He grabs it and pulls me down, and I fall, just as I have been falling since the day I drove Quentin James out into the woods.
I let it happen, and I knew it would happen, and when I land on top of him my face doesn’t register the surprise he was hoping to see. His plan, his only plan, to pull me in and crack my head into the coffin or break my neck, hasn’t worked. He can see that now, and he can see his mistake.
The blood floods out over my hand. It’s warm and sticky and thick, and I hate the feel of it. When I pull it away from him, I leave the pocketknife I took from his car in his chest. He reaches down to it and pulls it out as if he’s just been stung by something, then looks at it as if he has no idea what it is. He stares at me, his face pale and streaked with blood and tears. His mouth opens and closes, but he can’t say anything; his mouth forms an O but nothing comes out. This lonely boy who learned who he was and made the rest of the world pay for it. He breathes heavily until the breaths become softer and softer. The knife falls from his hand.
He sinks back down as he dies in front of me. I wipe my hand across the soggy lining of the coffin before pulling myself out.
I sit on the ground and lean against the gravestone, and I watch the sky, looking for a break in the clouds, hoping for a break in the rain, wishing more than anything that I could have a drink right about now.
I’m not sure how much time passes before the police arrive, but I’m still sitting here when they do. Three days sober, and more positive than ever that I now know exactly who I am.
acknowledgments
I had a lot of people help me in a lot of different ways with Cemetery Lake. I want to start out by thanking Harriet Allan from Random House. Harriet is an awesome person who has shown a lot of faith in my story-telling abilities, and without her support and feedback, and the rest of the team at Random, this book — along with the previous two — wouldn’t exist.
Thanks also to my friend David Batterbury who has helped more than he knows with not only the book, but in pretty much every other area of my life. And to Daniel Myers, my friend and agent and fellow author who provides the magic feedback I need to make me a better writer.
I want to thank my friends who made sure I got to the end of 2007 with some sanity: Paul Waterhouse and his wife Tina, who offered feedback on the book and are always there for me; Daniel and Cheri Williams; Nathan and Samantha Cook; Kim McCarthy; and Phil ‘Dr Phil’ Hughes, who I can count on for anything at any time.
Amanda Harris offered ideas that were truly helpful as Cemetery Lake took shape. Shawn Ingham reminded me of something important about the basics that helped a lot with the final draft. Ray-Charles Smading, a man for whom there is no subject that can’t be touched for a joke. Jane Parkin, my editor, has made editing easy for me by being professional and creating a great working relationship. And Sonja ‘Scarecrow’ Sowinski, who found the final few mistakes and is actively trying to get every person in Germany to buy my books.
I also want to thank all the people who have written to me over the last year. All your emails have helped perhaps more than anything else: they let me know there is a point to doing what I do — which is purely to entertain.
And thanks of course Jo ‘Oddgf Richards, who is a sounding board for my story ideas and a fantastic friend to have — even if she does sometimes ring me at 8 a.m. on a Sunday morning to wake me up.
Paul Cleave
January 2008