Sleepeasy by Wright T.M

Author:Wright, T.M. [Wright, T. M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror
Publisher: Crossroad Press
Published: 2011-08-08T16:00:00+00:00

Sam asked, "Do you really think that your Sydney is the first one to go over?"

"I hadn't thought about it," Harry answered tersely. The ocean was calm, but he still gripped the gunwales and kept his eyes closed tightly. "I really hadn't thought about it, Sam. I'd rather not think about it!"

"You can open your eyes," Sam told him. "There's nothing to see." He chuckled. "Do you know how ludicrous you look? Trench coat, black fedora, snub-nosed .38. Mr. Macho PI, and you're acting like a three-year-old who's getting on a roller coaster for the first time."

"Snub-nosed .38?" Harry said.

"Sure. It's what you were pointing at me back in the village. And there it is now."

Harry opened his eyes and looked down at himself. His trench coat was open and he could see the gun peeking out at him from its shoulder holster. "Good Lord," he whispered. "My coat . . ." he said. "It was buttoned."

"Yeah? So?"

"So, it was buttoned, now it's unbuttoned. Sam, are you turning stupid on me?" He sighed. "Sam, I couldn't even pull my coat sleeve back to look at my watch before. Now my coat's unbuttoned. How did that happen?"

"I don't know. The storm?"

Harry hesitated, then grabbed hold of the gun and pulled. It stayed put. "Shit!" he muttered.

"Do you really think it's important?" Sam asked.

"Of course it's important." He gave Sam a quick once-over. "How about you? Are you exactly the same as you were before the storm?"

Sam held up his arms, looked at his legs, his torso. "I think so."

"I think so too. Look at you. Even your hair is unruffled."

"Yours looks wet," Sam said.

Harry put his fingers through his hair. It was like putting his fingers through briars, because the hair didn't move. "Is it?" he said.

"Well, it looks wet. So does your coat."

"Yours doesn't."

Sam looked at himself again. "You're right."

Harry leaned forward as if to speak confidentially. "Sam, I crossed over. I think I crossed over. Or, at least, I began to cross over."

"I think you did too. But why?"

Harry shook his head in confusion. "I'm not sure. What was ... different about us? What is different about us?"

Sam looked at him a moment, sized up the situation. Then he said, "Well, Harry, you're a little taller. Not much taller. An inch, maybe. You're a few years older. You said you were forty-eight. I'm forty-four. You died accidentally. I didn't. I was murdered—"

"Oh?"

Sam nodded. "It's a long story. Some other time."

"Sure."

"And—I'm not being judgmental about this, believe me—but you appear to be a wimp when it comes to water, Harry—"

"That's it," Harry cut in. "And you're right. I'm afraid. I'm fearful." He smiled.

Sam's face lit up. "And what," he said, "is more mortal than fear? That's it. That's the key."

Harry sat back. He looked suddenly glum. "Maybe, maybe not."

"Why not?"

"Because it still doesn't explain how Sydney got over."

"Did you ever think that there may be more than one road to Cleveland, Harry?"

"Why would we want to go to Cleveland?"

"It was a figure of speech.

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