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Back Atlanta Burns Save as PDF
Chapters (50)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Dedication Page
  4. CONTENTS
  5. PART ONE: SHOTGUN GRAVY
  6. Sometimes she wakes…
  7. CHAPTER ONE
  8. CHAPTER TWO
  9. CHAPTER THREE
  10. CHAPTER FOUR
  11. CHAPTER FIVE
  12. CHAPTER SIX
  13. CHAPTER SEVEN
  14. CHAPTER EIGHT
  15. CHAPTER NINE
  16. CHAPTER TEN
  17. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  18. PART TWO: BAIT DOG
  19. CHAPTER TWELVE
  20. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  21. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  22. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  23. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  24. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  25. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  26. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY
  28. PART THREE: THE FARM
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  34. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  35. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  36. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  37. PART FOUR: KISSING FIRE
  38. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  43. PART FIVE: BAIT GIRL
  44. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  45. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  46. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  47. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  48. EPILOGUE: THE MESSAGE
  49. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  50. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The neighborhood is still. What’s not still is Atlanta’s mind. Guilt over Chris. Shame over Shane. Anger at her mother. A sudden spike of rage at the richie-riches who live here, who have too much. Flashes of white fur and red blood. Punctuated by the imagined sound of the Labrador puppy screaming in the night as someone steals it away.

That’s when she realizes she’s doing this wrong, waiting here in the middle of nowhere hoping . . . what? That some pesky dog thieves and canine tormentors will come winging by on a lark?

She needs to find a dog. A dog left outside, acting as an irresistible lure.

Dog thieves will go after dogs. Duh. Seems obvious now. So obvious, in fact, that a new, mean, bad thought comes slinking into her head like an alley cat: You’re stupid as all get-out, Atlanta Burns, dumb as a fence post but not nearly as useful.

She emerges from her hiding spot, knees popping and back muscles burning brighter as they stretch.

Atlanta goes on the hunt, wandering the streets of Gallows Hill for the next hour. Aimless and restless. And worse, unable to find a single dog. Maybe the folks here know that someone’s been taking dogs. Maybe they’re keeping them in. And, of course, these are rich people. Their dogs are well fed and kept inside. These aren’t barn dogs. These aren’t dogs on chains made to sleep under the double-wide. These are . . . show dogs and Hungarian hunting dogs and the beloved well-fed puppies of little well-fed girls.

She’s in her third development—from Fox Run to Palomino Farms and now to Clover Knoll—when she gives up. Decides, screw it, not finding anything, best to go home. And then she gives up all the way, at least mentally—she realizes that she’s not cut out for this. She has no idea what she’s doing. She’s never going to find Sailor’s torturers. She’ll never be able to give Jenny Whitsett one ounce of solace.

Then: a distant barking. Not frightened. No panic there. Just a dog yelling at the night. Maybe barking to be let back in after a dump. Maybe bow-wow-wowing at a cat or a rat or some imagined interloper.

Atlanta takes a deep breath and figures, I’ll just check this out, and then I’ll go home.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Takes her a while to zero in on the pooch, but zero in she does. Out in front of a real tacky Garage Mahal, with jagged rooflines and a salmon stone walkway, she sees a fat-bellied beagle with his butt planted on a lush, trim lawn. Barking at nothing. The moon, maybe.

She’s across the street and about three houses down when headlights come from the other direction. The one headlight blinks, winking like a lecherous old man. An engine growls.