Divorced? Never. Not in a million years.
"My wife died," he replied. "About a year and a half ago."
"I'm sorry."
"Not as sorry as I was," he said, echoing her comment from earlier that day.
"If you don't want to talk about it..."
"No," he said. "No, it's okay. I've gotten past it. It's just... I never know what to say to that." Matt realized he was wringing his hands and grabbed the mug to stop himself. "You know what I mean?"
Abbey nodded, then took a sip from her own mug. Her eyes never left Matt's.
"So what have you been doing since then?" she asked.
Nothing much. Just dying and living again, Matt thought. And killing my best friend. Oh, and I've been chasing the Devil. Have you seen him?
"Not much, really," he replied. "Just kinda wandering around. Seeing as much of the country as I can."
"That sounds great."
"Well, I'm not exactly building up my 401(k)."
"At least you're living," she said. "I've been stuck in that damn store for years."
"Not anymore," he said.
"True enough. I just wish I knew what to do next."
"I feel that way every day." Matt smiled.
"I bet you do." Abbey laughed. The sound was throaty but soft, almost sensual. Like silk against bare skin. She raised her glass. "To the great unknown," she said.
Matt clinked his mug against hers and took a long, hard drink. For a moment, all he could see was the bottom of his mug. The night was looking up. He finished his beer and set the mug down on the table.
And that's when he saw him.
The man on the sidewalk wore a wrinkled blue suit and scuffed loafers. The tail of a white shirt hung below the back of his sport coat, and his hands were shoved into his pockets. His dark hair was slightly messy, and his face showed a bad case of five o'clock shadow. He looked like a perfectly ordinary businessman on his way home from work.
Except for the moldy green blotch covering half his cheek.
Matt watched him walk by. The man had an angry look on his face, and muttered to himself as he passed. The decay on his cheek grew larger right in front of Matt's eyes, and when Blue Suit got to within a few feet, the smell of decay came with him. Matt had a hard time not gagging on the stench, but managed to keep the reflex in check.
Blue Suit walked right by his table and kept going. Matt tried to keep his eyes on him without being too obvious, but he wasn't doing a very good job of it.
"What is it, Matt?" Abbey asked.
"Who is that guy? The one in the suit?"
Abbey looked over Matt's shoulder. "That's Brad Linderholm. He's a local stockbroker. Why?"
Matt turned back to look at her, and almost choked.
There, about twenty feet behind Abbey and looking far too happy for Matt's liking, was Mr. Dark.
CHAPTER FOUR
He didn't look quite the same as he had before. The smile was still there, but the outfit had changed. Still, Matt knew Mr. Dark when he saw him, and right now, the asshole was laughing at him. "Hello, Mr. Cahill? Having a nice dinner?"
Matt shot from his chair. Finally! He'd caught up to Mr. Dark. This time he would get the answers he needed.
"Matt?" Abbey asked. "What is it?"
Matt ignored her, focusing on Mr. Dark. He stepped around the table and moved toward the man who'd been haunting his dreams. The muscles in Matt's arms twitched as he imagined himself choking the life out of him.
Mr. Dark laughed. "Did you happen to see my friend Mr. Linderholm? I wonder where he's going. Don't you want to find out? Of course, you can stay here with me, instead."
Shit! Brad! Matt turned to see which way the man in the blue suit had gone. He caught a glimpse of Linderholm walking around a corner. The sores on the side of his face had gotten bigger, nearly engulfing his whole head. Whatever Linderholm was doing, it wouldn't be long before someone got hurt. Maybe a lot of people. Matt recalled the way his lifelong friend, Andy, had gone off the deep end and murdered half a dozen people after being afflicted by Mr. Dark's touch. Could the same thing be happening with Brad Linderholm? Could he take that chance?
Damn!
"Matt?" Abbey asked again. "What are you staring at?"
Mr. Dark laughed again, his glittering black eyes daring Matt to make a choice: save someone or confront the evil son of a bitch who'd brought so much pain into his life.
Matt made his choice. "I have to go, Abbey," he said, and turned to run after Linderholm.
Mr. Dark's laughter followed him down the street.
# # #
Matt ran around the corner, chasing after the blue suit. He pushed and shoved his way through a small crowd of people, trying to keep Linderholm in sight. Fortunately, in a small town like Crawford, there were never any big crowds, and although Matt couldn't quite catch up, he was able to keep the back of the man's blue sport coat in sight. After a few minutes, Brad walked out of the busy district and onto the side streets. There the crowd thinned, and Matt was able to keep a safe distance without fear of losing sight of the man.
He followed him for several blocks, past a carpet store, a diner, and a small house with a sign on the front lawn that said "Madame Carla's Tarot Reading. Know what tomorrow has in store for you today!" Matt shook his head. Fuck tomorrow. Today was hard enough.
A few blocks later, Brad turned right into the driveway of a white two-story house. It was nicely trimmed, with a white fence, a neat, tidy lawn and a blue BMW in the driveway. Brad spat on the BMW as he walked by, leaving a sticky wad of greenish goo on the car's hood. He reached the front door and shoved his hand into his pocket. From where Matt stood, he heard the jangle of keys. He could also smell the odor of decay, and see the moldy green of Brad's hands. The rot had spread that far in just the short time it took him to walk from the restaurant to the house. Not good.
Here we go, Matt thought.
Brad stepped into the house, not bothering to shut the door behind him. Matt stalked up the driveway, waiting to hear shouting or screaming. He noticed the license plate on the BMW. JOHNSON1.
Johnson? I thought Brad's last name was Linderholm. Unless his wife…
Then it clicked.
Matt stood up and sprinted into the house, hoping to catch Brad before he could kill his wife and her lover. He didn't know who Johnson was, but he was willing to bet that Brad did.
Just inside the door was a foyer with three openings. The one on the right led into a large living room. The one on the left led down a long, windowed hallway with several doors. The one directly in front of him led to a stairway. He spent a few precious seconds trying to decide which way to go, then theorized that the master bedroom would probably be on the second floor. Halfway up the stairs his reasoning was justified as a trio of voices began yelling.
Two men, one woman, he noted. He couldn't understand the words, as they were muffled by doors and walls, but he was able to make out the tone, and it wasn't good. He ran up the rest of the stairs and stood on the landing. A hallway branched off in either direction. Matt paused, listening.
"Bitch! You fucking, whore-ass bitch!" That had to be Brad, and it came from the left. Matt ran. At the end of the hall, a set of double doors stood open, revealing a shadow on the floor.