The Dead Woman dm-4 Page 3

  Dale nodded. "Uh huh. And how did you know what Brad was doing?"

  Good question, Matt thought. I wish I knew.

  "I... Just a hunch, I guess."

  "A hunch? You expect me to believe that?"

  "How did you know to come here, Officer?" Matt shot back.

  "Don't take that tone with me, fella. I'll haul your ass in for the sheer fun of it if I want to. I can make up a charge if I wanna."

  "Leave him alone, Dale," a new voice said.

  Both men turned to look at the end of the hall. There was Abbey, standing at the top of the stairs. "Matt's a hero. He saved Laura and David. You should be thanking him that you aren't having to clean bits of them up off the floor right now."

  A woman wrapped in a blanket emerged from the bedroom, nodding her head. "That's right, Dale," she said. "Brad was gonna kill us. Said he was gonna paint the walls with our blood." Tears streaked down her face, leaving thin mascara smudges down her cheeks. With her makeup in ruins, she looked a bit like Alice Cooper. "If that man there"—she pointed at Matt—"hadn't gotten here when he did, David and I would be dead."

  Dale looked from Laura to Abbey, then back. Finally he grunted and shoved his pistol back into its holster. Matt breathed a sigh of relief and looked up at Abbey, silently thanking her for her help.

  "I don't like this," Dale said to Abbey. "That guy's hiding something. You can tell just by looking at him."

  "Like what, Dale?" Abbey asked. "He's got his own tarot deck or something?"

  "I don't know," Dale replied. Then he turned towards Matt and glared from under his wide-brimmed hat. "But I'm gonna find out. Don't go anywhere. You either, Laura. You're all going to have to answer some questions." With that, Dale walked to the far end of the hall and grabbed his radio off his belt.

  While Dale called in the incident, Laura slipped back into the bedroom, where David had finally stopped his litany of never ending oh shits.

  Abbey squatted down next to Matt and put her hand on his cheek.

  "You all right?" she asked.

  Matt nodded. "Just a scratch. I've had worse."

  "Big tough guy, aren't you?"

  "Depends. Did I piss myself?" Matt asked.

  Abbey's eyes flicked to his crotch, then back to his face. "Nope."

  "Then yes. I am a big tough man." Matt smiled.

  Abbey smiled back and proceeded to tear off a piece of Matt's shirt. "I wouldn't feel right rummaging through their bathroom, you know what I mean?"

  Matt nodded. Suddenly he was very tired. He closed his eyes and let Abbey bind his shoulder without interruption.

  "Tell me something, Matt."

  "What?"

  "How did you know to come here?"

  "Just a hunch. Like I told Dale."

  "Bullshit."

  Matt opened his eyes to find Abbey staring at his face. Her gray eyes bored into his. She knew he was lying, but what could he tell her? He could see evil? That would go over well.

  He sighed. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

  Abbey turned to look at Dale, who stood about twenty feet away chattering into the radio. Then she turned back to Matt and leaned in close, putting her lips right next to his ear. "I know better, Matt," she whispered. "You see them, too, don't you?"

  "See what?" Matt asked, so low even he had trouble hearing the words.

  "Them," Abbey said, pointing at Brad's corpse. "When they start to rot and fester. Just before something bad happens."

  Matt couldn't breathe. He couldn't speak. Could she? Could she really?

  "You can see it. Can't you?" she asked. "The evil. I thought I was the only one."

  CHAPTER SIX

  Matt and Abbey sat at a folding table in the back room of Abbey's Antiques, a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels between them. Matt's glass was empty, but Abbey's still had an inch of booze in it. She reached across the table and refilled his drink. Her hand shook a little, but whether it was from the alcohol or the events of the day, Matt didn't know.

  "I still don't know how you convinced Dale to let me go," Matt said.

  "And I don't plan on telling you," Abbey said. "So stop trying to get it out of me."

