Face of Evil

CHAPTER TWELVE

Afterwards, as they lay entwined in the sheets, Rachel rested her head on Matt's chest and listened to the miraculous, comforting sound of his heartbeat as he stroked her hair.

"There were a hundred forest rangers and skiers out on the slopes after the avalanche, probing the ice with poles, looking for you," she said, knowing that she was already breaking the implied promise that she'd made to him in the car at Costco. “We couldn't find you. I didn't want to leave, even after it was clear you couldn't possibly have survived. After a few days, the forest rangers gave up, closed off the area, and said we'd just have to wait until spring, and the snowmelt, to recover your body."

"Here I am," he said.

Yes, he was. She lifted her head off his chest and rolled onto her side, so she could look at him while she spoke, to remind herself that it was true.

"I was blamed by a lot of people for what happened to you, for skiing on a dangerously steep, backcountry run and for not carrying avalanche transceivers. But their blame didn't compare to how much I blamed myself."

"Forget about it. None of that matters now," he said. “I'm alive and I don't blame you for a thing."

She kissed him and looked into his eyes. “There was a memorial service for you. It was beautiful. I cried all the way through it. So did a lot of people. They are going to want to see you again."

"I know," he said, already dreading those awkward reunions, and all the inevitable questions, but knowing that he'd have to get them out of the way soon if he wanted to go back to his life the way it was. “But one on one, as they come along. I don't want to make a big thing out of it."

"It is a big thing, whether you want to acknowledge it or not," she said. “You came back from the dead. Don't you feel any different now?"

"Of course," he said, giving one of her nipples a pinch. “Don't you?"

"What I mean is, what does it feel like to be resurrected?"

He didn't have any memory of dying. One moment, he saw the mountain of snow bearing down on him and the next he was looking into Dr. Travis' stunned face. He had no idea what it actually felt like to die and be reborn.

But then he realized that wasn't entirely true.

"I know what it feels like," he said, "but not because I was buried in an avalanche."

She sat up and looked at him. “I don't understand."

"I've been dead ever since Janey died. Today, with you, is the first time I've really felt alive since that moment." He slipped the wedding ring off of his finger and set it on the nightstand. “You brought me back, Rachel. Nothing else did."

Rachel kissed him and suddenly wanted to do everything they'd just done all over again.

"That's very nice, but you didn't answer my question." She reached between his legs and was surprised, and pleased, to discover that he was already hard, but no more surprised, and pleased, than he was to reach for her and discover that she was already wet. “How does it feel?"

"It feels like-" He searched for the right word, but then she climbed on top of him, took him deep inside of her, and began to slowly grind against him, making it difficult for him to concentrate.

So he didn't. He let go. He let the right word find itself.

"It feels like love," he said.

"I may never let you leave this bed," she said.

"I may never want to," he said.

When Rachel awoke the next morning, Matt was gone.

She felt a jolt of panic, fearing that it had all been a cruelly vivid dream, but then she saw the wedding ring on the nightstand and heard the snap of splintering wood, followed a moment later by the same familiar sound.

She sighed with relief, but her heart was still racing from the shot of adrenaline.

Rachel got up, went to the window, and looked outside.

Matt stood shirtless in her backyard, chopping wood, which was amazing, considering that she'd had no logs to chop.

Which meant he must've jumped out of bed in the wee hours of the morning and cut down a tree.

Unbelievable.

Then again, wasn't that true of everything about him now?

Rachel laughed with joy. She had never been so happy, or so at peace, in her entire life, and she hoped that Matt felt the same way.

When he came back in, they showered together, made love again under the water, and had a huge steak-and-eggs breakfast to slake their ravenous appetites.

After that, she took Matt up to his cabin. She knew things had changed while he'd been "away," but she figured it would be better if he discovered that for himself.

Matt wasn't happy about what he saw.

The property was overrun with weeds, there was trash everywhere, and his truck was up on blocks, the hood wide open, the engine picked clean.

It was no mystery who was responsible for the scavenging of Matt's truck or the deplorable condition of the place.

Andy's truck was parked out front.

