The Killing Moon: A Novel

That was how he navigated this night without flashlight or fear, following one of his old tree paths to the impending rendezvous on Hell Road. He had suffered all day in anticipation of this moment, opening himself to the forest now, to whatever this night would bring. The secret of the mystery man about to be exposed.

He had even worn his costume, updated through the years, including his hair. The night heat was oppressive, but he had no choice in the matter. It was not a disguise he wore, but a manifestation.

Not a mask, but a reveal.

Secrets were a thing he fed upon. A blood meal to him, a thing he craved. That sustained him.

But to Maddox he had made certain promises, some of which he might even keep. He was trying to be good. He actually was.

Illicit, not illegal, the midnight encounter of two like-minded souls of consensual age in the deep, dark forest. Adventurous, yes, and mysterious, and spectacularly dangerous—but perfectly legal.

He was hopeful, always. Of meeting a true soul mate. Of finding one person out there who understood him. His whims and eccentricities. He did believe, from their chats, that this mystery man in fact knew who he was, and evidently was okay with that. Which was a start. It would save him from getting beat up at least. Mystery Man even referred to their rendezvous point as "Hell Road," so he had to be a local.

Regardless, it had given him something to dream about. Something to look forward to. A reason to go tripping through the forest yet again.

Night, bring me what you will.

THAT WAS WHAT he had been thinking as he emerged onto the hard dirt pack of the moonlit fire road. And what he thought now as the light flooded his eyes, and he expelled a final, gusty sigh, settling deeply and comfortably into the ground as though it were a child's soft mattress. He reverted to his best self, that innocent and unbroken young boy, exhausted at the end of another endless day of summer, surrendering to the moonlight and his secret dreams.

2

RIPSBAUGH

IT WAS THE BLUE LIGHTS that drew him.

Kane Ripsbaugh didn't go around seeking out beauty in life.

He had no poetry in his heart, no language for pretty things. He owned a septic service company and ran the town highway department and was loyal to his difficult wife. But police blues pulsing against the dark night: he doubted there was ever a more beautiful sight than that.

Ripsbaugh stopped his truck and killed the engine. He left the headlights on and looked out at the road in a squinting way that had nothing to do with the strange scene his lamps revealed. This was the way he looked at the world.

The cop out there, the new hire, Maddox, had his revolver drawn. He glanced into the headlights, then backed off from the big deer dying in the road.

Ripsbaugh climbed out and down, his boots hitting the pavement. As the head of Black Falls' highway department, a hurt deer blocking the road was as much his business as anyone else's.

"You all right?" he asked Maddox, walking up on him slow.

"Yeah," said Maddox, looking anything but. "Fine."

Ripsbaugh watched the deer try to lift its head. Its hooves scraped at the pavement, blood glistening on its muzzle and ears. The stick casting a jagged shadow near its head was not a stick at all but a broken antler.

Some fifty yards down the road, Maddox's patrol car was pulled over onto the shoulder. The driver's side door was open.

Maddox started to talk. "I was driving past the falls. The spray washed over my car, so I hit the wipers. The road ahead was clear. All of a sudden, bam! Car jerks left—not a swerve like I was losing control, but like the car had been shoved. I realized I hadn't hit anything. Something hit me."

He talked it through, still trying to piece together what had happened, the memory of the incident and its impact as fresh to him as an echo.

"I slam on the brakes finally, stopping down there. Red smoke everywhere, but it was just road grit swirling up in my brake lights. I get out. I hear this sound like scraping, a sound I can't understand. The dust settled…and here it is."

Ripsbaugh looked into the trees. Edge Road was so named because it traced the treeline of the Borderlands State Forest. "How's your unit look?"

"Rear right passenger door's pushed in." He was starting to shake off the shock. "I never heard of that. A deer broadsiding a moving car?"

"Better that than getting up into your windshield."

Maddox nodded, realizing how close he had come to death. His turn to look into the trees. "Something must have spooked it."

Ripsbaugh looked him over, his blue jeans and hiking boots. The town couldn't afford regular uniforms anymore, so the six-man force wore white knit jerseys with POLICE embroidered in blue over their hearts, and black "BFPD" ball caps, making them look more like security guards than sworn lawmen. Snapped to Maddox's belt were a chapped leather holster and a recycled badge. He held an old .38 in his hand.