Today is September 17th, a date that echoes of the past and the future.
One month ago, August 17th, was my parents' anniversary. They were married almost seventy years, my father dying three months and one day before they would have reached that landmark. Here's a photo from their wedding day, in 1947.
As for the future, my next novel, That the Dead May Rest, comes out on October 17th. Here's the cover.
I posted the teaser a few weeks ago (at this link), and it seems crass to post it again this soon -- so I'm doing something different. I usually wait until much closer to the release date before I post excerpts . . . but I don't usually have so long a wait between finishing a novel and releasing it. I did so this time because my daughter very sensibly suggested that with the subject matter and cover of this book, it might do better if released during Halloween month. That'll be my excuse for posting the following excerpt from Chapter 1. The point of view is that of Millie, a woman who died in middle age and is about to welcome a new arrival to the afterlife.
---------
Reception, where all the new arrivals came, transformed every time to reflect the arriving spirit’s conception of the most benign possible afterlife. As the welcomer helped the spirit understand what had happened to them, the surroundings would gradually shift to accommodate any details the conversation revealed about what would most deeply satisfy the spirit’s needs and hopes. Sometimes the result was quite different from what she’d expected. A man who arrived dressed in velvets and silks like a king (what he’d been buried in, perhaps) might turn out to cherish the thought of a sunny cottage with a ticking grandfather clock.
This time, Millie entered a spacious circular hall with pale marble columns dividing intricate mosaics, the tiles’ colors as bright and cheerful as a kindergarten crayon box. The tops and bases of the pillars had gilded trim, and the same trim framed the mosaics. The scene, though grand in its way, reminded her of the needlepoint tapestry one might expect in the living room of a very traditional American Christian family, especially since the mosaics featured winged cherubs and blue-robed Madonnas and a brown-haired bearded Jesus with his arms spread wide. She had seen such living rooms through house windows in her own town, and the pillars and mosaics might have been inspired by the most opulent of the town’s churches.
The man who sat on a cushioned bench along one wall looked as if he would normally carry himself with some degree of authority. A mayor, perhaps, or a councilman. He wore a suit, not closely tailored but fitting him well, though the buttons of the jacket strained slightly over his middle. She couldn’t see his features as she entered, and presumably he couldn’t see hers, but he started to stand with an air of polite deference, gentleman to lady. And then he froze, and staggered backward against the bench before scuttling around it and backing against the wall, arms raised, covering his face.
The man’s terror made her heart pound and her pulse race. Struggling to catch her breath, she told herself over and over: I’m safe here. I’m safe. Even if he wants to hurt me, even if he strikes out in his fear, he can’t hurt me here. No one can. I’m safe. He’s just scared. He’s scared. I know what that feels like. I have to find out why he’s so frightened, so I can help, so I can make him feel safe, so I can feel safe again.
Another member of the welcoming committee — Johnny, a large, quiet man whose voice had the warmth and depth of melted chocolate — had appeared and was now holding the man’s hands, speaking softly to him, coaxing him to sit. Millie moved quietly toward the wall and tried to remember how to blend into the background. It was a skill she’d been so happy to leave behind . . . .
Her efforts made no difference. The man had been calming down, but when he glanced her way he sat bolt upright and pointed a shaking hand at her. “You! What are you doing here? What is this place, if you’re here? Are you here to drive me crazy? Isn’t it enough that you killed me? That you, you — ” He turned and clutched Johnny by the arms, shook him, shouted: “She came at me, with her fingernails like claws, and her, her teeth, she clawed my face and she tore it with her teeth! And the smell, she smelled like rotting flesh and, and falling-down houses, I’d never smelled anything like it . . . .” He paused, as Millie stood with eyes wide and mouth open, staring at him, trying to find any sense in what he was saying, in any of this. “She . . . .” He took a slow step toward her. He spoke to her, this time. “You don’t smell like that anymore. And your clothes were rags, dripping with something like oil, or mold. And your eyes were, were dead eyes, you looked dead, like a corpse pulled out of the grave . . . .”
Millie shook her head, trembling. “It couldn’t be. None of this. I’ve been here, not there. I’ve been here for . . . .” Did she even know? What was time, here? But surely her life had ended months ago, or years. “I’ve been here. And I would never have done anything like that. It couldn’t have been me.” She gulped. “I’m so sorry that happened, that you died that way. No one should die that way. But it’s all over now, all different. You’ll be all right now. You’ll be safe.”
The man stared at her, his large hands opening and closing spasmodically. “How can I be safe here, if you’re here? You killed me, and now you’ve followed me here! Unless . . . .” His voice dropped to muttering. “Unless I’m supposed to kill you now, to make things right. But I’ve never killed anyone. Is that what I’m supposed to do? Is that what I’m here for?”
Johnny gripped the man’s shoulders and pulled him back toward the bench. He would find something to say, some way to make things better, but Millie wouldn’t stay to hear it. She backed out of the room.
---------
If I've been fortunate enough to intrigue you, you can visit the book's web page here. From there, one click will take you to three links (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and bookshop.org) for preordering.
I'll be back, probably next month, with more excerpts. In the meantime, I hope you're reading something you love!
No comments:
Post a Comment