Cornelius Hanlon—known across the nation as the Shadow Man—glanced up from the dashboard, squinting through the darkness. It had just begun to rain. Fat drops were smacking up against the windshield like translucent bugs.

He fumbled around until he found the wiper switch—he was unfamiliar with this model of Chrysler. And when he finally clicked it, the glass in front of his face turned out to be greasy, obviously unwashed for weeks. The rubber blades, scything noisily across it, made such a blur that he could barely see where he was going. He wished that he’d stolen a better car, a newer one. But there had not been time for such refinements. Cornelius craned forward to get a better view.

It had been a couple of hours since he’d fled Boston. But he was still in Massachusetts, he felt sure. He was on a dead straight road with barely any lighting, that ran like a needle through the heart of the New England woodlands. Dense, tangled shadows were the only things he could make out.

He’d practically been caught back in the city. His heart thumped when he thought about it. The cops had turned up without any warning, and he’d barely gotten away by the skin of his teeth, vanishing into the sewers underneath the basement of his home.

They’d been going through his stuff by this hour. He hated the thought of that. All his copies of the Bible, with the passages in Revelation underlined. Hell, even his diaries, which were numerous and complex. Did any of those idiots have the sense to read between the lines, and understand the basic truth behind what he’d been doing?

How had they found him at all? He’d thought he was invulnerable to human interference. But the voices in his head kept telling him that he ought not to worry. The Old Ones were still watching over him, and he would come through this safely.

The point was proved a short while later. A bright rectangle of light appeared ahead. As he got closer to it, he could see it was a gas station. Cornelius slowed down and pulled in, drawing up to a pump.

He stared in through the storefront window as he filled the tank. There was only one teenaged boy on duty—stubble-chinned, sporting a ponytail—who hadn’t even seemed to notice he was there. His gaze was fixed on a small portable TV. His mouth was slightly open and his eyes looked glassy, reflecting the images.

Unawares. He preferred catching people unawares. Just perfect.

The noise from the set washed over him as he walked in. He recognized this show. It was a rerun of
The Simpsons
—Homer was falling, with multiple yelps, down Springfield Gorge. Cornelius cleared his throat. The ponytailed kid glanced across at him, looking slightly annoyed to be disturbed. Then he seemed to remember what his job was. His expression became milder.

“Hi, there.” He peered at the readout on the till. “That’ll be seventeen-ninety, dude. Need anything else?”

Dude?

“Just the gas and I’ll be on my way, young man.”

Cornelius handed him a credit card. Not one of his. It belonged to the owner of the Chrysler. Who, presumably, was still lying in that alley in the South End, with his throat slit open like a second mouth.

“Okay, then—” and the kid glanced boredly down at it. “Mr. Mackie.”

Cornelius just smiled and nodded. The transaction was being rung up, and this whole business seemed to be going fine, without the slightest hitch. When the cartoon voices abruptly stopped.

“Tonight’s big breaking news,” a woman suddenly announced. “The Shadow Man—the killer who’s been terrorizing the Boston–Cambridge region for the past eleven months—has finally been identified as one Cornelius Caldwell Hanlon. A statewide manhunt is underway tonight, with police convinced that he has left the city. They are advising the public not to approach the man, and anyone spotting him should notify the authorities at once.”

Cornelius looked over at the little screen. And there, squarely on it, was a photograph of him—his driver’s license photograph, in fact, which was not a particularly good one. His flat, bald scalp reflected too much light. His jowls looked thicker and more pendulous than was actually the case. And there were such dark shadows underneath his eyes, they seemed like holes punched in a mask.

When he turned back, the kid was gazing at him very strangely, the color disappearing from his face. Cornelius’s grin grew wider.

“Sorry to have deceived you, young man. Very impolite of me. Apparently, I am not Mr. Mackie after all.”

Then he started to make his way behind the counter. He did it casually, in no great hurry. There was nowhere for the kid to go.

“Identity theft is such a dreadful problem these days, isn’t it?” he pointed out.

The narrow blade appeared in his hand,

“Especially for you.”

Ten minutes later, he was back on the same road, still wondering where it would take him. Across the state line, hopefully. The rain had stopped, and the moon had come out. The shadows around him looked even more profound under its warmthless light, the woodlands like a series of mazes folded across each other. The kind of place where some primeval beast might dwell.

But then, more circles of light appeared. A pair of headlamps, in the distance behind him. As they drew closer, he could see that they belonged to a patrol car. But no beacon came on, and there was no siren he could hear. It was doubtlessly simply a trooper, going about his usual rounds.

Cornelius bit his lip all the same. His hands grew clammy on the wheel.

You are already in the process of becoming invincible, the voices in his head assured him. A higher breed of being, capable of doing anything you want.

That calmed him down a fair way. Although not completely. The cruiser trawled along behind him, keeping a safe distance. But there was no way to be sure how much longer that would last. The cop might already be checking on his license plate, or even calling in for backup. It would be better to get off this goddamned road, and fast.

When a ramp appeared a minute later, Cornelius took it without hesitation. The patrol car didn’t follow him. It simply stuck to the main drag, and went humming on by. So all that panic had been for nothing. He let out a depleted breath and then scolded himself. He had to trust the Old Ones more.

This was a far narrower road. And the forest seemed to be even more thickly tangled than it had been earlier on, if that was possible. And where might he be on his way to? There hadn’t even been a sign.

He was surprised, then, when he crested the next hill and a good-sized town came in sight. Rows of streetlamps sprawled below him, illuminating the roofs of hundreds of clustered houses. There was a river running through the middle of the place, and a big square to the north of that. Which was surrounded by some rather larger buildings whose function he could not make out. He could even see a park with a huge lake in it, its surface reflecting the moonlight.

Cornelius pulled over and rummaged in the glove compartment until he found a map, which he spread out. No town of any size was indicated here. So where on earth had he wound up? Maybe he’d become confused, and had not been headed where he thought he was.

No matter. This seemed as good a place as any to hole up for a while. So he put the map away and then continued on. He would find out where he was soon enough. And—who knew?—maybe he could even perform some more of his ceremonies here. A warm tingle ran through him, at the thought of that. What he did, yes, was vital and sacred. But enjoyable as well—and he was not ashamed to admit it.

He even had a name for that whole aspect of the work that he engaged in. Special Fun. His anxiety melted away and he beamed suddenly, as happy as a child.

Oh yes, yes. Watch them try to beg against the pressure of the gag. Watch them clench their jaws on it, then try to scream. Their eyes became so wide—at that point—it was almost like they were in love with him.

Special fun. It might be breaking man’s laws, but the Old Ones approved.

An ancient-looking signpost went by, but Cornelius was too lost in his own thoughts to even notice that.

BOOK: Night of Demons - 02

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