“You’ve been up to your neck in d-d-death these past few days … haven’t you, C-Cole?”

Cole wasn’t sure where this was going, nor did he know what had brought on Curtis’s stutter. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Enough of this shit!” spat one of the Badgers. “Are we gettin’ outta here, or what?”

“It all f-f-finally began to make s-sense when I went into Mona’s house.” Curtis’s words fell on Cole like prickling needles. “You see, Cole, I had to borrow a phone on account of my radio being so c-cleverly d-disabled. So I broke into the home of Ms. Monasa Beechum … your nearest n-neighbor.” More hacking coughs seized him. “You and B-Black Mona have become quite close, haven’t you?”

The sheriff’s head twitched. His speech sounded slurred by pain. Every word was labored. The man standing before Cole now was not the same one who had been at his house that morning.

In a measured tone fit for a child, Cole said, “Curtis, I need you to tell me what happened at Mona’s. You have to tell me what you saw.”

“I never t-took much stock in what they said about that crazy old w-w-woman. I m-mean, I’d heard all the stories about her hexes and s-s-such, but—”

“What did you see in there? Curtis, I need you to tell me!”

“Books,” he wheezed. “Stacks of b-books. Dusty … handwritten volumes on m-magic and spells, and . . .” He exhaled a slow, lingering hiss. “And r-r-raising the dead.” He twitched again. His knees buckled. Cole moved to him but stopped when the gun came back up. “Stay b-back!”

Cole raised his hands. “Calm down, Curtis. Take it easy.”

“How did she do it, C-Cole! How did she b-b-bring those boys back? It’s not p-possib—”

“Tell me what else you saw. I have to know!”

Seconds passed. “I saw some kind of … thing. An animal.”

Cole stepped forward. Inches separated him from the gun now. “Was it a cat that you saw? Curtis, did it bite you?”

Curtis answered the question with one of his own. “Cole . . . what’s … h-happening … to me?” He removed his hat with a palsied hand, ridding his face of shadow.

A collective gasp came from the cell. In his periphery, Cole saw the Badgers retreat a step.

Curtis’s face was a rictus of mutilated flesh. Claw tracks had turned his cheeks into sagging flaps over bare bone. His flesh was drained of color to the point of translucence. His upper lip was peeled back like the lid of a sardine can, forming a wicked grin of long, coffee-stained teeth and lacerated gums. A half-dollar-size hole gaped at his jugular, exposing severed veins that bubbled red.

His milky, listless eyes looked intently back at Cole.

Cole told Tommy to open the door.

Tommy glanced alternately between Cole and the sheriff. “What … what the fuck’s the matter with that dude?”

“Just do it. Now!”