When he fell, his hands still digging and scraping at the dripping wet picture of Giselle McKendrick forming a death mask over his face, he fell hard, backward, into the creek. There was a loud, sharp crack as his head crashed into the round, smooth rock that had held the photograph prisoner only moments earlier. Trucker’s feet thrashed in the water once, and then he lay still. The flashlight in his front jeans pocket cast its eerie yellow glow upward, illuminating, where his face should have been, an eight by ten glossy photograph of a beautiful blonde girl with bright blue eyes. She was
...more
