Deadly Kiss Page 29

  Walking through the trees and up to the dark cabin, I saw the faintest trace of gray begin to lighten the sky. On the far side of the lake, a murder of crows told each other the news that another day had come.

  I sat at the kitchen table, too tired to make coffee. I didn’t know where Roy Tull was, and I was far too weary to look for him. He would turn up in his own time, and I believed his promise that he was no longer a threat. In many ways, I thought he was one of the best people that I’d ever known.

  There were two small outbuildings nestled into the pines behind the cabin, which I could see out of the back kitchen window. As the early morning brightened imperceptibly, I saw that the door of the old icehouse hung ajar. I used it to store tools and odds and ends. I normally kept the door closed. I stood up and went out. It was strange not to be followed by the dog.

  In front of the icehouse door, twin tracks had been scraped into the dirt. I looked inside and confirmed that my ladder was missing. I knew where Roy was. I went back to the cabin for a flashlight and then headed for a path I rarely used. I was so tired that my breathing ached as I walked up the north side of the island. When I reached the place, it was light enough that I didn’t need my flashlight.

  Roy hung against a purple sky. The dead oak spread its leafless branches above him. The ladder lay on its side beneath. Even in the half-light, I recognized my bright yellow clothesline. I was too late, and I had known that I was going to be, but a promise is a promise.

  “Good bye, Roy,” I said. “Travel safe.”

  Back on the dock, I pulled out my cell phone and called the provincial police barracks in Ansett. They were able to put me through to John Park, and we spoke briefly. I sat on the end of the floating dock, took my shoes and socks off, and soaked my feet in the cold water. I watched the day brighten and then the sun burst over the trees. I wished Molly was with me to see it.

  When my feet got cold, I took them from the water and lay back on the boards. The morning sun was warm by the time I heard a marine engine approaching. I saw the police launch coming a long time before it got to me.

  CHAPTER 35

  Elijah Tull was finally going home. He left the old churchyard for the last time, followed closely by his yellow dog.

  We are, each of us, born knowing our own stories. We enter the world in a state of perfect possibility. Only a heart understands the eternal, and hearts weren’t designed to think, but to know. A small child and a dog walked along a dirt road, carrying more knowledge between them than all of the majesties in human history.

  Eli finally came to the place he knew, though he had never been there before. Up ahead, he saw small figures, waiting. He broke into a smile as bright as any sun that ever was.

  “Roy! Roy! Roy!” he shouted and started to run.

  Love ran through everything, a perfect golden line, through all of those who came before us and all of those who were yet to be. There was no end and no beginning. There was only now, and only love. Simple.

  ***

  “Are you still going to love me if I have scars on my face?” Molly asked me.

  We sat on my front veranda. She was still bandaged. There was a steady warm breeze off the lake and the canopy of leaves that shaded the clearing in front of the cabin played with the light on the ground beneath them. Through the screen of trees in front of us, the lake was a brilliant blue, waves dazzled by the sun.

  “I’ll always love you,” I answered.

  From the island, we watched Hollow Lake go about its summer business all afternoon. Mostly, we were quiet, absolutely content to be together. Blue dozed on his side on the boards. Periodically he lifted his head to look at us. Every time that he was reassured we hadn’t moved, he went back to sleep.

  “You’re perfectly beautiful,” I said. “Any scars you come out of this with will just make you look hot. I’m going to fantasize that you’re tough.”

  She looked at me steadily. “I am tough,” she said.

  I thought about it. “I guess you are.”

  “You are too,” she said.

  We smiled at each other.

  “A little bit,” she amended.

  She got up and went inside. Blue scrambled to his feet and went after her, neatly catching the screen door with his nose before it swung closed. He tossed his head to open it and followed her in.

  “Stupid’s all an act,” I murmured. “Stupid dog.”

  Molly came back out and handed me a glass of ice water before she sat down. “You’ll wait for me?” she asked. “No matter what?”

  “No matter what.”

