The Last Word Cemetery

By Jeanette Gibson

The Last Word Cemetery is a mind-bending mash-up of tragic love and apocalyptic mayhem...in which the cemetery itself is responsible for both the chaos and the ray of hope at the end of the world. There is something for everyone in this hilarious, poignant, irreverently told story.

Tobias McCreedy, the lead character in Part One, is a wealthy humanitarian whose world is shattered when his wife dies only a few years into their marriage. Solace and inspiration come from an unexpected source—the gardener who tends the McCreedy estate. The gardener describes the Mexican Day of the Dead observance, which inspires Tobias to build a magnificent necropolis in which the dead can have the last word. No longer, Tobias resolves, will lifetimes of experience be obliterated by time. But what will be the mode of expression?

Tobias turns to his young scientist friend, Lobsang Liu, to create memorial holograms of the deceased. Lobsang more than succeeds at his task, and the Last Word Cemetery endures for centuries.

In Part Two, the riotous, biting satire breaks loose. Twelve thousand years later, a team of archaeologists uncovers the vault of the Last Word Cemetery. Most of the holograms stored within it are still viewable, and their content blows to hell all the concepts upon which “Second-World” society is based. We follow March Archaeologist-Engineer 68 and Credence Archaeologist 741 as they come to grips with recalibrating reality. The archaeologists decide to make the holograms known to the public, and pandemonium breaks out. But this time, as far as planet Earth is concerned, there are no more punches left on the ticket.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeanette Gibson
• Release date: Nov 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311269010

Jeanette Gibson

I’ve has had a lifelong dream of writing fiction, but it has taken almost a lifetime to grow the guts to give it a serious try. (“Me, an author?”) Not that writing is new to me. For more decades than I’d like to say, I’ve made my living as a writer/editor of marketing collateral for companies of all kinds. And for years I’ve sketched plot ideas, thoughts and snippets of observations in journals...kind of sneaking up on the real deal. I collect odd facts and arcane information; I love eccentrics, and you’ll find plenty of these elements in The Last Word Cemetery. Besides commercial copy writing, I’ve worked as a high-school French teacher, public relations coordinator, educational AV editor and marketer of my and my husband’s photography business. I'd love to see your feedback about my work: [e-mail].

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H

The

Last Word

Cemetery

by Jeanette Gibson

Copyright © 2015 by Jeanette Gibson

Published by Jeanette Gibson

Cover Design by Jeanette Gibson

Cover Image by Femmy van Beek

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This book may not be resold or redistributed for commercial or noncommercial purposes.

CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

part one: The Firebird

Chapter 1 Tobias McCreedy

Chapter 2 Danielle

Chapter 3 Day of the Dead

Chapter 4 Wizard of the Waves

Chapter 5 The Last Word Cemetery

Chapter 6 I Once Was Lost, But Now I'm More Lost

Chapter 7 Last Dance

part two: Discovery

Chapter 8 Twelve Thousand Years Later

Chapter 9 Faiths That Flay

Chapter 10 Resurrection

Chapter 11 Truth Bites

Chapter 12 Wake-up Call

Chapter 13 Plan B

Chapter 14 Wind Time, Wolf Time

Chapter 15 Kiss Your Ass Goodbye

Chapter 16 The Blue Guitar

Chapter 17 Wing in the Sky

Chapter 18 Twelve Million Years Later

PART ONE

The Firebird

1

Tobias McCreedy

Shocking! Outlandish! Distasteful and inappropriate! These were the reactions of the media and culturati upon learning plans were under way to build the Last Word Cemetery.

Who would think seriously about having a loved one buried in some cheap, plaster-of-Paris side show? said Bart Kelly, the host of Who’s in the Hot Seat? And there’s supposed to be some kind of talking, ghosty thing on top of the graves? Pu-leeze! He shuddered in disgust.

The camera cut to the audience, showing people laughing, applauding and nodding their heads in agreement.

And then…and then, whose idea do you think this is? Kelly crossed his arms and grinned at the audience. "A member of the McCreedy family, if you can believe it! Tobias McCreedy!"

Another shot of the audience showed people laughing and hooting.

You’d think he’d have enough to do counting his millions!

For a couple weeks, the Last Word Cemetery was a popular news item and a godsend to comedians who needed material to freshen up their routines. As often is the case, even as details of the master plan became known via interviews with the developer, media pundits and the public held to their initial impressions.

In deference to the doubters, it also is true that seeing is believing. At the official opening of the Last Word Cemetery, when the press and the public had a chance to inspect the realization of its eccentric creator’s dream, the strings of the human heart were struck and a very different tune was played.

