The Mountain King Read Online Free PDF Page B

cruiser. They spoke very little on the short drive out to Mark’s house on Cole Hill Road.  
    Mark still seriously doubted how much—if anything— of what he had seen up on Mount Agiochook had been real. The glaring, antiseptic reality of the hospital had reduced the threat of that large, shadowy figure until it seemed to have no place whatsoever in the real world. Still, Mark couldn’t shake the gnawing worry that his eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on him, that he had seen—something. But how could it have been real? 
If his fatigue and fear hadn’t weakened him to the point of hallucination, that meant there really might be something—something dangerous up there on Agiochook! 
“What the fuck is Dennis Cross’s car doing in your driveway?” 
Guy’s voice broke into Mark’s reverie. He shook his head and looked up as Guy slowed down in front of Mark’s house. The cruiser’s headlights swept like a probing searchlight across the front of the house and the red Mustang parked there. 
“Goddamn! That son-of-a- . . .” 
Guy took a deep breath and held it as he pulled to a stop at the bottom of the driveway and killed the engine. Mark already had his door open and was halfway up the driveway, moving with a speed that bespoke his anger. Someone was sitting in the car. Mark knew it had to be Dennis because he was so damned fussy about his ‘83 Mustang he would never let anyone else drive it. He grabbed the car door handle and flung the door wide open, ready to drag the man out onto the lawn if he had to. Guy hustled up the walkway a few steps behind him, his hand on his service revolver just in case things got out of hand. 
“Hey!” Mark shouted, leaning his head into the car. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” 
“Ahh, I was—I was just on my way to work. Third shift for the next few weeks at the mill, you know?” Dennis stammered. He gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands as if he didn’t dare let go of it. “My—uh, my damned car started acting funny on me, so I pulled in to see if I could borrow some tools to fix it.” 
Mark scowled as he studied Dennis, trying to read if there was anything else beneath the stupid-ass grin he was wearing. 
“So, you got it fixed now?” Mark asked. 
Dennis nodded. “Yeah—yeah. Just blew a spark plug is all. Put a new one in, no sweat.” 
“Your hands don’t look like someone who’s been working on a car.” 
    “No, well, your—ah, wife let me wash up after I was done,” Dennis said. His voice had a slight tremor to it that made Mark suspicious, but he forgot all about Dennis Cross as he slammed the car door shut, turned, and went up the side stairs to the kitchen door. He hardly noticed as Dennis started up his car, backed out onto the road, and drove away. 
“Hey! Polly! I’m home!” Mark shouted as he strode into the kitchen. A moment later, Guy appeared in the doorway with Mark’s backpack in hand. 
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then from somewhere inside the house a voice called out, “Mark? Is that you?” 
Scuffing footsteps approached. Polly walked briskly into the kitchen but then stopped short, her eyes widening with surprise when she saw Police Chief LaBrea standing there beside her husband. 
“Oh, Mark!” Polly said. “You don’t know how worried I’ve been, wondering when you were going to call. I’ve been waiting all afternoon for you to call from New Hampshire.” Frowning, she stared back and forth between the two men. “Is something the matter?” She looked past them, out the window toward the driveway. 
    Mark frowned deeply, then hiked his thumb toward the kitchen window. “Dennis Cross was just leaving when we drove up.” 
“Yeah, he—uh, he stopped by on his way to work. God, Mark! I was worried sick when you didn’t call this afternoon. Guy. Why are you here? Has there been any trouble?” 
Mark sighed heavily as the accumulated fatigue of an entire night