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Sunday on the island was usually a day of rest. Even the dead need a day to themselves and time to do whatever dead people do at the weekend. Damien and Hector had been fishing, partly for fun and relaxation, and partly to gather more food for the village.
The men went to Damien’s hut to have hot drinks and found Maxine and Nancy drinking tea and talking about the old days back on Earth when they were alive. Like how the men had become firm friends, so did the women. In the short few weeks since she had arrived, Nancy had made the hut a home. She had her dream furniture and was as happy as she could be.
Hector settled himself on a chair, content with the day’s catch. Looking out of the window, he suddenly sat up straight. He had seen the curator marching towards the hut with her jaw jutting upwards in a determined posture. Before he had a chance to warn the others of the approaching woman, she knocked once and flung open the door without waiting for an answer.
With fire in her eyes, she glared at Nancy and Maxine. The curator pointed at them. ‘Niall. Does the name Niall mean anything to you two?’ Again without waiting for an answer, she continued, ‘He couldn’t cope with what you two did. It drove him insane, but instead of putting it down to a waking dream or something, he actually thought you had possessed his cat.’ The curator glared at them as if daring them to say something. Silence hung heavy in the air for a moment before she added, ‘He killed himself in the bath; he slashed his wrist and bled out.’
Nancy burst out laughing, not through humour but because it shocked her.
The curator shook her head angrily. ‘Take it as a warning, albeit a serious one. You must always remember that your actions can and will have ramifications to the Earthly souls. Niall has been reincarnated in France, so he has a fresh start. That is the only blessing, as he was lonely and destined for a bleak future in Newdon.’
‘Screw him,’ Damien growled between his teeth. ‘He took advantage of Nancy when she was at her lowest ebb. ‘He deserved to rot. Maybe I will go to France and torment him there as well.’
The curator sighed, the wind taken from her sails. ‘No, Damien, leave him be now. His intentions were truthful; he wasn’t taking advantage of Nancy. You have had your warning. Any more shenanigans like that will have terrible consequences for your own futures. Back to training tomorrow.’ She turned and left the hut, slamming the door behind her so hard that a picture fell off the wall and scattered glass across the room.