The Fatality Game

By Robert Trainor

The residents of Barksdale Terrace live in an exclusive neighborhood of multimillion dollar houses where crime is something that happens to other people. But within a seven-day period, the bedrooms in two of the seven houses on the Terrace are ransacked while the occupants are away. Both crimes are very bizarre and strikingly similar: There is a balled-up sheet jammed into an open window; in the middle of the balled-up sheet is a copy of Playboy magazine; all the panties of the woman who slept in the bedroom have been stolen; and there is a peculiar message written above the bed in the room. SORRY YOU WEREN'T HERE. EVEN SO, YOU SHOULD CONSIDER BUYING TICKETS FOR YOUR OWN FUNERAL BECAUSE THE FATALITY GAME WILL SOON BE CLAIMING ITS FIRST VICTIM. Detective Cody Barnes is initially inclined to believe that the crimes are pranks that were committed by the owner of a strip club who lives on the Terrace, but a week after the second break-in, a woman who lives on the Terrace is shot to death in her bed. As before, there are the balled-up sheets in the window, the Playboy magazine inside the sheets, and the theft of the woman's panties. But this time, the message on the wall reads: THE FATALITY GAME CLAIMS ITS FIRST VICTIM. MORE WILL BE COMING. STAY TUNED. REMEMBER: YOU MAY BE NEXT. As the case unfolds, Cody's personal life takes an unexpected turn. He's engaged to be married, but his fiancé is a thousand miles away as she tends to her mother, who is dying of cancer. Meanwhile, he begins to become attracted to the victim of the second break-in on the Terrace—the ultra-beautiful Lucinda Kane who recently lost her husband in a car accident. Sparks flicker, and then one night, the sparks turn into a bonfire that complicates his life and threatens to compromise both his engagement and reputation. His involvement with Lucinda will become intertwined with the investigation and lead to extremely serious and far-ranging consequences. Also complicating the investigation is Jonas Pickett, who lives at the far end of the Terrace with his mother. Now forty-two, Jonas is obviously suffering from some kind of mental disorder. He claims that at least three people on the Terrace are aliens and admits to walking around late at night and looking into the windows of those who live on the Terrace. He also claims to have been inside the victim's house on the night she was murdered, but supposedly, his reason for being there was not to murder anyone but only to steal some food from the refrigerator. Suddenly, there is a major break in the case—the victim's computer is accessed, and a number of emails point to a person who lives on the Terrace. He is arrested and interrogated by Cody, and after his interrogation, he is charged with murder. But then, two days later, a very key figure in the case disappears, and within twenty-four hours, his body is found in his car with two bullet wounds to his head. From here, everything unravels in a cascading torrent of violence that will leave two more people dead by cyanide poisoning, but it isn't long before a number of clues begin to point towards a person that no one had ever suspected.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Trainor
• Release date: Feb 24, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224849819