  The officer had seemed determined to keep Matt in custody after he'd given his statement. Admittedly, Matt's statement was pretty weak, but he couldn't very well tell the truth. Then Abbey had intervened, taking Dale into a separate room. When they emerged, Dale said Matt was free to go, but warned him not to leave town in the next few days in case he was needed for more questioning. Matt assured him he would stay put, and then he and Abbey had left the place together, pushing through the throng of police, EMTs, and lookie-loos. On the way out, Matt could feel Dale's eyes boring into his back.

  "Hang on," Abbey said. "I'm kind of a sugar junkie, especially when I drink." She reached into a drawer behind her and pulled out a plastic bag of candy. She reached into the bag and pulled out two lollipops, both red, and offered one to Matt. Seeing them brought Mr. Dark to Matt's mind, and he grimaced. Just the thought of sticking one of those things in his mouth almost made him gag.

  "No thanks," he said. "Not big on sugar." Did she know about Mr. Dark? He'd have to find out.

  "Suit yourself," she replied, and popped one into her mouth. She put the other back into the bag and shoved it back into the drawer. "So what's your story, Matt?" Abbey asked. "How is it that you can see what I see?"

  Matt leaned back in his chair, trying to figure out the best way to answer. In the end, he settled on the truth. "In November of 2010, I was skiing with my girlfriend. The last thing I remember is being crushed by a mountain of snow. Next thing I knew, I was in a morgue and some guy was cutting into me with a scalpel."

  "That must have been terrifying," Abbey said.

  Matt nodded. "I'd been dead for months. They only found my body because of the spring thaw. Some little girl was building a snowman and—"

  "Holy shit!" Abbey slammed her glass on the table, sloshing bourbon onto the tabletop. "You're that Matt Cahill?"

  "You heard about it, huh?"

  "It was all over the news. They called you a modern miracle."

  "I guess." Matt finished his glass. "Never felt much like a miracle to me, though."

  "No, I don't suppose it did." Abbey crunched into the lollipop and chewed the candy off the stick, which she tossed into the wastebasket. Then she lit a cigarette. The smoke curled lazily up towards the ceiling. Matt caught himself before he could make a comment about her obvious oral fixation and poured himself another glass of Jack, instead.

  "So how about you?" he asked. "Did you die, too?"

  "Not big on tact, are you?"

  "Does it matter?" Matt replied.

  "It might. Later." Abbey winked.

  "Tell me."

  For a moment she looked like she might, but then she shook her head. "Not right now," she said. "Story for another time."

  The two lapsed into silence, Matt nursing another drink and Abbey staring at her glass. He wanted to ask her about Mr. Dark but wasn't sure how. Despite the fact that he'd found someone else who could see evil in people, he wasn't entirely convinced he had complete control of his mind. Even though the whole day had been crazy, he didn't want to make it worse.

  Somewhere out in the shop, a bell chimed twice. Abbey looked at her watch.

  "Two in the morning," she said, stretching. "I think it's time I went home."

  Matt looked around, remembering he'd be sleeping on a cot in the back room. The thought didn't sit well with his back, but after the uncomfortable bus ride that morning— had it really only been that morning?—and almost getting killed, even a cot in a rundown shop would be a luxury. He stood and stretched, reaching over his head and wincing as the bullet wound on his shoulder reminded him of its existence. His shirt rose up just a bit, but he barely noticed.

  When he finished his yawn, he found Abbey staring at him. Her expression was hard to read. A mixture of amusement and mischief. And something else. He couldn't help bu
t notice how her chest rose and fell with each breath, perhaps a little more than normal. The fabric of her blouse strained to keep everything covered. She answered his quizzical look by putting her arm on his shoulder and rubbing her thumb along his bicep.

  "You wanna drive me home, cowboy?" she asked, her voice deep and throaty. It left no doubt in Matt's mind that he would not, in fact, be sleeping on the cot in the back of the store.

  "I thought you'd never ask," he replied.

  # # #

  Matt had never considered himself a slouch in bed. Whenever the opportunity arose he always did his best to give as good as he got, and so far, he hadn't had any complaints.

  But Abbey kicked his ass eight different ways.

  They hadn't been in her house five seconds before she pushed and shoved him into her bedroom, kissing him and slipping out of her clothing the whole way. He didn't even get a good look inside the place. By the time the back of his legs hit the bed, she was already naked, and working her hands through his belt.

