“Departures” is a supernatural thriller and love story published as a serial novel with new episodes dropping every Tuesday morning. Anyone can read or listen for free. Paid subscribers gain early access to new episodes. Watch the trailer or visit the table of contents to browse all the published episodes.
Previously…
In the last episode, Wild’s niece Millie discovered the journals that June encouraged Wild to keep as a kind of ledger of the deaths he predicted. Millie was distraught by these and when Wild tried to tell her about his curse, she didn’t believe him until later that night after she had reviewed one of the journals she took without his permission and confirmed the death dates. They agreed Wild would come and visit her mother on her deathbed before she passed.
“Are we ever gonna meet this boy?”
June froze. She was busy piping little collars on gingerbread men which prevented her father from seeing her face. Even if he couldn’t read her like a book, which he could, the rush of blood to her cheeks would have been a dead giveaway.
“What are you talking about?” she said, doing her best to sound truly mystified.
“Oh, come on, Junie,” her mother added. “We know you’ve had something going on for months. We’re not that tuned out. Your father and I have a wager going. He thinks it’s one of the doctors at work. But I think he’s someone more mysterious. A doctor wouldn’t make you so flighty and flustered. You’re a million miles away.”
June loved her parents, but they could be suffocating. She accepted this as her fate being an only child, but living in the same city made it unbearable some days. She had come to do their usual Christmas tradition of decorating cookies in the morning before the three of them attended the annual production of The Nutcracker at the Century Theater. It was going to be more than a little strange to be in Wild’s house without Wild and without letting on to her parents that she had spent many hours in the place most people only visited once or twice a year on a special occasion.
“You guys have too much time on your hands,” she said, finishing the last pair of eyes, and standing back to appraise her work. “My life is not that interesting, and besides, I have zero time outside of work.”
June wasn’t sure they bought her performance, but they seemed to relent. Maybe Wild’s abilities to dodge and perform on demand were rubbing off on her. Either way, later they seemed content enough listening to Vince Guaraldi’s Christmas CD at a volume loud enough to discourage more interrogation as she drove them to the theater in her new Honda Accord. The car was the first major purchase she’d made with her own money, and she was proud.
The music allowed her mind to drift as she drove them to Midtown from their modest neighborhood in the suburbs north of the city. How could she ever possibly tell them about Wild? What would she even say? So, I met this great guy, you know, the one who dropped his pants at our graduation from the private high school y’all couldn’t afford and who comes from the oldest and most wealthy family in Atlanta. He lives like a hermit above this theater we’re about to enter, and he has this supernatural ability to know when everyone’s going to die. Oh yeah, and we’ve never even kissed. He won’t touch me, so you can dash your dreams of grandkids!
It was decidedly complicated and frustrating and now it just made her more sad than anything else. It didn’t seem so strange when she was alone in her routine of work and then spending time with Wild either just hanging out or helping him balance his ledger, which was something she was proud to see making a big difference in his life. But being with her parents was a reminder that the prospect of having what they had, what she ultimately wanted, was bleak with Wild. She could never introduce him to her parents. Her mom would want to hug him. Her dad would want to shake his hand, to take his measure. Then Wild would know with certainty when they would breathe their last breaths, and he would suffer under that burden. It was all too much, and she wanted to scream as she waited for the light to change so she could turn on to Ponce De Leon Avenue and then find parking near the theater.
Secrets had never been a part of June’s life, not with herself, and certainly not with her parents. Unlike Wild, who’s family behaved as though they would burst into flames like vampires thrust into a courtyard at mid-day if they had to be honest with one another, the little McGowen clan shared everything. As she parked, June came to the decision that she would have to force the issue with Wild, force him to talk about it. They would have to find some solution, some middle ground. She understood it was hard for him, but this was also killing her slowly. She decided she would tell him as much when they met later that night.
At the box office window, the woman behind the glass informed June that their seats had been upgraded to a private box. She was glad her parents had hung back so she didn’t have to come up with a convincing lie on the spot, or worse, to have to tell them the truth. As they followed the usher up the two banks of plush red carpeted stairs and around the narrow corridor, June explained to her parents that one of the wealthy psychiatrists at the clinic was on the board of the Century Theater and had season tickets with a private box. When they settled into their seats with a perfect bird’s eye view of the stage in all its shimmering splendor like the whole set was dusted with confectioners’ sugar, her parents were delighted to find gift boxes filled with goodies like caramel corn, savory roasted almonds, and drink tickets for mulled wine. June was equally touched and annoyed by Wild’s gesture. She feared the charade she was playing for her parents was beginning to wear thin, especially with her mother who squinted as she gave her the side eye when they settled in, and the house lights dimmed.
Throughout the production, June kept stealing glances across the theater to the small, all but hidden little box where she’d sat many evenings, sometimes in her pajamas with Wild watching whoever happened to be gracing the stage. Finally, at the end of act one, as the mice scurried in retreat and the wooden Nutcracker was transformed into a prince, she checked again and Wild was there in the shadows of the vestibule, the cool cyan stage light illuminating his broad smile and his shining eyes. While everyone else in the darkened theater was focused on the Nutcracker’s transformation, June’s full attention was on another man who had been transformed. Her chest ached, physically hurt, and she hadn’t realized she was crying until her mother touched her cheek.
“Oh, sweetheart,” her mother cooed, pulling June’s face to her so she could kiss her cheek. “We have such good memories of this, don’t we?”
