Hereafter s-2 Page 3

  When I turned to shoot him a grateful smile, I noticed a tall, solid man strolling along one of the paths in the town square. He wore a standard-issue blue uniform, polished black shoes, and what looked suspiciously like a gun in a holster on his hip. I recognized him instantly. It was Officer Dorn, the man who’d laughed me out of the precinct when I’d reported Olive missing last week. He paused for a second to talk to a man reading the Daily Register, Juniper Landing’s newspaper, under a streetlamp. When the two of them shook hands I could have sworn I saw a flash of white.

  “Rory?” Aaron prompted.

  I snapped back to the conversation. “Sorry, what?

  Aaron nudged me good-naturedly. “I said, isn’t Darcy way too good for Joaquin?”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” I said, glancing back at the park. Both the man with the paper and Dorn had vanished.

  “God, I hope he’s not working,” Darcy said as we approached the life-size carving of a wooden swan outside the door of the bar. The sounds of drunken laughter, clinking glasses, and loud rock music made the screened-in windows that lined three of the dive’s four walls tremble.

  “Why not?” Aaron asked. “You look totally hot and you’re going to flirt with other guys. I hope he is working so he can eat his own heart out.”

  Darcy grinned. “I knew I liked you.” She smoothed the front of her glittery top and quickly ran her tongue over her teeth to clear away any residual lip gloss. “Okay,” she said with a nod. “Let’s do this.”

  Then she lifted her chin and strode through the door, held open by a pockmarked gray rock at our feet. I expected Aaron to follow her first, but he stopped to pull out his cell phone, holding it up toward the sky. My stomach turned. He wasn’t going to be finding a signal anytime soon. Or ever.

  “Still trying to call your dad?” I asked, shoving my hands under my arms.

  “Just hoping I’ll catch that fifteen-second window when a satellite happens to fly over this godforsaken rock.” He sighed and pocketed the phone, then slung his arm around my shoulders. “Shall we?”

  I swallowed hard, my guilt hot inside my chest.

  “We shall,” I said with a tight smile.

  The Thirsty Swan glowed with the brightness of a nonstop party and was packed from wall to wall. I tried to get a glimpse of the counter to see if Tristan was working, but the crowd at the bar was three people deep. The girl with the pixie haircut from that morning’s ferry was sitting at the end of the bar, sipping a soda and staring at Joaquin, who was slinging drinks like a pro, that big Cheshire grin of his charming everyone in the room. Darcy strode right past him without so much as a glance and took the empty stool between Fisher and some new guy with curly blond hair, an upturned collar on his polo shirt, and a pair of flip-flops with whales embroidered on the straps. The two of them were working together on a pretty serious shot-glass pyramid, and Fisher’s tongue stuck out as he concentrated on placing the next piece. Aaron was right behind Darcy and instantly started chatting up the prep.

  “Rory!” Joaquin shouted, shooting beer into a mug and spraying froth over his hand. “How’s it hanging?”

  The pixie girl turned to look at me, and her face fell. I hoped she wasn’t thinking I was some kind of competition for Joaquin’s heart. As far as I was concerned, she could have him. If she wanted the trouble.

  “Can I get a Coke?”

  “Don’t you ever get tired of being sober?” he asked me, tilting his head as he reached under the bar for a glass.

  “It’s my only state of being, so…no. Is Tristan here?” I asked, fiddling nervously with the zipper on my jacket. Just the anticipation of seeing him was making me fidgety.

  “Nope,” Joaquin replied.

  I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. “But he told me to meet him here.”

  Joaquin gave a short laugh and tossed a glass up end over end, catching it casually. “Sorry, but I’m not Tristan’s keeper.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Look, if Tristan said he’s gonna be here, he’ll be here. He’s our resident Boy Scout,” Joaquin assured me. “This is Jennifer, by the way,” he added, nodding at the pixie girl. “She just got here today. Jennifer, Rory; Rory, Jennifer.”

  “Hi!” Jennifer’s smile was somehow both eager and wary at once. She had a cute little birthmark above her lip, and as she held her straw between her fingers, I noticed her bubblegum nail polish was chipped. “How do you and Joaquin know each other?”

