Table of Contents
PRAISE FOR
CEMETERY GIRL
Cemetery Girl is more than just an utterly compelling thrillerand it certainly is that. David Bells stellar novel is also a haunting meditation on the ties that bind parent to child, husband to wife, brother to brotherand what survives even under the most shattering possible circumstance. An absolutely riveting, absorbing read not to be missed.
Lisa Unger, New York Times bestselling
author of Darkness, My Old Friend
Cemetery Girl is my favorite kind of story because it takes the familiar and darkens it. This story is essentially about a missing little girl, but trust me: you have never read a missing-persons story like this one. The reader is taken down the rabbit hole in this novel and when he comes out at the endjust beyond that mysterious and hopeful last pagehe is all the better for having been invited inside Bells disturbing, all-too-real world.... A fast, mean head trip of a thriller that reads like a collaboration between Michael Connelly and the gothic fiction of Joyce Carol Oates, Cemetery Girl is one of those novels that you cannot shake after its over. A winner on every level.
Will Lavender, New York Times bestselling author of Dominance
Grabbed me by the throat on page one and never let up. An intense, unrelenting powerhouse of a book, and the work of a master.
John Lescroart, New York Times bestselling author of Damage
A smart, tense, creepy take on the story of a missing daughter, told by her far-from-perfect father. If you think you know this talefrom all-too-familiar newspaper accounts, from lesser movies and booksthen this terrific novel will make you think otherwise.
Brock Clarke, author of Exley
[Bell] writes with a clarity of both vision and purpose, and his characters are eerily familiar because they are just like you and me.
Thomas F. Monteleone, Bram Stoker Awardwinning
author of Fearful Symmetries
With the psychologically twisted Cemetery Girl, Bell stakes his claim as a writer to watch.... Consider me a fan.
Jonathan Maberry, Bram Stoker Awardwinning
author of The King of Plagues
MORE PRAISE FOR DAVID BELL AND HIS NOVELS
Gave me the tingle I felt when I read Richard Mathesons I Am Legend for the first time. This is a wonderful, forceful, moody book thats as palpable as its engaging. Pay attention to David Bell. This is the start of an impressive career.
David Morrell, New York Times bestselling author of First Blood
A novel of finely honed characters facing mysterious disappearances, madness, and loss on many levels. A masterful job.
F. Paul Wilson, New York Times bestselling author
of the Repairman Jack series
Bell is the real deal, a true storyteller with a style as compelling as a news bulletin. You just keep turning the pages.
Ed Gorman, Shamus and Anthony Awardwinning
author of Ticket to Ride
Just beneath the normal, lurk madness and waiting wickedness.
Mort Castle, author of Moon on the Water
Reads like a head-on collision between Dashiell Hammett and early Stephen King, with a touch of Robert Blochs sly dark humor thrown in for good measurebut its voice is very much its own, and the mounting sense of dread is undeniably palpable. This one will have you sweating during its final fifty pages, and your hands shaking as you turn those pages. Lean, mean, and ultimately quite moving... a rock-solid read.
Gary Braunbeck, Bram Stoker Awardwinning
author of Prodigal Blues
In memory of my dad,
Herbert Henry Bell (19322011)
Prologue
Let me tell you something about my daughter. L My daughter disappeared, and there were times I wondered if she was somehow responsible. Caitlin wasnt like most kidsshe wasnt immature or childish. She wasnt ignorant. In fact, she possessed a preternatural understanding of how the world worked, how humans worked. And she used that knowledge to deceive me more than once, which is why sometimesI am ashamed to admitI questioned her role in what happened.
Caitlin disappeared four years agowhen she was twelve. But the first time I became aware of her ability to deceive she was only six, and the two of us were spending a Saturday together. There were many days like that one with Caitlin, and I always remember them as some of the happiest. Quiet. Simple. As easy and effortless as floating in a pool of water.
On that particular day, Caitlin was playing with a group of kids from the neighborhood. Back then, a number of families with small children lived on our street, and the kids were all about the same age. They ran around together in the yards, playing on swing sets and jumping in leaves. No matter where the kids went, a set of adult eyes watched them. We liked the neighborhood for that reason.
Unfortunately, shortly after we moved in, and not long after Caitlin was born, the city widened the boulevard that sat perpendicular to our street in the hope of accommodating more traffic. This brought more cars to our neighborhood. Every parent on the block felt the same degree of concern, and some talked about moving away. But we wanted to stay, so we made a rule for Caitlin: do not ever cross the street without one of us watching. Not ever.
Anyway, on that Saturdayalthough it was only later that it would become that Saturdaywith my wife, Abby, out of the house for the evening, I cooked hamburgers in a skillet, managing, as always, to splatter the stove top with a liberal amount of grease. I also baked frozen premade french fries in the oven; it was exactly the kind of meal a dad makes when hes left in charge of his daughter.
At dinnertime, I stepped into our front yard, expecting to see Caitlin nearby with the other kids, or at the very least I expected to hear their voices. But I didnt. I stood in the late-afternoon shade of the big maple in front of our house, and I looked one way, then the other, hoping to catch sight of Caitlin and her little posse. I was just about to call her name when I finally saw her.
She was standing at the far end of the street, where they had widened the thoroughfare a few years earlier. I knew it was Caitlin, even from that distance, because she had left the house that afternoon wearing a bright pink top, and that electric burst of color stood out against the muted browns and oranges of the fall. I started toward her, lifting my hand and getting ready to wave, when Caitlin made a quick move toward the street.
Ill never know if she saw the car.
It turned onto our street, moving faster than it should have, and its grille filled my vision, looming behind Caitlin like a ravenous silver mouth.
My heart jumped.
I froze, and for a long moment, time ceased.
Then the driver slammed on his brakes and stopped a couple of feet from my child.
Inches from crushing her.
But Caitlin didnt hesitate. She took one quick glance at the car, but despite its proximity to her body, she kept on walking across the street, into a yard, and around the back of the house, acting as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I remained rooted to my spot, as dumb and still as stone, my mouth frozen in the process of forming the shout that never came.