Robert Trainor

Over the past twelve years (since I retired at the age of 59), I've written nineteen novels, four novellas, four non-fiction books, and seven anthologies, all of which you can find in the Kindle Store. Instead of writing a biography of myself, which seems rather irrelevant, I would prefer to write a biography of my books. Here, in the order in which they were written, is a brief sketch of the plots, themes, and subject matter of these books.1/ The Voice of the Victim describes a series of murders in a small city. I've always felt a great deal of empathy for the victims of violent crimes, especially those who are murdered by guns. What, I wondered, would these people say to us if they could speak? When reading this book, it is important to remember that my intention, from first page to last page, was to present the voice of the victim. And, to me, this voice is not a straight-line accusation of weapons and murderers but tends to veer to a pervasive mockery and total indictment of modern culture. This novel is much different than anything else I have written, and there will be many who will object to what the "voice" is saying.2/ Some Things Are Sweeter than God is somewhat along the lines of a classic murder mystery but is certainly not one of those books where the conclusion is some wild revelation that no sensible reader could ever discern beforehand. The protagonist is a forty-year-old woman lawyer who, in her role as a public defender, is required to represent a man who is accused of brutally murdering his ex-girlfriend.3/ The Road Map to the Universe is a well-constructed novel--at one time, I was a tournament chess player, and this book required a great deal of planning and analysis. Essentially, it's a highly unusual murder mystery, but the perceptive reader may be able to identify a standard plot theme lurking in the background. The Road Map also examines an interesting philosophical question: In a universe of four billion galaxies, what relevance, if any, does the human being have?4/ The Great Barrington Train Wreck, a truly offbeat social commentary, includes a unique type of murder mystery and is one of my favorite novels. Although I almost never include anything from my own life experience in my books, I was, just like the protagonist in the Train Wreck, homeless for many years. So I'm familiar with the lingo and attitude that some of the homeless have. This is a catchy, captivating book where the plot seems to materialize out of thin air until it becomes the elephant in the room. Also, to my mind, this tale could describe what happens to Holden Caulfield, the anti-hero of the Catcher in the Rye, as he approaches forty. It's not all peaches and cream! Especially when he falls in love with the daughter of a millionaire, and even more especially when he ends up on death row.5/ Your Kiss Is Like the Sweetest Fire describes a teenage romance between Jaime and Renee, who were adopted at a young age into the same family. It seems illogical to me, but in almost all states, the law views a sexual relationship between adopted siblings who live in the same family as a crime of incest--exactly as if they were related by blood. So Jaime and Renee have this difficulty to contend with, and also, their mother and father are both rather repulsive characters who are totally incapable of helping them. Wait until you meet Renee--I love her.6/ Requiem for the West is partially based on an apocalyptic poem that I wrote during the 1990's. Ten thousand hours is a lot of time to spend on a seven-hundred-word poem! Requiem is also an examination of some apparently abstract themes that seem highly relevant to me: 1/ The pervasive role of explicit sexuality in our culture and the very different ways that people react to it; 2/ The often farcical, Dilbert-like nature of the modern workplace, in this case a college; and 3/ Is doomsday just around the corner? The 1960-2000 version of myself considered a nuclear apocalypse to be inevitable, but nowadays, I'm ambivalent.7/ Frontier Justice was easy to write because once Adriana Jones arrived on page 10, she took over the book, and all I had to do was keep up with her as she overpowered every obstacle that crossed her path. I hadn't intended for that to happen, but that's the way life goes sometimes. Do I agree with, support, condone, or advocate Adriana's way of doing things? Difficult questions. Adriana is my creation, so I have to take some responsibility for her, I suppose, but I look at it this way: To be true to a character, one has to let the person speak and act in a way that is appropriate to his or her personality. I just can't legislate them into political correctness! Adriana didn't just overpower the other characters in Frontier Justice--she also overpowered me. I really like this book--I wish, as a writer, I could think of more characters who are as dynamic as Adriana.8/ A Tale from the Blackwater River is a novella that is meant to be a satire on a certain kind of story that is showing up far too frequently nowadays, but on another level, it's just kind of a humorous tale that was a lot of fun to write. This book is written in the first person by a forty-two-year-old woman named Alanda Streets. I almost published it under the pen name Alanda Streets because I thought some people might say that no woman would ever write a story like A Tale from the Blackwater River, but for those who feel that way, I hope you will ask yourself this question: If the name Alanda Streets had been on the cover of the book, instead of mine, would you have felt that a woman couldn't have written it?9/ The Blackwater Journal is another Alanda Streets novel--this time, she is only sixteen. I couldn't seem to get away from Alanda--she does have a spunky survivor's attitude towards life that appeals to me. In this book, she has to call on all her resources when her evil father imprisons her in a room and tells her that she has only a week left to live. As the days pass by, the terror mounts on her own personal death row. Does Alanda escape? Maybe so, maybe