  “Oh, we’re old friends,” Joaquin said, sliding the soda glass across the counter toward me.

  At the far end of the bar, Darcy laughed. She laid her hand on Fisher’s arm and he smiled down at her, clearly enjoying her attention. To my surprise, Joaquin’s smile died. He plucked another mug from under the bar, filled it, and slammed it down on the counter.

  “Sister’s moving on, I see,” he said.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked as a round of laughter rose up from a nearby table. “Jealous?”

  He leaned both hands into the bar. “Not in the least.” But I could tell by the twitch at the corner of his right eye that he was lying. “What’s there to be jealous of?”

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

  We faced off, each waiting for the other to blink.

  “Um, I’m gonna go check out the jukebox,” Jennifer said, sliding off her stool.

  I took a seat and rested my elbows on the bar, my head in my hands.

  “So. You’ve had an interesting couple of days,” Joaquin said, his voice going quiet and uncharacteristically gentle. “You okay?”

  “Do I look okay?”

  He chuckled. “You look like you’re gonna be fine. It takes a little while to adjust, but there is an upside to being stuck here forever.”

  “You mean the sense of fulfillment you get from ushering souls to their ultimate destinations?” I said.

  Joaquin’s smile froze. “God! You sound like a Tristan Parrish disciple. No, woman!” He filled another mug with beer and slid it down the bar. “I was going to say that you get to hang out with me.”

  I barked a laugh. “You’re such a jerk.”

  “I’ve been called worse,” Joaquin said lightly. “But honestly, there are definite perks to being a Lifer. Other than what Tristan the Serious tells you.”

  I raised one eyebrow. “Like what?”

  Joaquin leaned into the counter to get closer to my ear and lowered his voice. “We can’t get sick, we can’t die,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “And we also get to stay young and hot forever.” He stood up straight and threw his arms wide as I rolled my eyes. “In Juniper Landing, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  “Yeah. Except the concept of eternity,” I muttered.

  He waved a dismissive hand at me. “Eh. You get used to that.”

  Shaking my head, I looked over my shoulder at Jennifer. “So, I’m not really sure how all this works,” I whispered. “Do you know how she died?”

  “Brain tumor,” Joaquin said matter-of-factly.

  My stomach clenched. “Oh my god.”

  He popped open a bottle of beer and took a swig. “Yeah, it was pretty quick, though. Only a month between diagnosis and pffft.” He made a deflating sound with his lips, like letting the air out of a balloon.

  “Wow. How very respectful of you,” I said sarcastically.

  “What? She doesn’t know she’s dead,” he said quietly. “All she remembers is that she was diagnosed. As far as she’s concerned, she’s on vacation, and she’ll be outta here in a day, anyway. Kid spent half her life volunteering with underprivileged children and the other half being polite. It’s just too bad she won’t be here longer so she could get a chance to sow an oat or two.” His eyes flicked over her like he was considering the possibility of helping her out with that particular situation. I shot him a withering look and turned my back on him.

  “Hey! I’m just doing my job.”

  “Whatever,” I said. “So how do you—”


  But when I glanced over my shoulder, Joaquin was already gone. He’d moved down the bar to tend to the clamoring throng, leaving me with my unanswered questions. Like how, exactly, he knew all these things about Jennifer. Whether he was going to be the one to usher her. How these new souls were assigned to Lifers in the first place. Were they assigned? Or was I supposed to just start chatting someone up and see if they were ready to move on?

  I took a deep breath and sighed, wishing Tristan would show up already.

  “I know, sucks in here, right?”

  Startled, I looked over and found myself staring into the dark brown eyes of one of the new arrivals—the guy in the ripped jeans who’d seemed so lost when he’d stepped off the ferry today. He had a tiny scar through his eyebrow and didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands; he touched the back of his neck, crossed his arms, then hooked his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans.

  “Totally,” I said.

  “You live here?” he asked, standing next to me and gazing down at the drinks menu.

