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“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, June visited Wild after attending a performance of The Nutcracker at the theater as part of her family’s annual Christmas tradition. After proclaiming her love for him in the snowy parking lot behind the theater, they went up to his apartment and fueled by desperation, she initiated their first sexual encounter, all without ever touching him.
Gerard Dixon had followed in the time-honored tradition that many men who marry into money do. He went to work for his wife’s father. Gerard, or Gerry to his friends, didn’t come from money, but he had a talent for finding those who did. Abby hadn’t been his introduction to the Thorne family, though she had been his quarry.
Gerry met Wild the first week of their freshman year at the University of Georgia in 1974. Wild held court on the main quad with a small group of buddies on most sunny days. All of them were from Atlanta and most had attended the same prep school there. They threw frisbees, smoked cigarettes, and discretely passed around plastic cups with bourbon and a splash of Coke. It hadn’t been easy for Gerry to work his way into the group, but he had been persistent and instinctively knew the role he would have to play– one part enthusiastic hype man, and two parts the punchline for every joke. He didn’t mind adapting. He understood his position as alpha and star pitcher on the baseball team back in Rome, Georgia amounted to nothing in that bigger pond.
By Christmas break, he was invited to spend New Year’s Eve at the annual party the Thorne’s held at their sprawling estate off Riverside Drive overlooking the Chattahoochee and that’s when he had first laid eyes on Abigail Thorne. Gerry’s ears had perked up every time Wild mentioned his older sister who was a junior at William and Mary. His first thought on seeing her that New Year’s Eve as she stood by an enormous champagne fountain in an expensive black gown was that she was plain. Where Wild had the rugged good looks that stirred something in Gerry, he wasn’t ready to admit to himself, Abby’s eyes were too big, she was too thin, and her boney shoulders folded in as though she were trying to disappear into a corner. Still, Gerry had made an effort to approach her and make a solid impression that first evening. It wasn’t difficult to make the girl feel special. Mostly it had required him to ask a lot of questions about what she was studying in her coursework to obtain a degree in Russian literature and to appear interested when, in truth, Gerry had no patience for anything make-believe. He was a business major with a minor in marketing but the librarians on campus would think otherwise given the number of books he checked out on the writings of Tolstoy, Chekhov, and Dostoevsky that winter.
When he left the New Year’s Eve party just after midnight, he had Abby’s mailing address written in her careful handwriting on a folded cocktail napkin that he stowed in the breast pocket of his rented tuxedo. Over the course of the next five months, he would exchange a letter a week with her. By the end of that summer, they were officially dating. Two years later, he proposed to her on Christmas Eve at an intimate Thorne family gathering at their lodge in the mountains on Lake Rabun. A year after that, they were married the week following Gerry’s graduation. Wild would not be the best man. By then he was thousands of miles away, tromping across Central America trying to find himself or just avoiding growing up, as Gerry preferred to think.
It was late afternoon when Gerry landed at the PDK airport aboard one of Thorne Enterprise’s private jets. He had spent the last two days in Miami for business that could have been accomplished in a thirty-minute video conference, but he had needed to get away. Abby was nearing the end, and it was just too damned depressing. He needed some me-time which meant a couple of lazy afternoons, a few Mai Tais by the pool and some personal attention in the bedroom from Rodrigo in the oceanfront villa he kept for him in South Beach.
Gerry was indiscriminately swiping through the never-ending conveyor of messages in his inbox when Millie’s face popped up on an incoming call notification. His thumb hovered over the decline button. He knew she wasn’t calling about work but likely giving him another update on her mother’s condition. He loved his daughter, but she tried his patience with her unrelenting persistence when there was something she wanted. In this case, it was a family gathering to say goodbye to Abby while she was still conscious. Apparently, Millie had hired a death doula or some craziness and this was the death doula’s recommendation. Gerry sighed heavily and answered the call.
“Hi baby girl, I just landed. What’s up?”
“Hi Dad, I just wanted to make sure you were still planning to be here. Wild’s coming over at eight and I thought you and I could have some dinner before that.”
“Alright, I’ll be there in a half hour.”
“Okay, I’ll pop out and pick us up something from Jalisco’s. I thought mom might like the smell of it. Fond memories, you know?”
“Wow, we haven’t had that in a long time. See if they still make those enchiladas with the green sauce. And get those churros your mama used to love.”
They hung up and Gerry shoved his phone into the breast pocket of his linen sport coat so he could begin to mentally prepare for the scene. He was more than a little bit freaked out about death and couldn’t shake the feeling that it was contagious. He loved Abby in the distant, functional way of monarchs and he was grateful for the life being married to her had afforded him, but he had never been in love with her. Even if he had been straight, Gerry’s interests couldn’t have been more divergent from Abby’s. Up until Millie was almost five, he had pretended to find conversations about art, literature, and the symphony fascinating but once her father had promoted him to president of the automotive division, he decided his position was secure and he could pursue his interests.
