown it and its target, as Lester's arms rose to protect his face. A great picture, really; a classic that would undoubtedly hang in the Sentinel's office for some time.

The article was a scathing takedown of the justice system in Mississippi. A pot smoker caught with a joint looks at jail time, but a murderer gets off with nothing? What kind of world are we living in? They'd conveniently failed to mention the case would be presented to the grand jury for indictment regardless of the dismissal. They'd covered many cases in Judge Evans's court and knew the truth well enough, but the truth doesn't sell papers. Drama does.

The article finally said what the others had only alluded to. What type of monster is Jack Price? Doesn't he care about his daughter? Couldn't he have withdrawn and let someone else handle it? Now a murderer is walking free!

When I was in sixth grade, there was a boy in my class who showed up the first day of school wearing neon orange socks. We wore uniforms every day, a consequence of our private elementary school's strict dress-code, but for some reason we could wear any color socks we wanted. In a sea of primary-colored khakis, polos, and jumpers, his socks may as well have been homing beacons for bullies. When he started wearing them all the time, some kids in our class singled him out and began harassing him. Just because he was a little bit different. Because people who didn't wear white socks were weird.

One day, I showed up to school wearing neon purple socks. I was tired of seeing him picked on and I figured if two people were wearing different-colored socks, maybe he wouldn't stand out so much and the bullies would leave him alone. So much for wishful thinking. Nothing changed—except that there were two weirdos to pick on now. After only two days I decided I'd had enough. On the third day, I showed up in regular white socks. After a while, as bullies often do, they moved on to harassing someone else. And I made a new friend out of the deal.

On the Friday morning after Lester's preliminary hearing, I felt like I was wearing neon purple socks again, but there would be no taking them off this time.

Judge Evans got it the worst, though. The article reported that dismissing a murder case at such an early stage was simply unprecedented. It certainly hadn't happened in the ten or so years I'd been practicing law in Coles Creek. Judge Evans's biggest problem: he didn't have an attorney. Magistrates in Mississippi don't have to have law degrees because they only deal with offenses that carry six months or less in the county jail. I've never really understood that line of reasoning. Public policy arguments aside, the practical outcome was Judge Evans didn't have the luxury of screwing up on such a large scale. And he paid for it dearly. He was vilified by the paper, the public, and most notably, by the District Attorney's office. The comments section for the paper's online version of the article had to be disabled after one anonymous commenter suggested Judge Evans should be taken out to Lake Baldwin and drowned. Paul Maxwell, the District Attorney, was quoted as saying, "That's a head scratcher right there. I'm not sure I've ever seen anything like that." What he said behind closed doors, I heard, was far worse. Considering his longstanding feud with Judge Evans, no one was surprised.

Evans would be the last of his kind. During the next election cycle his opponent, who did have a law degree, would focus almost exclusively on his decision in the Crowe case, reminding voters at every turn just what a fool Evans must be. He'd been on the bench too long; he was getting too old; he had let a murderer free. He buried the incumbent in a landslide, ending Judge Evans' almost twenty-five years on the bench.

Of course, none of it was Evans' fault. It was mine. And I knew I'd made a huge mistake.

After I saw Lester in my dream that night­­—in that barren hellscape he called his kingdom—I knew I had to break the deal. I'd withdraw from the case and go about my life as if I'd never met Lester Crowe. Seeing the article in the paper the next day only strengthened my conviction.

I walked down to the jail that Friday morning right before lunch. While I was waiting, I made an off-hand comment to the jailer about Lester getting out soon.

"Getting out?" he repeated. "Not anymore. Didn't you hear? Your client was re-arrested yesterday afternoon."

"What?" I gasped. "What for?"

"Ain't that somethin'," he said, shaking his head. "Apparently he got into some sort of scuffle with Murph in the waiting room here, right where you're standing." He pointed to a spot a little to my left. "Disturbing the Peace, I think. I'm surprised they didn't charge him with assault."

I stood there in stunned silence. "So he's not getting out." It wasn't a question.

"Afraid not," the jailer answered anyway. "Sorry."

Oddly, I felt relieved. Still, my mind switched right into lawyer mode.

"This camera out here," I said, pointing to the one in the front left corner of the waiting room. "Does it work?"

"That one's tricky. It's supposed to loop over when it's done recording, but for some reason, it just stops."

"Were you here when it happened?"

"Nah, sorry," he said, looking apologetic. "No one was, don't think. They were helping the inmates who'd been brought over from Justice Court get settled."

That figured. A hundred bucks said the only person assaulted yesterday was Lester Crowe. If Captain Murphy's treatment of Lester in the courtroom was any indication, I'd bet he fabricated the incident to keep Lester in jail. Lester was hooked like a prize fish and there was no way the Captain was letting him go. Not until he was finished with him.

