I was lost in bitter memories for a moment. The flare of a match brought me back. The deathly face was considering me as he lit a cigarette.
‘I’d think it was bullshit too if I was you,’ he said. ‘You doubt. I respect that. Doubt’s important stuff.’
He took a long drag, the coal of his cigarette going bright and then dark. Long, blue smoke slid out of his mouth and nostrils as he spoke. It didn’t smell like tobacco. It was sweeter and more acrid.
‘Thing is, kid, you gotta doubt the stuff that isn’t true. You go around doubting whether pickup trucks exist, you’ll wind up on the curb with a lot of broken bits.’
I put my fork against the side of the plate and looked up at him.
‘I’m taking this to the police, you know,’ I said.
‘Won’t do you any good. They’re just going to think you’re nuts. They have an explanation that suits them just fine.’
‘All the same—’
A hard tap came from the front room. Both of us turned to look. The little glass ball that hung over the door had fallen. It rolled uneasily along the unseen slope of the floor-boards. While we watched, the ones over the windows fell too, one-two-three. Midian grunted.
‘When you came in,’ he said, ‘you didn’t drop something behind you? Ashes or salt, something like that?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Nothing.’
Midian nodded and took another drag of his cigarette.
‘That’s too bad,’ he said.
With a bang like a car wreck, the front door burst in.