Deeper Than the Dead

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Tami Hoag’s novels have appeared regularly on national bestseller lists since the publication of her first book in 1988. She lives in Los Angeles.

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1

His victim would have screamed if she could have. He had seen toit she could not open her mouth. There would have been terror in hereyes. He had made certain she could not open them. He had renderedher blind and mute, making her the perfect woman. Beautiful. Seenand not heard. Obedient. He had immobilized her so she could notfight him.

Her uncontrollable trembling and the sweat that ran down the sidesof her face showed her terror. He had locked her inside the prison ofher own body and mind, and there would be no escape.

The cords stood out in her neck as she strained against the bindings.Sweat and blood ran in thin rivulets down the slopes of her small,round breasts.

She had to respect him now. She had no choice. The power was allhis. In this game, he always won. He had stripped away all of her pretense,the mask of beauty, to reveal the plain raw truth: that she wasnothing and he was God.

It was important for her to know that before he killed her.

It was important that she had the time to reflect on that truth. Becauseof that, he wouldn't kill her just yet. Besides, he didn't have thetime.

It was nearly three o'clock. He had to go pick up his child fromschool.

2
Five Days Later
Tuesday, October 8, 1985

"You suck, Crane."

Tommy Crane sighed and stared straight ahead.

Dennis Farman leaned over from his desk, right across from Tommy's,his fat face screwed up into what he probably thought was a reallytough look.

Tommy tried to tell himself it was just a stupid look. Asinine. Thatwas his new word of the week. Asinine: marked by inexcusable failureto exercise intelligence or sound judgment. Definition number two: of,relating to, or resembling an ass.

That was Dennis, all the way around.

He tried not to think about the fact that Dennis Farman was biggerthan he was, a whole year older than he was, and just plain mean."You suck donkey dicks," Farman said, laughing to himself like hethought he was brilliant or something.

Tommy sighed again and looked at the clock on the wall above thedoor. Two more minutes.

Wendy Morgan turned around in her seat and looked at him withfrustration. "Say something, Tommy. Tell him he's a dork."

"Say something, Tommy,'" Farman parroted, making his voicereally high, like a girl's. "Or let your girlfriend talk for you."

"He doesn't have a girlfriend," Cody Roache, Farman's scrawnytoady, chimed in. "He's gay. He's gay and she's a lesbo."

Wendy rolled her eyes. "Shut up, Cockroach. You don't even knowwhat that means."

"Yes, I do."

"Because you are."

Tommy watched the clock tick one minute closer to freedom. Atthe front of the room, Miss Navarre walked back to her desk from thedoor with a yellow note in her hand.

If someone had tortured him, held fire to his feet, or stuck bambooshoots under his fingernails, he would have had to admit he was kindof in love with Miss Navarre. She was smart and kind, and reallypretty with big brown eyes and dark hair tucked behind her ears.

"Twat," Cockroach said, just loud enough that the bad word shotlike a poisoned dart straight to Miss Navarre's ear, and her attentionsnapped in their direction.

"Mr. Roache," she said in that tone of voice that cut like a knife."Would you like to come to the front of the room now and explain tothe rest of the class exactly why you will be staying in the room forrecess and lunch hour tomorrow?"

Roache wore his most stupid expression behind his too-big glasses."Uh, no."

Miss Navarre arched an eyebrow. She could say a lot with thateyebrow. She was sweet and kind, but she was no pushover.Cody Roache swallowed hard and tried again. "Um…; no,ma'am?"

The bell rang loudly, and everyone started to bolt from their seats.Miss Navarre held up one finger and they all froze like they were insuspended animation.

"Mr. Roache," she said. It was never a good thing when she calledsomeone Mr. or Miss. "I'll see you first thing tomorrow morning atmy desk."

"Yes, ma'am."

She turned her attention to Dennis Farman, holding up the note inher hand. "Dennis, your father called to say he won't be able to pickyou up today, and you should walk home."

The second Miss Navarre dropped her hand, the entire fifth-gradeclass bolted for the door like a herd of wild horses.

"Why don't you stand up to him, Tommy?" Wendy demanded as theywalked away from Oak Knoll Elementary School and toward the park.Tommy hiked his backpack up on one shoulder. "'Cause he couldpound me into a pile of broken bones."

"He's all talk."

"That's easy for you to say. He hit me once in dodgeball and Ididn't breathe for like a week."

"You have to stand up for yourself," Wendy insisted, blue eyesflashing. She had long, wavy blonde hair like a mermaid's, which shewas always wearing in the styles of rock stars Tommy had never heardof. "Otherwise, what kind of man are you?"

"I'm not a man. I'm a kid, and I want to stay that way for a while."

"What if he went after me?" she asked. "What if he tried to hit meor kidnap me?"

Tommy frowned. "That's different. That's you. Sure, I'd try to saveyou. That's what a guy is supposed to do. It's called chivalry. Like inthe Knights of the Round Table or Star Wars."

Wendy flashed a smile and wound one blonde braid into a shapelike a cinnamon roll pressed against her ear. "Does that make mePrincess Leia?" she said, batting her eyelashes.

Tommy rolled his eyes. They turned off the sidewalk and onto atrail that cut through Oakwoods Park.

Oakwoods was a big park with part of it clipped and cleared andset up with picnic pavilions and a bandstand and playground. The restof it was more wild, like a forest with simple trails cut through it.A lot of kids wouldn't cut through the park because there werestories about it being haunted and homeless weirdos living in it, andsomeone claimed they once saw Bigfoot. But it was the shortest wayhome, and he and Wendy had been going this way since they were inthe third grade. Nothing bad had ever happened.

"And you're Luke Skywalker," Wendy said.

Tommy didn't want to be Luke Skywalker. Han Solo had all thefun, blasting around the galaxy with Chewbacca, breaking the rulesand doing whatever they liked.

Tommy had never broken a rule in his life. His day-to-day existencewas orderly and scheduled. Up at seven, breakfast at seven fifteen, toschool by eight. School let out at three ten. He had to be home by threeforty-five. Sometimes he walked. Sometimes one of his or Wendy'sparents picked them up, depending. When he got home he would havea snack and tell his mother everything that happened that day. From four until six fifteen he could go out and play—unless he had a pianolesson—but he had to be cleaned up and at the dinner table at sixthirty sharp.

It would have been a lot more fun...