Lester was pacing around in his cell when I found him. He'd finally gotten a new jumper after the old one had been bloodied for the second time. I was a bit surprised to see the bandage over his left eye. Instead of anger, his face bore a thoughtful smile.

"All things in time, according to their nature," he said cryptically.

"What does that mean, Lester? I'm not in the mood for your games."

He stopped and turned toward me. "You don't think I actually assaulted that Murphy fellow, do you?" He raised his eyebrows, making his angular face seem longer than it should.

"No, I don't. I'm with you on that one."

"Good boy, Jackie. It's in his nature to be a conniving reprobate, but I can't hate him for it, can I? Otherwise, I'd be a hypocrite. And I despise hypocrites." His face turned sour. "Besides, I was just findin' out what made you tick. It would pain me to skip town before we finish what we started."

"That's what I'm here to talk you about," I said, hesitating only for a moment. Still, he picked up on it.

"Ah, yes. Having second thoughts?" He cupped his right hand behind his ear and leaned forward. "Oh, wait. Is that your conscience I hear? Screaming from below the dirt? You didn't bury it deep enough."

I looked around to make sure no one could hear me. We were alone. Even so, I got as close to the bars as I could—close enough that the stink coming off Lester Crowe made my eyes burn.

"I'm done," I said through clenched teeth. "This doesn't just affect us. Judge Evans is finished! There's no way he gets elected next term, especially after what the paper said. They crucified him, Lester! Over something we tricked him into doing."

"You knew perfectly well what would be asked of you, Jackie boy," he said with a smug grin.

"These are people's lives," I pleaded. "It's not right."

"I thought you'd understand, Jack," he said, the smile fading from his face. "This is disappointing."

"I just can't," I whispered. "I can't." My hands were shaking.

"Very well," he said, "but what about Sarah?" He let the fingers of his right hand lazily graze the cold bars. "Is Judge Evans' life worth more than hers?"

"She's gone!" I cried, slamming my fists against the bars. He stumbled back. "She's gone you bastard! She's never coming back!" My legs collapsed and I fell to my knees in a pile of cotton and silk, my head in my hands.

His voice got closer. "She is gone," he whispered. "But her daddy can do something about that."

I raised my head. He'd kneeled down and pressed his right cheek against the bars. We were less than a foot apart. Everything had gone quiet except the sound of his voice.

"Your sweet little girl," he continued. His face had grown darker, as if a shadow had passed over it. "She was wearing a green-and-white jumper that day. She had her hair tied back."

For a brief moment he wore Sarah's face, frozen in fear.

"She was scared, Jack. The last thing she said was –"

"Stop..." I squeezed my eyes shut as tight as they'd go.

"Daddy, Daddy! Open your eyes, Jack!" They fluttered open and met his. The flames of a fire that had burned for countless millennia danced in the blackness of his eyes.

"Stop, please..."

"You're not my Daddy!" Lester's mouth had opened wider than it should. Inside was a pit of a thousand hissing vipers. "Don't hurt me!"

I saw Sarah's face again. Felt her fear. I couldn't take it anymore.

"Okay!" I shouted.

"Okay?"

"I'll do whatever you want. Just stop, please."

His face lit up again. "Good choice, Jack!" He stood up and dusted himself off. "Very good indeed."

I stayed kneeling for a moment, then pressed my hands against the cold concrete and slowly rose to my feet. Sarah had been wearing a green jumper that day. He knows where she is, or at least what happened to her, I thought. How much longer are you going to question him?

"I'll do it, Lester," I repeated. "But I need to know where she is. I need to know that she's alive."

"Making demands now are we?" He said it as if he'd been expecting it. "That's not an uncommon request." He started pacing around his cell again. Finally, he said, "Okay Jack. I don't usually do it like this, but since Captain Murphy bent the rules to keep me here—tricksy little snake—I'm gonna bend the rules for you. Just to screw with him a little bit."

I didn't quite understand what he meant, but he continued before I could say anything.

"Captain Murphy was the lead investigator on Sarah's case, wasn't he?"

"Yes, he was."

"Did you know he investigated a janitor at your daughter's school? Ronald Babineaux."

"Yes," I said quickly, not even flinching when Lester said his name. "We were kept up to date on the investigation. But they cleared him."

"Ah yes, but did they tell you that ol' Ron is Captain Murphy's cousin?"

My head started to pound. The look on my face told him everything.

"I see they didn't. Ronald isn't exactly the type of family you want to claim publicly if you're trying to become Sheriff one day. Especially considering his troubles with the law."

