Matt couldn't help but smile. Young Annie was in for quite a workout.
The sound of footsteps brought his mind back to the present. Abbey was leaving her office. The light clicked off, casting the whole building in darkness again, and Matt ducked back down behind the shelf.
Wait, he thought. It's just Annie. Matt knew he could handle the skinny girl from McDonald's. He was more worried about Abbey. She was solid and strong and could no doubt pack a good punch. With him already weak and reeling from his stint as a piñata, he didn't think he could fight off both of them. Still, he needed to get his ax. Maybe he would try to talk to her, after all.
He was just about to stand up when she walked by him again, and Matt's breath caught in his throat. He'd seen her right side as she walked into her office. Now, as she was walking out, he caught sight of the left side of her face.
And the large green sore on her left cheek.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Matt dialed the Crawford Police Department from a pay phone. It had taken him twenty minutes to find one, but he didn't have a cell phone and doubted anyone would let him in to use theirs. Word had spread around town that Matt might be a killer, and every person he passed shied away from him. As it was, he had to look up the number in the phone book. He'd almost called 911, but didn't know what he would tell them. He didn't even know Abbey's address. How could he inform them of what was going on?
No, he needed Dale.
The operator came on the line. "Crawford Police Department. Can I help you?"
"I need to speak to Dale Everett, please. It's an emergency."
"If this is an emergency, sir, you should call 9-1-1."
"No. I need Dale. Could you just get him on the line, please?"
There was a long pause. Then she said, "I'll see if I can get him on the line. I believe he's out patrolling."
"Thank you," Matt replied. He could have kicked himself for not seeing it sooner. Abbey's van, her big garage, the house way out in the country, and her addiction. Dale hadn't known what the drug was called, but Matt would have bet anything those bottles Dale talked about were labeled ketamine. What was it all the Blake County Killer's victims had in common? They were all young, attractive brunettes.
Just like Annie.
There was a crackle on the other end of the line, and then Dale's voice came though.
"This is Dale, can I help you?"
"Dale, it's Matt."
Another long pause. Then, "I thought you were leaving town. It says here you're at the pay phone by Walton and Fitch."
"I was going to leave. I still am, but something's come up. Something important. I need to meet with you. Now."
"What's this about, Matt?"
In the background, Matt heard the receptionist ask if Dale was talking to "that Cahill fella."
"I can't tell you everything because there isn't time, but it's about Abbey."
"I told you I'm done with her."
You might be done with her, but she isn't done with the people of Crawford, Matt thought. "It's not Abbey I'm worried about. It's Annie."
"Annie? Jordan? The kid from McDonald's? What's she got to—"
"Can you just come here and get me? Please? It's an emergency, Dale. We don't have much time."
It's only halftime. The game isn't over yet, Matt.
"It might already be too late," Matt said.
"All right, I'm coming. But if this is some sort of—"
"Thanks, Dale. See you soon." Matt hung up the phone.
Abbey was the Blake County Killer. It all added up. He should have seen it. But she didn't have any sores on her face when he met her, and she seemed so nice. Plus he'd been taken in by her similar ability to see evil, and her story was almost as sad as his own. No wonder he couldn't put the pieces together until now.
Plus, she was one hell of a wild fuck, he admitted.
Matt shook his head. Focus! He needed to figure out how to get Dale to believe him.
One thing at a time, Matt, he thought. One thing at a time. Let him get here, first. Then worry about how to get him to believe you.
The street was dark and eerie but not entirely silent. A faint wisp of laughter rolled up the sidewalk. If he didn't know better, Matt would have sworn it was Mr. Dark. He looked behind him but saw no one. To his right was an empty building that looked like it had once housed a Burger King but now just stood silent sentinel on the sidewalk. To his left the empty street yawned, lifeless and black, with not a car in sight.
Must be my imagination. He tried to convince himself that was the case as he looked up and down the street. All the streetlights in this section of town seemed to be out, and Matt waited in near darkness for Dale to come. He stepped away from the phone booth and walked toward a wood and metal bench set back from the road, barely visible in the shadows of Fitch Street. Might as well have a seat while he waited.
Mat reached the bench and stopped cold. It was a coincidence. It had to be. There was no way the bastard could have known where he would be.
On the bench, stuck to the wooden planks, was a half-finished lollipop.
This time, it was not so easy to dismiss the mad laughter.
Matt turned to see the asshole standing right behind him.
"You!" Matt snarled, and clenched his fists. He took a step towards Mr. Dark, who shimmered in the low light. "What did you do to Abbey?"
Mr. Dark licked his lips and flashed Matt a lascivious wink. "A better question would be: What haven't I done?"
"You sorry piece of shit." Matt swung his fist but connected only with empty air.
Laughter at his back. Matt swung around and launched another blow, a powerful roundhouse that would clean the clock of any normal man.
Mr. Dark wasn't there.
Overbalanced, Matt fell to the ground. He managed to get his right arm up in time to shield his face from the concrete, but he hit hard, scraping his palm and sending a sharp stab of pain through his left wrist.
"Son of a bitch!" Matt said, holding his hand close to his chest.
"I've been called much worse," Mr. Dark said. "Your lack of imagination is showing."
"Fuck you."
"No. Thanks for the offer, though. I've got to get going. Wouldn't want to miss the show."
"I know all about Abbey," Matt said. "And I'm going to stop her before she kills anyone else."
"You really are simple, aren't you?" Mr. Dark shook his head. "It makes me wonder why they chose you."
"Who? Chose me for what?"
"No matter," Mr. Dark continued. "You'll be in prison soon enough."
"What?"
Just then headlights pierced the night, and Matt had to blink at the sudden brightness. When they faded, he was left staring at a black-and-white hood with the words "Crawford P.D." painted in reverse.
The driver's door opened, and Dale stepped out, holding a flashlight. "Matt? What are you doin' on the ground? You okay?"
"I'm fine." Matt rose to his feet, looking left and right but seeing no sign of Mr. Dark. "But we need to get to Abbey's right away."
Dale balked. "Why?"
"I'll tell you in the car," Matt said as he stepped around to the passenger side. His wrist felt sprained, but he couldn't stop to see a doctor just yet. He crawled into the car and sat in the passenger seat, closing the door with a grunt of pain.
"I don't like this," Dale muttered as he got back into the car and closed his own door.