Read Death Rhythm for Free Online Page A

head. Bird watching in the dark…
    He hoped he hadn’t offended Mae by leaving on this walk. When he told her his plans, she responded by smiling and saying, “Of course. I’ve got plenty to keep myself busy with.”
    “I really appreciate your hospitality, Mae.”
    She looked at his mouth, as if she were trying to see past his teeth into his throat. Then she looked past him out the living room window.
    “Sometimes,” she said, “hospitality is a disguise for curiosity.”
    Andy didn’t respond.
    Mae shook her head. She looked him in the eye. “I’m sorry, Andy. I didn’t mean it like that. I just - “
    “Hey, no,” Andy said. “That’s okay. No explanation necessary.”
    She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I would like to get to know you better. I really would. But I’m afraid once we get started on catching up on each other’s lives, we won’t know when to stop.”
     
    It was almost too dark to see. Andy was about to turn back, when a hole was punched in the dark, skeletal ceiling of treetops. A clearing appeared. Stars glared starkly above, surrounded by a dark halo of branches.
    Andy stumbled on a rock.
    While regaining his balance, he took a step backward and tripped on another rock. The momentum of his left foot flying out from under him was enough to send him crashing down hard on his butt. His right hand got stuck between the seat of his pants and a hard, flat surface. He winced, the wind knocked out of him, the stars above spinning in a slow, nauseating circle.
    As he waited for the pain to subside, he pulled his hand out from beneath him and flexed it, making sure nothing was broken. It seemed to be fine.
    He squinted in the darkness. Several more rocks surrounded him.
    No - not rocks, he realized.
    Gravestones. They were gravestones.
    He'd stumbled into a graveyard.
    The gravestones loomed in front of him like giant gray teeth. They varied in size from simple cement slabs embedded in the earth, to large ones with the marble still shiny and highlighted with reflections of the overhead stars.
    He slowly stood, his eyes straining to see the names on the stones. The lettering on many of them had worn down to slight indentations. The lack of light didn’t help, either.
    His eyes, however, were drawn to a large granite statue of Apollo.
    Maybe it was the combination of shadow and starlight that made the figure of Apollo look ominous and foreboding, or maybe it was the lettering, bold and black, etched deeply into the stone as if it were more of a warning than a memorial.
    It read simply:
     
    EMMA PLANT
    MAY 29, 1918 - May 13, 1949
    DIED FROM GRIEF
     
    Andy blinked and looked away. The pain in his tailbone subsided to a slow, dull throb. He spotted a wrought iron gate on the opposite side of the cemetery that served as the entrance. Instead of surrounding the cemetery, it acted as a symbolic entryway, a deep, dull black silhouette at night, standing watch over the tombstones. Its shape was stark and rigid in contrast to the random jumble of tree trunks and branches. Beyond it was a dirt road.
    Time to head back, Andy thought. Just take it easy. Try not to trip over anything else and break an arm.
    He looked up at the clear sky, amazed at how bright the stars were, thousands of blazing pinpoints in the blackness above. They weren’t shrouded in a haze of pollutants, weren't diminished by the glow of city lights. Here, the Milky Way stood out brighter than any photograph he’d ever seen of it, its band of stars arching across the sky, an astral river of milk.
    He lifted the binoculars to his face. The stars exploded, tripling, quadrupling in quantity, and blinding him with their ancient light. He stood transfixed and fascinated, until his body stiffened and his legs tingled with sleep. He stretched, joints popping, muscles complaining, until the soreness gave way.
    The noise of crickets stopped as he took a step forward. But only for a moment.
    “Let’s get a move on,” he said,