Danny nervously fiddled with his empty paper cup, rolling it over and over in his hand. “He’s coming, you know.”
Harrison paused, looking up from the carpet, bewildered. “How the hell … how could I not know? The man has been hunting me for as long as I can remember. He’s a bloodhound. Don’t tell me what I do or do not know. I check my back every three steps on the street, expecting to see him trailing me. I open the door to every room, every closet each night, imagining that he’s skulking in the shadows. I’ve feared him longer than you’ve been alive, boy. I am very aware that he is coming.”
Danny hesitantly looked down at the carpet, realizing his mistake, and said nothing more. Harrison leaned back in the armchair, withdrawing the cigarette from his mouth. He blew a small cloud of smoke from his nostrils, then put the stub into the ashtray. Without warning he began coughing violently, thrusting his arm toward the bottle of scotch on the floor near Danny’s chair. Danny jumped up and handed over the half-empty bottle. Harrison downed what was left and then set the empty bottle on the table next to him, alongside a dozen other empty bottles. The motion knocked the cigarette pack to the floor, scattering cigarettes and tobacco.
Danny’s eyes scanned the bookshelves behind Harrison. When he’d first arrived, Danny had been awestruck by Harrison’s collection of novels, but he had soon realized the story that most fascinated him was that of the old man hunched before him. Danny quickly knelt, lit a new cigarette for Harrison and gathered the rest back into the pack. Harrison nodded in appreciation, although the scowl never left his face. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the chair, taking a long drag.
Danny fidgeted in his seat before speaking once more. “Have … have you ever seen his face?”
Harrison grunted, a deep guttural sound. He flicked open an eye, looking Danny up and down. “The thing ain’t even human, boy. I hope I’m never close enough to see his face. Don’t want to.”
Danny reached for one of the empty bottles, turned it over hopefully then replaced it on the table. Just then, there was a loud knock at the door. Danny looked at Harrison, who sighed, put out his cigarette, and slowly reached for the gun on the side table.
“Time’s up, boy. He’s here.”