Half to Death

Half to Death

© 2011 by Robin Alexander

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

ISBN 13: 978-1-935216-31-5

First Printing: 2011

This Trade Paperback Is Published By

Intaglio Publications

Walker, LA USA

www.intagliopub.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Credits

Executive Editor: Tara Young

Cover design by: Tiger Graphics

Dedication

For the sweetest of Roses.

Acknowledgments

I’d like to express my gratitude to the “commanator,” Tara Young, who dutifully deletes all my extra commas and makes me look good.

And especially to my love, Becky, who introduced me to Highway 98 and all the towns mentioned in this book. She’s extremely patient with me when I want to explore a new strand of beach, and she always helps me carry the pounds of shells I collect.

Prologue

“I see her! Her hoodie’s caught on something.”

Fear’s grip was nearly as cold as the snow and ice Deb lay upon. Her hands, though gloved, felt numb as she held on to Miranda’s ankles. The muscles in her stomach and back quivered as she lifted her head to watch the horrifying spectacle unfold. This was all her idea, all her fault.

Last year’s resolution was to lose fifty pounds, and she had. While she ran endless miles on a treadmill and stuffed her fingers down her throat after each meal she shouldn’t have eaten, she envisioned herself in a form-fitting ski suit. Something that would show off the hard-earned body but wouldn’t reveal the stretch marks. But in sunny Florida, no one wore ski suits, so the idea for a winter vacation was born. West Virginia was chosen over Colorado since none of her friends knew how to ski, and no one wanted to humiliate herself in front of thousands as she learned.

Deb supposed that maybe Miranda could share in the blame, too. After all, it was her idea for them to hike into the woods near the cabin. And it was Lonna who wanted to veer off the trail and follow the tracks made by an animal they hoped to glimpse or maybe photograph.

As Deb, the last piece in the four-woman daisy chain, pondered each decision that brought them all to this point, she watched as Lonna struggled to pull Sloan from the breach in the ice. Marty had gone for help, and it seemed like hours had passed since her departure. Deb shivered violently as she wondered how long Sloan had been under the frigid water.

“Let me go,” Miranda said as she pulled her boot free of Deb’s weak grasp.

“What’re you doing?” Deb’s teeth chattered so hard she could hardly form the question and bit her tongue in doing so.

Miranda glanced over her shoulder, as she crawled gingerly over the ice. “I’m going to help Lonna. She can’t pull Sloan out on her own.”

“Are you crazy? We could all go in, and who is going to save us then?” Deb cried as Miranda crawled farther away. Miranda didn’t answer, Deb belly-crawled to Angel, the next woman in line, and grabbed her ankles.

The ice groaned and creaked as Miranda and Lonna worked frantically to free their friend. Deb watched as Sloan’s dark head came into view and gasped when she looked upon the face—blue, unfamiliar in its pallor, almost inhuman. Lifeless eyes stared past her, and Deb heard the helpless cries of her friends around her. It was her fault, all her fault.

“They’re coming! Help is coming!” Marty screamed as she ran as fast as she could through the snow. Tears of relief streamed down Deb’s face as a stranger trailed behind her carrying an orange case. Sirens wailed in the distance, but as she gazed back at Sloan’s face, she thought it might be all in vain.

Chapter 1

“She’s gay. I’d bet my next paycheck on it,” Miranda said as we watched the newest trainer at Panacea Workout Center saunter across the room. “She struts like a dyke. Straight women don’t carry themselves like that. The nickname cinches it, that’s a dyke name.”

“Actually, Jade sounds more like a stripper.” I’d overheard someone saying she got the nickname because of her eye color, but they looked more emerald to me. “She’d make a lot more money dancing on a pole than trying to whip all of us into shape.”

“I bet she’s arrogant,” Miranda continued, ignoring my comment. “Everyone in here is watching her. She has to know it.”

Miranda was right. Along with us, everyone in the room was openly appraising her or sneaking peeks when she thought no one was looking.

“She’s taller than half of the men in here. Miranda wiped her face with her towel, her gaze fixed. “She probably thinks she’s perfection personified.”

“She is.” I smiled when Miranda looked my way with a scowl. “Perfect teeth, I saw them once when she half smiled. She doesn’t do it often. Flawless skin, no cellulite, beautiful glossy long, dark hair—perfection.”

Miranda turned her attention back to the new trainer as Jade demonstrated proper lunge form. “Look at those muscles. She must work her body nonstop. We’ve been coming here for almost a year, and neither of us looks like that.”

“Speak for yourself.” I flexed the muscles in my arms. “I’ve developed some decent guns.”

“You have squirt guns in comparison to her, bragapotomus.”

“I think you’re jealous.” I dodged a slap and laughed.

“Of course, I am. I’m married, no lusting allowed, so the only thing I can do is bitch.” Miranda shook her head. “You should’ve seen Marty the other night when we were here. She was staring so hard her feet got tangled on the treadmill. She bounced off the mirror before she even knew what was happening to her.”

“Marty came with you? That’s a first.”

Miranda nodded. “She wanted to have a look at the new girl in town. Some of the people she works with have been talking about her.”

“I bet she’s lusting with the rest of us,” I said with a grin.

“She better not be. If I can’t, she can’t, either.”

I draped my towel around my neck. “Nothing wrong with a couple having a crush on someone as long as they’re honest about it and don’t take it any further than looking.”

