Dozens of dead, glassy eyes stared out at Maxwell Wiley. He ran a finger along the inside of his collar. Faint perspiration eased its passage along his throat to the knot of his tie. He turned his head to face away from the shelves of dolls and stuffed toys. The shift of his body caused his left knee to lift the tiny table off the floor. Maxwell pushed his child-size chair back, and the table clanked back against the linoleum. His new view was of several posters featuring plush aliens from a children's TV show. They were far stranger than anything that had emerged from the feverish dreams brought on by his last bout of malaria.

 There was some comfort in not seeing the creepy dolls, but he still sensed them. Their multitude of eyes was still on him. There was a pit full of bodies once that had looked at him the same way: an accusing, unforgiving glare reaching out from the depths of eternity.

They might not have been corpses this time, but the artificial cheeriness of the place and its hospital odors made the experience even more unnerving. Compared to this room, the interrogation cells back in Kabul were comforting. What on Earth was Grierson thinking sending him here?

After a time span measured in shifting positions and glances at his watch, Ms. Holbrook finally brought in Kevin.

In the three minutes Maxwell spent with her at the nurse's station, he had spotted four lies. First, she lied about her age. Her hair was dyed to conceal the gray. She tried to pass her looks off as natural by not wearing lipstick or eye shadow, but a thick layer of foundation covered her wrinkles and crow's feet. Second, she lied about her income. Her blouse was a dusty rose silk from a popular designer, but her skirt was bargain store polyester, and the pearl earrings, fake. Third, she was not happy to have to meet with Maxwell Wiley. The smile she gave him put her coffee-stained teeth on display, but the squint in her eye showed too much calculation. She was either suspicious or looking for an advantage. And finally, she did not care about children.

The woman from Child Services was a pure bureaucrat. Even, thinking that word made Maxwell want to spit. It stood for everything he despised. He could practically smell her raw officiousness. She didn't use her position to help her charges, but to wring every ounce of power she could from it.

Maxwell dropped the authoritative policeman role he had played with the nurse behind the desk and switched tactics.

"Hello, Ms. Holbrook?" He took a hesitant step forward to shake her hand, his head cocked like an inquisitive dog.

"Yes." She held the offered hand loosely like this dog might have fleas.

"Oh, good it is you. I was expecting someone older and not nearly as attractive— Well, at any rate, I'm sorry to be bothering you. I'm Agent Wiley. My agency called earlier."

She nodded, just a slight movement as she appraising him. Perhaps the mutt was housebroken after all.

"I'll try not to take up any more of your valuable time than I have to. My agency is very anxious to get this cleared up. The quicker we can do this, the happier they'll be. In fact, I'm certain that they will be contacting your superiors to commend you for your cooperation in this matter."

Her smile loosened and took on a more genuine quality. Good doggie.

The power-hungry were always so simple to control. They almost made his job too easy.

Ms. Holbrook guided the boy through the door into the children's ward playroom. Her bony fingers on his shoulder looked like talons ready to rip a chunk of flesh out.

"This is Agent Wiley." Her free hand motioned to Maxwell, as he sprung out of the chair. "He wants to talk to you."

"Hi there, Kevin." He walked over to the boy with his most charming smile. It beamed across his face, defining the dimples on his round cheeks, just like when he practiced it in the mirror. "Please call me Maxwell."

The dark circles under the boy's eyes highlighted the whites, as he stared at Maxwell with unmasked dread.

"I already spoke to the police." His voice wavered, scared of defying authority, but more afraid about what he might be asked. If he was a few years older and had the surliness of a teenager to fall back on, he might have been able to speak the defiance he felt.

"I'm not with the police, Kevin." He pulled out the wallet with his badge and handed it to the boy. Two pale hands reached up and took it. A white gauze bandage wrapped up the palm of the right one. Compared to most of the people injured that night, Kevin had gotten off easily. But he wasn't still in St. Claire's Hospital because of his cuts and bruises. There were other wounds that couldn't be seen.

Based on the reports from that night, any child his age would have been traumatized by the experience, but on top of everything else, his parents were accidentally shot by a neighbor with a semi-automatic assault rifle, a hero complex, and rotten aim. The whole family was now at the Odessa area hospital forty miles from their home. Not that they would be allowed to go to their house if they weren't injured. All of Bluebell Crescent and the surrounding streets were still cordoned off by the government. It would be several more days before the crime scene was released.

Kevin stared at the badge reading and rereading it. The badge was hardly worthy of the name, just a photo ID with an embossed seal over the limited details: "Maxwell Wiley; Field Agent; Domestic Threat Assessment Agency."

"Come now, Kevin." Ms. Holbrook spoke down at the boy, turning him slightly to face her. "Let's all sit down, and you can tell this nice man what he needs to know, and then we can go to the cafeteria and get some ice cream. Would you like that?"

Damn lady, he's nine not four. Look at that expression. I bet he wants to shove that ice cream down your throat.

The boy half croaked an assent, and the social worker ushered him over to the tiny play table.

Just before she sat down, Maxwell whispered to her, "Actually, I was hoping to speak with him alone."

"Agent Wiley, he is a minor. You must know you can't question him without a parent or a guardian present." While his parents were in the ICU, the Texas Department of Family and Protective Services had temporary custody of Kevin, and Holbrook wasn't going to let anyone forget it for a minute.

Maxwell made an apologetic bow and sat back down in the sadistically designed chair. He could have convinced her to leave them alone, but it was quicker this way. And a warm thought glowed like a candle in his mind: if the boy revealed anything sensitive in front of her, he might be assigned the task of eliminating this Ms. Holbrook.

When they were all settled at the table, he glanced at the boy and gave him another of his winning smiles. He picked the one that sparked a twinkle in his right eye. He then made a show of opening up the file folder he had set out and removing the cap from his pen.

