EIGHTThere was a dead body in the back seat, and it was staring at Mike.
“It’s not staring at you,” Sandie told him. “Actually, I’m not sure that it can see.”
“It?”
“Well, it’s not a he or a she. I… didn’t exactly check, but it was kind of hard not to notice…”
“I don’t think I needed to know that.”
And still it stared.
Mike kept a firm hold on Sandie’s hand until they got on the Loop and she needed both hands to drive. She looked grim and determined in the green glow of the dashboard lights. It talked to her, she said, talked to her in dreams the way angels were said to do sometimes. Whatever was riding in that weird, hairless body, it was no angel. He watched Sandie’s face carefully, keeping tabs on the thing in the back seat from the corner of his eye.
The bluegrass bar was called