  We heard the lazy buzz of small planes overhead, the shouts of water-skiers, and an occasional song on the radio from a passing boat. I wished the summer would never end.

  There was the unmistakable sound of children playing. They shouted, whooped, and laughed, high voices giddy with the excitement of the day.

  Molly and I looked at each other.

  “That’s here,” she said. “That’s coming from here on the island.”

  We stood up and went around the corner of the cabin. The little girl stood on the footpath, looking at us. Her hair was long and blonde, and her eyes were a gray that seemed to hold many colors, like water in a glass. She was so completely still that I began to doubt what I was seeing. She was a reflection, an image imposed on the forest behind her.

  Finally, she moved. She turned and began to walk away from us, up the path that led to the blueberry plants on the western end of the island.

  After a few steps, she broke into a run. She ran like wind blowing through long grasses, water flowing over rocks. My eyes followed her as she joined three young boys, two black and one white, farther up the trail. They were playing with a yellow dog, throwing a stick into the trees, and cheering him when he returned with it.

  Elijah spotted me and waved enthusiastically. His smile warmed me, and I waved back. I glanced at Molly. She was gazing into the trees, rapt. She saw what I was seeing. Blue sat at her feet. He whined softly at the other dog’s play, but made no move to join in.

  All four children stopped moving at the same time. They looked away from us to a point farther up the path, out of our sight. They seemed to be listening to something I couldn’t hear. The light in the forest became gradually golden, as if the sun had come up for a second time, and I felt a warm wind on my face. I saw it stir Blue’s long hair.

  Three of them broke away, ran up the dirt trail, and were gone. The yellow dog ran after them. Only one boy remained. He walked a few steps closer to where we stood and then stopped, looking at me. He was about ten years old, dark-haired and perhaps a little bit small for his age.

  He had a curious gravity, a solemn weight for a child so young. He held my gaze, and after a few moments, he tried a tentative smile.

  I returned it as best I could.

  Very slowly, he raised his hand up from his side, reaching toward me. I stood with Molly and Blue, looking at him, and then all at once I understood and raised mine toward him.

  From more than a hundred feet away, I felt my father’s touch.

  For a moment, he held my hand, and I felt the generational river that flowed through all of us, fathers and mothers, sons and daughters, brothers and sisters. It was a current that flowed through time and made years and centuries insignificant. It was music that vibrated and echoed, over and over, until the end became the beginning.

  He dropped my hand and turned to go. He looked back at me over his shoulder, only once, and walked away, growing dimmer with each step.

  On impulse, I blew a kiss at his back. It was a strange, desperate gesture, but the only thing I could think to do. He stopped, looked back, and returned it. I could still feel it on my face after he was gone.

  Molly and I stood looking at the empty forest for a long time.

  “They were finally all together at the end, weren’t they?” I murmured. “Eli, Roy, Wanda, and my dad. Together at the end. I think that’s what it’s all about.”

  “I th
ink you might be right, mister.”

  I put my arm around her.

  “Let’s go in,” I said. “Show’s over.”

  She looked up at me. Her smile was gorgeous. “The show,” she said, “is never over.”

  The End

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  When he was little, Bob Bickford haunted the library. It was his favorite place. He hunted for good stories, got lost in pages, and daydreamed about becoming a writer. When he got older, real life got in the way and paychecks became more urgent than classes or degrees. The dream was filed under ‘impossible things,’ and nearly forgotten. After years spent in various corners of the United States and Canada, he dusted off his imagination and became a writer-by-night. He hunts for good stories once again, and he still haunts the library.

  GENRE: PARANORMAL THRILLER/GHOSTS/MYSTERY

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, businesses, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only. The publisher does not have any control over or assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their contents.

  DEADLY KISS

  Copyright © 2016 by Bob Bickford

  Cover Design by Dawné Dominique

  All cover art copyright © 2016

  All Rights Reserved

  EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-626945-14-2

  FIRST PUBLICATION: AUGUST 27, 2016

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