My novel “The Memory of My Shadow” is now available in print, ebook, and audiobook format. If you live in the U.S., become an annual paid subscriber and I’ll send you a signed copy FREE.
“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 took Wild to her family’s small cabin in the mountains to celebrate his birthday. She asked about his relationship with his parents and learned more about the dynamic money has played in his life. When she fell asleep on a blanket in the field, Wild took a chance and touched her. He was immediately crushed to discover that her death won’t be at a ripe old age, but just six years into their future. He steeled himself, deciding that he had no choice but to keep this secret from her.
In the days following his sister Abigail’s death, Wild experienced a kind of lightness. She was the last of the people closest to him who he knew, or at least assumed he would outlive– one benefit of getting older. In a way, it felt like retirement.
This newfound feeling was, perhaps, the only explanation for why, two days after Abby’s funeral, he had accepted Gerry’s invitation to fly down to the Gulf Coast to enjoy some fishing. Gerry was genuinely bereft at the funeral and when he called Wild to invite him on the trip, he had been insistent saying he needed to be around family and hoped they could rekindle their old friendship. Wild didn’t commit right away, but when Millie texted him later that afternoon saying how happy she was that the two of them were taking the trip, he found it impossible to disappoint her. He had tried to convince her to come too, hoping for the buffer she would add between him and his brother-in-law, but she was working on a major deal at work that required all her attention.
So, that’s how Wild found himself alone with Gerry twenty miles off the coast of Rosemary Beach, Florida pitching back and forth on a private chartered fishing boat. The fat, grizzled captain stuck to the shade of the cabin once he baited their lines.
“This is kind of perfect, right?” Gerry asked, raising his beer to Wild.
“It is gorgeous. I forgot how much I missed the water,” Wild said.
“Well, you know you can come down whenever you want. The house is open to you anytime.”
Wild felt it was in poor taste to rob Gerry of his magnanimous gesture by pointing out that the house literally was his. Though it had been used by everyone but him in the last two decades, the sprawling beachfront “cottage” was part of his inheritance.
“Yeah, maybe I will. It’s been a long time. June loved it here.”
“That’s right, I almost forgot you two got married here. I can see why you stayed away.”
Wild took another sip of beer, set it down into the cup holder attached to the vinyl swivel chair, and gave a few cranks to his reel. The pain from his broken wrist had faded in the last couple of weeks, but if he hooked something major, he would need help pulling it in. He had only enjoyed fishing for one summer of his life when he was ten. For whatever reason, his father had taken an interest in him that summer and every Friday he had taken off work early so he could take Wild Junior out fishing. They usually went somewhere close by like Lake Altoona or in the North Georgia mountains, but they had taken one trip here as kind of a capstone for the summer. Wild didn’t recall much about the trip beyond pulling in a tiny shark on the day they set up on the beach, planting their saltwater reels in PVC pipe staked into the wet sand. His father had run out of conversation starters to bond with a ten-year-old and resorted to talk about the business. Never too early to learn, he said. After, he had yelled at Wild for being too squeamish to step on the shark and rip the hook out of its mouth using the pliers from the tackle box.
Wild realized he had let his side of the conversation with Gerry go slack. He turned and appraised his brother-in-law.
“Well, you know what it’s like now to lose your better half, don’t you?”
“I do. It’s going to take a long time to get used to Abs not being there when I come home. I’m not even sure I want to keep the place, but it would be too upsetting to Millie if I sold it.”
Just then, Gerry’s reel jumped to life, giving out a high-pitched whine as the rod bent in half and the cylinder began to whir, quickly paying out line to whatever unlucky beast had taken his bait. Much of the next hour was focused on the man versus fish battle that put Wild in mind of the Hemingway book he had read in eighth grade. By comparison, this hardly seemed like a fair fight, given the technology stacked in this particular old man’s favor. Normally, Wild would have spelled Gerry for a bit, but with his broken wrist, he was useless, so the grizzled captain stepped in and continued reeling in the enormous fish that kept diving in mighty attempts to free itself.
