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outside law enforcement."
          "Why wouldn't we want to get the media involved?" Faux asked, honestly puzzled. "I know the press can be a pain in the ass, but if you use them right, they can be an asset."
          Teague and Baker look at each other again, something silent passing between them. Before Faux can call them on their evasiveness, a tough looking old man with a scar on his face stopped at their booth and addressed Teague. "Derek Teague, I thought that was you."
          Teague was caught off guard by the old man's sudden appearance and didn't object when the man sat down in the booth beside him. He stretched his hand over the table and said, in his gruff voice. "Alric Underhill."
          "Darius Faux. It's good to meet you, Mr. Underhill." Faux shook the man's hand, surprised by the strength in that callused iron grip. Underhill gave him a nod, his piercing eyes seeming to read more in one glance than most people retained from hours of study.
          Underhill gave every man at the table a long look and shook his head. "I've never seen a sorrier looking lot of law enforcement professionals in my life. I take it things in Matheson are worse than I thought?" When Baker and Teague cut their eyes towards Faux, their faces tight with the same evasive look as before, Underhill gave them a sharp look before addressing himself to Faux. "Special Agent Faux, these men seem to be worried that I will reveal secrets to you, secrets best left buried. Myself, I think that you are a man with secrets of your own, else you wouldn't be in our neck of the woods."
          Faux met the old man's gaze and said, his voice soft. "I never identified myself as a Special Agent, Mr. Underhill? And I've never met anybody who didn't have a few secrets?"
          Underhill grunted and narrowed his eyes at the other man, pulling the scar tight under his left eye and giving him a fearsome look. "Matheson's secrets have killed many a poor soul, Agent Faux." His voice low and soft. "And, in some cases, they have done much worse."
          Faux said nothing for a long moment, his mind drawn to his own secrets, to dark and frightening places, filled with bones and blood and bullets.
          Into the silence, Baker said. "Doesn't get much worse than death, does it?" He tried out a soft chuckle, but it sounded like a nervous cough.
          Nobody at the booth said anything, but Underhill and Faux shared a long look. Underhill looked over at Teague and said. "This is a man you can trust, I think, Derek. He may doubt what you tell him, but he won’t break when he sees the truth for himself."
          "The truth about what?" Faux said, looking at all three men in turn.
          "The truth about all the weird shit that seems to keep happening in Matheson." Teague said with a resolved sigh. He drank some tea to wash away the sudden taste of ash in his mouth and continued. "As a kid, my friends and I saw things in Matheson that none of us could explain. Even now, I have to question the things we saw and did? Rationally, I know such things can't exist, not in the real world, but the memories are there, real or not."
          Faux didn't say anything. He watched the people around the diner, eating their evening meals, living their real world lives, and he could almost sense what Teague was talking about. That same sense of underlying wrongness that he felt in his motel room earlier. Something wasn't right in Matheson. Something unnatural. He said. "I've got an open mind, guys. More open then most. But if you're talking about ghosts and ghouls and monsters in the closet, I might need a little convincing before I join the tin hat squad. No offense."
          Underhill's harsh laugh held real mirth. He narrowed his good eye at Faux and said. "If you stay long in Matheson, Agent Faux, you'll have your tin hat. I promise you that."
          Everybody at the booth laughed, but it was forced laughter. They each