by Amy Cross
“My dear,” Doctor Burnham says after a few seconds, “are you feeling quite alright?”
“Sure,” she mutters, trying to shake the feeling off. “It's just deja vu, I guess. Again.”
“I hope you don't mind me showing up like this,” Doctor Burnham continues. “Truth be told, I've walked past a few times lately and I've spotted you hard at work here in the cemetery, and I've worried that you might be getting a little lonely. You almost never come into town anymore, unless you need something from one of the shops.”
“I'm fine,” she replies. “This is how I like it.”
She can't tell him, of course, that she has the ghost of Anna Marsh to keep her company. And to keep her irritated sometimes, too.
“Well,” Doctor Burnham continues, finishing his tea and then setting the cup on the counter, “like I said, I just wanted to make sure that everything's tickety-boo. You're relatively new here, Miss Marker. It's, what, just a couple of years since you showed up. I know a lot has happened in that time, and I know you like to focus on your work, but I just wanted you to know that you're more than welcome to pop into the center now and again. Don't be a stranger.”
Turning, he heads toward the front door.
“Now that the cafe's closed,” he adds, “we all meet at Dottie's cake shop by the river.”
“The cafe's closed?” Sam says, shocked by the news.
“Well, yes,” he replies, opening the door and then glancing back at her. “I hope somebody takes it on soon. Ever since Jonathan Hale died, it's been rather sad to see the place sitting there empty.”
“But isn't -”
Stopping herself before she can say too much, Sam is momentarily struck by the memory of the Devil standing behind the cafe's counter, moaning about his scones and fairy cakes. The memory quickly fades and begins to feel less real, yet at the same time Sam is certain that she's not imagining the whole thing.
“Are you sure you're okay?” Doctor Burnham asks. “Not going a little stir-crazy out here, are you? Or are you one of those rare young people who can be quite happy with just their own company? I must say, I rather admire that kind of approach to life.”
“I'm fine,” she tells him. “Thank you for your concern, but you don't need to worry.”
“Right,” he says, before forcing a very weak smile. “Well, as long as you've got it under control. I'll stop by again some time, though, just to check up on you. Provided I don't have another, more regrettable reason to require your services, of course. Let's hope that Rippon's collective health endures for some time to come, eh?”
With that, Doctor Burnham mumbles a vague farewell as he turns and leaves. Once he's out of the room, however, Sam stands completely motionless. In the back of her mind, she's convinced that parts of her conversation with Doctor Burnham were somehow a repeat, and slowly a sense of concern starts creeping through her thoughts.
“It's just deja vu,” she tells herself. “Everyone gets deja vu. That's why it's called deja vu.”
She turns to set the cup down, but at that moment she hears the front door swing wildly open, and she turns just in time to see Anna racing into the cottage and stopping in the doorway.
“What's up with you?” Sam asks.
“We're back!” Anna gasps breathlessly. “What happened? One second it was the end of the world and then, boom, we were right back here where it started!”
Sam stares at her for a moment.
“Anna,” she says cautiously, “what are you talking about?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Now do you remember?” Anna continues, with even more urgency in her voice as she follows Sam along the sloping street that leads down toward the river. “The Devil went to Abberoth and sacrificed himself, and then -”
“And then there was a flash of light,” Sam says cautiously, “and we woke up back here in Rippon.”
“It's all back to normal,” Anna tells her. “I ran straight here, I ran through the town square, and everything's back to how it was before Abberoth showed up. How is that even possible?”
“It's not,” Sam whispers, her mind racing as she tries to figure out what's happening. “Or at least, it shouldn't be.”
“But it is!” Anna continues. “I'm not joking! Come with me and see for yourself. People are wandering around town, getting on with their daily lives as if they don't remember all that stuff with Abberoth. It's like he literally rewound time and undid all that bad stuff. I asked Mrs. Baggs if she remembered getting slaughtered by demonic creatures, and she just gave me a really weird look!”
“This is exactly what Abberoth promised he'd do,” Sam points out, stopping at the bottom of the street and watching as a few passersby carry on with their daily business of popping in and out of the local shops. “The Devil sacrificed himself so that the mortal world would be saved, and here we are. Everything's back to normal, as if none of that stuff happened. It's like -”
Suddenly she sees the bright red-and-yellow minibus rumbling across the cobbles and heading over the bridge. She immediately feels concerned, but it takes another half-second before she realizes what's wrong.
“No!” she calls out, hurrying forward. “Wait!”
Before she has a chance to say anything else, however, the minibus reaches the other side of the bridge and continues on its way, carrying its passengers off to the strictly-scheduled trip that has been planned for them. There are no flames, no explosions, no screams. There's no smell of burning flesh in the morning air. There's just a group of Rippon pensioners going off on a jolly.
Which means...
“We won,” Anna whispers.
Sam turns to her.
“Didn't we?” Anna's face is filled with shock. With hope. “Abberoth kept his word, and that means we won!”
“I...”
Not quite able to get the words out, not yet, Sam turns and watches as the minibus disappears into the distance. A moment later she spots Mrs. Trellis coming out from the butcher's shop, and she marvels for a moment at the sense of absolute peace and normality that seems to have returned to Rippon.
