Chapter Twenty-Six
Out of time.
The sound chilled me to the bone.
I flattened myself against the side of the barn and studied the farmhouse, searching for the source of the scream.
Again, an anguished cry cut through the storm’s roar. Raw and strained. A young voice.
It came from the house.
The missing boy, Charlie.
It was him screaming. It had to be.
Where the hell was he?
So much for going back to the car and calling the cops.
I grabbed an old pitchfork from the corner of the barn and weighed its heft in my hand—it would have to do. I stood, gritted my teeth against the pain in my ankle and pushed myself away from the barn into the pouring rain once more. Slogging across the muddy ground, using the pitchfork as a crutch, I headed for the house, trying to make myself invisible t
