by Michele Bardsley

Created on: July 08, 2009

Excerpt from The Dark Heart

Claremore, Oklahoma. Wednesday. 3:04 a.m.

"Daddy?"

Sullivan O'Malley jolted awake. He sat up, snapped on the lamp, and looked into the pale face of his six-year-old son. "Trevor, what's wrong?"

Trevor clutched his father's arm with small, anxious fingers. "The bad man killed her, Daddy," he sobbed. "He killed her. He killed her. He killed her."

Sullivan swept Trevor into his arms and held him tight. His heart nearly broke at the frail arms clutching his neck. Warm tears dribbled onto his bare shoulder.

"Trev, we put the bad man away. He went to jail and he'll never get out."

"It's not him, Daddy. It's another bad man."

Sully's heart leapt in his chest. He drew a deep breath. "Was this a regular dream or a special one?"

"Special."

"Are you sure it's not Mr. Keller? Because he's in prison. He can't hurt you."

Trevor sniffled, pulling away to look at Sullivan with eyes too old to belong to a child. "This bad man has a long knife. He put it into the lady's chest. He p-p-peeled her-"

"Sshh now. Do your breathing. Clear your mind. Wrap yourself in white light."

He held onto his weeping son and reached for the phone. The police chief answered on the second ring. "Better be good, damn it."

"Trevor had a dream." Sullivan heard the groan of bedsprings and knew Gabe had bolted upright.

"How bad?"

"If we don't hurry, someone's going to die."

"Already dead," muttered Trevor. "Can't save her." A chill settled in Sullivan's gut as Trevor's voice turned wooden, distant. "He likes it, Daddy. He likes it so much the bad man's gonna do it again."

#

Tulsa, Oklahoma. Wednesday. 3:06 a.m.

Kathleen Bonville woke, her heart beating like a war drum and deep, stabbing pains radiating in her chest. Her panic subsided as she purposefully inhaled and exhaled, concentrating only on the rhythm of her breathing.

Outside, she heard the gentle patter of rain against the hotel window and the distant rumble of thunder. The storm was moving on-at least the one in the sky.

Another one was coming, a bad one-a bloody one. She closed her eyes against the images battering her brain, but doing so made the unfolding horror stronger, brighter.

"Enough," she muttered. She opened her eyes, untucked herself from the bedcovers and reached for the phone.

#

FBI Headquarters. Oklahoma City. Thursday. 5:32 a.m.

"Sir, we received two phone calls about the Harper murder."

"How the hell is that possible?" Senior Agent In Charge Fred Murphy opened the drawer

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