"Paul, shut your goddamned mouth!" Logan looked back at Cassie. "It wasn't your fault, Cassie." His voice was certain.
But his eyes told her something else. Her own gaze fell, and she stared at the tissue rose he held, its delicate perfection emphasized by the blunt strength of his cop's hand.
Such beauty to have been created by a monster. Sick fear coiled in the pit of her stomach and crawled on its belly through her mind, and she was barely aware of speaking aloud when she said huskily, "I can't do it. I can't do this anymore. I can't." "Cassie – "
"I can't. I can't. I can't." It was like a mantra to ward off the unbearable, and she whispered it over and over as she closed her eyes and shut out the mocking sight of the paper flower that now lived in her nightmares.
ONE
RYAN'S BLUFF, NORTH CAROLINA FEBRUARY 16, 1999
As towns went, it didn't have much to boast of. It was about as broad as it was long, with more acreage than buildings. There was a scattering of churches and car lots and small stores that didn't call themselves boutiques but charged enough for their plain little dresses to be considered just that. There was a Main Street with a grassy town square, enough banks to make a body wonder where all the riches were, and a drugstore so old, it still had a soda fountain.
Of course, there was also a computer store on Main Street, as well as two video stores and a satellite dish dealership, and just two miles away from the center of town was the very latest thing in movie multiplexes.
So Ryan's Bluff was staring the coming millennium right in the eye.
It was also, on most levels, a small Southern town, so the politics were largely conservative, church on Sunday was the norm, you couldn't buy liquor by the drink, and until the previous year the same sheriff had been voted in at every election since 1970.