Dearly Departing

by Geoff North

  DEARLY

  DEPARTING

  Geoff North

  Copyright © 2021 Geoff North

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  Books by Geoff North

  Live Again (Out of Time 1)

  Last Contact (Out of Time 2)

  Lost Playground (Out of Time 3)

  Ambition (Long Haul 1)

  Retribution (Long Haul 2)

  Annihilation (Long Haul 3)

  Thaw (CRYERS 1)

  Burn (CRYERS 2)

  Twisted Tales (Volume 1)

  Twisted Tales (Volume 2)

  Twisted Tales (Volume 3)

  Twisted Tales (Volume 4)

  Horror Stories (Volume 1)

  Horror Stories (Volume 2)

  Horror Stories (Volume 3)

  Horror Stories (Volume 4)

  For Younger Readers

  The Vampire Zombie Ghost Club (Casefile 1)

  The Vampire Zombie Ghost Club (Casefile 2)

  The Vampire Zombie Ghost Club (Casefile 3)

  The Vampire Zombie Ghost Club (Casefile 4)

  Collections

  The Long Haul

  Twisted Tales Collection

  Horror Stories Volumes 1-4

  The Vampire Zombie Ghost Club Casefiles 1-4

  Chapter 1

  Standing in the ocean up to his waist and thinking of the end of things wasn’t how Raymond Wallace imagined his fiftieth birthday would go down. But here he was, middle-aged and alone, far away from home on the eastern tip of the Dominican Republic, considering just that.

  Health wasn’t an issue. Raymond—old Ray to those he worked for and his small collection of friends—was in decent shape, physically and otherwise. He was a gentle giant of a man with big wide shoulders, and a gut that wasn’t all that noticeable if he sucked it in. There wasn’t a damned thing wrong with him that a good pair of reading glasses and a better diet couldn’t cure. Unfortunately, Ray’s problems had been building for years, for decades. They were the things that affect everyone throughout life. The good times and the bad times. Somewhere along the way, Ray discovered a different kind of time. It’s that moment when a few people might inevitably ask if it’s all been worth it. Is life worth continuing after everything you’ve accomplished—or sadly never achieved—seemingly done?

  Lots of folks, especially around Ray’s work place, would call this depression. They’re the kinds of people that start popping pills and putting names to their disorders. Clinical. Seasonal. Atypical. Psychotic. There were dozens more classifications of depressed states Ray had heard of in the hospital hallways. Maybe he suffered from one or more of these, and maybe he didn’t. Ray may have worked in a hospital, but he wasn’t a doctor. Ray was a maintenance man. He replaced light bulbs and mowed grass. He was just one step above janitor, but he’d heard enough talk about depression to realize he didn’t want to be another moan and groan patient dependant on chemicals.

  A gentle wave washed up over his chest forcing Ray to take a few steps back. He splashed a double handful of water on his face and rubbed his big wet hands dry across his shaved scalp. He turned around to take in the shoreline. The strip of white sand a hundred feet away was filled with tourists from a dozen countries walking aimlessly north and south. Ray liked to think of them at times as the stumblers. Most were unused to walking with bare feet on wet ground. Their sunburnt toes would catch in the sand, or their heels would sink into cracked pieces of sea shell causing them to jump awkwardly. Ray could appreciate the desire to take it all in. These people had saved their money during the long cold months wherever it was they came from to enjoy such a stroll. But it seemed as if most had no clue where they were walking to or why. They simply stumbled and lurched and grimaced their way along, the warm Caribbean breeze pushing at their backs or against their bellies.

  Beyond the people was a line of swaying palms. Behind the trees was Ray’s resort, the Riu Bambu. It was one of dozens lined up and down the Bavaro coast catering to Canadians—such as himself—and to Americans, and travelers even further east from Europe and Russia.

  Ray thought the hotel was just okay. The food was decent, the booze—though watered down in some bars—was easy to come by, and in some cases too much for the average tourist to handle. It was everything these stumblers from all over the world wanted and expected. The Bambu wasn’t Ray’s first all-inclusive tropical trip. He’d been to Mexico with his wife seven years earlier.

