Page 97 of Unalive On Air

Jeanie frowns. “There was the media room, which had a big telly. Obviously not that big by today’s standards, but it was so heavy that it needed three men to carry it. They used to play movies and sports events on it. I remember watching Eurovision one year.” She smiles fondly to herself.

“Did they ever play Peggy in the Middle in the media room for the guests?” I ask.

“Only the season finales.”

“Thank you for telling me the truth,” I say. “I should get back to the hut . . . so when Trystan wakes up, he doesn’t ask me questions about where I’ve been.”

Jeanie sees right through my reasoning. She smiles at me the way my grandma used to. Soft, kind, a little sad. “Go back to him, Gary. Be with him. Spend as much time together as you can before he moves on.”

My hand pauses halfway to my moustache. My thoughts are short-circuiting. “You want me to convince him to stay?”

She says nothing.

“Why did you call me here to solve the murders if you . . .” I can’t finish that question. I ask another. “Do you even want me to solve them?”

“Of course I—” Jeanie starts.

But I’m not done. The flood gates have been opened. “Jeanie, what the fuck is happening right now? What do you want? Why am I here? Your unfinished business isn’t closure, is it? It’s Angel. You’re not going anywhere.” My fingers press into my eye sockets, shunting my glasses aside. I try to steady my thundering heartbeat.

She sighs. “Okay, you got me. It was never about me moving on. This was all for him. I’ve known that boy longer than he’s been dead. I knew him as a kid. He taught me to surf. Granted, I’m still an absolute catastrophe, but . . . seeing him stuck in this afterlife alone, it . . . it fucking hurt, Gary. It hurt my soul.

“I have Angel, but Trystan had no one. It’s not right for a lad like him. He needs company, friends. And I know Pixie’s there, and Stove, and Camille, but he needs to be . . . loved or to . . . move on.

“A few times now I’ve caught him in the corridors of the east wing, or out on Enys Marow. I had this crazy idea that if I could get the famous detective Gary Runcorn to solve the mystery of his death, then he would have the closure he needed without sacrificing his soul to the Old Scares. It’s just . . . ironic that the one person who could save him also turns out to be the reason he’d want to stay.”

It’s like someone has tied a rubber band around my throat. I can’t squeeze any words out. Eventually, I whisper, “What should I do?”

I guess I’d been hoping for a definitive answer, for someone wiser and more grounded than me to tell me what I need to hear, but Jeanie looks over. Red rims her eyes. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to figure that one out on your own. You’re good at figuring stuff out, though, luv.”

I nod, swallow my retort, and get to my feet. “Love this for me,” I say and float out of Jeanie’s window.

twenty-four

Love Me to Death

“Yeeew, Gary, where did you go?”

It’s still dark out, but the Taurus constellation is visible, so I know daylight isn’t far away. The hut has an eerie stillness, like a snow globe that’s been violently shaken and then frozen in time.

Trystan pushes himself up on the sofa. He stretches, tosses the ghost surfboard aside, and glances at the clock. “Oh, yeah. I keep forgetting that’s broken. Kai needs to put new batteries in it.” His eyebrows knot together when he looks at me. “Are you okay? What’s up?”

I sit beside him and try to figure out how I’m going to word this, but my brain has stalled. Why does he make it so hard to think?

“Yeeeww, you’re sitting, dude.”

I glance down. So I am. “Um . . .” Fuck, okay, here goes. Just spit it out, Gary. “Trystan . . . shit, um . . . don’t listen to my next show.”

His face falls. Whatever he’d been expecting me to say, it obviously wasn’t that. “Do you know who our killer is?”

“No,” I say truthfully. “But I don’t think it’ll be long before I figure it out and . . .” Breathe, Gary. You can do this. You can tell him how you feel. “And I’m not ready to lose you yet.”

He freezes. Just stares at me like he’s trying to work out if he heard different words from the ones I said.

My heart is beating too quickly to leave the silence hanging there. “I mean . . . please? Fuck, okay, I know it’s your choice. You can move on if that’s what you really want, but I could save that information for a future date, and in the meantime, we could . . . hang out?”

Still, he says nothing. He continues frowning, but now his lips part, just a fraction, and my eyes are drawn to the movement.

“There are so many movies I need to show you before you leave this realm, and . . . I still don’t know how to surf, and . . . I haven’t watched the sunset yet, and . . . I’m really enjoying spending time with you. We could draw dicks on mirrors, and experience tepid orgasms crossing boundary lines, and . . .”