Pike_ Christopher - Whisper Of by Whisper Of Death

Author:Whisper Of Death [Death, Whisper Of]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-08-20T16:02:49+00:00

CHAPTER VIII

We sat in the center of the town square. Half an hour had passed since the cremation of Leslie Belle. Off to the south, in the direction of the gas station, the smoke continued to rise. The station was somewhat isolated and Stan believed the fire wouldn’t spread.

Stan sat with the charred diary of Betty Sue resting on his lap. He turned what was left of the pages carefully. Pepper and Helter sat and did nothing. None of us had spoken in a while. I figured I might as well be the first.

“I hope she didn’t feel anything,” I said.

“She didn’t know what hit her,” Stan said.

I remembered her stricken expression as she looked over at us. “She knew,” I said.

More silence. More wind. It blew out of the south. The direction had not changed since the day had begun. South-the general direction of Foster and the abortion clinic. The wind brought the sand, and the sand scratched at my skin like invisible pelting rain. I could smell the smoke from where we sat. The gas station also lay to the south.

I didn’t know how to grieve for Leslie. I hadn’t known her that well. I had liked her-in our other world. But in this world, this place with no people, her death seemed somehow surreal. Or perhaps it was the reverse. It had seemed quite natural that she should have gone. I know that sounds terrible, but it was true. The silence was so alive-it was as if it couldn’t tolerate any living things disturbing it. I wondered if the silence would come for more of us.

“This thing is really hard to read,” Stan said, his face close to the diary.

“Can you read any of it?” I asked. He nodded. “Bits.” He glanced at Helter and Pep-per. “Not much.”

“Does she always sound crazy?” I asked.

“Yes and no,” Stan said. “She was definitely unusual.” Stan set the diary aside. “I’m more interested now in reading the stories that were on those loose pages.”

“Why?” I asked.

Stan shrugged. “If I tell you what I think, you’ll think I’m crazy.”

“Try us,” Pepper said.

Stan looked at the distant smoke. “Leslie died like Lati.”

“No, she didn’t,” I said. “It was totally different.”

Stan shook his head. “It was the same. The story was a metaphor for Leslie.”

“I don’t see the connection at all,” I said, lying. What he was saying spooked me like nothing that had happened since that morning. And I think it was because he had finally touched upon a “truth.”

“Did you know Leslie when she was young?” Stan asked us all.

“I didn’t live here,” Pepper said.

“I’d see her around town,” I said.

“I knew her,” Helter said. Of all of us, he was the most upset over what had happened to her, and I don’t think it was just because he had lost his source of sexual delight. He had wept as the flames streamed before us. He just kept saying over and over again, “She was so beautiful. She was so beautiful.” But not in a crude way.

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