"I thought –"

"None of it made the books. Ronald is Brian's cousin through marriage. They grew up together in Louisiana. Brian has made sure most of his Ronald's run-ins with the law never see the light of day. When Ronald was convicted of assaulting a girlfriend of his, Brian made sure the conviction was expunged."

I felt like someone had sucker-punched me. Why was a man like that allowed to work at my daughter's school?

"So Captain Murphy knew the entire time."

"Damn skippy, Jack."

"So Ronald took her?"

He raised is hands, then drew a finger across his lips "I've said enough. I can't give away everything, can I?" Then, as if he had remembered something, "Oh! I reckon you'll want to talk to ol' Ron, but I wouldn't do that. You might spook him. Then all bets are off. Obviously, the sheriff's department won't be helpful either."

Spook him? "So she is alive. Say it, Lester."

It appeared as if Lester wasn't going to answer for a moment. Then, ever so slightly, he nodded. "Well of course she is, Jack-o."

***

That night I was sitting in my leather chair, sipping an ice cold Natural Light in a black koozie that said Welcome to Fabulous Coles Creek in the style of the iconic Las Vegas Sign—a party favor from our wedding—when Rachel walked into the room with some papers in her hand. I still drank on occasion, but the compulsion to overdo it was completely gone. Rachel had noticed, thankfully, but the chasm between us was still just as large and treacherous as it had always been.

"We need to talk, Jack," Rachel said, sitting down on the couch across from my chair. She leaned forward, her legs together and her elbows propped on her knees. That was her let's-get-serious pose.

"I'm not sure how to say this, so..." She reached forward and handed me the document in her hand. At the top was the familiar style of a legal document: Rachel Price vs. Jack Price. Complaint for Divorce.

The feeling hit me just like the wooden floor had in high school after I tried to swing through the doorframe that led to the gym. It's not the pain you notice first—it's the loss of breath. I couldn't say a single word. I lay there on my back like a dazed turtle, looking up at the metal rafters and the large, hanging lights that left trailers in your vision when you stared at them for too long.

This time, at least I sort of knew it was coming. It always had been. I guess I'd been lucky it hadn't happened sooner, but even the inevitable can hurt when it arrives.

I looked up at Rachel, finally noticing her face, and saw she'd been crying. She wasn't crying now, though.

"I'm sorry, Jack," she said, her voice slightly cracking. "I just can't do this anymore. I was trying—I've been trying—but..." She looked down at the newspaper that was lying on the couch beside her. "This Lester Crowe stuff. Amanda was such a sweet girl, Jack. I see her mother at the school. She doesn't deserve that. It's like...it's like you're–"

"Like, I'm what, Rachel? Doing my job?"

"I know it's your job. But it seems heartless. When we know who the people are, and when Sarah..." She dropped her head. "It hurts, Jack. It just hurts."

"So you're going to punish me for –"

"Don't put this on me!" she shouted, pointing her finger at me. "You pushed me away. Remember? You haven't been the same since and you know it. I've tried. It's just too much now."

"What about the other night?"

"It was a mistake." She paused. "Well, not a mistake, just...I don't why it happened. It was weird. It's just too late, Jack. The damage is done."

I glanced down at the papers.

"If you sign them, we won't have to go to court. Well, I'm sure you know that. Will you just...will you take a look at them?"

I set my beer down beside them.

"I need to tell you something, Rachel." I hadn't wanted to tell her anything before I figured out where Sarah was, but now I didn't have any other choice. Plus, she deserved to know.

"Jack, I really don't want to – "

"Sarah is alive," I said.

I studied her face, a mixture of shock and anger. She shook her head briefly from side to side, as if my words were clinging to her and she was trying to shake them off.

"What?" she managed to say.

"I know it doesn't make any sense. And it probably still won't once I explain it. But I know she's alive."

Rachel regained a bit of composure. "Jack, this is a new low. This is sick! If you don't want to sign the papers, just – "

"Just listen, Rachel!" I shot back. "You owe me that much. Something is happening to me. Something that has no logical explanation. If you don't believe me after I'm finished, I'll sign the papers right here on the spot." She didn't budge. "Will you listen?"

She finally leaned back onto the couch, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. "Fine," she said, her lips a thin line. "But I swear to God, Jack – "

"Have you ever known me to lie to you? Have you ever had reason to trust my judgment? Despite my faults, I'm not a liar and I'm not an idiot." She pursed her lips. "Okay, I've acted like an idiot, but I'm a rational human being." That seemed to satisfy her for the moment.

"I'm not quite sure how to say this. Lester Crowe has...power over people. He can make people do things they wouldn't normally do."

Rachel rolled her eyes.

