LIVING DEAD
LIVING DEAD
S andy is standing there. The same Sandy they said was dead. She is very much alive.
“You look surprised to see me,” she says.
I am. I feel like I’m in a scene from Night of the Living Dead .
“I’m relieved,” I say. “I thought—”
“We all know what you thought,” she interrupts, and there are murmurs from the rest of the women.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” I say.
“Are you?”
“Of course. And I know you said there’s no crime on the island but there have been some very strange things happening that, as the sheriff, you may want to know about—”
“Oh, there’s not much that goes on on this island that I don’t know,” Sandy says. “For example, I know that Charlie had written a tenth novel because I had read it. And I know that you have sent a very similar-sounding novel to your agent. You do know that it’s wrong to steal things don’t you, Grady? I presume that’s why you left me to drown? You didn’t want to get caught stealing something that wasn’t yours.”
“I didn’t—”
“I’m also aware that we had a theft on the island recently. Are you ready to hand over your walkie-talkie?”
I pull it out of my pocket but hang on to it. “The things that have happened since I arrived here aren’t my fault. I heard you all talking about me,” I say shakily.
The congregation rustles and murmurs again. It sounds a bit like the sea.
“Why would we all be talking about you, Grady? Sounds to me like you’ve become a bit paranoid since moving into Charlie’s cabin. Seeing things and hearing things. Maybe you should see the doctor when she visits the island next week. Perhaps she could give you a little something to calm you down.”
“I don’t need anything to calm me down and I’m not imagining it. Someone on this island knows something about my missing wife. They’ve been slipping newspaper clippings, stories that she wrote under the door.” Sandy looks surprised then frowns. “If someone here knows what happened to her I deserve to know the truth.”
“People rarely know what they deserve. They almost always think they deserve more or less than they do.”
“What is this place? Why are there no men on the island?”
She doesn’t answer at first, just stares.
“I’m going to need you to hand over your mobile phone too,” Sandy says.
“To hell with this, and all of you. I’m leaving.”
Sandy shakes her head. “I don’t think you are.”
“Perhaps we should give them some space and some privacy,” says the Reverend Melody Bates, dressed in her black clothes and white collar. She flicks her long blond hair over her shoulder, then stands and steps out of the pew she was sitting in. The others do the same, and soon they are filing out of the wooden doors I just stumbled inside. Each one of them glaring in my direction when they pass me. The doors creak as the last person closes them and I am left alone with Sandy.
But then the church doors swing open again.
I hear footsteps on the stone floor but I’m afraid to look. They’re getting closer and Sandy smiles and nods at whoever it is. When I can’t stand the suspense any longer I spin around, unable to process what I am seeing at first.
It’s Abby.
I’m not imagining it.
I’m not hallucinating.
“I’ll leave you two to it,” says Sandy. She takes the walkie-talkie and my mobile from me before heading for the doors. The sound of them closing behind her echoes around the church and the place feels a little colder than it did before. This is not a dream, or a symptom of my insomnia, or a side effect of drinking too much whiskey. It’s really her and she’s standing right in front of me, staring at me with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.
Finally, she speaks.
“Hi, Grady. I think we need to talk.”