Once she was blind, now she can see.
A car accident claims Jessie's vision, leaving the young woman in the dark, struggling to piece her life back together. One year later, she has made progress, moves with her husband, Lee, to the peaceful village of Gardner Town. Once there, though, Jessie's blindness heightens her awareness of the strange and terrible things going on in the community. Only Jessie can hear the beckoning voices from the cemetery. Only Jessie thinks there's something terribly wrong with her husband's new boss.
And then a local woman makes a chilling, desperate request: When your husband dies, don't let them bring him back.
From the bestselling author of The Devil's Advocate, this masterful novel of suspense gives readers chills with each page, and the final chapters will be read without blinking.
Once she was blind, now she can see.
A car accident claims Jessie's vision, leaving the young woman in the dark, struggling to piece her life back together. One year later, she has made progress, moves with her husband, Lee, to the peaceful village of Gardner Town. Once there, though, Jessie's blindness heightens her awareness of the strange and terrible things going on in the community. Only Jessie can hear the beckoning voices from the cemetery. Only Jessie thinks there's something terribly wrong with her husband's new boss.
And then a local woman makes a chilling, desperate request: When your husband dies, don't let them bring him back.
From the bestselling author of The Devil's Advocate, this masterful novel of suspense gives readers chills with each page, and the final chapters will be read without blinking.
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Overview
Once she was blind, now she can see.
A car accident claims Jessie's vision, leaving the young woman in the dark, struggling to piece her life back together. One year later, she has made progress, moves with her husband, Lee, to the peaceful village of Gardner Town. Once there, though, Jessie's blindness heightens her awareness of the strange and terrible things going on in the community. Only Jessie can hear the beckoning voices from the cemetery. Only Jessie thinks there's something terribly wrong with her husband's new boss.
And then a local woman makes a chilling, desperate request: When your husband dies, don't let them bring him back.
From the bestselling author of The Devil's Advocate, this masterful novel of suspense gives readers chills with each page, and the final chapters will be read without blinking.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781626817838 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Diversion Publishing |
| Publication date: | 09/01/2018 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 216 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
About the Author
The Devil’s Advocate, which was made into a major motion picture for Warner Bros., starring Al Pacino, Keanu Reeves, and Charlize Theron, and is in development as a stage musical in London. Neiderman has also written seventy New York Times–bestselling novels for the V. C. Andrews franchise. He lives with his family in Palm Springs, California. Visit him on Facebook and at www.neiderman.com.
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Lee Overstreet paused for a moment in his unpacking of cartons and gazed out the side window in the kitchen. Despite the size and brightness of this apartment and the reasonableness of the rent, he couldn't get used to the idea of living right next to a cemetery.
He never told Jessie about the cemetery when he described the apartment he had found for them. One thing they didn't need now was something else to depress them. The car accident would last for a lifetime. Whenever there was a chance for any happiness, all he had to do was watch her grope her way about their apartment or watch her reading in braille and that would put things back into perspective.
Of course, he had anticipated that the accident and her subsequent blindness would change her; he had expected her to become bitter if not frustrated and full of self-pity. Instead she became oddly mysterious, often uttering things that seemingly made no sense. And those voices! It gave him the jitters how she could look up suddenly and say, "Who's here, Lee? Who's in the kitchen?" or "Who's out in the hall?"
"What who? There's no one there."
"Yes, there was," she would insist. "Listen."
He heard nothing.
"Someone was whispering," she would say. They were just out of range for her to make out the words ... or at least all the words. Sometimes she heard one or two.
"You're imagining it," he would tell her, stroking her long, light brown hair and kissing her softly on the forehead.
Life had taken another downturn for them when he had had his job cut at Hicksville High School on Long Island. He had been unable to find another teaching position in physical education nearby and had had to work for a taxi service, doing the late shift. He was desperate, so they could give him whatever they wanted. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, came this advertisement in the mail for an immediate opening at the Gardner Town High School in the Catskill Mountains of New York. He applied and forgot about it until he received a telephone call inviting him to come for an interview.
He had met with Henry Young, the principal, who explained why the school responded so quickly to his letter of application and why there was such urgency to fill the position.
