Page 34 of After Life
Nothing save for the sound of the rain picking up again outside.
The lights were dimmed in the entrance and, beyond that, all seemed dark. I should go, I thought, turning to let myself out. Before I touched the door, an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion came over me and I let myself collapse onto the bench beside the stairs, barely able to keep my eyes open. “This can’t be good,” I muttered. “Shit.”
It was like falling asleep in a blink. One minute, I was wide awake and the next, I was watching the dream unspool. A man I recognized as Jeremiah strode into the museum’s foyer, a man nearly his equal in size rushing forward to meet him. They argued, their words muffled as if they were behind thick glass or I was under water, the distortion making it hard to tell tone or content. Judging by the way they jabbed fingers at one another, though, at how red-faced they were red-faced and their necks were bulging, I knew it was terrible.
And I knew, without having to see it happen, someone was going to die very soon.
Even as I thought it, the man Jeremiah was arguing with lurched toward the table under the massive portrait of three dogs and a deer, snatching up a letter opener and slashing at Jeremiah. The fight was brief, surprisingly so, and Jeremiah fell to the floor, eyes wide and expression one of great offense.
The man who stabbed him staggered back, shook his head and bolted. The scene dissolved and a soft voice beside me murmured, “My husband was afraid we’d be banished from the island. Or worse, he would be and then I’d be alone.”
“Eliza?” I whispered.
“No... I assume you mean my grandmother, Eliza Noonan. I am... was, maybe... They called me Darla.”
As I looked at the misty shape, she took on more definition. Not much, but enough to see she bore a resemblance to Eliza’s ghost, though she looked different enough not to mistake the two of them on sight. “My husband,” she said, gesturing toward the sight of Jeremiah’s dead body on the floor. “He lashed out in anger when Jeremiah Tibbins sold the parcel down the way. I told him it was no matter, that we’d still have our home, our little corner of the island. But some of the others were furious with him, furious for allowing others onto our island. For letting them close.”
She sighed and for a moment I smelled seaweed, burned wood, and something cloyingly floral. “He was so afraid, my Terrell, but when the others knew what he’d done, you’d have thought he was a conquering hero.” She turned to face me more fully then and, for a moment, her appearance slipped. She wasn’t a fresh-faced young woman from more than a lifetime ago. She was dead, corrupted, her eyes milky-blue and sunken, lips black and split. Then she was wholesome and smiling once more. “This island isn’t kind to the dead,” she murmured. “I can’t show you much more. But you needed to see. To understand what Jeremiah Tibbins is about, especially as he has his sights on you to help him take what we denied him.”
“What do you mean, what you denied him?”
Her smile was grim in her pretty face, dark teeth in rotting gums set in the milkmaid complexion. “His lifetime. It was only fair,” she added, her voice a watery waver. “It was only fair! He ruined our livelihoods! We had a chance and when he sold that land—” She coughed, choked on something her spectral form remembered from her living one. “He said it was to help the island, that we were doomed without outside money coming in, but he was wrong. Terrell told me so and he’d never lie to me. Terrell was... he was a smart man,” she finished, staring off at something I could not see as her form melted like sugar in hot water.
A tremendous bang startled me awake. The lights were off in the entryway, and I was alone in the dark, no longer even remotely sleepy. “Hello? Who’s there?”
“I should be asking the same,” Ray-Don muttered, lumbering into view with his toolbox in hand. “I came to batten this place down for the duration.”
“I wanted to see the museum before it was closed,” I extemporized. “I suppose I was more tired than I expected and accidentally dozed off.”
He grunted. “You’re one weird dude. Come on. I’ll drive you back to Honey Walk.” He stood aside to let me pass and I couldn’t help but notice the cloying floral odor that clung to his clothes. “You sniffin’ me?”
“Allergies,” I muttered, hurrying my steps as a worm of fear started nibbling away at my calm.
Chapter 6 — Julian
If there had been a way for us to safely leave the island right at that very second, I’d have taken it and swallowed the cost, the guilt, and the anxiety.
We were unsafe, and I couldn’t put my finger on the exact nature of the threat, but I knew it came from Sandra.
I kept myself ensconced in our room, trying Oscar’s phone at intervals but receiving no reply. Maybe I should call Ezra. Fuck, no, he’s on his own getaway and Harrison would have my hide if I got Ezra riled up and ruined their week. CeCe? Shit She’s neck deep in her own problems right now.
... Lisa?
No, god, what am I thinking. The stress is getting to me.
I didn’t have long to dither over who to reach out to because my phone chimed with an incoming call. Unknown Number flashed on the screen, but I answered it anyway, thinking it could be Oscar calling from someone else’s phone or even CeCe calling from a hotel or something.
“Doctor Weems?”
“Er, yes?” Please don’t be the police. Please don’t be an ER.
“This is Jim Tomlinson at UUC. How’re you today?”
“Ah! Jim! Hi there. I’m,” I hesitated. “I’m on vacation for the rest of the week,” I finally said, not technically a lie. “I decided to take my boyfriend to Broken Palm after hearing you talk about it.”
“Oh, damn, and that hurricane and all...”
“Well, to be fair, that wasn’t on the map when I reserved a stay at Honey Walk.”