By the time the Rolls pulled up to the gate of the Dixon estate, Gerry had fully made the transition from South Beach sugar daddy to grieving husband. Coming up the drive, Gerry admired his masterpiece inspired by the architecture of Tuscany, complete with fingers of cypress trees lining the lawn and a glorious fountain out front where classical cherubs frolicked among the cascading water with trumpets to their marble lips. Besides the wrought iron pendant fixture hanging above the massive doors of the entryway, the only other light burning was in the upstairs bedroom where his wife was presumably still breathing.
He dropped his bag in the foyer, glanced at the stack of mail on the side table, slipped off his loafers, and padded over to the wet bar in the living room to pour himself a Scotch. He couldn’t bring himself to go upstairs until Millie was back, so he plopped down on the sprawling sectional sofa and put his feet up. Millie’s laptop was open on the coffee table and her oversized Coach bag was laying on the couch beside him, some of its contents spilling out onto the cushion. She had likely grabbed her wallet and keys in a hurry to dash out for the food. It had always been Gerry’s habit to tidy up after his daughter, so he reached over and picked up the escaped items to return them to their home– a lipstick, a folder of printed contracts to be reviewed, and a granola bar. When he tried to shove the folder into the bag, it was blocked by something, so he peeked inside and noticed an old hardcover book with no title or markings. He pulled it out and let it fall open on his lap.
It was some type of handwritten record organized almost like a ledger. There were names and dates and random scribblings. His first thought was that it was some old bookie’s ledger filled with debts to be collected but it obviously wasn’t. Was it some collector’s item Millie had purchased? She did have her mother’s romantic notions of enchanted objects. But then he flipped to the front page and saw the inscription to Wild from June and his breath stopped momentarily, while his index finger traced her looping signature. What in the hell was this exactly?
He set his drink on the coffee table and pulled out his phone to use the flashlight, something his young lover had teased him mercilessly about when they had gone out for dinner to a dim-lit bistro the night before. He started at the first page and began to skim the entries. The names and dates meant nothing to him and the accompanying descriptions were odd, but he saw a pattern. All of them seemed to be a directive, some action to be taken.
She likes flowers, maybe a trip to the Botanical Garden.
Need to make excuse to reunite him with his estranged son. Maybe great tickets to see the Braves?
Was this some kind of weird little hobby his strange brother-in-law had? And what about that creepy inscription from June about holding the burden of all the horrors he carried. What horrors? This was strange and fascinating, and Gerry poured over the pages while he finished his drink. Eventually he started to recognize some names. There was their first gardener, Cisco who had died of a heart attack and then he recognized the name of his father-in-law’s personal attorney, Skip. Skip had been more of a father to Wild than Wilder Senior had been. He remembered Wild saying his dad would often send Skip to attend his little league games. So, what were they in here for? What were the great horrors June referred to? Did it have something to do with the dates? He studied them more closely and realized that the dates must refer to the date they died. He couldn’t be certain, but that’s the only thing that made sense. But again, Wild had never made any fucking sense so this could just be some hippy-dippy thought experiment.
He heard Millie’s Audi pulling into the drive and suddenly felt he had trespassed. He shoved all the objects back into the bag, but before he closed the journal, he snapped a couple of photos on his phone. When Millie came in a moment later, laden with plastic bags of take-out Mexican, he was there to greet her with open arms.
They grabbed some plates and silverware from the kitchen and headed upstairs to enjoy what would likely be their last meal ever as a family. Despite his pragmatism and the practiced distance he had kept from his wife in the last two decades, this thought pierced the old man’s heart like a tiny icicle as he followed his daughter up the grand staircase. How would she bear losing her mother? How would he ever be able to fill that void for his precious Millie? His eyes blurred with tears, and he’d completely forgotten about the strange ledger until Millie turned to him as they made their way down the long hallway.
“Teresa, the doula is in with mama right now. Wild should be here soon and then we can begin to say our goodbyes.”
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Make a New Friend in the Comments
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Want More? Check Out My Other Novels
If you’re enjoying “Departures,” chances are you will also like my two previously published novels. I’ve made the first two episodes of each free for you to preview. If you prefer reading the old fashioned way, you’re in luck because “The Memory of My Shadow” is now available in print, ebook, and audiobook anywhere you purchase books. I give you all the details in this announcement post.
In 2052, Magdalena, a brilliant programmer invents a device for telepathic communication with AI, seeking to decode the mind of her twin, the shooter in a school massacre she alone survived, but when she resurrects his consciousness, she unleashes a malevolence that could destroy her. Fans of the movie “Ex Machina” will love this story.
In the reality show competition for Houze, a revolutionary eco-home, six contestants face a winner-takes-all challenge. Beneath the surface of sustainability, altruism battles greed, turning a hopeful vision into a life and death struggle. Fans of “Nine Perfect Strangers” by Liane Moriarty will love this story.
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I know how much competes for your time and attention so I’m so grateful you’ve honored me by sharing a portion of it each week. Thank you. ❤️
Love the Music?
If you love the soundtrack for “Departures” you should check out the work of my friend and collaborator
. All the cool sounds you hear that aren’t guitars are his. You can also find links to my catalog of music here as well as Spotify or anywhere you stream music.
Two Sides of a Man