"Kurt Andersen was more than just one of our better teachers here," Henry Young had said. "He was, in every sense of the word, Mr. Gardner Town High. And," he added, "a friend." The tall, lean man with the kind of tired, drawn, and melancholy face that reminded Lee of Abraham Lincoln swallowed back his sorrow. It was understandable. Andersen's death was so recent.
"Massive coronary," Henry Young explained, and shook his head. "No one expected it. The man was as strong as a horse, but as old Doc Beezly says, 'tension wears on you in places you can't see, can't even feel,'" Young added, raising his eyebrows. "Good thing to keep in mind."
Tension, Lee thought, how do you hold it at bay?
"Daydreaming?" Jessie asked.
She felt her way through the kitchen door and stopped by the kitchenette set, her hands on the back of a chair. She sensed where he was standing and turned in his direction. With her ebony hair tied up with a bandanna and with her dark complexion, silvery gray eyes, and gold teardrop earrings, she looked like a fortune-teller.
Jessie stood only two inches shorter than Lee, who was six feet tall. She had long, graceful legs and a slim figure with perky breasts that often drove him into a lustful frenzy whenever they began to make love. He loved to trace his forefinger down the slope of her soft shoulders, over her collarbone, and through the valley of her bosom. His roadway to ecstasy, he called it, and three years of marriage hadn't dimmed the passion or slowed the beat of his heart whenever she brought her lips close to his.
"How did you know I was daydreaming?" he asked. Her new sensitivity to things around her constantly astounded him. The doctors had told him her sense of smell and hearing, even her sense of touch, would improve, grow sharper to compensate for her loss of sight, but sometimes she seemed to possess radar.
"I heard you stop unpacking. Want me to help? I could hand things to you, couldn't I?"
"No, everything's just about out of the cartons, Jess. I was just ..."
"Admiring the scenery? Describe it to me," she said, working her way to him. "Is it pretty? Do you see mountains? There's not much traffic here. I don't hear many cars go by."
"It's off the main drag, just like I told you."
He looked out the window again. You could see the mountains in the distance, and beyond the cemetery there was a lush forest filled with pine and birch, maple and some hickory. He skipped over the graveyard and described the rest.
"Sounds beautiful. We'll be happy here, Lee. I know it. Well," she said, her right hand on his left upper arm, "if you have put everything in its place, it's time for you to show me. I want to be just as independent in this apartment as I was in Hicksville, even though this one is a lot larger."
"Okay," he said, shaking his head and smiling. He had searched for a ground-floor apartment and had found this one in this turn-of-the-century, two-story Victorian. He suspected it was inexpensive because of the proximity of the graveyard, but it fit the bill. It would be easy for Jessie to work her way around it, and that was what was most important.
Jessie smiled, that dimple in her right cheek flashing. There was always so much animation in her face — the way she raised her eyebrows, twitched her small upturned nose, quivered the corners of her mouth. He doted on her features.
"You're laughing at me, aren't you?" she said.
"How did you know?"
"I can feel it," she said, and he believed her.
"All right." He took her hand. "Let me show you around your kitchen. I put everything left to right just the way you had it in Hicksville, beginning with the toaster, the coffeepot, and the Mixmaster.
"First cabinet," he continued, and took her through the kitchen, dish by dish, pot by pot. When he was finished, she began on the left by herself and reviewed it, not making a single error, and ending up sitting at the kitchenette table. He shook his head. She was truly amazing.
"Our bed is made," she said, "and I put away all my things and most of yours."
"Great." He put away the remaining articles and folded the last carton. "I've got to cut up all these cartons and make them flat. Then I have to tie the bundle up," he said. "Those are the rules from the sanitation company here. I'm surprised they didn't ask us to tie pink ribbons around everything. Talk about your prim-and-proper little communities."
Jessie laughed.
"Tell me about the school, Lee. You've hardly spoken about it. You're not ashamed of it, are you?" she asked perceptively.
"Well ..."
"You are, aren't you?"
"It's nothing like what I had in Hicksville. They've got a gym, of course, but no separate exercise room and very little gymnastic equipment."
"No football then?"
"Too small a school. K to twelve is just under a thousand."
"That must be nice, though. You'll get to know everyone quickly." She smiled and then reached out for him. "Come here. I hate when you're so far away from me when I speak to you. I can't see your face with my fingers, and I don't know how you're reacting to what I say."
"Really? I thought you could sense things a mile away," he said, and sat beside her. She pressed the tips of her right hand over his lips and eyes.