At the forty-five-minute mark, the huge Marlin leapt out of the sea fifty feet away in a fierce, last stand. Wild admired its shimmering silver blue belly as the fish thrashed in the blinding sunlight reflecting off the waves, its saber stabbing with a deadly parry against an opponent it would never match. Wild wanted only to cut it free, but he knew that wouldn’t happen. Gerry was a believer in trophies. No doubt the fish would be mounted and showcased in one of his many homes.
With the magnificent 325-pound fish on ice, the captain produced a celebratory bottle of Macallan, turned the boat around and they headed back to shore. Wild couldn’t keep pace with Gerry who seemed bent on catharsis that afternoon, downing glass after glass of the expensive Scotch. When they reached the marina, they had the obligatory photo with their catch and Gerry leaned heavily on Wild to keep himself upright. After, Wild took the keys and helped his brother-in-law into the passenger seat, hoping to just get back home to lay down but Gerry insisted they stop at a little hole-in-the-wall oyster shack. Wild relented only because he figured it might be good to have the distraction of a noisy place rather than it just be the two of them in that big empty house for the rest of the evening.
The restaurant was rustic and charming with sawdust on the floor and big galvanized buckets packed with crushed ice and gnarled oyster shells poking out like alien fingers. It wasn’t until they were seated at a high-top bar rail facing the ocean that Wild remembered it was one of the spots June had loved. He saw a vision of her sunburned face laughing as she squeezed a lemon wedge between her teeth. He snapped back to the present when Gerry began obnoxiously flagging down a young waitress who was clearly in the weeds. They ordered and allowed Hank Williams to stand in for conversation as they sipped their beers. When the jukebox changed to something new and unfamiliar, Gerry turned, leaned in close to Wild, and spoke, his face as red as the label on his beer.
“So, tell me about your death book, Nostradamus.”
Wild froze. How could Millie have betrayed his trust, especially after he had made it clear she should keep his secret between them? He was too angry to respond but Gerry’s bulging eyes were not backing down. It was pointless to try to lie but it was also foolish to assume Gerry understood anything.
“Millie showed you one of my private journals, I guess.”
“Oh no, Mills didn’t do that. I saw it in her purse the other night when I was tidying up before you got there.”
Wild felt only slightly better. He took a long pull on the beer and looked out at the ocean. “What do you wanna know?”
“I don’t know, I find it completely fascinating.” The sibilance in this last word was pronounced, languorous and slippery. “Tell me all about this project of yours.”
“It’s not a project. Just something I used to do when I was younger. It was a way of managing my illness. June’s suggestion.”
Wild felt it was safe to slide this under this vague category of his illness which everyone in the Thorne clan understood prevented him from performing anything like a normal life.
“So, what, you had delusions about dead people or something?”
Gerry wasn’t going to let this go. Wild was beginning to understand that the whole trip might have been planned just to get to the bottom of this mystery. Gerry knew more than he was letting on. He had put something together or maybe Millie had talked with him after he snooped and found the journal. Wild was too tired for cloak and dagger.
“Yeah, that’s exactly right. I meet someone, shake their hand, and know when they’re gonna die. That’s it. That’s my special talent and that’s all there is to tell. Now, can we talk about something else?”
“Wait, wait, wait. You’re serious about this? You actually believe you’re in an X-Files episode? I mean I know you’ve always thought you were special, but come on, bro…”
“Nah, I’m just fuckin’ with you. It was just a therapeutic writing exercise. June thought it would help with my anxiety.”
Gerry stared at him for a long time, his legendary talent for cornering his opponents in the board room dulled by the whisky. Wild could see the gears turning, slipping, and missing behind his blood-shot eyes. Then Gerry smiled and started laughing. What began as a performative chuckle crescendoed into a guffaw that induced a coughing fit. Wild joined him in the laugh. It seemed impolite to do otherwise. When Gerry regained his composure, he tore a paper towel from the spool dedicated to their table, and wiped tears from his cheeks.
“That’s good, you had me going.”