Besides his accomplishments, a distinguished, yet slightly off-beat appearance set Tobias McCreedy apart from the crowd. His tall, lanky frame often was clothed in a black, knee-length coat, which emphasized his gauntness. Long, dark hair streaked with silver was tied at the nape with a thin, black bow. Craggy facial features were softened by a sensitivity of expression perhaps emanating from his thoughts, as he was, throughout his life, of an introspective nature. Mr. McCreedy had reached that age—not old—but at which youth had caught its breath at venturing so far and was starting to withdraw.

Overall, there was something of an eighteenth-century air about Tobias McCreedy. One could easily imagine him seated among the likes of Boileau, Rousseau, Franklin and Voltaire, smoking long-stemmed pipes while reading and discussing their latest poems, political tracts and scientific inquiries.

For almost 300 years, since the birth of the United States, the McCreedy family belonged to that peculiar American class of earned aristocracy. Ezekiel McCreedy, a competent bourgeois immigrant, established himself in the New World through diligence and hard work. The family roots grew quickly in that rich soil; wealth came first, manners and manors came later.

At the time of Tobias, the McCreedys held the rank of wealthiest family in the country—a family which consisted of Tobias, his four siblings, and numerous nephews and nieces. Tobias’s parents, Jacob and Nancy, continued the McCreedy family tradition of giving their children biblical names, not for any religious reason, but because the sense of dignity and stability with which these names were imbued appealed to them. Hence, in birth order there appeared Asher, Jonathan, Naomi, Tobias and Rachel.

Unlike many extremely wealthy individuals, Tobias’s upbringing and childhood were normal, happy and healthy. None of the common manifestations of intergenerational dysfunction plagued the family, and apart from the normal reality testing by the children and reasonable parental discipline, everyone got along. The young McCreedys never were pressured to conform to the standards of any particular social group, meet unreasonable expectations, or avoid contact with undesirable (poor) people.

While the elder McCreedys were generous with their rambunctious brood, they instilled in Tobias and the others a certain frugality. The children were sent to the best prep schools, but part of every summer had to be spent working at minimum wage jobs, the same as other high-school kids. In addition, they were expected to perform six weeks of volunteer work over the course of a year. All the McCreedy children were free to develop their interests and talents wherever their proclivities might lead, and encouraged to improve the lot of as many people as possible along the way.

One might envy the wealth of the McCreedys, but one could not resent it. Far from being dissipated on excesses, much of their fortune was channeled to those in need via several family foundations.

Like a crab trying futilely to pry open an oyster, the gossip columnists, tabloids and paparazzi contorted themselves attempting to extricate any morsel of dirt about the family. No matter where and for how long they were followed and scrutinized, no McCreedy ever was caught in a compromising situation, let alone committing a crime.

Once it became obvious nothing scandalous was forthcoming—not even a tragic illness, thanks to the bunch’s damnably good genes—these social scavengers took to ridiculing the McCreedys as boring sticks-in-the-mud. Some of the more tenacious tried to make the family’s ordinary personal life seem suspicious. Illegitimi non carborundum (Don’t let the bastards get you down), Jacob McCreedy taught his five children, and they all went on with their lives.

As an adult, Tobias, along with his siblings, assumed a role in running the family rubber and plastics business. He was diligent and successful in his work, but what gave him the most pleasure and sense of accomplishment was not the work itself, but what his position and wealth allowed him to experience. Trekking the globe, mixing anonymously with a city’s population, learning the customs of a remote tribe—these were the privileges Tobias valued most.

Active and adventurous as Tobias’s life was, his middle years brought with them a growing sense of incompleteness. It was then that Danielle pirouetted into his life.

2

Danielle

Zillah, one of Tobias’s nieces, was in tears because plans for her fifteenth birthday party were in ruins. Her heart was set on attending the New York City Ballet’s performance of Stravinsky’s The Firebird, along with four of her girlfriends. Zillah’s father was away on business, and her mother, Rachel, had contracted a nasty cold. No one else in the family was eager to escort a gaggle of teenage girls, so Tobias stepped forward. After all, it would be a new experience, he thought, and besides, he unapologetically enjoyed the ballet.

Into the theater walked the birthday procession, led by Tobias, an elegant version of Ichabod Crane, in a black velvet coat and butter-colored, silk shirt. Around him flitted and chattered the girls, in their pastel party dresses. The sight of this odd but delightful little group elicited smiles and nods from the patrons.

Unable to resist the opportunity to poke ridicule, a couple friendly rivals sought out Tobias to compliment him on his role of mother duck. Tobias remained unflappable, responding with, Won’t you congratulate my niece, Zillah? This is her fifteenth birthday. The wiseacre then was obliged to politely shake the girl’s hand and wish her a happy birthday.