"What is it, Lee? What's wrong?"
"Jesus."
"There's something wrong," she insisted. "Tell me. Is there something the matter with the apartment?"
"No."
"What then? Come on," she coaxed.
"I don't like my good luck being based on someone's bad," he confessed.
"Mr. Andersen," she said, nodding. "I suspected as much. Was he married?"
"To his job, from what I hear. He taught here for over twenty years."
She nodded again, her face full of concern. Then her expression changed.
"Someone's at the door," she declared.
"Huh?"
The door buzzer sounded.
"How the hell ..."
"I heard footsteps on the porch steps," she explained.
The buzzer sounded again. Lee got up slowly, still shaking his head, and went to the door to greet Bob Baker, an English teacher he had met briefly when he had first come for an interview. Baker was just over six feet tall, in his late forties, with that distinguished gray tint in his temples. He had an impish twinkle in his cerulean-blue eyes. He wore a tweed sports jacket, matching brown slacks, and a white shirt opened at the collar. Lee thought he either had the remnants of a late summer tan or he was a naturally dark-skinned man. Baker carried a bag that obviously contained a bottle of some alcoholic beverage.
But Lee's gaze was quickly drawn to Baker's wife, who though not quite as tall, somehow evinced a taller appearance with her statuesque figure. Her face was an artist's dream, sculptured features, high cheekbones, deep-set green eyes, and a straight, sensual mouth. She wore her light brown hair brushed back and down over her shoulders. It lay softly and had a healthy, silky sheen.
"Lee Overstreet?" Baker said.
Lee smiled.
"Yes?"
"As faculty president, I make it my business to formally greet newcomers and see to it that they are properly christened." He handed Lee the bag, which Lee saw contained a bottle of champagne. And not a cheap one at that.
"Well, now, thank you. Come in, please."
"Actually it's only an excuse for Bob to drink," his wife said, extending her hand. "I'm Tracy Baker. I hope this is not a bad time, although I can't imagine when it could be a good time for you, having to move in practically overnight."
"No, no. It's —"
"Nervy of us," Bob said, stepping past him. Jessie had made her way back and was standing in the hallway, smiling. "Hi," Bob said.
"Hello." Jessie extended her hand and Baker moved forward quickly to shake it.
"Bob Baker. And this is my wife, Tracy," he said, turning.
But before she greeted Tracy, Jessie pulled her hand from Baker's abruptly because it felt loathsome, felt as if she had joined hands with a rotting corpse. She pressed her palm against her bosom and covered it with her other hand protectively.
"Jess?" Lee said.
She shook off the grotesque image quickly. These images, voices, when would they stop haunting her?
"I'm all right," she said quickly, and forced a smile.
"It's terrible of us to barge in on you like this," Tracy said, "but Bob insisted."
"No, no, it's all right," Jessie said. "Really."
"It's one of the few duties I have that I thoroughly enjoy," Baker quipped. He gazed around. "You haven't done too badly. I think it took us ... what ... ten days to unpack, Trace."
"More like ten months."
"How long have you lived in Gardner Town?" Jessie asked.
"A little over ten years. Teaching was going to be my temporary job," Baker said. "I had high hopes of becoming another Brando."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Jessie said. "I can appreciate what it means to be frustrated."
"Ah, I've adjusted," Baker said. "Besides, teaching is really a performance. Look at what we're competing with for the students' attention these days: MTV, the Laugh Channel, and home videos." He slapped his hands together and looked at Lee. "We can just open the bottle and pass it around, if you don't have your glasses unpacked yet."
"Bob!" Tracy exclaimed. "He's incorrigible and I think he tipped a few at O'Heanie's before he came home from school today."
"Absolute poppycock," Baker said.
"I'll get the glasses," Jessie said. "Take them into the living room, Lee. Do we need a corkscrew?"
"Naw, it's a twist-off," Baker said. "Old wine in a modern container."
Jessie smiled and then began her slow journey back to the kitchen, feeling her way down the corridor. The Bakers stared and then turned slowly toward Lee, who nodded.
"Yes," he said softly, "she's blind. A car accident a little over a year ago."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Tracy said quickly. "Bob, I told you it wasn't right to intrude."
