“He’s just old, honey,” Billie said, looking at the stick-thin man with sympathy. “He lives up on the hill. I don’t think he has anyone.” The thought made her impulsively hug Del, much to the boy’s embarrassment.

“Well,” Bean said with a raucous sigh as if to announce something important, “I’m going home.” He ground his ninth butt into the ashtray and laid a bill beside it. “If she doesn’t open up this time, I’ll kick the door down.”

“You mean you’ll sleep at the jail?”

He broke into his patented shit-eating grin. “More than likely. Boys, you take care of yourselves.” He turned to Stiles. “Still interested in that work?”

“I’ll be over first thing in the morning.”

“Well, I won’t. Late shift again tomorrow night. But I told the marshal you’d be by sooner or later. Well, g’night, all.” As he went out, he opened and closed the door several times but couldn’t keep the bell from clanking. He finally gave up and left, shaking his head.

“I’d better get back to work,” Billie said. “We’ll be closing pretty soon. Chris, how’d you like to come by for a drink after I get off?” She realized immediately how serious she’d sounded and thought to add, “Wouldn’t we like that, boys?”

He shook his head. “It’s getting kinda late. . . .”

Del reached over and touched his hand. “Please, Mr. Stiles?” The fear was still there in his eyes.

He smiled. “Sure, why not?” Billie beamed radiantly and, straightening her apron, went back to the counter where Frank Sipes had fallen sleep on folded arms.

Del looked over at his silent brother. “Hey, Bart,” Del wondered, “what are you working on?”

The older boy had spread the front page of the Friday paper on the table and was doctoring the photo on it with an ink pen. He finished and offered it to Stiles. “Look familiar?”

The face in the grainy photograph had been withered with blue ink, the cheeks hollowed and a scar added, the brows darkened, the hair grown long and wild. In fact, the photo no longer looked like Sebastian Danner at all. It looked like something altogether different, something monstrous. Something from beyond the grave . . . or beyond a cellar wall.

6

Chapter Six

At a little past two in the morning, the Tunnel wasn’t nearly as busy as it had been earlier. Only a few cars remained, their drivers either those too drunk to make it home, or waiting each other out to see just how scary the Tunnel could be in the wee hours of the morn. Most were parked near the Isherwood end.

Headlights appeared in the mouth of the Tunnel and moved slowly past them. Most dismissed it as Charlie Bean on patrol again. A few noticed the yellow T-Bird, didn’t recognize it, and prepared themselves for some out-of-town trouble. But the car didn’t stop. It drove on into the blackness of the Tunnel, until it was swallowed up.