no.10/ Love Letters (Soaked in Blood) is another murder mystery that has a humorous undertone, which many will probably miss. The problem with writing a murder mystery is that anything that can be thought of has already been done about a thousand times. The only original idea left would be to have the most obvious suspect turn out to be the murderer. Think of it--that's probably never been done! And so...maybe you can guess the rest.11/ The Book of the Dead is about a man who goes to his 25th reunion and meets his high school sweetheart. The two of them embark on an impulsive twenty-four hour car ride that will take them through three southern states and bring them face-to-face with death. This is a tale where the boundaries of ordinary reality are stretched out a little bit! I'll leave it to you to decide whether The Book of the Dead is a fantasy or a reality.12/ Destroyed by Malice sees the return of a character who played a minor role in The Voice of the Victim. He's the world famous novelist Barker Drule, but unfortunately, he (and his wife) exit the book on page 1 when they are gunned down in their driveway. It isn't long before detective Jeff Willard is convinced that the murderer is a member of the Drule family. Perhaps it's Lenore, the older daughter, who was, years ago, secretly raped by her father; perhaps it's the beautiful Raylene, who wrote a novel about a rape victim that her father managed to have the publishing industry blackball; perhaps it's Ricky, the cocaine-addicted son who is desperate to get his hands on his father's money; and perhaps it's Dalton Drule, Barker's irascible eighty-two-year-old father who just happens to own the gun that was used to murder his son. In the end, when the truth finally comes out, there will be very few left to tell the tale.13/ How to Write an Imaginative Novel takes you through the whole process of writing a novel and then uploading it to Kindle. Among the many things covered are: Where will you find a plot? What is the best way to find names for your characters? How important is it to punctuate your book correctly? Is there a quick way to learn punctuation and sentence structure? What is the best way to write dialogue? What kind of things should one avoid in a novel? What is the significance of the first draft and why is it so important? How does one begin a book so that it immediately commands the reader's attention? How does one revise and edit a novel? Is it possible to create the cover for your book without spending any money? How does one convert a book to the correct format so that it can be uploaded to Kindle? And finally, how does one upload a book to Kindle?14/ I Ching 2015 contains a complete translation (minus the Confucian commentaries) of this ancient Chinese classic. Also included are detailed instructions on how to consult the I Ching using either yarrow stalks, coins, or dice. (For those who have been using coins, one should be aware that a significant error has crept into the method that many people use to cast an omen. This error, which involves using either three or four similar coins will seriously affect the accuracy of the omens you receive.) Additionally, there is extensive advice on how to interpret an omen. By using the correct method of interpretation, you will be surprised at how much clearer omens become. As part of this advice, I have posed a number of questions to the I Ching and have then interpreted the omen I received. Finally, for each hexagram, as well as many of the lines in each hexagram, I have included my own observations as to the essential meaning of these hexagrams and lines.15/ Blood and Blackmail is an elegant murder mystery with an unusual plot twist that took me some time to piece together. For those readers who enjoy the challenge of solving a crime before the final chapter arrives, this novel should provide you with a truly interesting puzzle. I doubt many people, if any, are going to see the underlying deception that runs throughout this tale because...if I say anything else, I might help the reader unravel this mystery, and I certainly wouldn't want to do that!16/ Fairy Tales by Martians takes a humorous look at the theory of evolution. Science, of course, claims that the human being originated from an amoeba that eventually became a tadpole that eventually became a frog and so on and so forth. However, I just can't conceive of the fact that ten million years ago, two frogs mated in a swamp and because of that event, I eventually arrived on the scene. What kind of a genealogy chart is that? Neither does the seven-day religious version of events appeal to me, so what I'm left with is a very cynical view of both the religious and scientific theories concerning the origins of our existence.17/ The Book of Dreams repeats a very old idea that has been used in many a novel. But here, in this murder mystery, the idea is taken to another level entirely and contains a twist that not many will see coming. The clues are there, starting with the poem in the Preface.18/ The Dark Side of the Moon is a tale about an attractive high school teacher who falls in love with one of her students. However, Carolyn Black is nervous that her sexual liaison with the student will ruin her career. Eventually, she tries to break off their relationship, but when he threatens to commit suicide, Carolyn is faced with an excruciating dilemma.19/ The Murder of Nora Winters was inspired by John Dickson Carr who wrote a number of locked-room mysteries. In this type of mystery, the murder victim is found in a room that does not allow the killer any means of exit. The doors and windows are all bolted from the inside, and it's considered very poor form for the author to create a room where there are sliding walls or secret panels. The solution to the murder of Nora Winters is, I think, relatively simple, but I've woven in enough deceit and misdirection to confuse all but the most astute readers.20/ The Vanishing Victim is a tale of a psychiatrist and a troubled woman who comes to him for counseling. What she reveals