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Back The Night Bird
Chapters (60)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Dedication
  4. CONTENTS
  5. Start Reading
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. FROM THE AUTHOR
  59. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  60. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

“Lucy! Stop!”

She was already twenty yards away, passing under the streetlight and charging up the Lone Mountain hillside toward the USF campus. The silhouette of the university tower loomed at the summit behind the tall trees. Frost jumped from the Suburban and laid chase. He ran for the slope and climbed after her through wet dirt and grass, but the darkness masked her trail. He followed blindly, shouting her name.

“Lucy!”

She didn’t answer, and he didn’t see her. The fir trees dotting the hillside kept her hidden. He stopped to listen for the noise of her footsteps as she moved higher toward the tower, but he didn’t hear her. Instead, in the quiet, he heard something else. Music. Sweet, horrifying music. Somewhere close by, among the trees, he heard the gentle notes of a piano solo. He recognized the song.

It was a killing song.

“Lucy, don’t!” he called.

He ran toward the sound, hearing it get louder, but he was too late to stop the music. The piano solo gave way to Carole King’s perfect voice trilling about the night bird, about the sailor seeking rest, about the nightingale singing out the theme to a stranger’s lonely life. His eyes tried to find Lucy among the trees, and all the while, he expected to hear her scream, like the others. Scream. Run. Die.

A pinpoint glow shined thirty feet away. It was the white light of a phone screen. His phone.

He skidded across the slope from tree to tree and found her with her back against one of the evergreens. In the glow of the phone, her brown eyes were scared. Her hair was messy. He closed the distance between them in a second and gathered her up in his arms, and she buried herself against him. He could feel the pounding up-and-down swell of her chest. He tried to pull the phone from her hand, but she struggled, and the song kept playing, tinny and loud. It was deep into the second verse before he realized something.

Nothing was happening to her.

Carole King sang, and the piano played, and Lucy’s mind didn’t break into little pieces. Not like Monica Farr. Or Brynn Lansing. Or Christie Parke.

Lucy realized it, too, and her eyes opened wide with relief.

“It didn’t work,” she murmured. “Right? It didn’t work!”

“I guess not,” he whispered, but he wasn’t so sure. He almost wished she’d lost control right here, where he could hold her and keep her safe. Then, at least, he’d know what the Night Bird had done to her.