  Her body was solid and toned, a woman used to working out, and it showed in the strength of her arms and legs as she held his hands to the bed and straddled him. She rocked back and forth on top of him for several minutes, breathing heavily, until her eyes closed and she dug her nails into the skin of his back. He felt the pinch in his flesh and knew if he checked he would find blood. The thought excited him more than he thought it would.

  From there, she rolled over, pulling him on top of her. By now she was gyrating her hips and grinding into him like a piston, and Matt was just trying to keep up. She wrapped her legs around his back and used them to force him deep into her.

  "Push!" she breathed. "Push that fucker right through me!"

  Matt pushed for all he was worth.

  Abbey moaned and ground her hips into his groin. She wrapped her hands in his hair and pulled as her body tensed. She moaned again, louder, and told him not to stop. So he didn't.

  When he finally came, it was rough and hard, but felt wonderful. His muscles relaxed as the tension left his body. He rolled away from her, surprised at how much he was sweating, and thought about how much he'd needed that.

  But Abbey had other ideas. She grabbed his shoulder, sending a twinge of pain down his arm as she brushed the bullet wound with her fingers, and pulled him back towards her. Then she maneuvered him on his back, climbed on top of him, and grinned. "That was just round one," she said. Then she kissed his abs, rubbing her lips into the muscle. She ran her tongue along the ridges, licking the salt from his belly.

  Then she slid her tongue further down his body, teasing the base of his cock. To his surprise, he felt himself stiffening again. By the time her lips slipped over the head and down his shaft, he was as hard as a fucking rock.

  Time for round two, he thought.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Matt raised his ax. He'd brought it with him from the store. Abbey had given him a strange look, but hadn't said anything. He just couldn't bear the thought of leaving it behind. It was his only connection to the past. To the person he used to be. On the bus ride, he'd been forced to stow it in a compartment, and even that had bothered him.

  He brought the heavy blade down on the wood, smiling as it split in two. His shoulder barely hurt at all anymore. He'd checked the wound in the mirror after waking up and was surprised to find it had all but healed. One of the benefits of his condition, he supposed.

  Good thing Abbey had a mountain of logs to split. Matt loved to work the wood. The labor cleared his head and kept him trim, plus it gave him time to think. He settled into the rhythm of the task: placing a log on the stump, hefting the ax, and splitting it. Repeat as desired. The steady thud of the blade into wood was as comforting to him as the sound of his own heartbeat.

  Place.

  Heft.

  Chop.

  Repeat.

  It felt good to be outdoors. The day was starting off warmer than normal for this time of year, and the birds serenaded him as he worked. Abbey's place, it turned out, was set far back into the country. The house sat in the middle of the only cleared patch of land on sixteen acres. Her father, she said, had built the house with his own two hands. The man apparently liked his privacy.

  He placed another log on the stump.

  Last night with Abbey wasn't love. Matt knew that. He attributed it to a combination of alcohol consumption and the shock of finding a kindred spirit.

  But were they kindred spirits? Really? Sure, Abbey could see evil, but what did that tell him about her? Nothing. Other than her ability to see the festering decay of evil and the fact that she was a demon in the sack, he really didn't know much about her at all.

  Matt raised the ax over his head.

  Obviously, she had been the one to call Dale the day before. Matt realized that now. Once he'd left, she must have figured where he was going, since she could see the sores on Brad's face, too. But why hadn't she come along? Was she afraid? Or just apathetic? Did she use her "gift" to help people, as Matt did? Or did she let it go to waste? Was she a potential ally? The thought had its appeal, and it was more than just the mind-blowing sex.

  Matt brought the ax down, splitting the log with a sharp crack.

  Matt hated to admit it, but he was tired of being alone all the time. Until now, he'd just figured it was his lot in life. His destiny. But if he could share his mission with someone else, a like-minded person who could help him hunt Mr. Dark...

  Hell, did she even know about Mr. Dark? Matt needed to know, and he could think of only one way to find out. It was time to finish the discussion they'd started the night before.

