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Back Season of Fear Save as PDF
Chapters (67)
  1. Contents
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Page
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. PART ONETHE EXTREMES
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. PART TWOSOMETHING BAD
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. PART THREECHAYLA
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. PART FOURHIT AND RUN
  52. 44
  53. 45
  54. 46
  55. 47
  56. 48
  57. 49
  58. 50
  59. 51
  60. 52
  61. 53
  62. 54
  63. 55
  64. 56
  65. 57
  66. EPILOGUE
  67. AUTHOR’S NOTE

‘I hear you had a boyfriend. I saw a picture of you two going to a dance. Did he kiss you? Boys are funny about that when they’re young. I never had a boyfriend until this year, and he’s – well, he’s gone now. We kissed. We never did more than that, because it’s just not my thing. Sex just gets in the way. I liked kissing, though. I liked holding him and having him hold me. I miss him, too. I miss him a lot. I don’t know, sometimes I think it’s me. People who get close to me die. I don’t really have anyone now. Nobody’s left.’

Through her tears, she managed to laugh at herself. She’d never been a fan of self-pity. Things were what they were. Even so, here she was, with another imaginary friend. She was twenty-two years old, and she talked to mannequins and ghosts.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m making this all about me, when you’re the one who’s dead. Except, who knows, maybe you’re already back. Or I don’t know, maybe it takes a while. I think there are old souls and new souls. Do you know what I mean? Some people seem like they’ve been around for centuries even when they’re young. Justin was like that. Other people feel like this is their first go-round. Oh well, I don’t know. I probably sound crazy to you. Anyway, if you’re back, and you see me, give me a wink, okay? I don’t know what I’m going to do next. I quit my job. I’m sick of politics. But I’ll be around.’

Peach got up from the highway shoulder and brushed the dirt off her pants. She dug in her back pocket and pulled out a slim volume of poetry. It was the book she’d found in Justin’s safe house – the duplicate of the volume she’d given him of poetry by William Blake. She’d wrapped the book in plastic. She put it on the ground and propped it against the cross.

‘I don’t know how things work where you are,’ she said. ‘If you can read, I thought you might like this. If you see Justin, maybe he can read some of them to you. He was good at that.’

A gust of wind rose up and rattled the trees. To Peach, that felt like an answer from somewhere.

‘Well, I should go,’ she went on. ‘I have a dinner party to go to. With a movie star. Can you believe that? Me! I guess that means I should change clothes.’ She turned to walk away, but then she stopped. She bent down again, rubbing one of the flowers adorning the cross. ‘Take care of yourself, Alison.’

She walked back to her Thunderbird, did a U-turn, and headed back toward Tampa.

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