"Put the gun down, Brad," a woman's voice cried. "Please! You don't want to do this!"
"The hell I don't!" Brad replied. The shadow on the floor moved. Matt noted the raised shape, which looked like an arm pointing deeper into the room. "Say good-bye, Laura."
He wasn't going to make it. He did the only thing he could think of.
"Stop!" Matt shouted. "This is the police!"
"Fuck!" Brad's voice again.
"Help me! He's crazy!" That would be Laura. A third voice, a man's voice, joined in the chorus but Matt couldn't make out his words.
"Put the gun down, Mr. Linderholm!" Matt ordered, trying his best to sound like a cop.
The shadow arm lowered, and Matt breathed a sigh of relief. He stood just outside the door now, not wanting to go into the room until he knew the gun was on the floor. "That's good. Now, drop the gun. Nice and slow."
"Oh thank God." Laura's voice. "Thank you, Officer."
The other man in the room, Johnson, whimpered, but Matt couldn't tell if he was talking or just blubbering.
"Hell with this," Brad said. The shadow arm snapped up again, but this time it pointed the other way, back towards the hallway. Matt couldn't figure out what it meant. At least, not until the shot went off and a piece of the door exploded two inches in front of his face.
"Fuck!" Matt screamed. He dove for the floor just as another round tore through the door right where his head had been and thudded into the wall opposite.
"You don't sound like a cop," Brad jeered. "Where's your authority now, fucker?"
Two more shots split the door in half. One of the rounds embedded itself into the floor by Matt's feet. The other tore a line of fire across his shoulder. Matt yelped. That fucking hurt! He looked at the wound and was relieved and horrified to see it was just a graze. Relieved because he knew he'd be fine, and scared because now that he knew how much a grazing bullet hurt, he was in no hurry to find out what a solid hit felt like.
Brad Linderholm, his blue suit wrinkled and his shoes scuffed, stepped around the splintered door and out into the hall, his gun leading the way. It was a big bastard, too. It looked like a hand-held cannon. But that wasn't what drew Matt's attention.
When he had seen Brad near the restaurant, his face had just begun to fester. Now it looked as though Brad had been dead for a month or more. His face was half rotted away, allowing Matt to see the bone of his lower jaw. What flesh remained on the skull was limp and gray, and a host of insect larvae had set to devouring it. The stench of rot flowed into the hall like a thick, noxious cloud, making Matt gag despite the severity of his situation.
He scrambled backward, but soon found his back against the far wall. Brad smiled, his face dripping bits of flesh on the floor as the tattered muscles forced his lips into a grin.
"You're no cop," he said, and leveled the gun at Matt's head. Matt closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable.
"I am," came a voice from down the hall. It was followed by a gunshot. The loud crack of the shot sounded like Armageddon in the confines of the hall, and Matt would have sworn his ears split open. At first, he thought Brad had done it. He'd pulled the trigger and blown Matt's brain all over the wall behind him. But he hadn't felt any pain. Then again, maybe he wouldn't. He couldn't remember the last time he died. Had he felt pain then?
"Son of...a...bitch..." Brad's voice. But it sounded strained, almost a wheeze.
Matt opened his eyes. Brad still stood in front of him, but the big gun was now pointed at the floor. Brad held his left hand clamped over his heart, where a large red stain grew bigger by the second. His face was turned down towards his chest, probably watching as his blood drained away. "Fucking...bitch..."
Brad slumped to the floor, his torso leaned sideways against the wall. The gun fell to the hardwood with a clatter. As he died, the rotting sores vanished, leaving his face clean and smooth, an ordinary man after a day at the office. Just like Andy, Matt thought.
The sound of a woman weeping came from the bedroom, as well as a man's voice saying "Oh shit oh shit oh shit" over and over again. Matt could sympathize. If he had his voice, he'd probably be saying the same thing.
"Well, look who's here," said a voice behind him. "We meet again."
Matt turned to see the cop from Abbey's, Dale, standing ten feet away, his gun raised and pointed at Matt. He didn't look happy.
"You mind telling me just what the fuck you're doing here, Matt?"
CHAPTER FIVE
"Well?" Dale asked. Matt couldn't help but notice that the lawman had yet to holster his pistol. A thin trickle of smoke rose from the barrel. It wasn't as big as Brad's gun, but it could still put a big hole in something. Or someone.
Matt found his voice. Finally. "I was just trying to help."
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."