“We won!” Anna shouts, grabbing Sam's arm from behind and then bouncing around to grin straight into her face. “After everything with Fenroc and Raven and all that stuff, it's all finally over! And I can still touch things again, he even put me back to normal! I mean I could touch things before, in a way, as a ghost, but... Oh, I can't even keep track myself, but now I'm touching things properly! In a way that Scott'll enjoy! Sam, we did it! Maybe it's finally all over! The Devil's gone and everything's back to normal and -”
Stopping suddenly she taps Sam's shoulder several times.
“I can touch things,” she murmurs, before swallowing hard. “It's been on and off ever since Sparky's visit, but now it's more on than off. Oh man, I have to go and find Scott again. He's gonna be so stoked. Donna Anglesy can kiss my balls! There ain't no bitch gonna steal my man now that I'm corporeal!”
With that, she turns and starts running along the street.
“Seeya later, Sam!” she yells. “Well, maybe not later today! Maybe tomorrow! Or later in the week! We won! We finally won!”
“We won,” Sam whispers, standing alone and watching as the people of Rippon go about their daily business. And despite the misgivings she's feeling, she can't deny that everything seems completely normal. “Huh. I guess we really did.”
***
“Isn't it a wonderful day, Ms. Marker?” Susie Shearman says with a smile as she finishes watering the plants at the front of the church. “Bright, sunny, with a slight breeze. Everything anyone could possibly want.”
“Uh-huh,” Sam says, stopping for a moment and looking at the flowers.
“You know,” Susie says, “I might be the teensiest bit biased, but it's on days like these that I truly marvel at the wonder of the Lord's creation. Life isn't easy, but when we fight through the hard times we're rewarded so magnificently, aren't we?”
“We sure are,” Sam mutters,
looking around and – to her surprise – seeing nothing wrong.
You're just used to worrying, she tells herself. You've forgotten what it's like to relax.
“And it's only morning,” Susie continues enthusiastically, wandering over to join her. “Who knows what other splendors the rest of the day will bring? Why, we could be in for several more moments of joy before evening.” She waits for Sam to agree with her. “Or don't you think so, Ms. Marker?”
“Oh...”
Sam pauses, painfully aware that she's not quite managing to muster sufficient enthusiasm.
“Absolutely,” she says finally, smiling even though she can't shake a feeling of concern. “We've all got to get into the spirit, haven't we?”
“I hope you're finding ways to fill your days.”
“I've been pretty busy lately,” Sam murmurs.
“We've had some terrible losses of late,” Susie continues, nodding sagely. “It's always difficult when a member of the community leaves us.” She looks around, as if she's worried about being overheard, and then she leans closer. “I'm afraid to say that poor Cathy Malarkey seems to be ailing.”
“Cathy?” Sam furrows her brow. “Oh. Yeah. Scott's aunt.”
“A terrible business,” Susie says solemnly. “I was over there just this morning. The poor woman is... Well, I'm not one for gossip, but it's clear the Lord is preparing to gather up her soul and return her to his fold. I'm not suggesting you should dust off your grave-digging shovel just yet, but... Perhaps it would be a good idea to check where you left it. The poor woman is in a great deal of pain. She was -”
“Did you ever meet him?” Sam asks suddenly, not meaning to interrupt her.
“I'm sorry?”
“The Devil,” Sam continues. “He's gone now, but did you meet him?”
She waits for an answer, hoping to find out whether or not Susie and the other Rippon residents even remember the events of the past few years.
“I don't believe I did,” Susie says finally, cautiously, although she suddenly appears rather uncomfortable. She glances around, as if she's worried about being overheard, before turning back to Sam and then leaning closer. “It's probably for the best that he's left us, though,” she whispers. “He didn't really fit in, did he?”
“Do you remember how he left?”
“I... Well, he was just gone, wasn't he?”
“And you don't remember anything else?” Sam continues. “What about a carriage in the town square?”
Susie shakes her head.
“What about a big dome-like thing, made of sticks?”
“That sounds rather far-fetched.”
“And what about -”
“And now I really must be getting along,” Susie says, turning and hurrying back to the door in an obvious rush to end the conversation. “There's so much to do around here, you see. Yes, so much to do. One mustn't lose sight of the bigger picture, must one?”
With that, she disappears inside and pushes the door shut, and a moment later Sam hears the bolt sliding across.
“No,” she whispers, “one mustn't lose sight.”
And yet, as she turns and wanders along the street, Sam can't help feeling deeply worried. She tells herself that everyone else is right, and that she just needs to get accustomed to this new state of calm, but by the time she reaches the cemetery she still feels concerned. In fact, if anything, she's more worried once she gets to the cottage, and then as soon as she spots a knife on the counter she realizes that there's one possibility she hadn't yet considered.
“Am I back in Hell?” she asks out loud. “Did I die again, and I ended up back down there?”
She pauses, before taking the knife and quickly slicing the blade against her arm. Feeling a stinting pain, she sets the knife aside and watches as a trickle of blood runs down to her wrist.
“Okay,” she mutters, “I'm not in Hell. This is real. I guess I just need to get used to the fact that we won.”
