Read Online The Dead Man: Face of Evil by Lee Goldberg, William Rabkin - Free Book Online
Authors: Lee Goldberg, William Rabkin
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headed off to the shed.
Andy and Rachel watched him go. Then they faced each other, no longer bothering to hide their mutual hatred.
"You killed him and he still wants to fuck you," Andy said. “That's the real miracle."
She stepped up close to him, just to prove that he didn't intimidate her. “He's starting a new life, one that doesn't involving carrying your sorry ass anymore. Your failures are your own now. He won't save you."
Matt emerged from the shed, holding the ax in one hand and a toolbox in the other. “You mind if I borrow some of my carpentry tools?"
"You can have 'em," Andy said. “I'm not going to use them."
"Then how are you making a living?"
"I've got a line on a new job that's a lot easier on the back," Andy said. “Besides, you shouldn't be worrying about where my next dollar is coming from. Worry about where you're gonna find the thirty-seven hundred dollars you owe me."
"For what?" Matt asked.
"Your tombstone," Andy said with a grin. “You ought to go out to the cemetery and see it sometime. It's real nice."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Matt spent the next week at Rachel's house, sanding and restaining her cabinets, replacing the dry-rotted wood around her windows, and repairing her fence while she was at work at the sawmill.
He found that working with the wood, which Rachel brought home from the mill, centered him and eased him back into the flow of day-to-day life again.
The fantastic sex, home-cooked meals, and loving, tender company of a good woman didn't hurt, either.
Maybe it was because of all those things, the comfort and the security, that he didn't have any more waking nightmares or delusions.
He also hadn't bumped into Andy again.
The truth was, Matt was thankful that his oldest friend hadn't showed up. He was afraid of what he might see.
What the hell was that on his face?
What did it mean?
But Matt wasn't in hiding. He and Rachel went out for dinner a few times and went shopping in town. So he'd already run into people he knew and even more he didn't know.
He didn't see any more putrid sores or any imaginary doctors from hell.
But did hear again and again about how unbelievable and impossible and miraculous his return was.
Those encounters made him uncomfortable and, as glad as he was to see his friends and as appreciative as he was of their happiness for him, he was also eager to get away from them.
He didn't like the attention. He wanted to go back to being just another face in the crowd.
His intention was to move in with Rachel and make a living as an independent carpenter. But he was quickly coming to the conclusion that the only way he'd be able to have a normal, anonymous life again was if they moved somewhere else, where nobody knew him.
He was planning on talking about it with Rachel when she got home from work at the sawmill. But before he could get around to it, she practically tackled him to the floor and fucked him with such animal ferocity that he thought she might morph into a werewolf when she came.
The enthusiastically carnal encounter left them both ravenous, so she insisted that they go out for something to eat. Considering how nice she'd been to screw him nearly senseless the second she walked through the door, and considering the sacrifice he was about to ask of her, he told her they could eat anyplace she wanted.
He was hoping for the Charles, the hotel restaurant with the best steaks in town, or maybe La Rêve, the French restaurant on the river.
She picked Happy Burger.
A regional fast-food franchise just outside of town, off of Highway 99.
He was disappointed, but if that was what she craved, he was happy to oblige.
Besides, it was her money that they were spending. He was penniless. He'd willed Andy what little he had in his bank account, and his buddy had already drunk his way through it.
Happy Burger had been around since the 1950s and was one of the chief employers of teenagers and high school dropouts in Deerpark.
All the workers wore
Andy and Rachel watched him go. Then they faced each other, no longer bothering to hide their mutual hatred.
"You killed him and he still wants to fuck you," Andy said. “That's the real miracle."
She stepped up close to him, just to prove that he didn't intimidate her. “He's starting a new life, one that doesn't involving carrying your sorry ass anymore. Your failures are your own now. He won't save you."
Matt emerged from the shed, holding the ax in one hand and a toolbox in the other. “You mind if I borrow some of my carpentry tools?"
"You can have 'em," Andy said. “I'm not going to use them."
"Then how are you making a living?"
"I've got a line on a new job that's a lot easier on the back," Andy said. “Besides, you shouldn't be worrying about where my next dollar is coming from. Worry about where you're gonna find the thirty-seven hundred dollars you owe me."
"For what?" Matt asked.
"Your tombstone," Andy said with a grin. “You ought to go out to the cemetery and see it sometime. It's real nice."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Matt spent the next week at Rachel's house, sanding and restaining her cabinets, replacing the dry-rotted wood around her windows, and repairing her fence while she was at work at the sawmill.
He found that working with the wood, which Rachel brought home from the mill, centered him and eased him back into the flow of day-to-day life again.
The fantastic sex, home-cooked meals, and loving, tender company of a good woman didn't hurt, either.
Maybe it was because of all those things, the comfort and the security, that he didn't have any more waking nightmares or delusions.
He also hadn't bumped into Andy again.
The truth was, Matt was thankful that his oldest friend hadn't showed up. He was afraid of what he might see.
What the hell was that on his face?
What did it mean?
But Matt wasn't in hiding. He and Rachel went out for dinner a few times and went shopping in town. So he'd already run into people he knew and even more he didn't know.
He didn't see any more putrid sores or any imaginary doctors from hell.
But did hear again and again about how unbelievable and impossible and miraculous his return was.
Those encounters made him uncomfortable and, as glad as he was to see his friends and as appreciative as he was of their happiness for him, he was also eager to get away from them.
He didn't like the attention. He wanted to go back to being just another face in the crowd.
His intention was to move in with Rachel and make a living as an independent carpenter. But he was quickly coming to the conclusion that the only way he'd be able to have a normal, anonymous life again was if they moved somewhere else, where nobody knew him.
He was planning on talking about it with Rachel when she got home from work at the sawmill. But before he could get around to it, she practically tackled him to the floor and fucked him with such animal ferocity that he thought she might morph into a werewolf when she came.
The enthusiastically carnal encounter left them both ravenous, so she insisted that they go out for something to eat. Considering how nice she'd been to screw him nearly senseless the second she walked through the door, and considering the sacrifice he was about to ask of her, he told her they could eat anyplace she wanted.
He was hoping for the Charles, the hotel restaurant with the best steaks in town, or maybe La Rêve, the French restaurant on the river.
She picked Happy Burger.
A regional fast-food franchise just outside of town, off of Highway 99.
He was disappointed, but if that was what she craved, he was happy to oblige.
Besides, it was her money that they were spending. He was penniless. He'd willed Andy what little he had in his bank account, and his buddy had already drunk his way through it.
Happy Burger had been around since the 1950s and was one of the chief employers of teenagers and high school dropouts in Deerpark.
All the workers wore
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