  Thinking of Caroline brought his thoughts back to the numb reality of his existence. She had left him shortly after Mexico with a doctor from South Africa. It hadn’t come as a huge shock to Ray. She was an administrative assistant in the same small-town hospital that Ray kept well swept, lit, and warm. Dr. Edgar Shelle was five years younger than Caroline—twelve years younger than old Ray. He was everything Ray was not. Young, confident, handsome, and financially secure. No, it wasn’t a surprise when Caroline left Ray and ran off to her new lover’s home country, but it still hurt like hell. Seven months after that, Dawn—Ray and Caroline’s only child—graduated from high school and left home for university.

  Ray had been alone ever since. He had never missed a single shift at the hospital. He worked through the humiliation of it all. He had kept on changing florescent bulbs, replacing worn ceiling tiles, and painting walls in the medical center of small town Rokerton. Ray remained his quiet, humble self. He had few friends, and not a single enemy.

  But Ray had secrets. He’d been holding on to them most of his life, and those secrets were taking their toll. Ray didn’t want to keep those secrets any longer, and he had no intention of sharing them.

  A rumble sounded from above. Ray craned his head up and watched as a big jumbo jet drifted lazily through the late afternoon sky, heading west towards the Punta Cana airport. He had to squint as it plunged into the setting sun. Ray smiled and recalled another plane heading into the setting sun from his childhood. He thought it was fitting.

  A good sign. I’m doing the right thing.

  He walked further out into the ocean. Ray loved the water. He loved to swim. The farther he went out, the better. The stumblers on the beach became little back dots. Ray could no longer feel the sand beneath his toes. He rowed with his arms and kicked with his legs out into the sea.

  The jet’s distant rumble was dying. Ray thought about Caroline and Dawn one last time. His ex-wife would be fine. The life insurance would take care of his daughter.

  With his head the only part left above water, Ray inhaled deeply through his nose, filling his lungs with warm air. He closed his eyes and dove down.

  Silence.

  It’s what Ray loved the most about swimming. Once he was submerged, the world he knew became a different place.

  Cool but never cold. Weightless and wonderful.

  Ray imagined this was what life was like in the beginning, wrapped in fluid and quiet darkness. The stress out there didn’t exist. He was safe here, away from it all. Ray could let go.

  Breathe out. Release the air left in your lungs and inhale again as fast as you can. It won’t hurt. Everything will be over in a few seconds.

  Ray’s chest was starting to ache. His mind was pleading with his body to let go.

  Breathe out... Breathe out and breathe in... I can do this... Please let me do this.

  Something warm wrapped around his bicep and yanked him up.

  Ray exhaled as his head broke the water’s surface. He sucked in air and the salt water stung as he opened his eyes.

  “Jesus, Ray! Are you going to spend the whole night out in the water?”

  Ray blinked and wiped the moisture away with his knuckles. “Do
oley... what are you doing out here?”

  “It’s our last night in paradise, buddy. The guys want to shower early and hit the bar before all the good seats get taken.”

  Dooley—Delbert Doole, Ray’s assistant at work and part-time ambulance driver—was already pulling his friend closer to shore. Ray could feel the sand beneath his toes again. “I—I was just taking one last swim, you know? We can’t do this every day back home.”

  “I hear that, but you’ve been living in the ocean ever since we got here.”

  “You know I love the water.”

  “I hear that, too. Now quit being a Moby Dick-head and come get plastered with your pals.”

  They staggered up onto the beach, their baggy swim trunks stuck to their legs, feeling like a ton of dripping bricks. Ray grabbed his towel from the lounger and started to dry himself off. Even though he had just tried to end his life, Ray grinned at Dooley as the man grabbed at his falling swim wear. There wasn’t much room to pull them up any further. Delbert was like a koala bear standing on its hind legs. His immense beer gut drew a line that any waistband—blue jeans, work pants, or swim suits—couldn’t possibly breach.