Yet she can't help feeling that victory should feel more... victorious.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Giving the new roof tile a tug, Sam checks to make sure that it's properly in place. Perched high up on top of the cottage, she's been working for a few hours now. She's never fitted a new roof tile before, of course, so she's simply tried to guess the proper method. And as she tugs on the tile again, she finds that it seems to be firmly stuck in place, even if all the paste looks pretty ugly.
At least, she figures, there'll be no more leaks during the night.
“Ms. Marker?”
Startled, she turns and looks down toward the path, and she's surprised to see Doctor Burnham staring up at her with a concerned expression.
“Long time, no see,” she says, trying to smile.
“Exactly,” he replies. “In fact, that's why I'm here.”
***
“I don't understand the problem,” Sam says as she sips at her tea. “You're the local doctor. Shouldn't you be pleased that no-one's dying?”
“Of course I'm pleased,” he replies, but both his expression and his tone of voice hint at lingering concerns. “It's just that I was doing my round this morning, and I visited Mrs. Allen and Mrs. Ward, and they both...”
Sam waits for him to finish.
“This will make me sound awful,” he continues finally, with a nervous smile, “but they both should be dead.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that Mrs. Allen has had four strokes in a twenty-four hours, but somehow she's still fighting. And Mrs. Ward, bless her, is so clearly at the point of death that I hate to see her suffer like this. Yet somehow they're both hanging on, in ways that I can't explain.”
“Maybe they're fighters,” Sam points out.
“This goes beyond mere fighting, I'm afraid.”
“So what are you suggesting?” she asks. “What do you want to do? Help them along the way?”
“Of course not!” he snaps. “Don't be so ridiculous! But I don't want them to be in such pain, either. I've seen death so many times, Ms. Marker, that I've rather come to recognize when it's near. But over the past few days, all the usual signs have gone out the window.”
“Maybe you're just used to worrying,” Sam tells him. “We all get like that sometimes.”
“You don't have a television here, do you?” he asks.
“I never got around to finding one. Why?”
“Families are so grateful,” he continues. “Mrs. Allen's son was telling me this morning that he's so grateful for my regular calls, for the fact that I'm keeping his mother alive. I tried to tell him that it's really nothing to do with me, but he seems to think that I'm some kind of miracle worker. And then a little while ago, I was listening to the news and...”
His voice trails off.
“And what?” Sam asks cautiously.
Doctor Burnham hesitates for a moment, before taking his cellphone from his pocket and setting it on the table so that Sam can see the screen. He brings up a news app and waits for the live video to load.
“It's not just here,” he says as the feed buffers. “Ms. Marker, something's seriously wrong.”
“But -”
“There's still absolutely no need to panic,” a woman says suddenly, as the video begins. She's standing at a podium, in front of a United Nations logo. “These reports are still early and we're gathering data. The whole thing could be an anomaly.”
“What's wrong?” Sam asks, peering more closely at the screen. “What's happened?”
“The news is spread all over the world,” Doctor Burnham says darkly. “Sam, the same thing seems to be happening everywhere. From London to New York, from Tokyo to Timbuktu.” He pauses for a moment. “No-one's dying, Sam. In the past twenty-four hours, not a single human being on the entire planet has died.”
***
“You'll understand when you see it for yourself,” Doctor Burnham says a short while later, as he and Sam wait for somebody to answer the door at a house on Boyne Stre
et. “I can't describe it, Sam, it's like...”
He turns to her.
Before she can reply, the door opens and Sam's surprised to see Scott.
“Thank God you're here,” he says, stepping aside so that they can enter the house. “Doctor Burnham, you've got to do something for Aunt Cathy. Whatever you gave her earlier, it hasn't helped at all. If anything, she's worse.”
“What's wrong?” Sam asks. “What -”
Suddenly she hears a loud, guttural cry coming from somewhere upstairs in the house. The sound doesn't sound human, not at first, but after a few seconds she realizes a woman is desperately whimpering and sobbing.
“You've got to do something!” Scott says firmly, grabbing Doctor Burnham's arm. “Even if...”
He pauses for a moment.
“Even if what?” Sam says.
“She's my aunt,” he continues, wiping away tears, “and I love her, but I hate seeing her like this. Maybe this makes me a bad person, but if this is all that's left for her, I think I'd rather... I mean, I'd rather... Anything's better than all this pain. I keep catching myself thinking that it'd be better for her if she could just pass away peacefully. Does that make me a monster?”
“Of course not,” Sam replies, as Doctor Burnham carries his bag up the stairs, heading toward the sound of the continuing sobs.
“I just want her to be able to rest,” Scott says, as a tear runs down his cheek. “No-one should suffer like this. I wouldn't even wish it on my worst enemy.”
Sam opens her mouth to reply, before hearing footsteps bounding down the stairs. Turning, she's surprised to see Anna hurrying into view with a big, broad smile on her face.
“Hey!” Anna giggles. “I was gonna come back to the cottage later and see how you're doing. Sorry I've been busy, but trust me, suddenly being able to touch things again is a real blast.” She reaches over and runs a hand across Scott's chest. “I've been trying to get him more in the mood.”