  He leaned the ax against the stump and turned toward the house. He entered through the same door in the side of the garage that he'd used to go out into the yard. Inside, Abbey's van sat cold and silent, waiting for them to make their trip back to town. He passed through the garage and into the house.

  "That's none of your business, Dale." Abbey was on the phone when Matt walked into the house. She looked fantastic in a faded red T-shirt that was barely long enough to cover her ass. The smoke from her cigarette danced through the house. Matt could have lived without the smoke, but somehow he didn't think she would look the same without it. He felt his crotch stir again as he watched her pace through the living room.

  "You don't get to ask me questions like that anymore," Abbey snapped into the phone. "That's what divorce means. It means you have to stay out of my goddamn business." She placed her palm over the mouthpiece and smiled at Matt. "Sorry, cowboy," she whispered. "I'll be off in a minute. I made breakfast, though. Help yourself."

  The smell of bacon and eggs wafted through the living room, reminding him that he hadn't eaten yet. According to the clock on the wall, he'd been chopping for an hour and a half. It didn't seem like it, but time often moved at a strange pace when he was working the wood. Since she was on the phone, and since his stomach had started gurgling loud enough to be heard in the other room, Matt decided their conversation about Mr. Dark could wait.

  He followed his nose into a small kitchen with a checkered floor and burled wooden cabinets. The gleaming white and chrome oven looked ancient, as did the fridge. He couldn't see a dishwasher anywhere, but the sink was full of soapy water and a couple of cooking pans. The walls were covered with a daisy-patterned wallpaper that looked spotless, even in the bright light of the morning that filtered through the window above the sink. The whole place had a very fifties feel to it, and Matt liked it immediately.

  A platter of bacon, eggs, and fried potatoes sat on the linoleum table. Abbey had already set two places and poured a couple of glasses of orange juice. She must have been just about to get him when her ex-husband called. He sat in the seat closest to the window and tried not to eavesdrop on their conversation while he shoved food into his mouth.

  Unfortunately, that was harder than he thought. Abbey's voice carried through the house like a bell, and he had a hard time distracting himself from it. To help him focus on something else,
he began to look through the kitchen.

  The fifties vibe really struck him the more he looked at it. Even the pictures on the wall looked antique. That's probably her mother's doing, he thought. After all, she did run an antique store. She probably had a fondness for them.

  One picture in particular caught his attention: an old black and white shot of a woman who looked a lot like Abbey (probably her mom, he reflected) standing in front of a car lot. The woman stood next to a smiling man in a tweed suit as they posed in front of an old Buick. There were other older cars in the background, their windows decorated with words like "On Sale! Today Only!" and "Bring one home to the Missus!" written in white shoe polish. The man held a set of keys towards the camera, beaming like a child with a gold star on his report card.

  Matt smiled. He could see where Abbey got her looks. He got up and stepped over to the wall to get a better look at the photo. Abbey's mother smiled prettily back at him. They had the exact same smile: big and bright and full of life.

  "Wait a minute," he whispered. He reached up and plucked the picture from the wall, bringing it closer to his face. No fucking way...

  "Nice picture, isn't it?" Abbey's voice came from behind him.

  Matt turned to see her leaning against the doorframe.

  "That's not your mother, is it?"

  Abbey shook her head. "Nope. That's me with my first husband, Clark, on the day we bought our very first car."

  Matt looked back at the picture and took it in. The cars, the clothes, the way Abbey's hair was styled. Like Rita Hayworth's but not as dark. "When was this taken?

  Abbey sighed. "Nineteen forty-seven." She walked over and grabbed the picture from Matt's hand and placed it back on the wall, tracing the outline of Clark's face with her index finger. Her lips bent up into a rueful smile. "The same year we got married."

  Matt stared back at her, his mouth agape. Nineteen forty-seven? Sixty-four years ago? But she looked exactly the same. "How...?"

  "What do you say we go have a drink, cowboy?" Abbey asked.

  Matt looked at his watch. "It's only ten a.m."

  Abbey folded her arms over her chest. "Do you honestly give a fuck what time it is?"