Heroes Are My Weakness: A Novel

AS ANNIE DISAPPEARED INTO THE cave, Theo felt as though he, too, had been sucked in with her. He passed the flashlight to her through the crevice. He should be the one in there. He was a stronger swimmer, although God knew, he hoped the water inside wasn’t deep enough to make that a factor.

Jaycie stood behind him making helpless sounds. He kept digging at the sand. He should be the rescuer, not Annie. He tried not to think about how this scene would play out if he’d been writing it, but the ugly scenario unwound in his head like a filmstrip. If this were a scene in one of his books, Quentin Pierce would be inside that cave waiting for an unsuspecting Annie to become the victim of his next sadistic butchering. Theo never wrote detailed descriptions of the brutal deaths of his female characters, but he planted enough clues so the readers could fill in the cruel particulars for themselves. And now he was doing that in his head with Annie.

The very reason he’d been drawn to writing horror novels mocked him. By creating his gruesome tales of twisted minds, he’d achieved a sense of control. In his books, he had the power to punish evil and make certain justice was served. In fiction, at least, he could impose order on a dangerous, chaotic world.

He mentally sent in Diggity Swift to help her. Diggity, who was small enough to slip through the crevice and resourceful enough to keep Annie safe. Diggity, the character he’d killed off two weeks ago.

He dug faster and deeper, ignoring the bleeding cuts in his hands, calling to her, “For God’s sake, be careful.”

Inside the cave, Annie heard Theo’s words, but she’d been plunged back into her old nightmare. She turned on the flashlight. Erosion had left the water level at the front of the cave deeper than it used to be, already at her calves. Her throat clogged with fear. “Liv?”

She swept the beam around the cave walls, then forced herself to shine it on the water. No torn pink jacket bobbed on the surface. No little girl with straight brown hair lay facedown. But that didn’t necessarily mean she wasn’t there . . . She choked out the words, “Livie, make a noise, sweetheart, so I know where you are.”

Only the lap of water echoed against the granite walls. She moved deeper into the cave, creating a mental image of Livia crouched out of sight in one of the nooks. “Livia, please . . . Make a sound for me. Any kind of sound.”

The continuing silence pounded in her ears. “Mommy’s right outside the cave waiting for you.” Her flashlight caught the ledge at the back that she remembered so well. She half expected to see a sodden cardboard box. The water splashed the top of her knees. Why wouldn’t Livia answer her? She wanted to scream with frustration.

And then a voice whispered, Let me.

She flicked off the flashlight.

“Turn it back on!” Scamp exclaimed in a shaky voice. “If you do not turn it back on immediately, I shall shriek, and that will be unpleasant for everyone. Let me demonstrate . . .”

“Don’t demonstrate, Scamp!” Annie fought the possibility that she was playing out a puppet show for a child who might already have drowned. “I turned it off to save the batteries.”

“Save something else,” Scamp declared. “Like Pop-Tarts boxes or red crayons. Liv and I want the flashlight on, don’t we, Liv?”

A small, choked sob drifted over the water.

Annie’s relief was so intense that she could barely manage Scamp’s voice. “You see. Livia agrees! Pay no attention to Annie, Livia. She’s in one of her moods. Now please turn the light back on.”

Annie switched on the light and waded deeper into the cave, her eyes desperately searching for any movement. “I’m not in a mood, Scamp,” she said in her own voice. “And if the battery runs down, don’t blame me.”

“Liv and I plan to be out of here long before your stupid battery runs down,” Scamp retorted.

“You’re not allowed to say ‘stupid,’?” Annie proclaimed, her voice still shaky. “It’s rude, isn’t it, Livia?”

No answer.

“I apologize,” Scamp said. “I’m only being rude because I’m scared. You understand, don’t you, Livia?”

Another muffled sniffle came from the back of the cave. Annie swung the flashlight beam to the right and traced a narrow shelf that hung just above the waterline and curved around a jutting piece of rock. Could Livia have crawled along that ledge?

“It’s very dark in here,” the puppet complained. “And that means I’m very scared, so I shall sing a song to make myself feel better. I shall call it the ‘Sitting in a Dark Cave’ song. Written by me, Scamp.”

Annie waded through the thigh-high water as Scamp began to sing.


“I was sitting in a dark cave

High on a ledge.

Hiding away

Not wanting to stay—ay—ay.”

She was so cold, she was losing feeling in her legs.


“When along came a nice spider

And sat down beside her

And said . . .

Holy cow! What’s a nice spider like me doing in a dark cave like this?”

She rounded the edge of a protruding rock and glimpsed a blessed blur of pink huddled on the ledge. She wanted to charge forward and grab her. Instead she ducked back out of sight and aimed the flashlight down into the dark water.

“Annie,” Scamp said, “I’m still scared. I need to see Livia right now. Livia will make me feel better.”

“I understand, Scamp,” Annie said, “but . . . I can’t find her anywhere.”

“You have to! I need to talk to a kid, not a grown-up! I need Livia!” Scamp grew increasingly upset. “She’s my friend, and friends help each other when they’re scared.” Scamp started to cry in pathetic little sniffles. “Why won’t she tell me where she is?”

A wave hit Annie’s thighs, and the cave ceiling dripped icy fingers down her spine.

Scamp began crying harder, her sniffles growing more pronounced. Until three soft, sweet words drifted over the water . . .

“I’m right here.”