Free Asylum Lake by R. A. Evans

him alive, paramedics wrestled the rain-slick roads as well as the deputy’s assorted stab and puncture wounds.
    As for the Reeds, the following morning they crossed the threshold of their home one final time in a parade of black plastic bags.
    Power was restored to the area shortly before dawn. Neither the streetlights nor the unexpectedly warm November sunshine could break through the darkness of the storm’s aftermath as the fear of a nameless and faceless killer among them settled over the citizens of Bedlam Falls

    In the days that followed, it became increasingly difficult to separate rumor from truth. Theories pinned the bloody handiwork on everyone from a lone drifter strung out on drugs to a satanic cult that had graduated from animal sacrifice and cattle mutilations. Each rumor seemed more outrageous than the last, yet still contained enough plausibility that they spread through the small town like wildfire As much as opinions varied, there was one area of general agreement; Deputy John Tanner was one lucky son of a bitch, even if he had yet to regain consciousness.
    Sheriff Buck Tanner was released from the hospital, against doctor’s orders, with a fairly serious concussion and more than sixty stitches keeping his torn scalp pieced together. Thankfully, the Stetson had made it through the ordeal slightly crumpled but no worse for wear.
    Buck was unofficially coordinating the investigation from his son’s bedside in Grand Rapids. With two-thirds of local law enforcement out of commission, the State Police had increased patrols in the area. This was both a blessing and a curse, while it provided much needed support for the acting Sheriff Frank Griggs. Small towns are notoriously private and the presence of more outsiders only ratcheted up the anxiety level, as he tried to restore some sense of order and safety.
    The Collins boy, as he was later identified, appeared to be the unfortunate victim of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He seemed to be gripped by shock in the aftermath of what he had witnessed and could provide nothing in the way of details. Griggs had tried unsuccessfully to interview the boy both at the hospital that night and then the following day after he was released to go home. Aside from the fairly deep gash on his right palm he was physically uninjured. The extent of his mental trauma, however, had yet to be established. Lionel remained silent.

    They were lined up in a solitary row at the front of the Grace Resurrection Church; larger caskets on each end sitting in silent protection of the two miniaturized ones in the center. To the relief of most and the disappointment of a curious few, their flower-laden lids were closed and sealed.
    A large photo taken the previous Christmas stood to the side on a wooden easel. The glossy image of Ken and Joanna Reed holding their small children dressed in bright greens and reds for the holiday season provided an odd juxtaposition to the dismembered remains that most imagined resting inside the satin-lined boxes.
    Reverend James Collins rose from his seat behind the pulpit and stood in quiet introspection as a hush fell over the congregation. Presiding over a funeral was always difficult – especially when children were involved. But the fact that his child should by all accounts be resting in a box beside them weighed even more heavily on him.
    It was only by the grace of God. He thought and glanced into the overfilled pews where Lionel sat quietly. Too young for so much tragedy, his heart grieved. Lionel had not only endured the recent tragedy, but the suicide of his mother the previous summer. Her passing had taken more from Lionel than merely her presence; it had taken the best part of his young soul, leaving a void that nothing seemed able to fill. He was now just the shell of the happy child he had once been.
    Although months had passed, the painful memory of that morning was still very fresh in the reverend’s mind. He had left shortly