At that moment, white light came upon him, a product of the numbness . . . or maybe it had walked through the sensation as if the feeling was a door. Upon its arrival, a great, peaceful calm overtook his mind, body, and soul sure as if he had been wiped clean of all the sins he’d imagined or wrought during his time on Earth.

The illumination was so much more than anything his eyes were doing. It was all he saw, all he knew, all he was.

Heaven did actually exist.

And oh, the lovely nothingness . . . ah, the blissful—

In the corners of his nonvision, a gray fog boiled up, at first appearing as nothing distinct, but then expanding and darkening to a blackness that started to eat at the light.

Matthias fought against the invasion, his instincts telling him that this was not what he wanted—but it wasn’t a battle he would win.

The fog became tar, coating him and claiming him, pulling him downward into a spiral that tightened, tightened . . . tightened . . . until he was flushed out into a sea of others.

As he writhed against the choking, cloaking tide, he bumped into flailing bodies.

Trapped in an oily black infinity, he screamed . . . along with the rest of them.

But no one came. No one cared. Nothing happened.

His eternity had finally claimed him and it was never going to let him go.

CHAPTER 50

CHAPTER 50

“He’s dead.”

As Isaac spoke the words, he rose to his feet and took a deep breath. Across the way, Grier and her father were wrapped tightly around each and he gave himself a moment to appreciate the sight of them alive, and well, and together.

Thank you, God, he thought—in spite of the fact that he wasn’t a religious man.

Thank you, Almighty God.

“Stay here,” he told them before going around and shutting and locking the back door.

It took him ten minutes to search and secure the whole house and the final thing he did was go to the front door and double-check that the dead bolts were properly engaged—

Isaac frowned and looked through a window onto the lawn. There was a small dog out there . . . standing on stocky legs, with his head cocked as he stared in at Isaac. Cute little thing . . . could use a haircut, but that happened to the best of men and boys and terriers.

Isaac cracked the door and called out, “You live here?”

While that head tilted to the other side, Isaac searched the front yard and prayed that at any minute Jim Heron would step out of the trees.

Nothing but the dog, however.

“You want to come in?” he said to the animal.

The thing seemed to smile as if it appreciated the kind invitation. But then it turned and trotted off, a slight limp listing him to the right.

Between one blink and the next the thing disappeared.