  Dooley glared at him. “What’s so funny, you never seen ass-crack before?”

  “I’m just a little surprised you swam out that far to get me.”

  “Look at me—I’m built like a fricking beach ball. It’s easy for fat guys to bob out in the water.” He held a hand out and Ray tossed him the towel. Dooley rubbed it across the wide expanse of his hairy belly and chest. “Gotta admit, though, I was getting a little worried out there. I know you like the water and all, but it almost looked like you planned on swimming back home.” He attacked the wet mop of hair on top of his head next. When he was finished, Dooley looked like a cross between Albert Einstein and the bride of Frankenstein. “Next time we want to do one of these little getaways, you have to promise me you’ll spend more time with the guys.”

  Ray was no longer grinning at his friend. He was looking back out over the ocean. Something small and black was floating out there. Something he had seen many times before.

  “Hey, Ray... You hear what I’m saying?”

  “I hear you.”

  Dooley followed his gaze towards the incoming waves. “No more swimming. That part of the vacation is officially over.”

  The black thing was swallowed up in white foam. It didn’t reappear. “No more swimming.” Ray slapped his friend on the back and started up towards the hotel. “Let’s go get pissed.”

  They shared a room on the fourth floor of the resort’s main building. Ray had trouble getting to sleep most nights due to his friend’s snoring, but it was preferable to staying with their other two friends in the adjoining room. Charlie Fitz and Calvin Riese were more into the medical end of things back at work. Charlie was a doctor, and Calvin was in administration. Ray liked them both, but there was something inside him that still resisted getting too close. Caroline had been in administration too, and the asshole that took her away had been a doctor. Charlie and Calvin were okay guys; Ray just felt better sticking with his own kind. Dooley was crude and loud, the exact opposite to Ray in almost every way, but they had more in common than the other two. They worked in the same department, and Dooley had lost a wife as well. She hadn’t left him for another man, however. Amanda Doole had died of breast cancer in 2007.

  Ray stuck with Dooley, and that’s the way they both liked it. Besides, it was much more fun cracking jokes at the other two. Charlie Fitz Calvin was one of their favourites, followed closely by What’s Fitzy snacking on?—Riese’s Pieces. He wondered if Charlie and Calvin made fun of them in the next room. Probably. They were all middle-aged men. Little work gangs like that tended to act immaturely and inappropriately away from the job.

  Ray pounded on the bathroom door. “You out of the shower yet?”

  Dooley hollered back. “Why? You want to check my ass out again?”

  The razzing never stopped. It was one of the only small things left in life he still enjoyed. “Think I left that shirt I want to wear tonight on the towel rack. Can you see it?”

  The shower stopped running. He could hear Dooley swearing on the other side of the door as he climbed out. “This puffy red thing? You really going to wear it out in public?”

  “Easy now, it’s slimming.”

  “Maybe I should put it on.”

  “You’d have to remove the buttons.”

  “Go fuck yourself. Grab a beer from the fridge and wait out on the deck. It’ll take me a few minutes to blow-dry this wonderful mane of mine.”

  Ray did just that. He took a can of Presidente outside and cracked the tab back. Cold spray hit his bare chest. He caught the rest between his lips and drank half the beer down. He belched as quietly as he could and leaned against the balcony rail. Ray looked to either side, hoping none of his neighbours had heard. No one was outside with him. The room Fitzy and Riese were staying in was dark. They had obviously headed down to the buffet for dinner without them.

  Sixty minutes ago, I was preparing to commit suicide. Now I’m worried somebody might have heard me burp.

  He could hear the ocean waves rolling up onto the beach beyond the palm trees. It was too dark to see anything beyond the dim blue lighting of the swimming pools below, but Ray still imagined the black thing was out there in the water. Maybe it had already washed ashore and started clawing its way up the sand. Perhaps it had risen on its black-husk legs and was lurching towards the hotel, twitching and jumping along like all the other stumblers.

  Does it even have legs?