"No, it's fine," Lee said. "She doesn't let it prevent her from doing much. She's already memorized her kitchen. Come on in and sit down. I appreciate the break and chance to relax."
"This is a roomy apartment," Tracy said, gazing around. "I didn't know it was available. Old man Carter, the cemetery caretaker, still lives upstairs, doesn't he?"
"Yes," Lee said, and then indicated they should sit on the sofa. He sat across from them in the high-backed, thickcushioned easy chair.
"I heard he's in his nineties," Tracy said, "but I guess he still does his work satisfactorily."
"How do you know? Just because none of his residents have voiced any complaints?" Baker said, and laughed at his own joke.
"Bob, that isn't nice."
"One thing," Lee said, quickly gazing toward the doorway. "Jessie doesn't know we're practically on top of a cemetery. I left out that detail when I described the surroundings. I'll break it to her slowly," he added.
"Understandable," Baker said. He slapped his hands together and leaned forward. "Well, you've come from a rather big school system. It's going to be a lot different here, but I think you will like it. We have a fairly intelligent faculty and the board of education isn't bad if you look at them relatively. It's nothing like some of the outlying communities with schools governed by crew-cut conservatives who think the blackboard is a frill."
"And," Tracy added, "you'll find the community very sports-minded, especially when it comes to the basketball team."
"Yeah, I know. I've already been told about two hundred times how well liked Mr. Andersen was and how important it is to the school to have a good basketball team. I think the reason I was hired was because of my record as a basketball coach and my own achievements as an undergraduate."
"Very astute of you," Baker said. "You're in your element, buddy."
"Now, Bob, don't say anything to discourage him," Tracy warned. "He can be a terrible iconoclast when he gets started."
"Oh?"
"What is that, Bob?" Jessie asked from the doorway.
"Don't tell me teaching has made you cynical." She placed the glasses on the coffee table carefully. The Bakers were mesmerized by her every move. She sensed it in the silence. "I'm fine," she said, smiling. "Bob, you sound like a very nice and very interesting man. Are you cynical?"
"Oh, I don't know. I suppose I get a little envious sometimes. I mean Lee here will get my students absolutely riled up into an hysteria with his basketball team, but I will struggle to get them to stay awake and try to understand why poetry has any purpose. But let's not get too philosophical here," he added quickly, and leaned over to open the bottle. "Let's get right to a toast."
He poured the champagne and Lee gave Jessie hers. They raised their glasses.
"To Lee and Jessie Overstreet. May their lives flourish and be productive and happy here in Gardner Town. Good luck and welcome from the faculty of Gardner Town High. Here, here," Bob said, and tilted his glass. They all drank.
"Did you teach anyplace else before Gardner Town, Bob?" Jessie asked. She turned her head so that she faced him directly. Although the wires had been tragically shut down behind those silvery gray eyes, they still held a glint of exuberance, a sparkle of life. It was as if she had the aim of someone in meditation, focusing her entire being on whomever or whatever she attended to.
"Like Lee, I taught for a few years in a bigger system. I was in Yonkers. I wanted to be very close to New York City in those days, and the theater," Baker explained.
"Don't you miss the livelier urban area, the richer school system?" Jessie pursued.
"Well ..."
"We did in the beginning," Tracy replied quickly.
"What changed for you?" Jessie asked. Her hand searched for Lee's. He closed his fingers around hers and smiled at the Bakers.
"Jessie's a writer; she likes to know what makes people tick," he explained, gazing at her with some pride.
"A writer!" Baker leaned forward. "Really? Have you published anything?"
"Short stories in small magazines, some poetry. Nothing major yet. So," she said, the smile around her lips rippling through her cheeks and around her eyes, "you do like living in a small-town world?"
"Yes. It sort of wears on you after a while. It's nice not to have to fight for a place to park when you go shopping."
"Certainly you don't have the same sort of problems big schools have," Jessie said. "I'm sure kids here aren't as into drugs and alcohol, are they?"
"I guess we have our share of delinquents, but you're right — it's not as bad as the inner city. And as far as the school goes, Henry Young has a handle on things," Baker said.
"Yes," Lee said. "I got that impression. I never heard so many superlatives when it came to an administrator. Is he really that good?"
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "After Life"
by .
Copyright © 1993 Andrew Neiderman.
Excerpted by permission of Diversion Publishing Corp..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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