"Just relax, Kevin. I don't need you to go over any of the details of the incident. I want you to describe some of the events from earlier that day. Is that alright?"

The boy nodded, his walnut brown hair flopped into his face. He brushed it out of his eyes and focused his attention on the flower decals on the window.

"Mr. Wiley." The social worker asserted her presence not just by talking but by placing her hand on his report. "May I ask? I don't see what a simple animal attack has to do with your agency. Surely you don't believe that terrorists were somehow involved do you?"

"Due to the interests of national security, I am unable to reveal the nature of our investigation. Although it was clearly an animal attack, there is evidence that suggests there was nothing simple about it."

"But surely terrorists can't control wild animals, can they?"

Maxwell narrowed his eyes, with a look that said, between you and me, yes, they can. She drew her hand back like she expected the folder to slam shut and bite her.

Just how dumb is she? Maxwell smiled inwardly. Oh well, let her spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder, waiting for a jihadist bear assault.

"Now." Maxwell readjusted his position, trying to find some spot where the chair's hard edges didn't dig into his muscles. He scanned over the first page of the folder and asked, "According to the police report, you were outside at the time of the incident. Why were you out of your house so late that night?"

"Nothing." His teeth bit his lower lip, and he looked down at the surface of the table.

"Don't worry, Kevin. You're not going to get into any trouble, here. I just have to fill in some of the blanks." The boy didn't move. He seemed almost catatonic. "Look, I really don't care if you were out stealing cars." He leaned over to get in the boy's line of sight and gave him a sly wink.

Holbrook made a grunt of shock, but the thought of committing a felony got the corners of Kevin's lips to turn up.

"Nothing really. I just snuck out to go to the park. To skateboard."

Ms. Holbrook was incapable of containing her moral outrage. "Did your parents know?" It wasn't a question so much as a scolding.

Christ, what part of snuck out don't you understand, lady?

"That doesn't concern this investigation." Maxwell waved his hand as if trying to dispel the odor of her words from the room. "Were you alone?"

"Donny was supposed to come, but he..." He trailed off. His eyes traced out a labyrinth of pain on the back of his hands.

The boy was so open and guileless. It was a trait that Maxwell rarely saw. At least, not without weeks of intense interrogation. He found it refreshing but also deeply tragic.

"Donny? That would be Donny, umm?" Maxwell turned over several pages. He landed on a random page of the report from Animal Control. His fingers traced down to the line that read, all attempts to tranquilize failed. It really didn't matter what part of the file he was on, the point was to appear unprepared, and less knowledgeable than the subject.

As if reading the answer, he said, "Donny Westgate."

A nod.

"So he didn't meet you that night." Maxwell skirted past the unpleasantness as quickly as he could. "What about earlier? When was the last time you saw him?"

"After school. At his house."

Maxwell slowly teased the details of the afternoon out of Kevin, who reluctantly recalled the moments before his life and all of Bluebell Crescent changed forever. In monosyllabic answers, he gradually painted a picture of an average Friday. The school week was over, so they were free to ignore their homework. Instead, they played video games for a couple of hours and snacked on junk food and soda, free from parental guidance. Donny's sister was supposed to be watching them, but she had shut herself in her room saying she felt sick.

"And was she sick? Did you see her?"

"No." Kevin looked up at Maxwell. There was a change in his voice. Agitation clawed at the back of his throat. There was something about the girl that was important to him. "I mean, I didn't see her. She was already in her room when I got there. I guess she was sick. She yelled at us to turn down the volume on the TV. Said our game was making her head split open."

"I see." Maxwell jotted down the information on the yellow legal pad. The sheet was nearly covered with his dense, neat script. The microphone in his tie was recording everything, but it was easier not to have anyone ask why he wasn't taking notes.

"You think her being sick had something to do with it?"

"One never knows. I'm just here to gather the information, not to come to conclusions. Now his sister was..." He began flipping through more of the file. "I know I saw her name in here somewhere." It was Amy. So much of this job is theatrics, he thought. And my dad said I was wasting my time with those school plays. Acting was one of the few useful skills he had learned in school. That and basic social survival skills: how to blend in, how to use his looks to gain influence when he could, and how to use his brawn to intimidate when he had to.

"Amy," Kevin said. "Her name was Amy."

"Oh yes, that's it. Now did Amy—"

"She's dead, isn't she? That thing killed her and Donny? Didn't it?"

"Kevin, don't say such a thing. You really mustn't get worked up like this." Holbrook turned to Maxwell and with a stern look said, "He isn't supposed to get worked up."

Maxwell ignored her and leaned across the table. "Kevin, I'm going to guess that since that night a lot of people have been treating you like a little kid." Without looking, he could feel the scowl on Holbrook's face. "But after what happened to you, I think you're owed the truth. I'm very sad to tell you that both Donny and Amy are dead."

"What was it? What was that thing?" Kevin hovered just above a state of sobbing. Only his curiosity allowed him to get through his questions without breaking down.

"Although we still do not have all the answers, it was a coyote." Before the boy could contradict him, he added, "An exceptionally large coyote. But it was shot and killed. And it is never going to hurt anyone ever again."

Saying the words invoked another line from the Animal Control report in Maxwell 's mind: whatever that monster was, it was no coyote.

***

Author's Note:

Thank you very much for starting this brand new journey with me. I hope as it goes on it will shock you, thrill you, and keep you coming back for more.

This is the first scene of chapter one. There are six scenes in all, and they are to be read as a complete chapter with breaks between each.  This model holds for the rest of the book as well.  Each chapter will have several scenes from different character's points of view.  I would love to post these all at once as unified pieces, but time only allows me to produce one or two of these "scenes" a week.