  I hesitated for a split second. “Yep, uh…yeah. I’m Rory. Rory Thayer.”

  “Brian Wohl,” he said, lifting a hand. “Just got here from North Carolina.”

  “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “You, too.” He looked up at Joaquin, who had reappeared in front of us. “Can I get a beer? Whatever’s on tap.”

  “You got it.” Joaquin quickly filled a mug for him.

  I wondered whether he had the same gut feeling about Brian that Tristan had had this morning, but he just went right along tipping bottles over glasses, digging ice out of the freezer, and chatting with the customers. Brian sipped his beer while the room around us buzzed and hummed and laughed and clinked.

  “So, Rory. That’s a nice name,” Brian said eventually, leaning one elbow on the bar. I felt awkward, sitting while he was standing, but there were no seats to be had.

  “I’ll tell my dad you think so,” I joked. He raised his eyebrows at me in question. “He picked it.”

  “Oh.” Brian took a swig of beer, then sucked his teeth. “I don’t know who picked my name. I never thought about it.”

  “One or both of your parents, I’d guess,” I said.

  “The thing is, I can’t really imagine them doing it,” Brian replied. He ran one finger around the rim of his mug on the bar, his eyes downcast. “I can’t imagine them caring long enough to think about it.”

  “Oh.” Now I was the one who didn’t know what to do with my hands. I tucked them under my thighs and cleared my throat. “That sounds rough.”

  “Sorry,” he said, his neck turning blotchy. “That’ll kill your conversation, right?” He let out a sharp sort of laugh as the blotchiness spread to his cheeks.

  “No, no. It’s fine.”

  I had the sinking feeling that I was very out of my element and glanced down the bar toward my sister, as if she could somehow telepathically tell me what to do. But I couldn’t even see her from where I was sitting, the crowd around her was so thick. Brian sighed and shook his head, like he was annoyed at himself. At least we were in this sinking boat together.

  “So…uh…what brings you here?” I asked, then immediately regretted it. He had no idea what had brought him here. He didn’t even know what here really was.

  “I had to get away from my family,” he said, looking away.

  “How come?” I asked.

  His eyes flashed. “You always ask so many questions?”

  My face burned. “Sorry. I just…forget it.” And Darcy wondered why I hated parties.

  “Not everyone has parents who like them,” Brian said tersely.

  “I know,” I replied, my voice thick. “For a long time I didn’t think my dad liked me. All he’s done for the past four years is bitch at me and my sister, so—”

  “I bet he never threw you out of your own house.”

  He tossed back the rest of his beer and dropped the heavy mug on the bar like a punctuation mark.

  My heart broke for him. “That’s…Brian, I’m so sorry.”

  Brian leaned forward and rubbed his palms together. His fingers were dirty, the cracks in his knuckles dark with grime.

  “Yep. Nothing was ever good enough for them. I graduated, got a job in a garage…but it still wasn’t enough, so…” He shook his head and shrugged. “Anyway, it’s okay, because now…I’m free.”

  He spread his arms wide and smiled. There was a gap between his front teeth that gave him a charming, boyish look.

  “I guess there’s always a bright side,” I said, forcing a smile. He had no idea just how “free” he was.

  He pressed his lips together, considering this. “Always a bright side,” he said. “I like that.”

  A relieved smile crossed my face. Finally, I’d said something right. A pack of raucous guys in the corner erupted in a cacophonous round of jeers and shouts. Brian winced.

  “This isn’t really my scene. You want to get out of here for a bit? Go for a walk by the water?” he asked, grazing the center of my back with his hand.

  As soon as he touched me, I felt a spark, like static electricity, only sharper—hotter. My back felt prickly even after he dropped his hand—like my skin was vibrating—and a flutter of anticipation sprung up inside my chest. Maybe this was it. Maybe I was about to usher my first soul. I glanced around for Tristan again, but he was still nowhere to be found.

  Then I had a thought, an inkling, a suspicion. Maybe this was how they trained the new Lifers. Maybe this was why Tristan hadn’t shown up. I was being thrown into the deep end of the pool on my first day so they could see how I’d react, how I’d handle it. There was a familiar rush inside my chest. The feeling of rising to a challenge. The anticipation of making Tristan proud.

