Prologue

DEL Macomb wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. The stiff cotton of his uniform stuck to his back, and it was only nine in the morning. How could it be this hot and humid in October? Back home in Minnesota, ice would be forming at the edges of Silver Lake. His daddy would be writing his sermons, watching the snow geese pass overhead.

“So who’s the fucking asshole we’re chaperoning today?”

Del’s partner startled him. Benny Zeeks was somewhat of a legend at North Dade County Detention Center, not only because he was a twenty-five-year veteran, but because he had spent most of that time working on death row. Del had seen the scars from scuffles he’d won over prisoners trying to avoid solitary confinement.

“Guys said his name is Albert Stucky.” Del wondered if Zeeks had heard him. He seemed preoccupied.

Now his partner climbed into the armored truck’s passenger seat. He moved slower than usual, and Del immediately knew he had another hangover.

“Hector said he’s not such a bad guy, pretty intelligent and friendly. He’s even accepted Christ as his savior.”

Del turned the key in the ignition and let the truck vibrate, then rumble to a slow start while he braced himself for Benny’s sarcasm. He turned the air-conditioning on, blasting them with hot air. Benny reached over and punched it off.

“Wait a minute. Albert Stucky? I’ve been reading about this guy in The Miami Herald. Feebies nicknamed him The Collector.”

“Feebies?”

“Yeah, FBI. Jesus, kid, don’t you know anything?”

This time Del could feel the prickle of red at his ears. He turned his head and pretended to be checking the side mirror.

“This Stucky guy,” Benny continued, “he carved up and slaughtered three or four women, and not just here in Florida. If he’s the guy I’m thinking of, he’s one badass motherfucker. And if he’s claiming he’s found Jesus, you can bet it’s because he wants to save his sorry ass from being fried.”

“Don’t you believe people can change?”

“Jesus, kid. I bet you still believe in Santa Claus, too. They don’t send guys to wait for their trial in close custody because they think he’s found Jesus-fucking-Christ.”

Del slipped the travel log into the side pocket and shifted the truck into gear. He watched the concrete prison in his side-view mirror. The sun beat down on the yard where several prisoners milled around, enduring the morning heat. How could they enjoy being outside if there was no shade? He added it to his mental list of unfair treatment. Back in Minnesota, he had been quite the activist for prison reform.

As they approached the final checkpoint he glanced in the mirror. He almost jumped, startled to find their prisoner staring back at him. All Del could see were the piercing black eyes, looking directly at him.

He made himself look away and avoided the temptation to glance back. He pulled out from the last checkpoint and onto the highway. Once they got on the open road, he could relax. He enjoyed driving. It gave him time to think. But when he took a quick left, Benny, who had appeared to be lost in his thoughts, suddenly became agitated.

“Where the hell you going? I-95’s the other direction.”

“I thought we’d take a shortcut. Highway 45 has less traffic, and it’s a nicer drive.”

“You think I fucking care about nice?”

“It’s shorter by about thirty minutes. We get the prisoner delivered, and then we’ll have an extra half hour for lunch.”

Benny rewarded Del with a rare smile.

They had been on the road only thirty minutes when a thump rattled the truck. At first Del thought they had dropped a muffler, but the thumping continued. It came from the back but inside, not underneath.

Benny slammed his fist against the partition. “Shut the fuck up.”

He twisted around to look through the rectangle of glass that separated the cab from the back. “Can’t see a damned thing.”

The noise grew louder, sending vibrations under the seat. It felt to Del as though a baseball bat were being swung against the truck’s metal sides. Each blast sent Benny reeling, grabbing at his temples.

Obviously, the prisoner had not been completely restrained and was ramming himself against the walls of the truck. Even if it didn’t drive them crazy during the rest of the trip, it could cause some serious damage to the prisoner. Del certainly didn’t want to be responsible for delivering a battered prisoner. He pulled the truck to the side of the road and stopped.

“What the hell you doing?”

“We can’t have this going on for the rest of the trip. The guys obviously didn’t completely restrain him.”

