Death Trance

Thirty-Six

I left Granitehead in early May, and went to live for a while with my parents in St Louis. My mother overfed me, and my father took me for long walks in the Missouri Botanical Gardens and talked about life the way he saw it, cut and dried, because he thought it would be good for my head. He made me a beautiful pair of Oxford shoes, hand-stitched, and gave them to me for no particular reason at all, except to show that he did love me, after all.

I went back to Massachusetts in June to sell Quaker Lane Cottage. I drove up to Tewksbury to see old man Evelith, and to share a sherry with him in his library, and he told me that he believed he had come close to finding the magical bonds which would hold Tezcatlipoca, the Smoking Mirror, and that he would be able to use one of the bones from Mictantecutli's dismembered skeleton in a ritual which would put his ancestor to rest for good. I left after an hour: I didn't want to hear any more of that demon talk.

I didn't go to see Edward Wardwell. I had heard from Gilly that Edward had never forgiven me for blowing up the David Dark, and I guess he had every right to feel sore about it. As for Gilly, well… she and I were never particularly suited. I could have loved her once, I suppose, but somehow our personalities never quite meshed.

With Walter, I went to Waterside Cemetery and together we laid flowers on the graves of the ones we had once loved; and then we shook hands and said goodbye. I don't know whether Walter forgave me, or not, or even if there was anything to forgive. Mictantecutli had hit Salem like a hurricane, and he was still busy sorting out legal claims for damages, and helping to identify and re-bury the dead.

I said goodbye to Laura; I said goodbye to Keith Reed, and to George Markham's wife. George had never been found, and was listed as 'missing, feared dead'.

Then, at last, I drove back up to Quaker Lane Cottage, and stood in the overgrown orchard looking out over Granitehead Neck, my hands in my pockets; watching the distant white sails of the boats, and the glitter of summer sunshine on the waters of Salem Harbour.

I pushed the garden-swing, until it began to utter that distinctive creakkk-squik, creakkk-squik. Then I left it, and it gradually lost momentum and swung to a standstill.

The wind was warm. I felt as if the world had recently been reborn. I left the cottage, and closed the garden-gate behind me.

The End