off.”
“What? By who?”
“Who do you think?”
She could hear his cogs whirring on the other end of the phone.
“He was there?”
“After a fashion.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Just that tone. It could get to her. But he was worried about her. Always worried. She understood why. She was grateful, too, in as much as she was capable of gratitude. But God, he could be irritating.
She didn’t want to tell him, but she was angry. Angry at Coleridge. Angry at Peter. Angry, she supposed, with herself.
“Peter, let me spell it out. Our son, you know, the dead one?” She didn’t want to tell him, but she needed this conversation to stop right now. Her hands shook and her head pounded. People trying to get her involved when all she wanted was out. She needed all conversation to stop until it hit five o’clock, maybe half past the hour, when she was so drunk she couldn’t talk anymore.
“Beth...”
“Well, last night, he got his throat cut. By some psycho, murdering bastard. I can’t figure it out. Can you? Can you tell me what’s going on? A man who can murder people for real and cut a dead boy’s throat in the same night?”
“Baby...”
“Don’t. Fucking don’t .”
She took a deep breath. She could really do with a drink about now.
“Seriously?”
“You think I’d make this up?”
“I’m sorry. It’s just...what the hell? Come on. You can’t kill a...”
She heard his voice catch, and her heart broke all over again. Her heart was so broken she hardly even felt it anymore, but she could hear his pain. He might not be her lover anymore, but he was still her friend, and she wasn’t made of ice.
“Peter, I’m sorry. I’m being a bitch. But I’m scared. OK? I’m seriously scared. I don’t understand what’s going on anymore than anyone else. Maybe Miles does, okay? Maybe God does. I don’t. I don’t get it. I don’t see how it’s even possible.”
Peter fell silent. Cogs whirring. She’d always know when he was deep in thought. Something in his breathing, maybe. Just a sense of it.
“It must be possible, right? Because it happened.”
That was the Peter she’d loved. Before Miles died. Before their little boy tore their marriage apart. It was the Peter that was still her friend. The one who believed. In some ways he was childlike himself. Nothing was beyond the realm of possibility. Miles came to her. Haunted her. Peter had never wasted a moment on doubt. She said it was true, he believed her. He didn’t need proof. She realized right then that he still loved her and always would. Despite all that had come before.
That ship had sailed though.
“People see the dead, right? People like you, mediums...it’s something most people would never believe. Most people, they think that’s crap. Most people think miracles are crap. They don’t believe because they’ve never seen it. But it’s real, right? So why not this? Maybe it’s magic. Maybe he’s something else, you know? Not strictly human?”
She rubbed her eyes. God, her head was thumping. A bastard of a day’d do that to you. She checked the clock in the hall. Eleven o’clock. The day was still young. Plenty of time for it to go from bad to worse, and happy hour was still a long ways off.
“Maybe. I don’t know. It’s something, alright. But I’m not dealing with it because I can’t. This is way beyond me.”
“Honey,” he said, and the pieces of her heart tinkled, “you know he could come for you? Right? He’s been once. It doesn’t matter what he did, whether it was to warn you off, or to show you what he can do. You think he’s reasonable?”
“It had crossed my mind.”
“I’m worried about you. You want me to come down?”
She did. But if she was in danger in her house, he’d be in danger, too. She couldn’t bear to lose him. He was all she had left.
“No. I don’t want you to, OK? Don’t you come here.”
She could hear him grinding his teeth. She smiled. He always did
“What? By who?”
“Who do you think?”
She could hear his cogs whirring on the other end of the phone.
“He was there?”
“After a fashion.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Just that tone. It could get to her. But he was worried about her. Always worried. She understood why. She was grateful, too, in as much as she was capable of gratitude. But God, he could be irritating.
She didn’t want to tell him, but she was angry. Angry at Coleridge. Angry at Peter. Angry, she supposed, with herself.
“Peter, let me spell it out. Our son, you know, the dead one?” She didn’t want to tell him, but she needed this conversation to stop right now. Her hands shook and her head pounded. People trying to get her involved when all she wanted was out. She needed all conversation to stop until it hit five o’clock, maybe half past the hour, when she was so drunk she couldn’t talk anymore.
“Beth...”
“Well, last night, he got his throat cut. By some psycho, murdering bastard. I can’t figure it out. Can you? Can you tell me what’s going on? A man who can murder people for real and cut a dead boy’s throat in the same night?”
“Baby...”
“Don’t. Fucking don’t .”
She took a deep breath. She could really do with a drink about now.
“Seriously?”
“You think I’d make this up?”
“I’m sorry. It’s just...what the hell? Come on. You can’t kill a...”
She heard his voice catch, and her heart broke all over again. Her heart was so broken she hardly even felt it anymore, but she could hear his pain. He might not be her lover anymore, but he was still her friend, and she wasn’t made of ice.
“Peter, I’m sorry. I’m being a bitch. But I’m scared. OK? I’m seriously scared. I don’t understand what’s going on anymore than anyone else. Maybe Miles does, okay? Maybe God does. I don’t. I don’t get it. I don’t see how it’s even possible.”
Peter fell silent. Cogs whirring. She’d always know when he was deep in thought. Something in his breathing, maybe. Just a sense of it.
“It must be possible, right? Because it happened.”
That was the Peter she’d loved. Before Miles died. Before their little boy tore their marriage apart. It was the Peter that was still her friend. The one who believed. In some ways he was childlike himself. Nothing was beyond the realm of possibility. Miles came to her. Haunted her. Peter had never wasted a moment on doubt. She said it was true, he believed her. He didn’t need proof. She realized right then that he still loved her and always would. Despite all that had come before.
That ship had sailed though.
“People see the dead, right? People like you, mediums...it’s something most people would never believe. Most people, they think that’s crap. Most people think miracles are crap. They don’t believe because they’ve never seen it. But it’s real, right? So why not this? Maybe it’s magic. Maybe he’s something else, you know? Not strictly human?”
She rubbed her eyes. God, her head was thumping. A bastard of a day’d do that to you. She checked the clock in the hall. Eleven o’clock. The day was still young. Plenty of time for it to go from bad to worse, and happy hour was still a long ways off.
“Maybe. I don’t know. It’s something, alright. But I’m not dealing with it because I can’t. This is way beyond me.”
“Honey,” he said, and the pieces of her heart tinkled, “you know he could come for you? Right? He’s been once. It doesn’t matter what he did, whether it was to warn you off, or to show you what he can do. You think he’s reasonable?”
“It had crossed my mind.”
“I’m worried about you. You want me to come down?”
She did. But if she was in danger in her house, he’d be in danger, too. She couldn’t bear to lose him. He was all she had left.
“No. I don’t want you to, OK? Don’t you come here.”
She could hear him grinding his teeth. She smiled. He always did
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