to him proves to be a confession to a brutal crime, but he is unable, because of the doctor/patient privilege, from revealing this crime to anyone, including the police. But even more troubling is that the woman's confession, although it contains a number of factual inaccuracies, turns out to have a terrifying reality of its own.21/ The Fatality Game follows a series of innocuous crimes in a rich neighborhood that seem to be more pranks than anything else. But when a woman is murdered in her bed, Detective Cody Barnes realizes that there is something evil lurking under the placid veneer of swanky mansions that are inhabited by millionaires. And when Cody becomes romantically involved with one of the earlier victims, the beautiful Lucinda Kane, the case begins to take on a life of its own that will eventually lead to the deaths of three more people.22/ How to Write an Intelligent Murder Mystery describes some of the adventures I encountered while I was writing murder mysteries (of my twenty-one novels, thirteen are murder mysteries.) This is a somewhat unusual instructional book that attempts to relate the problems encountered in the writing of a murder mystery to the more general problem of writing fiction in today's market where any new novel is almost instantaneously buried under an avalanche of new novels.23/ The Real Meaning of Life is definitely one of my favorite books. It's written in the first person by Patrick Devlan, a twenty-seven-year-old guy who writes murder mysteries. But his father, who is dying of pancreatic cancer, wants Patrick to write something that will take his readers to a "better place." Patrick decides to follow his father's advice, but a few days later, his roommate's pregnant girlfriend is murdered, and Patrick becomes entangled in a real-life murder mystery. Eventually, after his roommate is convicted of the crime and sent to death row, Patrick is faced with a dilemma that will lead him to the discovery of the real meaning of life.24/ Flight 9525 is a non-fiction book that attempts to answer the question as to why there is so much suffering in the world. For the most part, this book bypasses the usual political, psychological, and social reasons for suffering and examines the following: If God is real, then why do human beings suffer? Why would an all-merciful, all-loving, and all-powerful Being permit its creations to suffer? The usual explanations, such as the hypothesis that God granted man free will, don't answer the question at all. In fact, this is a question that's never been answered satisfactorily.25/ The Scriptwriter is the tale of a man who becomes entangled with three different women. There's the incredibly beautiful woman, the incredibly rich woman, and the incredibly homeless woman. Which one will he choose? Events, mishaps, and character flaws lead him to an interesting decision.26/ The Murder of Marabeth Waters contains a considerable amount of subtle black humor and describes the investigation that ensues after a prostitute is found strangled to death. Detective Devin Driver is quickly able to focus on a suspect; not only did this man send a threatening note to Marabeth, but also, her blood is found in his car. As it turns out, the real murderer lurks elsewhere, and unfortunately, Devin isn't a particularly perceptive detective, so it isn't surprising when the wrong person is convicted of the crime. However, even if Devin had been Sherlock Holmes on steroids, he undoubtedly wouldn't have solved this murder.27/ The Trial of Shada King--a district attorney in Hartford, Connecticut, is charged with manslaughter in the shooting death of the man who had raped her ten days before the shooting. Shada claims that she acted in self-defense, and since she was wearing a recording device at the time of the shooting, her claim of self-defense seems to be valid. But why was she wearing the recording device? The prosecuting attorney is convinced the crime scene was an elaborate stage production that was intended to deceive those who would be listening to the tape and that the victim was murdered in retaliation for the rape.28-34/ Finally, I have seven anthologies on Kindle that combine complete versions of many of the books listed above: Four Novels, 5 Novels, Four Murder Mysteries, The Blackwater Novels, Dark Tales, Six Novels, and Five Murder Mysteries. The purpose of the anthologies is that it gives the reader a chance to buy, for instance, five novels of mine at the rock-bottom price of $2.99.I spend a great deal of time revising my books. After finishing the first draft, I go through the book at least eight more times--first page to last page. Each journey through the book is slow and painstaking--no less than three hours and no more than thirty-five pages a day. From my experience, the kind of errors that pop up on some of the later readings can be rather surprising, if not downright alarming! I particularly look for inaccurate punctuation, lackluster sentence structure, and inaccurate or repetitive vocabulary. I also do not permit confusing sentences to stand--I can't imagine that any reader will want to read a sentence twice because I couldn't find a way to explain myself clearly.Finally, I would ask you all to keep an open mind about novels by an author who has no brand name. I am quite unusual because I do not advertise myself in any way, shape, or form (outside, I guess, of this little biography). My books are well-written, entertaining, and thought provoking, but they are often truly original, and I worry about the page-six syndrome. That's the point where some readers abandon a book by an unknown author because of a single sentence, idea, or attitude that seems amateurish to them. Have faith that there are some genuine diamonds in the Kindle arena and have faith that your instinct to buy one of my books was a good instinct. If you read any of my books to the finish, I think you'll feel that your time was not wasted because these novels are not cheap imitations--they are real creations.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

