slightly open.
She kicked the door open, braced herself for a confrontation and called out, “Rye police, hands up!”
Raelynn froze.
Two headless men stood in front of her in a small kitchen.
Glasses were broken on the floor and silver plated serving trays were scattered across a long, stainless steel counter. Water ran steadily from the faucet. A large, industrial refrigerator stood open and its bright light shined partially through the two ghosts.
Raelynn blinked, unsure of what to do.
The dead men didn’t hesitate. They drew curious pistols from holsters at their sides, and they fired.
The simultaneous shots deafened her even as the bullets punched through her flesh . Somehow , the rounds passed through her vest, and she felt them slam into her heart. As she fell backward from the force of the blows, her trigger finger squeezed reflexively. She fired off a single shot, which buried itself in the far wall.
Raelynn landed on the floor with a thud and her breath exploded out of her as she felt her heart stop.
It was a strange, worrisome sensation.
I’m dying , she thought. Her eyes closed and she couldn’t catch her breath. The sounds of the world became muffled, and she shuddered.
Why won’t my heart start up? s he asked herself, darkness sweeping over her. Why?
Why won’t it start?
Raelynn gasped for air, and couldn’t think of anything other than her mutinous heart.
Chapter 20: Looking for Mr. Boyd
The morning was cold.
The sun hid behind a bank of dark clouds, and Brian felt certain there’d be rain, regardless of the forecast.
He leaned against his car, smoked the last of his cigar, and saw Rever end Joe. The Rev was in the lead with Luke and Jim a few steps behind. Luke used a white, red-tipped cane with ease while he kept his free hand on Jim’s shoulder. The teen looked completely comfortable with his grandfather, and for a moment, Brian wondered if his own grandfather lurked around his grave.
Brian had loved the man dearly.
He pushed the thought away and looked, instead, at the Central Cemetery in Rye. Inside, among all the other graves, they would find Mr. Jonathan Boyd’s. At first glance, it seemed as though the job would be an easy one.
But in the corners of his eyes, Brian caught movement. The shadowy and hazy movement of the dead.
There were plenty of people buried in Central who either didn’t know they were dead or just didn’t care. Brian wasn’t looking forward to it.
Not at all.
“Good morning,” he said around the stump of his cigar.
The Rever end smiled and then winced.
Brian wasn’t surprised. The Rev’s face looked worse than it had , the night before.
“Good morning indeed,” Luke said.
They stopped beside Brian.
“Do we know where he is exactly?” Brian asked.
“Yes,” the Rever end said. “Lot Q, row seven, grave four.”
“Okay,” Brian said, looking through the gates. “Got an idea as to where Q is?”
“Up and to the left,” Reverend Joe said.
Brian looked and repressed a shudder.
He saw, at least three dead men, and one very old dead woman on the way there.
And they looked at him.
Brian sighed.
“Something wrong, Mr. Roy?” Luke asked.
“Wrong? No. Discouraging? Yes,” Brian replied.
“What’s going on?” Jim asked, looking out into the cemetery, but obviously not seeing what Brian did.
“The dead, Jim,” Brian said, and he had to fight the urge to imitate Dr. McCoy. “There are a few I can see. They know I can see them. I’m just hoping they won’t do anything.”
Jim nodded his agreement.
“So, Luke,” Brian said. “You knew Mr. Boyd?”
“I did,” Luke answered.
“Good man?” Brian asked.
“The best,” Luke said soberly.
“Good,” Brian said. “Should make it a little easier to talk to him, then, if he’s still there.”
With a deep breath, Brian tucked the cigar in between the side mirror and the door frame, squared his shoulders
She kicked the door open, braced herself for a confrontation and called out, “Rye police, hands up!”
Raelynn froze.
Two headless men stood in front of her in a small kitchen.
Glasses were broken on the floor and silver plated serving trays were scattered across a long, stainless steel counter. Water ran steadily from the faucet. A large, industrial refrigerator stood open and its bright light shined partially through the two ghosts.
Raelynn blinked, unsure of what to do.
The dead men didn’t hesitate. They drew curious pistols from holsters at their sides, and they fired.
The simultaneous shots deafened her even as the bullets punched through her flesh . Somehow , the rounds passed through her vest, and she felt them slam into her heart. As she fell backward from the force of the blows, her trigger finger squeezed reflexively. She fired off a single shot, which buried itself in the far wall.
Raelynn landed on the floor with a thud and her breath exploded out of her as she felt her heart stop.
It was a strange, worrisome sensation.
I’m dying , she thought. Her eyes closed and she couldn’t catch her breath. The sounds of the world became muffled, and she shuddered.
Why won’t my heart start up? s he asked herself, darkness sweeping over her. Why?
Why won’t it start?
Raelynn gasped for air, and couldn’t think of anything other than her mutinous heart.
Chapter 20: Looking for Mr. Boyd
The morning was cold.
The sun hid behind a bank of dark clouds, and Brian felt certain there’d be rain, regardless of the forecast.
He leaned against his car, smoked the last of his cigar, and saw Rever end Joe. The Rev was in the lead with Luke and Jim a few steps behind. Luke used a white, red-tipped cane with ease while he kept his free hand on Jim’s shoulder. The teen looked completely comfortable with his grandfather, and for a moment, Brian wondered if his own grandfather lurked around his grave.
Brian had loved the man dearly.
He pushed the thought away and looked, instead, at the Central Cemetery in Rye. Inside, among all the other graves, they would find Mr. Jonathan Boyd’s. At first glance, it seemed as though the job would be an easy one.
But in the corners of his eyes, Brian caught movement. The shadowy and hazy movement of the dead.
There were plenty of people buried in Central who either didn’t know they were dead or just didn’t care. Brian wasn’t looking forward to it.
Not at all.
“Good morning,” he said around the stump of his cigar.
The Rever end smiled and then winced.
Brian wasn’t surprised. The Rev’s face looked worse than it had , the night before.
“Good morning indeed,” Luke said.
They stopped beside Brian.
“Do we know where he is exactly?” Brian asked.
“Yes,” the Rever end said. “Lot Q, row seven, grave four.”
“Okay,” Brian said, looking through the gates. “Got an idea as to where Q is?”
“Up and to the left,” Reverend Joe said.
Brian looked and repressed a shudder.
He saw, at least three dead men, and one very old dead woman on the way there.
And they looked at him.
Brian sighed.
“Something wrong, Mr. Roy?” Luke asked.
“Wrong? No. Discouraging? Yes,” Brian replied.
“What’s going on?” Jim asked, looking out into the cemetery, but obviously not seeing what Brian did.
“The dead, Jim,” Brian said, and he had to fight the urge to imitate Dr. McCoy. “There are a few I can see. They know I can see them. I’m just hoping they won’t do anything.”
Jim nodded his agreement.
“So, Luke,” Brian said. “You knew Mr. Boyd?”
“I did,” Luke answered.
“Good man?” Brian asked.
“The best,” Luke said soberly.
“Good,” Brian said. “Should make it a little easier to talk to him, then, if he’s still there.”
With a deep breath, Brian tucked the cigar in between the side mirror and the door frame, squared his shoulders
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