THREE DAYS AFTER HE WAS MURDERED, RICHARD PRATT BEGAN TO FEEL MUCH BETTER...
A seemingly random act of violence propels Professor Richard Pratt into The Hereafter. It is a strange, muted, netherworld of the dead-a world in which he is forced to bear...
"Billy, I know. But we have to go, and we have to go now!"
He breathed an enormous sigh of relief as Billy began slowly moving toward the Mormon ward house. At first, it appeared Billy was heading for the front doors. But then he quickly cut to the right through the parking lot, first at a fast walk, and then in a jog. He rounded the back of the lonely building, and set out directly south, into the endless desert.
Richard followed wordlessly.
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Even before they reached the Stone in the Stream, Richard recognized the place from his vision. Here were the hills he had seen the last time he had confronted Drouillard. The sand and the sagebrush looked the same. And as he cleared the lip of the wash itself, he looked down on a scene that had been burned into his memory.
This is the place. It was here that I stood before the Wanderer. It was here that I almost fooled him. But I don't think he'll be so easily fooled again.
The tableau below broke his heart.
The first person he saw was Drouillard himself, who was sitting on a large stone that was nearly waist high. The old soldier had a gun in his hand, but his arms were crossed on his chest, as if he was bored and had become impatient, waiting for Richard to arrive.
Pil was six feet in front of Drouillard. He was kneeling, rubbing his wrists, and glaring up at the man in front of him. Richard could see the silver glint of the handcuffs that had been removed from Pil, laying in the gravel.
Why isn't Pil attacking the son of a bitch? Richard had time to think. But his question was answered instantly as he scanned the rest of the wash.
A dozen yards behind Pil, on the far side of the wash, stood a soldier with a military grade assault rifle. It was already lifted to the man's shoulder and trained directly at Pil. There was a tiny red dot of a laser sight that quivered on the back of Pil's shaggy head.
"Richard, look," Billy whispered, pointing down the wash. There was a clump of brush there, hugging the slope of the wash on their side. Seated there, on a low, flat stone, was Keith. Richard's heart leapt, and he almost jumped into the ravine to run toward his lover, but then he saw that, standing directly behind him, was Carla Grayson. Her gun was directly against the back of Keith's head.
"That's Mattie," Billy whispered, grabbing Richard's arm. "She's still in the cop."
Richard was aware of the woman, but at that moment, he couldn't look at anything except Keith. The man he loved was dirty and bloody, and his arms and shoulders were quivering from being wrenched backward and cuffed. He was clearly in excruciating pain and a cold sweat had broken out on his face. His eyes were squeezed tightly closed against the agony, and the terror that he must be feeling. Worst of all, the bastards had ripped off his shirt, and used it to gag him. While Mattie held the gun against his temple, she kept his head steady with a tight grip on the back of the gag.