Tobias did begin to wonder if the girls’ noise and fidgeting would ever cease. At last, the house lights dimmed, the heavy, red curtain began to rise, and that magical sense of anticipation descended over the audience. As the orchestra began the slightly ominous strains of the prelude, one of the girls whispered to Zillah, It’s kind of spooky! Then the celesta’s chromatic arpeggio rang out over the heavy chords, sending a thrill down their spines. The girls giggled for a last time and hushed as the dancers appeared and the enchantment began.

The Firebird burst onto the stage and danced in Tobias’s heart forever. Never had Tobias seen the Firebird danced with such passion and precision. An uncanny combination of fluidity and abrupt, birdlike movements transformed the ballerina perfectly into the role, making the legend come alive.

But who was this sorceress? Tobias turned to the back of his program and found her write-up. Danielle Orlando was her name. She had studied in London and began performing there. Looking through his opera glasses, he attempted to discern her features between leaps and pirouettes as the Firebird eluded the arms of the huntsman. Danielle Orlando’s auburn hair flamed under the orange-red spotlights. She was indeed beautiful, but not in the ordinary way. A high-bridged, aquiline nose and huge, dark eyes gave her a slightly exotic look, which lent credibility to the idea of a human transforming into another creature.

Danielle seemed strangely familiar to Tobias, yet he was certain he had never seen even her photograph before. His heart beat faster, and a peculiar sensation of elation tinged with melancholy swept over him. He succumbed to what seemed to be a stroke of fate: He had to love Danielle Orlando.

The next day, Tobias wrote the ballerina a long letter of introduction. As he composed his thoughts, he pondered the irony that his would be just another fan letter to be ignored if not for his family name. Tobias couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty at the immediate entrée his privileged status gave him. But then he recalled a conversation with a Buddhist monk during a retreat he had attended recently in Thailand. Do not feel guilty for your good fortune, the monk had told him. It is your karma and you must accept it. However, you are obliged to do as much as you can for others, and always be mindful. Tobias sighed. Fair exchange. I will do that, sir, he said to himself.

Tobias and Danielle met, married and spent eight idyllic years together. Danielle continued her performing career, with Tobias’s encouragement and support. During the ballet’s off season, they traveled the world, sharing experiences and forging new friendships.

There was one tradition the couple established that was to have a significance beyond anything they could have imagined. Tobias and Danielle held an informal, weekly open house at the family estate in the Virginia countryside. Friends and acquaintances had a standing invitation to drop in on Thursday evenings. A board was set with light supper faire, and guests came and went until half past nine.

It was at one of these little salons that Lobsang Liu made his appearance, with one of Danielle’s artist friends on his arm.

Lobsang Liu was not more than twenty-five. He had a slender but muscular build and square-jawed good looks. He was appropriately dressed for a get-together with students and academics, but perhaps not so appropriately for the present company. He wore a multi-pocketed hiking vest over a tee shirt imprinted with the photograph of Albert Einstein sticking out his tongue. Along with the requisite blue jeans, he was shod in the requisite overpriced, overly engineered athletic shoes.

Lobsang’s discomfort was obvious as his girlfriend introduced him to one well-known person after another. Tobias picked up on this and walked him to the smorgasbord, where he recommended his personal favorites and poured him a glass of wine.

With his guest more at ease, Tobias brought him back to the group. We’re glad you could visit with us this evening, Lobsang. By the way, that’s a Tibetan name, isn’t it?

Lobsang grinned and ran his fingers through his thatch of shiny black hair, revealing penetrating, intelligent eyes.

Danielle interjected, Oh Tobias, I’ll bet Lobsang is tired of explaining his name.

I don’t mind, really, he said good naturedly. Yes, it’s a Tibetan name, but my parents are Chinese. My dad was on a Lobsang Rampa jag—read all his books—when my mom was pregnant with me. I think he expected me to be a guru or something.

Over polite laughter, Tobias said, Is that so? I read all those books when I was young.

I actually like this man, Lobsang thought.

So tell us, Lobsang, Tobias asked, what do you do in life?

Mariana, Lobsang’s date, broke in. I have to tell you, it sounds nerdy, but he’s really very creative. She sat back and nodded for Lobsang to continue.

Well, he cleared his throat and began, I’m head of research and programming at CyberGraphics, outside Boston.

A few eyebrows went up.

As Lobsang ventured into home territory, his initial awkwardness disappeared, and his enthusiasm for his work took over. "My specialty is holographic optics. Right now, I’m working on micro-geometry for improved facial accuracy. That and increasing the camera refresh rate with chemically reactive, photorefractive materials, to