  “Sure,” I said, sliding off my stool. “This isn’t really my scene, either.”

  Brian smiled and grabbed his rucksack, which had been leaning against the wall. He lifted the strap over his shoulder as he stepped aside to let me walk out first. When I crossed in front of him, I had to bite back a grin.

  This was it. My first ushering. My new life was about to begin.

  Saved

  The calm bay water lapped at the sand lazily, thinning out and sloshing back at an even rhythm. Brian kicked at broken seashells, their pale fragments gleaming against the sand, and sighed. Gray clouds flitted across the bright moon, and each breeze seemed cooler than the last. I flipped up the collar on my thin jacket, ducking my chin down deep.

  Someone whistled in the dark—a slow, mournful tune—and I shivered. My eyes darted to the black waves; I was half expecting Mr. Nell to rise up out of the bay and drag me under. But instead I saw something gleaming in the moonlight, a long black splotch with a silver streak. I took a tentative step forward and my stomach turned. It was a pile of fish. Dozens of black and silver fish, all washed up on the shore, eyes fogged over. Dead. The whistling grew louder. I froze.

  “What’s wrong?” Brian asked.

  “Do you hear that?” I hissed, my heart pounding as I whirled around. “Do you—”

  A shadowy figure appeared on the boardwalk, and I clutched Brian’s arm. A moment later, the whistler strolled under one of the lights outside the Crab Shack, illuminating the face of one of the Lifers—the guy I’d never met who’d been loitering in the corner of the basement this morning with Mohawk Girl and another nameless female. Relief flooded my body. He stopped momentarily when he saw us, and his whistling ceased. He wore a black sweatshirt with the hood up over his reddish hair, and his pale skin seemed to glow in the darkness. His eyes, dark and fathomless, held mine for several long breaths. Finally, he kept on walking, his heavy black boots crunching on the sandy slats of the boardwalk.

  Brian and I both watched until the guy stepped out of sight. Then Brian looked down at my hand, still gripping his arm. Embarrassed, I released him and tucked my hands into my pockets.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “No worries,” Brian told me, walking
a few paces up the beach, putting distance between us and the fish. “Actually, I wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” I asked, walking beside him.

  “For spilling all over you about my parents.” He dug a groove in the sand with the tip of his sneaker.

  My heart thumped with sympathy. “Oh, it’s fine,” I said, then hesitated. “I’m…glad you came over to me.”

  “I’m glad I did, too,” he said with a grin.

  And then his fingers caught me around the waist. The words What are you doing? were still forming in my mind when he leaned down and kissed me. His lips were dry and tasted sour. I yanked my face away as quickly and politely as possible.

  “Oh, Brian, I’m so sorry,” I said, taking a slight step back. “I didn’t mean to make you think I—”

  “Think what?” he asked darkly. “That you wanted me?”

  His hands gripped my waist tighter now, and he pulled me against him, pressing my pelvic bone against his. Then his mouth came down on mine again, his nose pressing mine flat so completely I could hardly breathe.

  Panic coursed through my body. This wasn’t happening. This could not be happening.

  I lifted my hands and pressed them against his chest, but his grip was like a vise. I couldn’t force even an inch of space between us. With a screech, I managed to turn my head away from his, but then he swept my ankle with his foot and sent me sprawling on the sand. My cheekbone hit something hard—a rock or a large shell, and hundreds of tiny dots of light exploded across my vision.

  “Don’t be a tease, Rory,” Brian spat, climbing on top of me. He pinned my thigh down with his knee and my shoulder with one hand. With his other he worked the zipper on my jacket, yanking it open with three quick jerks. “You knew what you were doing when you came out here with me. We both knew what you were doing.”

  “Get off me!” I cried, kicking my legs.

  Brian laughed coldly. He dipped his head closer, and I saw the sharpness in his dark eyes. The determination. “That’s not gonna happen,” he said icily. “So you may as well just relax and enjoy yourself.”