On September 3rd, 2011, Travis Barrett’s wife and two daughters were killed in a car accident when a drunken driver, who was going at least seventy miles an hour, ran through a red light and hit Travis’s wife’s car broadside. The force of the collision was so strong that Amanda, his wife, was decapitated, while his two daughters, Beth and Mary Ann, were mangled almost beyond recognition. In a single instant, Travis had gone from being the father of a happy family to a bereft widower.

Although there is obviously no easy way to come to terms with the death of one’s family, Travis found it particularly difficult to cope with life in the days immediately following the accident. He was frequently haunted by dreams where he could see the disfigured bodies of those he had loved so much. And often, in those dreams, one of his daughters would be crying out to him for help. There was one particularly poignant and intense dream where Mary Ann, with blood streaming down her face, said repeatedly, Dad, why did you let this happen to me?

The crash had occurred around noontime, and that night, Travis took two sleeping pills before he went to bed. Although they helped him to go to sleep, Travis was plagued, all night long, by a feeling that he hadn’t slept at all, and also, he often thought that he heard Amanda crying and sobbing. Travis was a doctor, and he had occasionally dealt with people who were mourning the loss of a loved one, but he had never encountered anyone whose grief seemed to be as deep as his. Of course, people often hide, at least to some extent, their grief when they are around others, so it’s quite possible that some of his patients had suffered much more than Travis realized. But unfortunately, one can’t hide one’s grief from oneself, and Travis was fully aware of the depths of his anguish as he plummeted into a deep depression.

Travis had more than enough time to think about and reflect upon his grief, and after a while, he began to understand why it had such a powerful hold on him. First of all, he had not the slightest premonition that anyone in his family was going to die—Amanda was only forty-two, Beth was thirteen, and Mary Ann was nine. Everyone was in good health, and death was the farthest thing from their minds. So it was entirely different than having your ninety-year-old grandmother slip into a coma and pass away. By then, everyone is braced for the end, and besides, she lived a long and productive life, etc. etc.

But the death of Beth and Mary Ann seemed so unjust—here were two kids who had their whole lives in front of them, and now, everything they had ever dreamed of was snatched away. They hadn’t done anything to deserve the fate that was handed out to them, but without warning, they had gone, in a matter of a few seconds, from driving around on a pleasant Saturday morning to being exterminated at the hands of a person who had no regard for others. Travis kept asking himself why this had happened. Why? Why? Why? But although this question has been asked millions of times after the sudden death of those who are very young, no one has ever come up with a truly satisfactory answer.

Although she often missed church on Sunday, Amanda was a Catholic, so the funeral service was held in a large ornate Catholic church that had been built over a hundred years ago. Amanda’s parents had decided that her funeral would be combined with that of Beth and Mary Ann, and the service was attended by over three hundred people. Amanda had been a teacher at a nearby high school, and with her easy-going, polite, and friendly attitude, she was, or had been, quite popular. It was difficult for Travis to talk about his wife because he constantly wanted to use the present tense instead of the past one. Amanda wasn’t his wife anymore—she was his ex-wife. 

Travis was an agnostic and had never been inside the church before, so he stared around in a kind of stupefied torment while the priest went through all the rituals that are used with the dead. There was also, of course, the traditional mass for the dead—a long, dreary, and somber thing that seemed to go on forever. Sitting through that ordeal, one would know for a certainty that someone had died, as the long drawn-out and gloomy strains of the priest’s voice droned through the large church.

After the mass, the priest, Father Frederick Manley, gave the eulogy. Father Manley was a tall man, perhaps six feet four, somewhat overweight, with black hair and a beard that was at least four inches long. God almighty, said Amanda’s mother, who was sitting next to Travis, doesn’t he look like he was wheeled out of the Old Testament? This impression was not dispelled by Father Manley’s voice, which resounded and reverberated throughout the church with its rich baritone.

My dear friends, he began, we are gathered here today on an occasion of the deepest sorrow that any human being can possibly experience. I am speaking, of course, of the untimely and unfortunate deaths of Amanda Barrett and her two children, Beth and Mary Ann. As everyone here realizes, they have been taken from us far too early, and we, the ones who are still living, are left to grapple with many questions that are extremely difficult to answer. So what I think we should do today is to look at the most fundamental question that lies inherent in the unexpected and seemingly unjust deaths of those who have died far too young, for those who have died well before their allotted time.