"I'm serious. Did you read the article in the Sentinel about Judge Evans dismissing Lester's case at the preliminary hearing? I've never seen that happen. Although I'd love to take the credit for it, I can't. That was him, Rachel."

She glanced down at the newspaper, but only for a second. When she looked back at me, I could see concern written on her face. "How much have you had to drink, Jack? You've been doing so much better lately."

"Lester did that too! I know this sounds crazy. He knows things. Rachel. He knows about the drinking and our marriage. The last time I saw him, he told me he knows where Sarah is. And that she's alive."

She flinched. "And you're just going to believe your psychopath client who's in jail for murder? What's wrong with you?"

"At first, I didn't believe him either." I stopped for a moment and considered how she was going to take the next part. "But then...Rachel, he gave me power over you."

"Jack, what are you talking about?" I sensed something new in her voice. It sounded like fear.

"He wanted to prove to me that he could change things, so he told me exactly what to say to you other night. When we..." I couldn't say it, but she knew what I meant. "As soon as I said it, it was like you were – "

"...under a spell," she finished, her eyes glassy.

"Exactly! You said yourself that it felt strange, like a mistake." I paused for a second to let it sink in. "You know I'm telling the truth."

"I can still feel it," she admitted, her voice shaky. She pressed on her stomach. "At first I blamed it on my period, but I knew that wasn't it. It's like a scar, somewhere deep inside. I swear I thought I was going crazy."

I was so relieved. "I'm sorry, Rachel. At first I thought he did it to prove to me what he was capable of. So that I'd agree to the deal. Now I know he did it so that you would believe, too."

"What deal? Jack, what did you do?"

I started at the beginning. I told her everything that had happened since I'd been appointed to Lester Crowe. When I told her about the dream, she remembered noticing the wet spot on my pillow the next morning. She'd found me on the floor like she had many times before, thinking I'd passed out on my way to the bed. She fought the realization that Lester really was inhuman—that it was likely he was evil itself—with every ounce of her being. It's not something one can easily come to terms with. I still hadn't, not really. But when she pressed on her stomach again, I knew. Lester had changed her and she couldn't ignore that no matter how hard she tried. That's when I told her about Ronald Babineaux.

"Do you think he's the one that took her?" I could see the tears welling in her eyes.

"I don't know. Lester mentioned his name, but wouldn't tell me anything else. He likes to play games, if you haven't noticed. It had to have been Ronald, though. He was working at the school when she disappeared."

"What do we do? Call the police? The sheriff's department? Jack, we have to do something."

"Well, we definitely can't go to the sheriff's department, that's for sure. Remember the investigator on Sarah's case? He may be in on it. And Lester is right—if Ronald finds out he's being investigated and he does know where Sarah is, she won't be there for long. We can't risk that. We're going to have to do this some other way."

Rachel wiped a tear from her face.

"You're going to have to trust me, Rachel." I cycled several options through my mind. "I have couple clients I think I can call. I've paid one of them for information before. It's a long shot, but if Ronald is out there in the streets, one of these guys may have run into him. It's worth a shot."

Rachel's body sunk back into the couch like a twig into quicksand. "I'm scared," she whimpered. "And I almost feel worse now that I know she's alive. Isn't that terrible? Jesus, Jack. What have they done to her?"

"Please don't think like that," I pleaded. I got up and walked over to the couch, then kneeled down in front of her. "Rachel, I promise you. I'm going to find her." Her shoulders slumped as I reached out for them. "I don't care what it takes. If Lester wants my soul, he can have it. I'd sell it to him ten times over if it meant we could have Sarah back."

I'd finally put into words the fear which had been growing inside me like cancer since I'd agreed to Lester's deal: there was more on the line than just my marriage and my daughter. Even though he hadn't spelled it out, I got the feeling that if I won Lester's murder trial, he wouldn't just be giving something back to me. He'd be taking something too. Lester knew I was weak, that I'd do anything to get my daughter back. I knew that was why he'd chosen me. If that's what it took, then so be it.

Even so, I was beginning to think there might be a way around that. Lester's trial wouldn't be for several months and only that quickly if the District Attorney fast-tracked his indictment. If I could find Sarah somehow—before Lester's trial—maybe I wouldn't need to help him. Maybe I could back out before it was too late.

Rachel crashed soon after our talk. I sat on thebed for a while and watched her toss and turn in her sleep. I knew I wouldn'tbe able to sleep either—not yet. It was Friday night and the streets on the eastside of downtown would be alive with the sounds of speakers rattling in trunks,dice tumbling across the pavement, and the click-clack of pool balls on felt.That's where I was heading. But first, I needed to make a phone call.