Tommy Nightmare(23)

Researching on the internet, she found that the town’s pregnancy epidemic was quite documented. Ashleigh Goodling, the preacher’s daughter, had made an amazing number of press appearances talking about the surge in pregnancies. Heather even found a YouTube video of Ashleigh on Chuck O’Flannery’s blowhard TV show.

She watched Ashleigh talk with the most obnoxious man in show business:

“So of course the left has unleashed the crazy hounds,” O’Flannery said. The man was even fatter and uglier than Heather remembered. “I’ve seen awful things about you on the web, Ashleigh. Just hateful bile. Cartoons and Photoshop pictures that aren’t suitable for this program. Even The Onion has attacked you. All this attention must be hard on a kid your age.”

“I think it’s sad the left has to resort to attacking little girls,” Ashleigh said. “But you know what? My daddy’s a preacher, and he always tells me no matter what I suffer, it’s nothing compared to what Jesus and the Disciples suffered. Christians get persecuted, but God takes care of us. I don’t care if everyone hates me. I have my faith.” Ashleigh rubbed the cross pendant at her chest, and just happened to skip her fingers over her breast as she brought her hand down.

“I think you must have incredible strength to cope with all this vitriol,” O’Flannery said.

“All I ever said was teens shouldn’t have sex,” Ashleigh said. “How is that controversial?”

“Never underestimate the sheer hatred of the left,” O’Flannery said. “The truth makes them howl. In fact, I think it’s time to call out the Liberal Moondogs.”

A sound effect of several barking dogs played, and four cartoon dogs paraded across the screen.

“Now let’s look at the victims of this radical atheist principal,” he said. There was a slideshow of black-and-white photos, pregnant girls looking depressed and ashamed, accompanied by slow, sad music. Heather had seen a few of those same girls in the gymnasium over the last couple of days.

Heather paused the video. This Ashleigh person seemed strange to her. Unnaturally self-possessed and in command, she thought, for a high-school girl from a flyspeck town.

On her other laptop, Heather looked up the Goodling family. None of them had checked in for medical screening. None of them were identified among the deceased, either. She might have to put the Goodling household at the top of her community outreach efforts.

Then Heather looked up the other girl again, the one Darcy had accused of witchcraft. When Heather asked the other pregnant girls, a couple of them had reluctantly admitted to seeing Jenny Morton fall into a pond and never return to the surface. They had described Jenny as covered with blisters and sores at the time.

So Jenny Morton was Heather’s first suspected case. But it might mean dredging the pond at the Goodling house to see if it held an infected body, whether the body was Jenny Morton or somebody else. Of course, that sort of thing was what all the Homeland Security money was for.

Unless Jenny had slipped unnoticed out of the pond and was still alive, as Darcy had said. A visit to the Morton house would also be high on her priority list.

She had so little to go on, she might as well investigate these anomalies.

The bodies were slowly being identified and their listings marked DECEASED in the database. When that process was complete, she might have more useful information.

For now, all she had was Darcy Metcalf and her odd talk of witchcraft.





Late in the afternoon, Darcy brought some fresh-cut daisies and pansies from her mother’s garden to lay them on the walkway in front of Ashleigh’s house. Her flowers from two days ago had withered, of course, but her note was still there.

She frowned as she stepped closer. The little envelope had been torn open. Darcy lay the bouquet down and picked up the envelope.

The hand-written note, where she’d poured out to Ashleigh how much she missed her, was gone.

Darcy frowned.

“Hi there,” a voice said, and she jumped

The boy who approached looked her own age, or a little older. He had scruffy patches of early beard growth, midnight black hair, and cloud-gray eyes that immediately reminded her of Ashleigh. And he was incredibly cute.

“Oh!” Darcy said. “Hi.”

“You’re the one who’s been leaving flowers for Ashleigh,” he said.

“Um. Yeah. I’m Darcy Metcalf.” She held out her hand, tentatively, but he didn’t shake it.

“I’m Tommy.” He folded his arms.

“Are you Ashleigh’s…cousin, or something?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yep. Her cousin. Tommy Goodling.”

“Wow. I didn’t know…I mean, I…”