Get out your popcorn, tourists beware, here comes a paranormal adventure with a historical twist, set in Egypt--and Britain.
From Chapter 29 'Darkness': 'Did I just try to dive into that goo to get at a dead guy?' Trueth asked.
Define dead,' Me...
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Rain was flowing horizontally across the windowpanes of the commuter train. The skies were overcast, had been for weeks. Meteorologists considered this to be summer with the longest day of the year due shortly. The extra hours of daylight gave the roiling greyness an added opportunity to draw attention to itself. Once in a while, bits of blue peeped through the clouds, hinting at what might be possible, until the grey called it to order and triumphed again.
Trueth's job was gone when she returned, but she found similar employment without too much effort. She still saw Sammie, who appeared shyer than ever, and that relationship was still going nowhere.
Once back in the dump she called home, her fridge warranted a visit from those cleaners experienced in clearing particularly unsavoury scenes of crime. She decided a few germs more made no difference and sanitized the mess herself, using the rest of her sani-wipes. Why she even bothered, she could not imagine—it had to be surplus energy from all that sun.
Trueth thanked her mother for letting her travel, threw in a few memories for good measure, how she enjoyed the places she had visited. She nearly caught herself describing the desert beyond Luxor and the boat trip up the Nile, which never was included on the original agenda.
At least her job was easier now she did not have to shove her left hand into a pocket whenever people got on her nerves—which was far too often. Among them was her new boss, Porridge. He had a face to match his name. He was especially annoying when seen first thing in the morning, by the light of the fluorescent lamps in the new Call Centre. They cast their aggressive glare into the big room she shared with the other galley slaves tied to their headsets all day long.
Commuting was worse.
She spent endless hours of waiting and minding the gap once a train finally limped into the station. The maggot-pale commuter throng then rushed forward again, and she engaged in the pointless grapple for personal space where nobody would shove a newspaper in her face, pinch her buttocks, or leer at her. Or twitch to the tinny music coming from more headphones. She could not stand the damn things.
In the end, it proved too much.
Trueth was not sure what triggered her. It might have been the sights and sounds of Porridge in the early hours before she consumed a cup of the weak brew the Call-Centre meted out as coffee. Or the fumes of too much alcohol imbibed the previous evening wafting across from the next cubicle. But she told her bosses what she thought of the whole charade and shortly afterwards found herself outside the galley for the last time, her papers in her hand, a final commute ahead of her.
Before the train approached the town with her flat, it sped up- through V-shaped embankments bristling with fir trees before rattling through a smelly tunnel. Trueth believed this to be the ideal place to do what she needed to do. It was not far from the station and could be reached on foot.
She only had to make sure the fridge was clean, which it was. She then took a shower to clean herself and set out to end a life that had become to hard to bear. Trueth left a note for her mother, thinking she was turning into a marvel of communication.
