Hell in Heaven

CHAPTER TEN

The main street was as deserted as it had been when he'd ridden in yesterday. Matt stood in the middle of the road, the axe dangling from one hand, and wondered what he should do next.

He didn't have to wait long. The front door of the general store cracked open and a pair of dark eyes peered out. Then it was flung open. The same little girl who had led the procession the day before ran out into the street.

"It's Matt!" she shouted, twirling in a circle to make sure her voice penetrated the buildings on both sides of the street. "He's back."

Matt stared at the little girl, as if hoping to see through her skin and learn if there were tumors there waiting to take her over. The axe was comfortable in his hand, but he would have used it on himself before he could raise it against a child.

"You know me?" he said.

"Know you?" she squealed. "I've been praying for you to come." She turned back to the general store, to the door that had swung closed after her. "Everybody come out! It's Matt! He's come, just like I dreamed he would!"

The general store's door fluttered as if it was trying to make up its mind. Then it opened slowly. An old woman appeared in the doorway. She was dressed like one of the town's men, dirty jeans and a flannel shirt, but she wore a faded calico bonnet over her gray hair. Her skin was sun-browned and leathered; Matt thought she looked like a walnut in a hat. But her eyes were coal-black and diamond hard, and as she stepped out into the center of the street she never took them off his face.

"No one gave you permission to leave the store, girl," the woman said in a voice as weathered as her skin. "Get back in. I'll tell you when it's safe to come out."

"But he's here," the girl said. "He left with Joan and he came back whole. You know what that means."

"Could mean a lot of things," the woman said, her eyes still fixed on Matt's face. "Could mean he had a night of whoopee with that thing and came here to help out with the dirty work. Could be the bitch queen's found herself a stud."

That settled one question in Matt's mind. They knew about Joan. Knew what she'd planned for him. And they let him go with her anyway. Because they were scared? Or because they'd rather see her take a stranger than one of their own?

"It could," Matt said. "But it doesn't."

The old woman's eyes had never left his face, but somehow they seemed to intensify their glare. "And I'm supposed to believe your word, just like that?" she said. "Because someone – some thing – that's going to join up and do what she does, he's not going to scruple a lie or two on the way."

"I don't care what you believe," Matt said. "I just want to get back to the highway."

"Look at his axe, Orfamay," the little girl squealed. "Look at his axe."

The old woman pulled her eyes away from his face and glanced down at the blade. Then took a step closer, bent forward and ran a finger through the black slime on its edge. Her eyes shot back to his face, then she allowed them a second to examine the ichor she now rubbed between her fingers.

"That's from her, Orfamay," the girl said. "You know it is."

Still keeping her eyes locked on Matt, the old woman smeared the slime off onto her jeans. "That true what the little one says?" she said.

"Go out and look for yourself," Matt said.

"Don't be so tetchy, boy," the woman said, the faintest hint of a smile curling her lip. "You been through what these good folks have endured, you'd be a little cautious, too."

"Is that what you call it when you let an innocent man go off with a monster to save your own asses?" Matt said. "Cautious?"

"We wanted to warn you, Matt," the little girl said, her eyes filled with terror at the thought he might leave again. "We wanted to. But she showed up right behind you. There was nothing anyone could do."

Matt thought back to his arrival. The people of the town had clustered around him, and then drawn back when he'd taken off his helmet. He'd assumed it was because they saw he wasn't the one they'd been waiting for. But Joan had spoken in his ear seconds afterwards. Was it possible that it was her arrival that had caused them to back away from him?

"We lived with that thing for a long time," the old woman said unapologetically. "We knew her rules, and we knew what would happen if we violated them."

"And we knew you were the one who was going to free us," the girl added. "We knew you were our hero."

"I'm no one's hero," Matt said.

But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he began to wonder if that was true. He had been wandering, lost, through his life since he'd been brought back from the dead, searching for his purpose. And while he'd had no idea of what he'd been doing, every step he took had brought him one step closer to Heaven. What had made him buy that motorcycle, head out on that particular highway? What had impelled him to take the exit that led him to this cursed town? Was it possible that this was the reason he'd been reborn?

Standing in the middle of the street, muscles aching, ribs cracked, head pounding, he'd never felt less like a hero. But they'd known he was coming. Known when he hadn't. They'd been waiting for him to liberate them. And he'd done it.

The old woman spat on the street. "Call yourself what you want," she said. "You got the job done, I figure you we owe you."

"I told you," the little girl said. "I told you he'd come."

Ignoring her, the old woman turned back to the open door of the general store. "Time to stop hiding and come on out," she barked. "All of you, come out. The time for cowering's over." She turned back to Matt. "This town owes you. You'll see we repay our debts."

Matt had a vision of himself seated on a golden throne, still clutching his axe, like Conan the Barbarian crowned king on one of those Frank Frazetta paperback covers. It was so absurd he had to suppress a smile.

"You don't owe me anything," Matt said.

"Orfamay Vetch knows something about debts," the old woman said. "This town's books balance. Always have, and as long as I'm in charge, always will. We owe you, and we will repay you."

Behind Orfamay, the street was beginning to fill with people. They all kept their distance, but Matt could see they all had the same expression in their eyes. It was a look of awe.

"All I want is a ride back to the highway," Matt said.

"A ride?" Orfamay said. "The Pingree mule died last winter. Not much here to ride on since it hit the stew pot."

"I was thinking about maybe a car," Matt said, looking for any sign she had been joking. "A truck would be fine. I'm not fussy."

The old woman's eyes narrowed. "A car?" she said. "A private car?"

"I don't really care who owns it," Matt said. "I just need a ride."

"You must think we're all Carnegies around here," she said. "You come to supper tonight, and we'll talk about what we owe you."

Before Matt could say anything, she turned and walked back to the crowd that was still assembling down the street. As he watched her go, baffled, he felt a tugging at his hand.

"Don't worry about her, Matt." It was the little girl, and she was staring up at him with unabashed worship. "Whatever you need, you'll get. The whole town is yours now."