The world didn’t really change much.
Not the way Sidney Jaeger or David Brannigan dreamed it would.
The crazy, doomed bastards.
In the aftermath of Maximum Bob’s meltdown at the Dreamworld, there was a lot of spin control and speculation, people racing double-time to cover their butts and professional debunkers talking in circles on every damn cable channel. It was nonstop for months. But then it kind of trickled off, like everything else that gets hyped and then loses luster, stripped down and burned up in the spotlight. It amazed me how much truth could be denied by people who saw it right there in front of them.
It was pretty easy slipping under the radar, in the middle of so much chaos. It was one hell of a mess. Lots of people dead, the great-and-mighty Maximum Bob included. They pulled me off the roof, asked me a few questions, then got on with more important business. My main accusers had been Maxton and Dryden, after all, and nobody was taking them seriously anymore. They shipped me to a hospital and I walked a few days later. Got out of the city. Got on a bus back to Austin. Slept for about three weeks. Thought about my dead friends. Got on with my life.
Raina was waiting for me at the house, and I told her everything.
Told her how I’d died and come back.
How I came back because of my parents.
She said she’d been so scared. She told me she loved me. I held her in my arms and she wept. And I understood what she had felt for me, all those years. Finally understood what love was. Or at least that’s what it seemed like.
I said I would stay this time.
I would be her friend and not walk away.
I told her that I was sorry for the way things had been before, and that it was gonna take a long time to come back from it, for both of us. But there was no denying that I was a changed man—that I was starting over with a new look at the way things really are in the world, and a lot of regret for the way things had been in my life for so long. I told her I wasn’t sure if I could love her the same way she loved me. Working through all that was gonna take time also. But I wouldn’t leave again. I promised her that. Looked her right in the eye and said the words:
I’ll never leave you again, Raina.
I am grateful to you.
I owe you.
You are my family.
She cried tears of joy.
A year went by and there were lots of unanswered questions, lots of people who wanted to know my story. Reporters. Cops. The grandfather of Richard Dryden came around once to ask me how his grandson had died, and I told him lies. I told a lot of lies back then.
The real truth is that people want to be lied to.
They want to be given puzzles without answers.
They want to know that the unknown will never be explained, even when it’s trying damn hard to make them promises in plain English. It gives ordinary people a reason to believe they are special in a world full of ghosts. A reason to exist on a dying planet spinning in space. Plausible deniability on every channel, forever and ever.
Every promise will be broken.
My father said that once.
I can remember his words now, and that’s the crazy part—the part I still have a hard time getting used to. The words he gave me when I was a child all given back to me, along with my mother’s kindness and her scent that lends me comfort when I dream. Sometimes it isn’t a comfort at all—sometimes it’s damn scary. But I take the good with the bad. My memories made me live again, like broken promises given back at some crucial moment when you needed the voice of God to make you believe everything would be just great again. But it comes with a price.
Part of that is knowing that Blackjack Williams might still be out there.
That he might not be dead.
That he might have made it back from the Big Black somehow, just like I did. That he might be wandering, like he did for so many years before he found Jaeger and they did their Crossroads deal and all the shit came down. I promised Raina that he was gone for good and that I would never look for him again. But I told a lot of lies back then. People want to be lied to. Every promise will be broken. Maybe.
Bethany Sin got out of the music biz for a year and made a movie with Jerry Donaldson about ghosts on a train. It came out six months ago and I never went, even though she invited me to the premiere. But I hear the reviews are pretty decent, and of course everybody’s yakking about how real it all may or may not be. The poster and all the trailers say it’s “inspired by a true story.” Bethany talks a lot about her experiences at paranormal conventions these days, and tours around giving benefit shows for the victims of the Dreamworld Tragedy. That’s what they call it nowadays—the Dreamworld Tragedy. Kind of tacky, if you ask me, but it’s probably better than 9-11.
I saw Bethany last week when she was in town on a tour date.
She looked amazing, and her mind was just as open as ever.
She said she liked my new hairdo—I wear it real short these days, now that it’s completely white.
I was right about looking like Andy Warhol in my grave.
And I don’t like hiding it.
I want to be reminded.
She ran her fingers through my hair and smiled, then she kissed me, and I felt that thing called love again. Stronger, coming from her. Stronger, because she and I are the same. But sometimes I think it’s not even that simple. Sometimes I think it was fate that put us together, the same way fate put me with Raina. And it still confuses me, those feelings. Makes me wonder about all the other simple lessons I missed out on when I was a kid. I’m working on it.
Bethany says she loves me too.
She says it’s in the stars.
Whenever I’m ready, she will be.
That’s what she told me.
I told her I would think about it.
She asked me to work with her paranormal research group—the world has to know and you were right there in the middle of it, honey—but I just smiled at her and said no thanks. The last time someone made me a similar offer, I ended up dead. She smiled in that amazing way she has, and she said I’d be back. It’s in the stars, she said.
Story of my life.
Lose ends and weird ghosts, all hanging at the edge of oblivion.
Waiting for me.
You’ll be back, Buck.
I never think about Lauren Chance. Not ever.
I think about Roosevelt a lot, but that’s mostly because he’s still around. He drifted for a while, the way most Walkers do, then found his sea legs. Darby showed him the ropes. Helped him stand up right. The kid’s still a schemer and a hacker, just like he always was, and Darby’s still a hustler with all the street moves—but now he’s got serious backup on the World Wide Web. They make a pretty strange pair, those two.
Even with two smartass poltergeists riding my back, it’s still pretty quiet at the ranch most of the time. I’ve kept busy, though. I have a lot of memories to work through and a roof to keep over my head. Been getting a bunch of calls from rich people these days. Most of the jobs are bunk, but I still take one now and then when the vibe is right and the rent is due.
Raina tells me I should retire, but that’s not in the cards.
There’s still good work to do.
Just like my father said.
* * *
I’m standing with my crew on the front lawn of a home for abused children—Austin’s full of these places, and a lot of them are real hellholes.
It’s summer.
Summers are really hot in Texas, and when it gets really hot in Texas, really bad shit goes down.
But you knew that.
Raina got me this case. She’s been a pretty good partner in the last few months. Never really had a partner before, but it’s cool. The kids here have been hearing voices in the halls at night. Voices just like I heard in the town of Carlsbad. Like we all hear when every promise is broken and the Terrible Thing comes back to hold us down in the dark. Maybe I can help these kids. We’ll just see how it goes.
Raina smiles at me, her face filled with sweet concern.
“Are you sure you’re up for this, Buck?”
“It’ll be fine. I’m back in the game.”
She leans over and kisses my cheek. So much love in her eyes, in her heart. I still ain’t sure exactly what to do with that. She’s happy just that I’m here with her. And that’s cool too.
Darby and Roosevelt hang close, just out of sight—my aces in the hole, in case things get too rough in there. I can feel them smiling at me when I get kissed, the smart little punks. They like busting my balls on days like today.
I’m feeling pretty good for the first time in my life.
It’s been a year since my life started.
So I guess I can’t complain.
I guess this life is good.
I click on the Walkman at my waist and we walk in through the open front door of the institution, to where the down boys go.