Peering out over the lectern with his dark and brooding eyes, Father Manley intoned, "And this question, my dear friends, is a very simple one: Why did these people die? I know that throughout time we have attempted to answer this question by saying that it was God’s will or that it was part of God’s plan, but I am afraid that these answers leave us all with a bad taste in our mouth. Also, these answers do nothing to enhance the reputation of God, and in this day and age, where everything is literally going to hell in a hand basket, it is our responsibility, for those of us who believe, to uphold the reputation of God.

Bear with me while I explore this with you because if we can find the answer to this question, then maybe the deaths of the three souls who are lying in their coffins before you will take on a different meaning, and we will leave here with, however small it might be, a hope in our hearts and a smile on our lips.

Father Manly coughed, and after taking a long sip of water from a glass on the lectern, he continued. So what have we here? he said, as his hand pointed to the three coffins that were about fifteen feet to his left. "What we have here are the earthly remains of three people who died very suddenly last Saturday. If we were to open these coffins and attempt to speak to those lying so quietly within, we would, of course, receive no reply, for their lips have been forever silenced. No more will they speak in their native language to those who they loved so dearly. And yet, a week ago, they were very much alive. In a world ruled by the Everlasting God Who reigns supreme over us, a God that all of us here acknowledge to be all-powerful, all-merciful, and all-just, how can this be?

"I think, before we can answer this question, that we need to look at the nature of death. As we all know, everyone has to die. This is an immutable law of earthly life from which there are no exceptions. And what is death? To put it in the simplest terms, death is the end of everything that we have ever known. It doesn’t matter whether the curtain of death comes down when one is four or forty—when death arrives, your role here on earth is over. And when I say it’s over, I mean that it’s entirely over. Others may carry on your wishes for a while, but eventually, they too will come to an end from which there is no return but only a final descent into the everlasting blackness.

"I have to admit that death is a difficult concept to grasp. It’s as if you suddenly lost all five of your senses—no more can you see all those glorious and intoxicating things that you had gazed on so lovingly during your allotted span on this earth. Neither, of course, can you hear anything or smell anything or touch anything or taste anything because when death arrives, as it inevitably must, those senses are taken away from us. But death is, of course, even worse than the loss of our senses because our thoughts are also annihilated, including the most important thought of all—the inward consciousness that allows one to experience existence—the thought of ‘I’.

"As I said, this is something that will happen to everyone—the blackness descends, and we are no more. And what I would like to propose to you, my dear friends, is that our death is nothing but God calling us home. Now, I know that all of you here do not believe in God, so I hope you will bear with me. Perhaps it will help if you don’t use the word God, which has come to take on some unsavory overtones after the recent tidal wave of sexual molestations by priests, so if you find the word God offensive, you can substitute the word Spirit or Power.

And my point is that the victims lying in their coffins before us have been called home. They are, if we believe in God at all, the lucky ones. No more do they have to suffer through the absurdities that we all have to deal with in our lifetimes: The broken promises, the failed relationships, the ludicrous nature of our jobs, and all sorts of other things that are far too absurd to enumerate here. They have left this earth, but they now reside in the eternal peace of God...

Father Manley droned on for a few more minutes, but to Travis, the sermon meant nothing. It was just a hope based on a fantasy, but the dismal reality, for Travis, was that everything he had based his life on had been abruptly taken away—forever! And as soon as the funeral was over and the mourners had departed, he would be left alone to face an overwhelming emptiness.

CHAPTER TWO

After the funeral ceremony, Travis went back to his house with a few of his relatives. There was Amanda’s mother and father, Travis’s mother (his father was deceased), his brother and his wife, and Julia, who was Amanda’s sister. Julia was married, but her husband was away on a business trip and hadn’t been able to attend the funeral.

It was around five o’clock, and most everyone was hungry, but since no one was in the mood to cook or go out to a restaurant, they took the easy way out and ordered four large pizzas for the seven people who were there. There was also plenty of wine and hard liquor on hand, so while everyone waited for the pizza to be delivered, Travis poured out wine for everyone except Julia, who wanted a mixed drink. After debating with herself over whether she was in the mood for vodka or gin, she finally asked Travis for a gin with tonic water. No, that’s not right, she said as she followed Travis out to the kitchen. I didn’t mean tonic water—I sure hope you have some quinine water.

