Mr. 8

Chapter 37: Promises

Denton?" She spoke in a breathless whisper. She might have been asking whether it was him or if he was alright, but the ambiguity didn't matter. When their eyes met, all answers were forgotten.

He shoved Radnor off and let the man's limp body roll into the snow. The blood matting his hair drew a streak, like an errant brush on a blank canvas.

Linda stood there holding the tire iron in both hands as though it were a broadsword. Her heather gray coat puffed out at the chest with each labored breath. Her white woolen cap sat slightly askew and her hair poked out from one side.

"Is that Cole?" she asked, as Denton got up.

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve leaving a glistening, dark trail behind. Blood continued to drip, warming the corner of his mouth. He sucked in his lip and grimaced at the sharp taste.

"Yeah," he said looking at the body, tempted to give it a kick. Radnor's face was relaxed, as if he were sleeping. It was the only time he had ever seen Cole Radnor look peaceful. "At least it was."

Linda pressed herself against him. Her hug drew his arms tightly against his sides.

"Do you think I killed him?" Worry was deeply ingrained into her words. Her eyes were locked on the seeping head wound.

Even though the voice in his head thought, I hope so, Denton said, "No, I think he'll be okay."

"I can't believe I found you. I've been looking for you everywhere. Thank god, you're alright." Her hands traveled up to his shoulders. She stood on her toes and moved to kiss him on the lips.

Denton pushed her back. "Don't. I'm sick."

She pressed her lips together tightly, draining their color, while her eyes narrowed, registering her hurt. Even in the depths of the worst February flues, they never refused to kiss each other. Their beings had always been too intertwined to care if they shared an illness. Their lives were lived too closely to harbor the expectation that avoiding contact could prevent infecting each other.

Denton turned away from her cold stare and saw Kaling and Strasser moving toward them. They had left their position by the elm and were closing in fast. If it weren't for the elderly couple walking side by side blocking their path, they would have already reached Denton and Linda.

In frustration, each man leaped into the snow on either side of the old people and hastily trudged through to pass them.

"We need to go." Denton grabbed Linda by the hand and pulled her away. The move was quick and decisive, and she didn't resist.

Through his glove, the bones in her hand felt delicate, like the rib cage of a small animal. He was grateful for the leather and the felt lining. There was something shielding her skin from his diseased flesh.

"Listen." Denton glanced back at her. "I don't know what Bill's told you, but I'm not crazy. Everything I said in my email is true. There's a virus in town that is making people psychopathic."

"That's nuts," Linda said. "A disease can't do that?"

"You've met Cole? You've talked to him? Did he ever strike you as homicidal before?" The path they were on began to curve as it left the thicket of trees and entered the emptier area of the park, where the farmer's market convened in the summer.

Linda chewed her lower lip. Denton gave her a second to ponder the man named Cole Radnor, but he knew the answer to his questions. He had always been a little creepy and occasionally annoying, but despite all his great talk, Radnor was timid at heart.