Dale must have caught Matt's expression. "That's right, Matt. I know all about you. And I know all about Happy Burger, the sawmill, and Andy Goodis, too. Did you tell her about that?"
Matt's fists clenched. He couldn't help it. Dale's words, along with his twisted face, brought back too many memories.
# # #
Andy lay on the ground in a growing pool of blood. The two blasts from the shotgun had obliterated his once massive chest. Jagged ribs poked out from the red, oozing mass where his best friend's heart had once been. Bits of bone and gore covered the floor directly behind the body. In the background, Silbert continued to whimper, perhaps thinking Matt would follow his friend's lead, after all.
But all Matt could see as he lowered the smoking barrel was Andy's face. The rot and decay that had covered him were gone, leaving the skin smooth and undamaged. In that whole, unblemished expression, Matt saw the sadness his friend had borne his whole life. If only Matt had seen it sooner, maybe he could have done more to help. Then again, maybe not. Andy had always been a bit of an asshole, even when they were kids.
Now it was too late.
Matt's eyes fell to something else laying in the sawdust. A sticky wet lollipop. The calling card of Mr. Dark. And then Matt had his answer.
Andy had always been a prick, but he'd never been a murderer. Not until he met Mr. Dark. From the rafters came the sound of Mr. Dark's gleeful laughter, and Matt realized what he had to do. He took one long last look at the body of the man who'd been his best friend his whole life, then turned to leave the mill.
Laugh it up, you motherfucker, he thought. I'm coming for you.
# # #
"You don't know anything, Dale," Matt said sadly. "I loved Andy like a brother. No one misses him more than I do."
"Then why did you kill him?" Dale didn't even try to hide the sneer in his voice.
"Because," Matt whispered, "I had to."
"Matt?" Abbey asked. "What's going on?"
Matt looked at her, unable to speak. He could only shake his head.
Dale beamed, his face triumphant. "Yeah, Matt. Tell her what's going on. Tell her all about how you shot Andy Goodis twice in the chest and then split town. Tell her how you killed the guy who'd been your best friend since you were kids. Go ahead, I bet she'd love to hear it."
Abbey took a step back. Her hand went to her mouth as several people nearby gasped. "What?" she asked, looking at Matt. "What's he talking about?"
The fear in her voice took the last bit of fight out of him. He tried to look at her, but all he could see was Andy's face. His sad, lifeless face as he slid to the floor in a wet, bloody heap. Matt's fault. Matt's finger on the trigger. Matt's failure to notice his friend's pain. His shoulders fell, and he shrugged his arms free of the people holding him back.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," Dale said.
"He's a murderer? Why isn't he in jail?" someone behind him asked.
"Shit, Dale. Arrest that fucker!" someone added.
"Can't," Dale said. "They never charged him with anything, but damned if I know why." He turned his sneer back towards Matt. "What happened, man? Your buddy go soft on you? Wanted to stop? That why you shot him?"
Matt felt his anger rising. Bad enough he had to relive that same day in his mind over and over again, but to have some hick lawman accuse him of murder? It was almost more than he could take. Time to go, he thought, before I do something I'll regret.
He stepped around Dale and Abbey. The other patrons in the restaurant gave him a wide berth. He heard their whispers as he walked by, but he couldn't understand them past the roaring in his ears. In his mind, all he could see was Andy. Dead.
Someone grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him around. Matt found himself face to face with Dale. Despite the officer's earlier words, he did, in fact, smell like booze.
"Oh, no you don't," Dale said. "We still have a few things to talk about." He grabbed Matt by his shirt with his left hand and reared back with his right fist. "Here comes one."
Matt whipped his hand around and knocked Dale's arm aside. Dale tried to recover but managed only to grab Matt's sleeve. Matt then grabbed the lawman by the collar of his shirt and jerked him forward, driving his forehead into the stunned police officer's face. Dale's eyes lost all focus, and his grip on Matt's sleeve lessened.
"You don't know anything," Matt repeated, then shoved Dale backward. Dale flipped over a table, snapping it in two and sending a plate of food and a soda into the air with a crash. He landed hard on the other side amid a tangled mass of splintered wood and someone's lunch. Matt didn't stick around long enough to see if he was all right. He headed for the door in a rush. The crowd of people in front of him parted to let him pass.
As he reached the door, he heard Dale's voice behind him. "Just keep on walkin', mister. When you get out the door, just keep on walkin'. You ain't welcome in Crawford no more."
Yeah, Matt thought. Like I ever was.
# # #
Matt spent the rest of the day walking around the town. He kept his distance from the people he saw, not wanting to find out if Dale had told anyone else about his past. It turned out that he didn't need to worry about that. Crawford, Tennessee, was a small town, and Matt, who grew up in a small town himself, knew that news traveled fast in a place where the best entertainment around was the local gossip. It didn't take long before people were pointing at him in the street and whispering. Most of the town's residents avoided his eyes and crossed to the other side of the street when he approached. He heard a few of them mutter insults, but none of them did so loud enough for him to make out their words.
Matt liked those people. They left him alone, giving him time to think.
Every once in a while, Matt would come across someone who didn't avoid him. He liked those people a lot less than the others. This second group of people usually stood their ground and frowned or sneered at him as he walked by, almost daring him to try something. Matt didn't want any more trouble. He'd already had enough to last a lifetime.
Just keep on walkin', Dale had said. You ain't welcome in Crawford no more.
Matt intended to take that advice. The last thing he needed was a feud with the local police. No good could come of it, and it might slow him down too much to ever catch up with Mr. Dark again. It would be far better for everyone involved if he just left Crawford and everyone in it far behind and never set foot in the town again. But he couldn't go yet.
His grandfather's ax was still at Abbey's.
CHAPTER NINE
Matt didn't know the way to Abbey's house, and he didn't want to ask for directions. With my luck, they'll arrest me just for asking, he thought. So he spent the day wandering around the area near Abbey's Antiques, hoping she would make an appearance. Then maybe he could explain away Dale's accusations.
Yeah, right. What the hell am I gonna say? Abbey didn't know him and had no reason to believe anything he said. He should just cut his losses and go. But something kept him circling the area of the store. It took him a while to figure it out, but the walking helped to clear his head, and eventually he put his finger on it.
She could see the sores, too.
Of all the people Matt had met, she was the only one who could ever understand what he was going through. Even Rachel—the girl he left behind back in Deerpark—didn't get it, and she was in love with him. But Abbey knew what it was like. If anyone outside of his hometown would believe him about Andy's death, it would be her.