Page 72 of Unalive On Air

“It says your birthdate on Helga’s list of deaths. Twenty-fifth of April.”

He shifts back to gaze up at the sky once again. “Ah.”

“The Taurus constellation should be visible later tonight, but . . . if I remember accurately, not until the very early hours of tomorrow. And then underneath that, we should be able to see Orion’s Belt. In theory.”

“Like from Men in Black?” he asks.

“Yes! You saw that movie?” I’m trying to work out when it was released.

“In the cinema, the year before I died. It was fun. It’d be cool if I could see it again, but . . .” He sighs. “Hey ho.”

“Maybe we can.” I sit up so I can think more clearly. And wahey, I’m sitting. “Now that I know my laptop connects to the hotel’s Wi-Fi, I don’t see what’s stopping us from arranging a movie night now and then.”

Trystan grabs my forearm. “Yeeeww, really?”

“We could even try casting from Josh’s phone to the telly in Jeanie’s room. If she’ll let us.”

“Mate,” he says, squeezing my flesh before lying back down.

I feel the press of his touch long after he’s removed his hand. We stare upwards for hours. When I remember the names of stars or constellations, or when I spot a planet or satellite or the International Space Station zooming by, I point them out to him. Otherwise, we’re quiet. Reflective. Peaceful.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Gary,” Trystan says, eyes still fixed on the sky. “But I’m kinda glad you died here.”

eighteen

Curtains for You

I don’t think there’s a word that is the literal opposite of loneliness.

Companionship, fellowship, togetherness, they might come close, but none of these are what I truly mean. What I’m talking about is the non-existence of loneliness. The absence of it.

Throughout my entire life, I’ve felt lonely. Lonely and alone. I don’t think a single day passed in my childhood, adolescence, or adulthood where it hasn’t seemed like it was just me, Gary Runcorn, versus the rest of the world.

Except last night.

Last night, gazing up at the sky with Trystan, may have been the one time I’ve ever been un-lonely.

It’s like lighting a candle in a dark room. There can never be complete and total darkness while the flame still burns. That’s what he represents to me.

It’s just ironic that it took until death to find that.

Even more so that Trystan wants out of this purgatory.

I mean, it’s just my luck, isn’t it?

And now I’m torn, between dragging out the solution of these murders in order to eke out the time we have together, or solve it all as quickly as possible so that if he does “move on,” it happens before I develop deeper feelings for him.

I’ve never been in love with anyone before, but I’m familiar with sod’s law. I know that as soon as I let my guard down and allow myself to become more than physically attracted to someone, fate will find a way to rip them out of my life.

Solution? I just won’t fall in love with him.

Easy.

Today, we’re going to record the first episode of the new series of Unalive on Air, and everyone has gathered in the trophy room. My recording equipment lies untouched where we set it up yesterday, meaning that no living person has been here. Helga hadn’t bothered to pop her head in to see what Franny had been up to, and Franny hadn’t tried retracing her steps. Peter and Jeanie explained that she would’ve had a blackout moment, a short period where her memories aren’t quite there, that they’re either missing or so hazy that it’d be too difficult to piece together reality.

My laptop sits on the bureau, dirty blank screen and no sign of life.

Somehow, we need to switch it on.