Page 26 of Dearly Departed

The sound happens between one wave and the next. That’s the only reason I hear it, and before I’ve processed it—before I could explain what I thought I heard—I put my hand over Catherine’s mouth.

Her eyes get wide.

I shake my head at her. If it’s nothing, then it’s nothing, and I’m hearing things. That’s not good, but it’s not Raymond Harris.

The sound happens again.

Catherine freezes. The only movement she makes is to close her eyes.

The third time I hear it, I know what it is—footsteps on the sand. The next footfall crunches on rocks.

Raymond Harris comes into view.

I don’t breathe. Catherine doesn’t breathe. I look down as much as I can without actually letting him out of my sight. The moonlight isn’t bright, but it could reflect in my eyes, and wouldn’t it be poetic to get murdered because of the moon?

He shuffles over the beach, then stops directly in front of us.

If the moon doesn’t get us killed, my heart will. It has to be beating loud enough for Harris to hear.

He’s wiped some of the blood off his face, making his eyes easier to see. They move over the trees—and over us—without stopping.

He looks at the ocean for a minute, or a full decade.

Then he goes back the way he came.

We wait for the rest of our lives.

It’s probably about twenty minutes. Maybe half an hour.

When we get up, Catherine’s shaking. I fold her up in a hug.

“No more beach,” she says into my chest. “We have to find somewhere else to go. Maybe, like, build a shelter.”

I don’t know the first thing about building a shelter, but I do know the first thing about walking away from the beach.

I’ll figure out how to build a wilderness shelter when the time comes.

We walk for another eternity, winding through gaps in the trees. The pain in my head doesn’t get better. It only gets bigger.

And I’m certain—almost totally certain—that we’re walking in circles. I’ve seen the shadow in the wedding dress at least three times, hovering in the same spot.

But then we turn a corner, and there’s light.

Not a glorious shaft of light. Just more moonlight than there had been. And those are⁠—

Those are straight lines, not tree trunks.

“Kitten, look.”

“Look at what?” Catherine lifts her head. She’s been watching the ground, trying not to trip over an errant root or a hole or whatever else might be lying in wait. “Is that⁠—”

“That’s a house.”

9

CATHERINE

There’s no way.