The Dead Woman

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.

Or so he hoped.

Granted, it was a small hope, but it kept him hanging around Crawford when his better judgment told him to get lost.

As another group of strangers moved to the far side of the street to avoid him, Matt walked past a newspaper machine. He'd passed it several times already but hadn't really noticed it. This time, the headline caught his eye.

'KILLER STRIKES AGAIN,' it read. Then below that, in smaller text: 'Blake County Killer Claims Another Victim.' Below the headline the article talked about the latest in a string of bodies. The photo showed none other than officer Dale Everett at the scene. In the background Matt could make out the black outline of a body bag lying on the bank of a creek. Other officers milled around in the photo, performing their various duties.

Matt checked his pocket to see if he had the correct change, and came up with two quarters, a dime, and three pennies. He put the quarters into the machine, opened the door, and grabbed a copy of the newspaper. There was a wooden bench about a hundred feet down the street from the newspaper machine that offered a good view of Abbey's Antiques, so Matt sat down to read.

According to the article, the latest body was that of a twenty-seven-year-old woman named Eloise Stinnet, and victim number seventeen for the Blake County Killer. Like the previous sixteen, she'd been young and attractive, with a gym-toned body and a head of long brown hair. Also like the previous victims, she'd been stabbed multiple times in the legs, arms, and chest with a large knife. All the bodies had exhibited ligature marks on their ankles and wrists, and each one had traces of ketamine in their system. The victims all had needle punctures in their arms, which explained how the killer administered the drug.

Curiously, none of them had shown any signs of sexual assault, leading the police to believe the killer was impotent. Since the killer was meticulous about cleaning the bodies after he killed them, the police had very few other real clues. Still, the paper was full of theories the police were happy to share. Most of them read like your standard Hollywood profile. The killer was probably a while male aged twenty-five to forty-five, most likely quiet and unassuming, the type of person the neighbors would never suspect. He probably drove a nondescript van or SUV, which he could use to dispose of the bodies. And he probably had a garage, so he could clean up in private.

Matt shuddered to think what the killer would look like to him. A walking skeleton, maybe? A mummified corpse? Most likely, Matt would see him as a half-decayed zombie. Either way, he didn't want to meet the guy.

The article went on to say that Eloise Stinnet had been reported missing from nearby Cranston, Tennessee, over a month ago. The body, which had likely been dumped into the creek shortly after her disappearance, showed signs of having been in the water for weeks. That meant that the killer hadn't struck in almost a month, the writer warned, noting that the killer had been escalating his attacks. At first he'd killed only once every few months, but lately the bodies had rolled in every other week. It ended with a warning from Officer Everett for people to use utmost caution when traveling at night. Walk with a friend, try to be home before dark, don't answer the door for strangers, etcetera.

Matt was just about to fold up the paper when another photo caught his eye. In this one, the county medical examiner stood next to a uniformed officer. Both of them were looking at something on a clipboard. But they weren't what caught Matt's attention. To the right of the ME another officer was putting something into an evidence bag. The image was small, and the resolution none too sharp, but Matt thought he could make out what it was.

A lollipop.

'Fuck me,' Matt said aloud.

Just then a rumble alerted him to the approach of a large truck. He looked over the top of the paper and saw Abbey driving the rented box truck up to the store. It looked like she was alone, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He'd half expected Dale to be riding shotgun, but the cop was nowhere in sight. Good. This was going to be hard enough without that asshole around.

Matt waited until Abbey got out of the truck and walked up to the door. Her black jeans and matching tank top left very little to the imagination, and Matt had a sudden image of her straddling him the night before. He shook his head and ordered himself to snap out of it. The last thing he needed right now was to picture her naked.

Focus!

After she walked into the store, Matt stood from the bench. She probably wouldn't listen to him, but he wanted to catch her inside so she couldn't run away before he had a chance to explain himself. Most likely, she'd just yell at him to leave or call the police, but he meant to at least try to talk to her. If nothing else, he wanted his ax back.

He made it halfway to the door before he heard a noise behind him. Matt whirled around just in time to catch a flash of something shiny as it cracked him on the side of the head.

The sudden flare of pain tore into him like a wild animal, and Matt stumbled backward on wobbly legs. A warm, wet sensation spread down the side of his face, covering his right eye in a sheen of red. Blood, Matt realized, as his legs gave out.

His eyes focused just enough to see a figure advancing on him, aluminum baseball bat in hand. One of the townspeople, perhaps? Come to get rid of the murderer in their midst? Matt tried to get his hands up to ward off the next blow, but the circuits from his brain to his nerves hadn't had time to reset, and all he could to was twitch as he sat on the ground.

'You should have listened to me,' the figure said.

That voice! Matt thought. It sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place it through