Free Dead River by Fredric M. Ham

mind. Hunting together in the woods close to their house, all bundled up against the chilly fall weather. He’d gotten a shotgun for this twelfth birthday, but the real thrill was shooting his father’s historic Winchester .22 rifle …
    “Adam,” his mother called out the back door. The crisp late-fall Iowa wind shot through the open doorway and into the house.
    “Adam, come in now, dinner’s ready. We’re all waiting.”
    Adam heard his mother calling. He turned from the tree where he stood and looked up the hill toward his house. He was a good distance behind his backyard in a dense forest. But this time of year no tree wore a leaf, and they reminded Adam of monsters against the gray sky with their arms reaching out.
    He turned back and admired his artwork one more time. Inside the heart he had carved on one of the large oak trees were two names, his and Jenny’s, his new sixth-grade girlfriend. He carefully folded the knife blade into the handle and slipped it into his pants pocket.
    He drudged up the hillside, dodging the tree monsters along the way. The blistering wind stung his cheeks. He glanced up at the drab gray sky and saw dark clouds whisking by at speeds that seemed to defy nature.
    Up the hill he strode, the underbrush crunching with each step. Finally he stopped to rest. He leaned forward to catch his breath with his hands on his thighs, noticing how they had tightened into knots from the climb. As he straightened up he heard the underbrush crackle. The wind swirled around him. Then he heard another crunching sound, this time in front of him.
    He looked up. “Sara Ann?”
    Adam groaned and rolled over on his left side, draping an arm over Valerie.
    It was twelve-fifteen and a phone was ringing somewhere. Adam awoke, his chest pounding with every heartbeat and the buzz of adrenaline chasing the fog from his head. Valerie was lost in her sleep world.
    His hand was on the phone by the third ring.
    “Hello.”
    “Mr. Riley.”
    The metallic voice!
    “Yes.”
    “This time I want to talk to you.”
    Adam glanced at Valerie, rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom, closing the door behind him. “Yes, I’m listening.”
    “Did you get the letter?”
    “Yes—yes, we did,” Adam said.
    “So you know I have your daughter. This isn’t a hoax.”
    Adam took a deep breath. “Is she all right?” he exhaled.
    “Listen, and I mean listen carefully because I got to hurry. I know these calls are being traced—”
    “Is Sara Ann with you?”
    The voice laughed—an ugly, grating sound through the distortion. “Sara Ann isn’t just with me, she’s part of me sexually, emotionally, mentally, spiritually. Our souls have become one.”
    “What? What does that mean?” Adam swallowed hard. “Is she alive?”
    “Our souls are now one. Please do what we ask of you.” The voice was talking faster, louder.
    “What do you want?” Adam couldn’t keep his voice from rising. “Is Sara Ann all right?”
    “What I want is for you to listen to me!” The voice reverberated in Adam’s head.
    Then the phone went dead.
    Adam snatched his robe and tore down the stairs two at a time.
    In the living room Carillo was shouting into his cell phone. “A pay phone. Twelve miles north of the 520 Causeway off U.S. One.” He flashed a thumbs-up at Adam. “Little village called Bellwood. The phone booth’s on Oakland Drive. It’s east off U.S. One. Move!”
    Carillo put the phone down and turned. There was a huge smile on his face. “We traced the bastard!”
    Four sheriff cars converged on a dimly lit phone booth within minutes of the dispatcher’s call. The deputies leapt from their cars, guns drawn.

 17
    ADAM STOOD NEXT to Carillo’s equipment table breathing heavily.
    “He’s in Bellwood?” Adam shouted.
    “That’s where I got the trace.”
    “How long before we know something?”
    “Deputies are on their way to a phone booth there.”
    Adam threw his head back. “God, please let them catch