Travis laughed. Julia, tonic water is quinine water.

Really? she said. I never knew that. I guess I must look foolish to bartenders because when I order a gin and tonic at bars, I always tell them quinine water.

Travis handed her the gin and tonic, and they stood there for a few seconds idly staring at each other. Where’s your drink? said Julia.

Travis had left his wine out in the other room, but he decided to have a vodka on the rocks. As he poured the vodka over the ice, Julia said, This must have been a tough day for you.

Travis suppressed a sigh and said, Sort of.

That priest was an absolute beast, said Julia. What a horrible sermon. In a very serious monotone, as she tried to imitate Father Manley, she said, Death is the absolute end of everything—the curtain comes down without warning, and you can’t see or hear anything anymore.

Julia and her husband Markus lived just two houses down from Travis on Barksdale Terrace, which was located in Glen Haven, Massachusetts. Glen Haven is about five miles to the north of Plymouth and thirty-five miles south of Boston. Julia and her husband had moved from California to Barksdale Terrace about eighteen months before the car accident that claimed the lives of Travis’s family, but Travis still didn’t know either Julia or Markus that well because the two sisters, Julia and Amanda, weren’t particularly close. The reason Markus and Julia had moved into the neighborhood had very little, if anything, to do with Amanda. Rather, they were looking for a place somewhere near Boston and were able to purchase the house on Barksdale Terrace from a very motivated seller who had offered them a rock-bottom price.

So despite the fact that Amanda and Travis only lived a hundred yards from each other, they rarely saw Markus or Julia. Amanda had invited them over for dinner a couple of times, but the four of them didn’t seem to hit it off particularly well. After the second dinner, Amanda told Travis that she thought Markus was trying to flirt with her, and that was the last dinner invite from Amanda. Also, Travis thought it was significant that Julia had never invited them over to her house for dinner.

Julia was certainly an attractive woman—somewhat thin and willowy with light blond hair that fell to her shoulders. She was also, as far as Travis could tell, an intelligent and interesting woman who worked as an analyst at a brokerage firm in Boston. Shortly after moving to Barksdale Terrace, she’d been promoted from stocks and into bonds. That’s where the real money is, she said, during one of the times she had been over for dinner. Investors can make more money in stocks provided they’re lucky and get into and out of the market at the right times, which is like saying that as long as you can climb Mt. Everest with a pickax and a rope, you’ll become a millionaire. But for the brokerage houses, bonds and betting on currency fluctuations are where it’s at.

Now, as he sipped absentmindedly on his drink, Travis heard Julia say, Travis, are you there?

Travis had drifted off into his own depressing thoughts. Sorry, he said, I was thinking about something else.

It’s got to be difficult for you right now, said Julia. That sermon was atrocious.

You’re right about that, said Travis.

So tactless...what do you say? Let’s go into the other room.

As they walked back towards the others, Julia nudged him with her arm and said, Keep your spirits up, Travis—better days are coming.

At the moment Julia and Travis walked into the room, Alison, who was the wife of Travis’s brother Andy, was venting. Honest to God, she said, I’m never going to another funeral again as long as I live. They are simply barbaric. To have that bizarre guy up there spouting off all this nonsense about how we’re all going to die—no exceptions! As if I didn’t know. Who does he think we are—a bunch of seven-year-olds?

I have to admit that it was a little bit much, said Amanda’s mother. And unfortunately, when you get into your seventies, those are the kind of reminders that you don’t like to hear. She placed her hand on her husband’s arm and said, I guess you know that Bill had a few bad moments last year. It’s such a terrible thing when the doctors come out in their white gowns and tell you that your husband has just had a major heart attack and that the next twenty-four hours will be the tell. I’ve seen those kinds of scenes on TV more than I care to admit, but when it happens to you, it’s just the worst thing imaginable. In fact, for a few moments, I thought my own heart was going to give out, and—

It’s OK, said Bill, in a reassuring way. I’m better now.

Well, actually, not quite, my dear. Don’t you remember the doctors telling us that heart attacks can damage the heart muscle and make another heart attack more likely?

Yes, but—

It’s such a difficult thing to live with, said Amanda’s mother, whose name was Dorothy. It’s like we’re living with death in my house all the time because although I’m not supposed to say this, Bill could literally drop dead any minute.