  It was one of many questions Ray had asked himself over the years. Did the black thing have legs? Did it have feet and toes? Did it have arms, fingers, and kidneys? Did it have a heart? Ray shivered. Would it have claimed him if he’d breathed out and breathed in again under the water?

  Perhaps ending his life in the ocean had been a bad idea. Ray wasn’t a religious man—he didn’t know if there was a heaven and a hell. He didn’t have a clue where he’d end up after ending everything. But Ray had a good idea who—or what—would be waiting for him on the other side.

  Life had lost all meaning. The afterlife didn’t appear any more promising. He swallowed the rest of his beer and heard the deck door slide open behind him.

  Dooley tossed the red shirt over his head. “It’s all yours. I wouldn’t be caught dead in the thing.”

  Caught dead, Ray thought. That’s almost how you found me an hour ago.

  He slipped his long arms into the sleeves and watched his friend open two more cans of beer. Dooley sunk into one of the two plastic balcony chairs. “You looking forward to going home tomorrow?”

  Ray shrugged and took one of the cans. “Here. There. What difference does it make?”

  Dooley narrowed his eyes and pointed to his can of beer. Ray knew what this meant. It was a chugging challenge. Both men tilted their heads back at the same time and started drinking. Dooley slammed his empty can onto the table and belched loudly before Ray was even half finished. Ray never won the chugging challenge.

  “What difference does it make.” Dooley repeated the words as he wiped foam away from his chin. “That’s an odd way of answering the question. Most people would start bitching about their jobs, or how goddamn cold it’s going to be when they get back. Not you, though.”

  Ray put his can down less forcefully, his second burp as muted as the first. “The job is what it is, and we can’t do a thing about the long winters. Why complain about it?”

  “Because that’s what folks do, Ray. They whine and bitch all day long. They go on warm vacations, they get shit-faced and live life. But not you. You’re just the same old Ray wherever you are.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  Dooley went back inside and emptied the beer fridge. He plunked four more Presidentes onto the table. “I want you to have a good time. I want you to get drunk with me tonight, enjoy the hell out of your birthday, and board that plane t
omorrow puking sick.”

  “You know I’m not that big of a big drinker.”

  “Can you at least try and have some fun tonight?” He pushed one of the beers towards Ray.

  Ray opened it and took a few sips. They sat for the next few minutes, sipping and making small talk. Finally, Dooley asked. “What was that all about in the ocean? Are you okay? Do you maybe need to talk to someone when we get home?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, buddy. When I lost Amanda... well I was pretty messed up for a long time.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re always saying things like that. I’m fine, I’m okay. It’s all right to admit when things aren’t all that rosy. There’s nothing wrong with reaching out and finding help.”

  Ray finished the last beer on the table. “Okay, I get the point. I do have a problem.”

  Dooley looked at him expectantly. “I’m listening.”

  “I’ve just had four beers in under twenty minutes. I think I’m going to have to piss over the railing, because the bathroom’s just too far away.”

  Dooley grinned. “Asshole.”

  Ray and Dooley found their friends in the buffet restaurant a few minutes later. Charlie was working on a second helping of grilled chicken and mashed potatoes. Calvin had already finished desert and was drinking coffee and red wine.

  “About time you guys showed up,” Charlie said.

  Ray sat next to Calvin without saying a word and started eating his supper.

  “Don’t mind us,” Dooley said. “We’re already half lit.”

  Calvin Riese grabbed Ray’s shoulder and gave it a friendly shake. “Glad to hear it. We’re going to have a great last night, boys.”

  Ray chewed on his pork chop and watched the never-ending stream of hotel guests as they lined up along the serving stations. The buffet started at six-thirty in the evening and continued until ten. The line never thinned out. People would pile large amounts of food on their plates, eat half of it, and jump back in for more of the tastier dishes. It never ceased to amaze him the amount of waste these travelers from all over the world could produce. The cooks, servers, and waitresses undoubtedly saw it as well. The Dominican staff were hard-working, patient, and friendly to all their guests, though they probably earned less than a tenth and consumed far less.