By Tom Piccirilli
Crease goes again to his old fashioned, quiet place of birth of Hangtree. It’s the place his father, the sheriff, met break within the face of a scandal regarding the dying of a abducted little lady and her lacking ransom. It’s the place Crease was once crushed, jailed, and kicked away from town line ten years prior. town nonetheless has a style for his blood and secrets and techniques it desires to hold. Crease has a unmarried desire; a uncooked and raging fever using him towards the fact that may simply burn him up alongside the way in which.
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Extra resources for The Fever Kill
He had a nice fluid way of moving, trained not to step on the graves. He nimbly maneuvered through the aisles and skimmed past the clutches of angels and virgin mothers with outstretched arms. " the kid asked. " "I don't. I'm Crease. " "I'm Hale. " Crease said, genuinely curious. "We had a dry summer and the fall's no better. There's been some bad brush fires. " Crease wouldn't exactly call the graveyard a wooded area, but he decided not to argue with the boy. He put his cigarette out on the heel of his shoe and, not wanting to throw the butt on the ground, replaced it in his pack.
He helped her walk back to the front of the diner and he put her in a booth. The waitress finally took notice and he told her to bring coffee, ice in a dishtowel, and a menu. A pickup in the parking lot flicked its brights on, illuminating the booth in a blinding whitewash. They snapped on and off twice more before the lot went dark again. " he asked. "Yeah," she said. Crease stepped to the door of the diner and stared hard at the guy out there. The rain had stopped but that clean smell was still in the air.
Those dark expressive eyes showing recognition. Dirtwater smiled and opened his arms, waving both hands. Despite himself, Crease let out a laugh. They shook hands and Crease was surprised at Dirtwater's strength. He'd run up against guys a lot tougher but none of them contained the same kind of immense inner power that Dirtwater exuded. Crease imagined it must have been very hard for him to have taken that punch from Edwards ten years ago and not broken the deputy's neck. Crease didn't know what to say or how to say it.
The Fever Kill by Tom Piccirilli