Dorothy, you’re making too big a thing out of what happened. It’s true that I had a little incident, but—

Little incident? You were gagging and frothing and God knows what else. Nowadays, I’m just terrified that we’ll be alone somewhere and you’ll go through the same thing all over again. Then what am I supposed to do? I could never, not in a million years, do something like mouth to mouth, so I guess I’d just have to sit there and watch you die. It’s such an unpleasant thought. 

Travis’s mother, who was obviously annoyed by Dorothy’s digression into her own problems, looked over towards him and said, How are you holding up, Travis? 

It had now been four days since the car accident, but Travis was still functioning on autopilot. He wanted to appear stoical, but it was difficult—only the night before he had suffered through another horrible nightmare about the accident. Travis had occasionally dealt with people who suffered from PTSD, but his response to those who suffered from this condition was, he realized now, rather distant and removed. Nothing is ever real until it happens to you.

Looking at his mother, Travis said, Not so bad.

That sermon by the priest was totally ridiculous, said his mother.

I couldn’t believe all that nonsense he said about extinction, said Alison. Yes, we’re all going to die, but there’s no need to rub it in.

The churches have a big investment in death, said Andy. It’s their big selling point.

Selling point? said Alison.

They have to keep at least some money coming in, said Andy. Otherwise, they’ll never be able to keep up with their legal fees. So what they’ve done is what they’ve always done—build death up and promote it as some big horrible event, and then once they have you cowering in your seat, they’ll give you some good old Religious Comfort. You know—after you die, you’ll go to heaven and have a great conversation with God.

But death is rather horrible, said Dorothy. It’s perfectly alright for you to talk and make fun of all the religious ideas, but it’s a far different story when you’re in your seventies. I hate to say it, but when I listen to people your age talk about death, I find it practically insulting.

Dorothy, said her husband, perhaps—

No, Bill, there are some things that need to be said, and now is as good a time as any. In fact, it’s a better time than ever because, after all, we’ve just come back from a funeral. And what I wanted to say to all the know-it-all forty-year-olds in this room is that death is no laughing matter. I know the priest was a little repetitive, but the fact is that when you die, it’s over. But when you’re young, you just kind of sit there in all your so-called wisdom and come out with absurd things that mock and diminish death.

Yes, said Travis, I know what you mean. Before Amanda and my children died, I never thought about death much, but now it’s on my mind constantly.

Wait until you’re seventy-five, said Dorothy. I’ll tell you what old age is really about—it’s exactly like you’re on death row. And not only are you on death row, but your appeals are running out. I look in the obituaries, and people my age are beginning to drop like flies. Maybe I’ll be the next one to go, or maybe—

But the part I don’t understand, said Andy, is why does death frighten everyone? I know that I’m going to die someday, but when all is said and done, it’s just a natural thing that happens to everyone.

Spoken like a true forty-year-old, said Dorothy. What—

Let me answer that question, said Bill, because I’ve probably come closer to death than anyone else in this room. And lately, there have been nights when I lie awake for an hour or two wondering about this. I guess the best way I can explain it is that there are two really frightening things about death. First of all, how is it going to happen? Let’s face it—not many people pass away peacefully. For almost everyone, it’s a relatively long and torturous process. Maybe it’s cancer and the constant bouts of chemotherapy as one tries to stave off the end. Or maybe it’s like what happened to me with the quadruple bypass operation. What they told me beforehand was that I might not wake up from the operation. Most likely, I would, but I might not. Put that one in your pipe and smoke it!

That day of your operation was the most horrible day of my life, said Dorothy.

It was a lot worse for me than for you, said her husband. Here I am in my little hospital room, and the clock is certainly ticking. It’s ticking so loud that you think you can hear it, but of course that’s only your imagination going haywire. And Dorothy— 

Just then, the doorbell rang—it was the pizza guy, and after he was paid and the pizzas were brought into the dining room, everyone settled down to pizza and wine and quickly forgot about death.

CHAPTER THREE

By eight o’clock, everyone except for Julia had left, and Travis began a long conversation with her that started in the dining room and soon migrated to the living room. It was one of those conversations that was fueled by alcohol, and it wasn’t long before the two of them were way over the legal driving limit as they sipped on their wine. At the beginning, Travis thought