“Sloan Hawkins, sometimes you sound like a man.” Miranda tossed her towel at me. “Let’s get out of here. I promised Marty pizza for dinner. I need to get home so I can negate all the hard work I’ve done tonight.”

“You go ahead.” I stood and stretched. “I want to run another mile tonight. I had pizza for lunch.”

Miranda shook her head and tsked. “Oh, little player, you’re so out of your league with that one. Better leave it alone.” She took one last look at Jade and turned to me. “You can tell me all about how she rebuffed you over breakfast in the morning.”

I had no intention of making a play for Jade or anyone, but I wasn’t going to admit that to Miranda. Nor was I willing to admit that I’d not had a date in over a month. Even a hint of change in my habits had Miranda and our friends crawling all over me. I was thankful they did care after all, but since the accident, I was tired of hearing, “Are you feeling okay?” or “Don’t you need to talk about it?” Truth was, I didn’t feel okay, and I certainly didn’t want to talk about it.

I was tired of being under a microscope. From the minute I woke up in the hospital, everyone wanted to know what it was like to be dead. I had no clue. I never saw the tunnel of light or heard the voices of loved ones beyond the grave calling my name. The only recollection I had was waking up surrounded by my bug-eyed friends and feeling like I had been in a very deep sleep. And even though I didn’t have one of those experiences, I was left with the feeling—knowing that this life was just a precursor to another very real existence.

“I’m gonna pass out or puke,” I heard a woman say over the whir of the treadmill. The mirror I was facing gave me a full view of the gym. I could see a woman in a lunge position. She looked up at Jade red-faced and said, “I appear to be stuck.” Jade gave her a hand, and she slowly stood upright. “I think I blew out an ass cheek,” she whispered loudly. I chewed the inside of my cheek, staving off a laugh as I watched the owner of the blown ass cheek limp toward the locker room.

I looked back at my own figure in the mirror and was sad to note that I wasn’t the woman I was in my twenties and early thirties. Years of late nights filled with meals and drinks were catching up, but that had come to a screeching halt. I started to jog for two reasons—the first being that I wanted to get rid of the soft fold of skin that hung just over the waistband of my pants. The second, and probably most important, I wasn’t in a hurry to return to an empty house and try to figure out something to do until I went to bed.

“You know, if you vary your workout, you might see more results,” someone said a while later. I noticed that Perfection Personified was standing next to the treadmill as I did my cool-down walk. “I’ve seen you here at least three nights a week, and you always do the same workout.”

“I’m a creature of habit, I guess.” I switched off the machine and hopped off.

“I’m Corrine Verner, but everyone just calls me Jade.” She thrust out her hand, and I stared at it awkwardly.

“I’m a…germaphobe, please don’t take it personally.”

She gave me one of those half grins that I’d seen her giving everyone else in the gym and a nod. “I understand.”

“I used to jog around the neighborhood where I live or on the beach. But my best friend was given a membership by her partner when she started to gain weight around her midsection. She’s the redhead. You might’ve seen her.”

Jade nodded.

“I’ve been tagging along, and I guess I haven’t really been truly invested in my workouts.” I shrugged as Jade looked at me as though she doubted I did more than sit on the couch.

She folded her arms. “Since you’re paying a monthly fee, don’t you think you should get what you’re paying for?”

Her stance and the way she spoke put me on the defensive. I felt like she was saying, “Get with the program or get out.”

I crossed my arms, too. “Are you about to put a sales pitch on me? Maybe offer your services as a trainer?”

“Not at all. I was going to offer to write up an exercise plan for you depending on what your goals are.” She shrugged. “That’s all I can offer. My client list is booked.”

I was sure it was loaded with people who wanted to look like her or be with her. “How much is that going to cost me?”

Jade’s green eyes narrowed. “Nothing, it comes with the membership. No one explained that to you when you joined?”

I wanted to ask if anyone ever explained that she was supposed to be nice to the customer. Attitude was coming off of her in waves, and I felt myself wanting to match it. “They probably did, but like I said, I haven’t been invested in the workout. I’m just a tagalong to keep Miranda company.”

She cocked her head to the side, uncrossed her arms, and put her hands behind her back. “Well, I hope you’ll consider my offer and tell your friend Miranda I’ll be happy to write a plan for her, too.”

“I’ll consider it.” I tossed my towel over my shoulder. “Nice to meet you.” I turned and walked away.

“I’m here till nine each weeknight,” Jade called after me.

“I know,” I said over my shoulder and kept walking.

*******

The next morning, I opened my shop, which consisted of filling the cash drawer of the register and propping a chair in front of the door. March in Florida could be a mixed bag. We’d go a week or two with spring-like temps, trees and shrubs would bud, then there’d be a frost. On this day, spring was in the air, and I let it fill my shop with its warmth and pollen.

Snowbirds kept me afloat during the off-season as they enjoyed the cold months in their beach houses. The summer brought with it a whole new clientele—those who rented the beach houses the snowbirds had vacated. This and That
was exactly that. My store was a cornucopia of beach décor, not the kitschy stuff sold in shell shops like ashtrays covered in seashells or T-shirts. There was really no call for that in Panacea, though the convenience stores sold a modest amount. I sold prints and wicker furniture, crab traps that had seen their last day in the sea, things you could look at and be reminded of a world that survived off the Gulf waters.