“Why would they? He’s found Jesus.”

As Del climbed out of the truck it occurred to him that he had no idea what to do with a prisoner who had gotten an arm or leg loose from one of the restraints.

“Now hold on, kid,” Benny yelled after him, scrambling out from the passenger side. “I’ll take care of this bastard.”

It took Benny too long to come around the truck. When he did, Del noticed a stagger in his walk.

“You’re still drunk!”

“The hell I am.”

The banging continued, louder, now rocking the truck.

“You think you’re up for this?” Del asked.

“Hell, yes. I was shutting up assholes like this when you were still suckin’ at your momma’s tit.” Benny grabbed at his revolver, fumbling with the holster’s snap before pulling the gun free.

Del wondered how much alcohol Zeeks had in his system. Could he still aim? Was the gun even loaded? Del unbuckled the strap on his holster, his hand shaking, the butt of his gun feeling awkward and unfamiliar.

The noise stopped as soon as he started sliding the locks open on the rear door. He looked to Benny, who stood with his revolver drawn. Immediately, Del noticed the slight tremor in Benny’s hand. It sent a wave of nausea loose in Del’s stomach. His heart pounded against his rib cage, and in the silence he wondered if Benny could hear it.

He took a deep breath and flung the door open, jumping aside and letting Benny have a full view of the dark inside. Benny stood, legs apart, arms extended, both hands gripping the gun as he tilted his head, ready to take aim.

Nothing happened. The door slammed against the side of the truck. The sound of metal against metal was amplified by the peaceful surroundings and the deserted highway. Del and Benny stared into the darkness, squinting to see the bench where the prisoner usually sat.

“What on earth?” Del could see the leather restraints, cut and hanging from the wall.

“What the fuck?” Benny mumbled as he approached the truck.

Without warning, a dark figure flew out at Benny, knocking him to the ground. Albert Stucky clamped his teeth on to Benny’s ear like a rabid dog. Benny’s scream dismantled Del. He stood paralyzed. His heart knocked against his chest. By the time he pulled out his revolver, the prisoner was on his feet. He ran straight at Del, colliding with him and shoving something sharp and hard into his stomach.

Pain exploded throughout his body. The gun slid from his fingers like water. He forced himself to look into Stucky’s eyes, and instantly he saw the evil staring back at him, cold and black, an entity of its own. When he glanced down, he saw the large hand still gripping the dagger. He looked up just in time to see Stucky’s smile as he shoved the dagger deeper.

Del slipped to his knees. His eyes blurred as he watched the tall stranger split into several images. Everything began to spin and blur. Then he slammed hard against the pavement. A wildfire spread through his stomach, catching each of his organs on fire. Now he saw nothing but the clouds swirling above him, brilliant white against solid blue. Why hadn’t he noticed before how beautiful the sky was?

Behind him a gunshot blasted the silence. Del managed a weak smile. Finally. Good ole Benny, the legend, had come through. The alcohol had just slowed him down a bit.

Del pulled himself up, just enough to look at the damage to his stomach. He was startled to find himself staring down at the bloody carved image of Jesus. The dagger causing his insides to spill onto the highway was a mahogany crucifix. Suddenly, he couldn’t feel the pain anymore. That had to be a good sign, didn’t it?

“Hey, Benny,” he called out, laying his head on the pavement. “My daddy’s gonna make a sermon out of this when I tell him I was stabbed with a crucifix.”

A black shadow blocked the sky.

Once again Del found himself looking into those empty eyes. Stucky loomed above him, lean and muscular. He reminded Del of a vulture, perched patiently, waiting for its prey to stop struggling, to give in to the inevitable. Then, Stucky smiled. He raised and pointed Benny’s revolver at Del’s head.

“You won’t be telling your daddy anything,” he promised in a deep, calm voice. “Tell it to Saint Peter.”

The metal slammed into Del’s skull. A blast of light swirled together with oceans of blue and yellow and white and then finally…black.