The oysters came and they devoured a dozen each. Wild was happy to have the distraction of such a physically demanding meal. As he shucked, scooped, and swallowed between sips of beer, his thoughts turned back to the last time he was there with June. It was like discovering a hidden treasure. He had so few memories of their life together that were not completely worn out like old cassettes played too many times. They had come back for their one-year anniversary. It had been just a quick two-day affair which is why Wild had not remembered it. Sitting here though, he was able to bring it all back. June loved sunrise on the beach, so she had hauled him out of bed to walk. They spent the morning under an umbrella reading with their feet plunged deep into the cool sand and their toes touching. He and June had always maintained some physical contact, even if it was just a pinky toe. They swam in the blue green water as warm as a bathtub and she floated on her back. He kissed her salty lips. In the afternoon, they lounged on the enormous couch in the great room, naked as they snacked on grapes and peanut butter directly out of the jar. They had a fight too but Wild couldn’t remember what it was about. Their fights were fast, stormy affairs that blew out to sea quickly leaving little damage.
“You ready to go?”
It took a minute to realize Gerry was addressing him.
“Sure, lemme just get the check,” Wild answered.
“Nah, your money’s no good here.”
The sun had set, and it was twilight as they got into the car. Gerry was mostly sobered up but hadn’t made a point of wanting to drive. As Wild steered onto A1-A and headed west, he ventured a glance over at his brother-in-law. Gerry slumped, his head leaning against the window. He seemed tired and deflated after his trophy fish and an unhealthy amount of whisky and oysters. They drove in silence, passing the endless rows of pastel beach houses stacked like child’s blocks jockeying for an ocean view even if it was just a tiny widow’s walk that could only accommodate a single lawn chair. So much had changed since he had been here with June.
A mile from home, Wild was convinced that Gerry had fallen asleep when the old man spoke.
“You knew when Abby was gonna die didn’t you? That’s why Millie arranged for you to come over. It’s why you did all that stuff with her the last few years. Making up for lost time.”
Wild didn’t answer but nodded slowly. He put the turn signal on and hit the button to open the gate to the driveway. He pulled the car into the open-air carport and killed the engine. His fingers were on the handle about to pop the car door open when Gerry continued, his voice hollow and far away.
“Wild, when am I gonna die?”
Wild sighed. This was the last conversation he wanted to have and now there was no way out of it. Maybe if he wasn’t so tired and still a little bit drunk, he might have been more merciful in his response. Maybe if his brother-in-law had actually asked about his daughter Millie before asking about himself, Wild might have reached for a white lie. He didn’t turn to face Gerry when he gave his reply.
“You have about a year.”
Gerry was silent. The only sound was the ticking of the cooling engine and beyond that, the waves crashing out beyond the dunes. Wild looked up to study his face. In the hard shadows cast by the interior dome light of the car, Gerry looked haggard. His jaw was slack, and he stared straight ahead into nothing.
“I’m sorry,” Wild added, not knowing what else to say.
“That’s it,” Gerry said. “Just a year and I’m sorry?”
“What do you want me to say? You asked. I didn’t want to tell you but I’m beginning to think this was the whole reason why you wanted me to come.”
“Is it exactly a year?”
Wild knew with certainty what the date was, and he knew with certainty that he it would not serve Gerry to know.
“I don’t remember and besides, it’s not going to be good for you to know.”
Gerry reached over and grabbed Wild’s forearm with both his hands. His grip was fierce. “Damn it, Wild, I want to know!”
There it was, the date, crisply printed in his mind’s eye again, as if on demand. Wild peered into Gerry’s wide, bloodshot eyes. Why in the hell had he told him? This would only lead to suffering. He knew better. June would never have allowed it. As much as she disliked Gerry, she would have forced Wild to hold his tongue. But June was gone, and Gerry had never been anything but a selfish, climbing asshole. As if on cue, Gerry increased his grip.
“Fine. You want to know the date? It’s August 5, 2025. That’s it. That’s all I know, Gerry. I have no magic power and there’s no changing the date. Now, please let go of my arm.”
« Previous Episode | Table of Contents | Next Episode »
Make a New Friend in the Comments
I’ve witnessed a really cool thing happen as I’ve published two other novels online like this. People who love the story and talk about it in the comments each week discover other likeminded readers and other fantastic writers. Many lasting friendships and collaborations start in the comments section. Share your thought and make a friend.
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.
Want to Help?
For independent authors like me who don’t have the support of a big publisher and marketing team, your enthusiastic support for my work means EVERYTHING. You can help others find my books by liking, commenting on, restacking, and sharing episodes like this one with anyone you know who loves to read.
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.
Fishing Trips