Shadow on the Sun by Richard Matheson Read Free Book Online

he turned back again. He walked across the room and twisted up the oil flame, the burnished glow of it crowding darkness into the corners. Then he moved over to the bureau and drew out the top drawer.
    He looked down impassively at the cuffs and collars stuffed inmessily, the mound of starched handkerchiefs. He opened another drawer and stared at the shirts and ties, the undergarments, the books. Abruptly, he shoved the drawers shut. These things were of no value to him.
    He stood before the bureau mirror looking at his reflection—tall, copper-skinned, dark-eyed, the hair ebony-black and long. Steadily, he looked at the reflection of his carven face.
    Then his hand, which rested on the bureau top, stirred and brushed against something. The man looked down. It was a specimen of gneiss rock. He looked at the veiny structure of it, then his fingers closed around it slowly and his gaze lifted again to the mirror.
    He had to find Dodge. He had to find him soon. Fury began to stir in him, and he looked at the wavering reflection of his face in the mirror, at the mounting shapelessness about his features. Only the burning eyes remained steady.
    As he stared, the gneiss rock, hardened by centuries, crumbled to dust between his straining fingers.

5
    T he pendulum clock on the wall behind his desk was just striking for the ninth time as Finley unlocked his office door and went inside.
    Standing in the darkness, he peeled off his dripping slicker and tossed it on the bench beside the door, dropping his rain-soaked hat on top of it. Slowly, he removed his damp jacket and hung it on the clothes tree.
    â€œThere,” he murmured.
    Walking over to the desk, he lifted off the top of the oil lamp and lit the wick, turning the flame up high. Then, replacing the top, he clumped over to the stove.
    There was still a bed of glowing embers near the bottom from that morning’s fire. To this he added newspaper scraps and kindling until the flames fingered up brightly. Then he dropped in heavier chunks of wood. He kicked the stove door shut, pulled a chair up in front of it, and settled down with a sigh. Groaningtiredly, he pulled off his boots and dropped them on the floor. That was better.
    He was just relaxing, eyes shut, deliberating whether or not it was worth the effort to get up and make a pot of coffee, when there was a single, hard rap on the door. He grunted and opened his eyes. Pushing slowly to his feet, he walked across the cold floorboards in his stocking feet and opened the door.
    â€œThere you are,” he said, “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
    â€œHave ya?” Al Corcoran looked exhausted, his eyes rimmed with red, his face drawn and colorless.
    Finley stepped back quickly and drew the door open wide. “Come in and get warm,” he said. “I’ll put some coffee on.”
    Al came in, and Finley shut the door, pulling down the shade that covered its top half of glass.
    â€œNow look, Al,” he said, turning, “before you start—”
    â€œThey ain’t back yet, Finley,” said Corcoran. It was almost a warning.
    â€œI know that, Al,” said Finley.
    â€œAnd they ain’t holed up in some cave,” said Corcoran. “And they ain’t out ridin’ in the rain.”
    â€œAl, there are a hundred places in this area they could be,” said Finley. “You can’t expect to find them on a night like this. I’ve been out looking for them, too, and I couldn’t see a thing. So—”
    â€œSo
nothin’
,” Corcoran interrupted. “You gonna do anything or not?”
    â€œAl, I’ve done all there
is
to do tonight,” Finley told him. “In the morning, we’ll—”
    â€œIn the morning be damned!” flared Corcoran. “For all I know they’re lyin’ out there somewhere with—!”
    He stopped abruptly, breathing hard, as someone knocked on the door. Finley gritted his teeth