Page 62 of Deja New
He smiled and she caught a glimpse of that enchanting dimple. “No. I just like cemeteries. Especially their histories.”
“Well, Graceland’s got a lot of that. It’s a who’s who type of graveyard.”A who’s who type of... Gawd. Stop. Talking.
Luckily, Jason picked up the conversation slack. “Did you know George Pullman’s here? His family was so worried about activists and former employees wreaking havoc on the corpse—”
“‘Wreaking havoc on the corpse,’” she repeated, delighted. “I really like the way you talk. It’s friggin’ poetry.”
“Thanks.” Was that a blush? Surely not. “His family buried him in the middle of the night, in utmost secrecy. They lined his coffin with lead and sealed it up with reinforced concrete.”
“Those wacky anti-industrialists.”
Jason grinned. “It worked. But even if it hadn’t, my thinking is: If you were prepared to go to all that trouble, and actually broke through to the coffin, take the body. It’s yours. You’ve earned it.”
They giggled guiltily, like kids who were talking about something so awful, it was actually funny. Or seemed that way.
Jason pointed out a few monuments. “They also had to move quite a few bodies here after the 1871 fire.”
“Yeah, I read about that somewhere. It always gave me a creepyPoltergeistvibe.”
“Sorry?”
“‘You left the bodies and you only moved the headstones!You only moved the headstones!’ You know.Poltergeist? Not the remake. The good one from the eighties. No?” She shook her head. “Terrible. Your habit of lurking in cemeteries is fine—”
“Lurkis an exaggeration.”
“But your inability to seePoltergeistdespite having had decades to do so is gonna be a problem.”
“I would never want to be a problem for you,” he replied seriously. “I’ll see it.”
What? He will? Just like that? Naw. Really? Is it possible this crush isn’t just one-sided?
Naw.
“It’s right over here,” he added, gently taking her by the elbow
(!!!!!!!)
and leading her past the imposing mausoleums. As always, she averted her gaze from theEternal Silencestatue. A bronze sculpture (oxidized, so it shone green, not brass) with a black base, the thing was ten feet tall, a sinister robed and hooded figure holding one arm across its face like Dracula fending off sunshine.
She’d been amazed and a little frightened (in her defense, she’d still been a kid) to find out there was a legend about the statue: If you looked into its dead stony gaze, you’d have a vision of your own death.*For years afterward, Mitchell always blindfolded the thing when they visited.
Should’ve taken a page out of Jason’s book and just gone on picnics instead.
Wait. She knew this path. She recognized everything.“We’re going to my father’s grave, aren’t we?”
“Yes.”
That... that couldn’t be good. She couldn’t think of any instance in which a concerned cop taking her to her father’s grave would work out for her. Not one.
Then she saw it. And instantly knew why she was there.
My God.