Rachel read the expression on Matt's face. “You have no one to blame but yourself. You willed the place to him."

"I wouldn't have if I'd known I'd be coming back."

She laughed-she couldn't help herself. But Matt wasn't as amused.

For him, it felt like only four or five days had passed since he'd left his cabin to go skiing. So it was a shocker to see the rapid decline, especially since the property had never been just a patch of land or place to live for him.

It was the cabin that he'd built by hand for Janey, and that made it a monument to the short time they'd shared together. He'd treated it with reverence, and it hurt him to see it taken for granted.

But he hadn't been gone for just a few days.

He'd been dead.

For months.

And life went on without him.

Matt got out, walked up to the cabin, and knocked on the door. Rachel joined him on the porch, and they waited. After a few moments of silence, Matt pounded on the door loudly and insistently enough to have awakened him if he was still dead.

This time, they heard some grunts, the sound of bottles rolling around on the floor, and some shuffling footsteps, and then Andy opened the door.

Andy was barefoot, wearing only a bathrobe and a pair of stained jockey shorts. His hair was a mess and he was unshaven, which could be forgiven, considering there was a gaping, wet, gangrenous sore in his left cheek about the size of a fifty-cent piece.

Matt took a step back. “Oh my God."

"I think that's my line, buddy." Andy grinned, his teeth yellow, his gums inflamed. “You're the dead guy."

"Jesus, Andy, what happened?" Matt asked.

"I lost my job, my best friend died, I got evicted from my apartment, and my truck crapped out," Andy said. “How about you? How have you been?"

As Andy spoke, pus dripped from his wound onto his bathrobe. His breath smelled like he'd been sucking on a shit-flavored Tic Tac.

"I'm talking about your face." Matt pointed to Andy's cheek.

Andy, baffled, touched his cheek and probed the moist, infected wound with his finger. It sounded like he was stirring pudding.

"Sorry I didn't shave for you. I would've cleaned myself up and put on a tuxedo if I knew you were coming back from the dead today."

Matt turned to Rachel. “Don't you see it?"

"See what?" Rachel said. “He's the same ugly son of a bitch he's always been."

"Thanks," Andy said, then regarded his friend with concern. “What's wrong?"

You mean besides that there's big fucking hole in your face that nobody else sees?

But Matt didn't want to admit it to himself, much less let anyone else know that he was ever so slightly delusional.

"I'm just wondering how a guy can crawl out of his grave after being dead for three months and still look better than you do in the morning."

Matt laughed and forced himself to give his friend a hug to show it was all a joke. But he was careful to hold his breath and stay on the side of Andy's face without the sore.

"It's so great to see you," Andy said, clapping him on the back. “Without you, I had nobody."

"That's why I came back," Matt said.

Rachel frowned. She didn't like the idea that Matt might pick up where he left off, babysitting Andy again.

"Now that you're here, I suppose you want everything back," Andy said. “Would you like me to move out?"

"No," Matt said. “It's your place now. It was part of my old life. I'm starting a new one."

Matt took Rachel's hand and gave it a squeeze. Andy noticed.

"I see," Andy said, picking at his sore and flicking dead skin away.

That's not really happening, Matt told himself. He's just scratching his cheek. There's no wound there.

"I don't want anything except my family photos, Janey's things, and my grandfather's ax."

Andy looked down at his feet, as if he'd just discovered something fascinating about his overgrown toenails. “The ax is in the shed, but the rest is gone."

The words were like a physical blow. A flush rose to Matt's cheeks. “No…"

"You were dead, Matt. That stuff meant nothing to me. What was I supposed to do with it, build a shrine?"

Rachel squeezed Matt's hand. “He's right, Matt."

He knew that, but it didn't diminish the pain or the betrayal.

Hell, the least Andy could have shown was a little regret, even if it was insincere.

It was Matt's life that Andy had thrown away.

No, it was the souvenirs from it.

That life ended three months ago. He was on his second life now. It was time to acquire new souvenirs.

But he'd take what was left.

"I'll go get the ax," Matt said and 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."