Page 47 of Not Quite Dead Yet

‘Give them a minute,’ Billy said, behind her on the steps.

‘I’m running out of minutes.’ She ignored him, pressed the bell again, three short bursts.

The door swung inward, Gerry Clay’s face appearing in the crack, his dark skin wrinkling as he blinked them in. Recognized them a second later, the wrinkles becoming smile lines.

‘Oh, hello Jet. Nice to see you soearly.’

‘Hi Gerry.’ She arranged a smile to match his. ‘Got your card. Reallythoughtful, thanks.’

Gerry’s smile faltered, eyes trailing to the bandage at the side of her head.

‘Do they know who –’

‘– Not yet,’ Jet cut him off. ‘We’re working on it. Actually, that’s why we’re here. I remember your son was taking photos at the Halloween Fair. It would be really useful to see those. Is he in?’

Gerry stuttered, trying to take that all in. ‘Uh, y-yes, he’s here. In the yard, actually, flying his drone. He – he does that a lot.’

‘Better than meth.’ Jet took another step forward, forcing Gerry’s hand.

‘Do you want to come in?’ he asked, moving back, holding the door open.

Of course that’s what she wanted. ‘Thanks,’ she said instead, passing him, stepping down the hall, Billy on her heels.

‘Come through to the kitchen,’ Gerry’s voice sailed past them, the front door clicking shut.

A rectangular mirror was mounted on the far wall of the hallway. Jet watched as their reflections approached, real people meeting mirror people: Jet too small that only the top half of her face showed, Billy too tall that his head was cut off at the top, only one swinging arm of Gerry visible behind.

Jet paused for one second, caught her eye. The right eye. She’d noticed it in the bathroom mirror when she woke up, and it hadn’t gone away. The pupil on this side was dilated, huge, a black hole, not much space for the orbit of hazel around it.

‘You OK?’ Billy asked, catching up. If he’d noticed it too, he hadn’t said anything yet.

‘Fine.’ Jet dropped her own gaze and turned, following the hall into the bright kitchen at the back, sage-green cabinets and white marble counters. There was a faint high-pitched whine coming from somewhere.

Gerry circled past them, headed for the glass doors into the backyard.

‘I need to get to work, but Owen will help you out with those photos.’ He rapped his knuckles on the glass.

A teenager was standing in the backyard, lost inside a baggy hoodie, some kind of remote clutched in his hands. He glanced up as Gerry knocked again, beckoning him in with a curt spin of his hand.

The sharp whining grew louder, angry and waspish, as thedrone lowered into view, landing in the grass by Owen’s feet. He picked it up and hurried toward the door.

‘I’m off to work,’ Gerry announced as Owen shut the door behind him, placing the drone down carefully on the kitchen table. ‘This is Dianne Mason’s daughter. You help her out, OK?’

He didn’t give his son a chance to respond. ‘I’ll give my best to your mom, Jet,’ he said with a wave, heading back to the hallway and the front door. It thudded shut behind him.

Owen stood there, shrinking inside his hoodie, blinking at them.

‘I’m Jet,’ she said. ‘This is Billy. You’re Owen.’

He swallowed, studying his own feet. Painfully awkward – the kind you maybe didn’t grow out of.

Jet didn’t have time for awkward.

‘We’re here to see the photos you took at the Halloween Fair.’

Owen shuffled, one foot nuzzling the other. ‘They’re not fully edited yet.’

‘That’s really OK. We’re under a bit of time pressure.’

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