Page 36 of Serenity Falls

Sadie looks up. The chapel could have been lifted straight from colonial America. It’s white, like a lot of the buildings in Serenity, and square, with a tall spire topped with a cross. It’s surrounded by a small picket fence and neatly tended lawn. She can see the cemetery stretching out behind the building.

Ellis pushes open the gate, and they step into the grounds. Sadie isn’t given to all that spine-tingling, premonition-type crap. But she can’t deny a strange feeling. Not a tingle in the spine. More a shift in her guts. A rolling, like vertigo, or a sensation that she might suddenly throw up. She grips the fence.

‘You okay?’ Ellis asks, looking concerned.

‘Yeah. Just cramp.’

Or bad air. Just as quickly, the feeling passes.

Ellis gives her an odd look. ‘O-kay. Well, it’s round here.’

They walk around the side of the church.

‘It’s pretty small,’ Ellis says. ‘Serenity isn’t that old, so I guess not that many people have died here yet.’

That yet seems to hang a little heavy in the hot air. She surveys the cemetery. Neat rows of pristine headstones, each with at least one bouquet of fresh flowers. She wonders if this is down to caring relatives or done for appearances. Cynical or what?

She wanders around, bending down and looking at the names on the headstones. Most of the people buried here are old. She guesses that’s a good thing. She remembers the graveyard near their house in Manchester. It was huge and ancient. A lot of the graves dated back to the 1600s and she always used to feel sad at how short people’s lives were back then.

Bet they would have killed for a vaccine, or even a fucking paracetamol, she thinks.

‘You looking for something in particular?’ Ellis asks, trailing after her.

Sadie doesn’t reply. She’s still scanning headstones. Maybe he’s not here. Maybe he was cremated. Maybe Jules made the whole story up … and then she sees it. At the far edge of the cemetery. A small white headstone with the carved figure of a cowboy leaning against it. Poignant yet weirdly kitsch all at once. It’s set apart away from the other memorials, in the shade of some flowering bushes, almost like someone wanted it to be hidden. She walks over and kneels to read the inscription:

Davey ‘Junior’ Henderson

July 25th 1992–May 19th 1997

Beloved son and grandson. Too precious for this place.

Dream of the day we meet again.

Sadie traces the words with her finger. A small shiver ripples through her. There are no flowers beside the grave and moss is starting to creep over the inscription.

‘Sad,’ Ellis says from behind her. ‘He was just a little kid.’

Sadie turns. ‘Do you know anything about him?’

Ellis shrugs. ‘No … why?’

Sadie considers and then decides – in for a penny, in for a pound.

‘Okay,’ she says. ‘This is going to sound weird, but—’

‘EXCUSE ME!’

They both jump at the sound of the man’s voice.

Ellis turns. ‘Shit!’

A figure is walking towards them. Tall and angular, dressed in a black priest’s cassock and white collar. His hair is white and shorn so close to his skull the sunlight illuminates his pink scalp beneath. He walks with a slight limp. As he gets closer, he smiles, but the gauntness of his face makes it seem more like a snarl.

‘Can I help you two young ladies?’

Ellis flushes. ‘Err, hello, sir. I mean, Father Miller.’

‘Ellis.’ The priest’s face softens a little. ‘I didn’t realize it was you. I should have put my glasses on. How’s your dad?’