It was after eight o’clock by the time June got back to the theater after grabbing some dinner at the Landmark Diner with her parents before taking them home. She had been distracted and short with them, impatient to get back to Wild. On the drive back to Midtown, little crystalline snowflakes were swirling down along Peachtree Street. She didn’t have to ring the bell at the backstage door, Wild was leaning there against the wall looking up at the snow, his face once again lit up, but this time by the pale lithium light cast from the streetlamps in the parking lot. He was absorbed and hadn’t seen her yet.
She wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them, to rush into his arms and to feel his warm breath on her neck. How could this ever be enough? She jogged across the silvery dusting of powder that would shut down the whole city for the next day even though it would amount to less than an inch of accumulation. She wouldn’t have to go to work. June was suddenly filled with the same thrilling exuberance she experienced as a girl when schools shut down for the rare and welcomed blessing of a snow day in Atlanta. She ran faster. Wild heard her footfalls and turned.
“There she is!” he called out. “My sugar plum fairy.”
When she reached him, her feet were barely touching the ground. It was as though her body was filled with helium, expanding every cell in her being and causing her to squeal with the buoyant delight of a child. She stopped short and smiled up at him, all her thoughts of the serious talk having evaporated. June hugged herself, squeezing so tightly that her arms quivered under the strain, as she tried desperately to sublimate the endorphin rush that was only really possible if the arms wrapped around her were not hers, but Wild’s.
He mirrored her hug, massaging his arms through the fabric of the denim jacket that was ill-suited for a snowy night. To anyone watching, this exchange would look like two platonic friends trying to keep warm.
“I love you!”
The words exploded from her lips, and she startled herself. She had said these three words many times in the past three months, but only in her head. His face shifted through more expressions than she could count, and she died a slow, painful death before he smiled and said, “I love you too.”
This was when he would pull her to him and kiss her. That’s how the movie would end. But he just kept smiling or struggling to keep his lips in the shape of a smile while the weight in his eyes could not defy the gravity of their situation, even for a moment.
“Come on,” he said, turning to open the door. “It’s freezing out here.”
He said something else as they walked into the warm familiar smell of the theater, but she wasn’t listening.
As she followed him up the narrow stairs, she felt emboldened by the darkness and the fact that he couldn’t see her face.
“Wild, I want us to make love tonight.”
“What?”
She said it again, but louder. He didn’t respond until they reached the landing at the top of the stairs. He turned, looking almost frightened, like a cornered animal. What if she gave him no choice and she just grabbed him, right here?
“I want that more than anything, but…”
She answered only by shaking her head and shushing him. He looked bewildered. She motioned for him to open the door. He did and she followed after. Inside his apartment, she shrugged out of her coat and carefully laid it over the back of one of the chairs. She turned to Wild who just stood there in front of the closed door, his eyes on the floor. She willed him to look up, and when he did, she moved to sit in the other leather club chair and unzipped her knee-high boots. Setting them aside, she stood, untucked the black turtleneck from her wool tartan skirt and pulled it over her head. Next, she hoisted the hem of the skirt, found the waistband of her leggings and slowly peeled them down, bringing her panties with them, all the while, never breaking eye contact with Wild. There was no plan or strategy, only a reckless urge to keep going. She reached behind her back, unlatched her bra and let the weight of the cups fall forward, pulling the straps down the goose-dimpled flesh of her forearms. The hunger in Wild’s eyes was kinetic and she watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. She would never in her wildest dreams have done something like this with any man under normal circumstances, but they were so far beyond the realm of normal circumstance and June found she couldn’t stop.
“Okay, Mr. Thorne,” she said, her voice thick and low. “Now you.”
Wild, this man whom she knew for a fact had lived mostly like a wolf feeding on women like hapless prey before moving onto the next, faltered. He flushed and his face betrayed a shyness.
“I’m waiting,” she said.
“June… we can’t… I can’t.”
“Wild, I know. Now just take your clothes off.”
“Can you like, not look at me or…”
“Um, no. I’m afraid since looking is all I can do, you’ll have to give me that much.”
He seemed relieved when she said this and he began to undress, removing everything but his boxers. She had seen him in a bathing suit, so the shape of him was not a surprise, but in this context, as she consumed him with her eyes and began to tentatively touch herself through the skirt, every smooth curve and plane of his rangy form was new. She sat back in the cushioned embrace of the leather chair, draping one leg over the arm. With her free hand she beckoned for Wild to come closer, not content until he was close enough for her to see the straining bulge in his boxers.
“You can’t be shy,” she said. “We can’t afford that luxury.”
“It’s just… just a little weird,” he said.
“Pretend your hand is mine,” she said. “How much do you want to touch me?”
“More than anything I’ve ever wanted.”
“Then touch me,” she said, cupping the heft of her breast.
June continued to narrate her seduction, saying things that would have made her blush and die a thousand deaths in a previous life, but in this moment, with this man, she was flush with the thrilling momentum of the forbidden. If this was all they were allowed, she would grab it with both hands and gorge herself, savoring every bit of sensory delight possible. Her words were insistent, demanding caresses and soon they were together, riding this impossible, precarious wave, the room vibrating with their exertions until they both were spent and Wild collapsed back onto the Persian rug.
“Oh my God,” he sighed between heaving breaths. “Oh my God…”
“You still believe in a God?” June asked, not sure if she was trying to be funny.
She felt languid, like the bones in her limbs had dissolved, leaving her just a suit of flesh draped over the chair. She had hoped this would bring some relief, be some soothing balm to her itchy torment but for all the tingling pleasure of the release, she felt no more hopeful. Perhaps Wild sensed this because he raised up on his elbows so he could look at her before he answered the question she’d already forgotten she asked.
“No, I never believed in God. But you, you make me believe there’s still a point to all this living.”
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Dance of the Sugarplum Fairies