The Boys Are Back in Town by Christopher Golden Read Free Book Online

talking about? I'm not supposed to want to see him, or I'm not supposed to get pissed 'cause he said he was gonna show and he—”
    Danny twisted his head to the left as if suddenly offended by Will's smell. Will was stunned to silence. His best friend had just recoiled from him in what could only be disgust. Danny was a big joker, but there was nothing remotely resembling jest in his manner now.
    “What?” Will demanded.
    Abruptly Danny looked at him again, pinning Will to the ground with the intensity of his glare. “Mike? Mike fucking Lebo?”
    Will spread his arms wide. “Ye-eahh?”
    With a quick glance over at the table, where Eric had rejoined his wife and the other women, Danny took a deep breath and let it out. He was calmer when he looked back at Will, but the disgust had been replaced by something akin to disappointment.
    “Maybe you're past it, bud. Me? I still have nightmares about his funeral. It's never gonna be funny to me.”
    Will felt a numbness spread through his body. His mouth began to gape. “Funeral? What are you . . . wait, no, fuck that. You're saying Mike's dead? Jesus, when did—”
    Danny held up a hand to stop him. “Stop.” He narrowed his eyes angrily. “When you decide to stop being such a prick, you know where the table is.”
    In stunned silence, Will watched his best friend turn and walk away.
    I still have nightmares about his funeral.
That's what Danny had said. But Mike could not be dead. Will had received an e-mail from him just a week ago.
    And yet now, as he thought about it, tasted the concept with his mind, he found just a whisper of a memory in his head, something about a hit-and-run.
    A funeral.

Up on the platform, Stacy growled into the microphone, smiling mischievously as she sang Sheryl Crow's “Steve McQueen.” Maybe a dozen people had abandoned their seats or their quiet corners and gathered to bump and grind in front of the platform. There were several Will did not recognize, but the others were all older versions of familiar faces. Others stood up behind him and started in dancing as well, so that he was caged on either side by laughing, gyrating people.
    A frenetic, benevolent energy exuded from them just as surely as sweat and alcohol from their pores, and yet it touched him not at all. The evening's celebration churned all around him but he was no longer a part of it. The colorful dresses on the women seemed tacky all of a sudden, and the laughter perverse. A hollow place had opened up inside of him.
    Will felt completely detached, as though he had phased into some gray limbo, passed out of existence completely, and the rest of the world went on around him as though he wasn't there at all. He had had dreams like this, and they had always terrified him. The room had taken on the texture of a dream now, and the air he was breathing was not quite right. The voices were too loud, the music somehow muffled.
    He closed his eyes and felt himself swaying, knew he was about to pass out but could do nothing to stop it.
    “Will?” a soft voice said, a gentle hand steadying him.
    His eyes fluttered open. The delicate, almost otherworldly face of Martina Dienst swam into focus. Her eyes were narrowed with concern, but other than the tiny lines at the edges of her mouth, she looked as though she had not aged a day in the last ten years.
    “Are you all right?” she asked.
    He stared at her, his throat dry. The woman had changed not at all, and yet it seemed that his eyes had altered, or perhaps what had evolved was his way of seeing. Martina had always been beautiful, but now she was stunning. There was an elegance and grace about her that had always been there but seemed far more vital now.
    “Hey,” he said, forcing a smile that felt stiff and false. “I'm . . . I'm OK. I've just had a really long week.” Will took a deep breath and raised his chin, stood a bit straighter, not wanting her to think he was drunk or high. “You look amazing, by the way.”
    Her